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eBook Category: Horror/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Jarron would be the first to admit his perspective is twisted, and his outlook skewed. He's suffered some brain damage, but it hasn't affected his intellect, or his motor skills. Instead, it has opened the doors to a world he's never known--a world he doesn't want to know. One where the dead walk with the living, and the difficulty lies in keeping them apart. He's doing his best to deal with it. To keep his questionable abilities sequestered, and his ghostly visitors from getting out of hand. It's all just a matter of control. Control he still doesn't have.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 2000
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2002

This eBook is part of the following series:

• N. D. Hansen-Hill's Grave Images Series

27 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [383 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [347 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [342 KB] , Portable Document Format (PDF) [1.3 MB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [382 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [344 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [357 KB] , hiebook (KML) [957 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [590 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [319 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [397 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [467 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [516 KB]
Words: 115225
Reading time: 329-460 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Jarron Marshall was working hard--had been working hard for months. It was his way of seeing past the shadows that lurked in his vision, the voices that rattled his thinking, the spectres that danced through his dreams. It was no small effort to overlook his inner distractions, and concentrate on getting his research done.

For, Jarron had made a scientific discovery, that could be a boon to mankind. He'd found a universal endophyte, with a potential for reducing world hunger.

The discovery had nearly cost him his life.

Now, he was the first to admit his perspective was twisted, and his outlook skewed. He'd suffered some brain damage, but it hadn't affected his intellect, or his motor skills. Instead, it had opened the doors to a world he'd never known--a world he didn't want to know. One where the dead walked with the living, and the difficulty lay in keeping them apart.

He was doing his best to deal with it. To keep his questionable abilities sequestered, and his ghostly visitors from getting out of hand. It was all just a matter of control.

Control he still didn't have.

The air-conditioned room held the taint of something ancient--a hint of must, the tang of mould. Museum smells. Odours designed to be picked up by the cycling air, filtered, then spread throughout the building, to minimise their impact.

The artificial atmosphere failed to mask a lingering foulness: a scented remnant of humanity as harsh and enduring as the freeze-dried flesh, carved stones, and chilling metal effigies that rested in the display cases.

The museum portrayed the artefacts as tributes to survival--examples of human fortitude against the elements. They could do nothing about the darker elements: the stench of blood, mingled with the waste of human existence. What had been selected as a model of endurance, with a taste of longevity, was little more than a misguided deceit of human folly, mixed loyalties, and death.

A certain tension lingered in the air. Eventually, it resolved into a shimmering hoarfrost that dusted the insides of the display cases. Museum curators tried to correct it by adjusting the thermostat.

That did little to improve the situation, for the cold lay not in the climate control, but in the objects themselves.

They remained cold.

Colder than the surrounding air. Certainly chillier than the glass that held them trapped.

Colder than death.

Jarron was barely out of the car before Nick had the doors slammed, locked, and the alarm set. He pocketed the key as though it were a major triumph.

Something was definitely up, and Jarron didn't need any of his itching intuition to tell him so. Nicholas Acklin was being sneaky--and he was looking far too pleased with himself.

"Why'd we park way out here?" Jarron asked. He glanced around at the picnic benches and big trees. "You're allergic to picnics."

"We're going for a walk."

Jarron reminded him, "You don't believe in walking."

"I'm sucking up inspiration." Nick took a deep breath. "Writer's block," he lied. "Nothing else's worked." He did his best to sound dismal.

It sounded fake to Jarron, but if Nick was suffering one of his rare bouts of writer's block, he probably needed to talk. Jarron felt a twang of guilt. Nick had gone to a lot of trouble to orchestrate this--to make sure Jarron Marshall would take the time to listen.

Jarron hadn't made much time for Nick, or any of his friends, recently. He'd had too many things to think through. No--too many things he didn't want to think through but was afraid they'd insist on talking about.

Jarron glanced at Nick. He didn't seem to be suffering too badly. In fact, despite his supposed dejection he still looked damned pleased with himself.

Chances are, Jarron thought, whatever he's up to doesn't have anything to do with you, or your problems. It's probably some new mathematical theory that would bore anyone else to tears.

Which meant it would be unrelated to Jarron Marshall, and his weird psyche. Jarron let out his pent-up breath, and felt himself begin to relax. Nick was right--he needed to get out more. He was beginning to jump at shadows.

Nick heard the sigh. "All this fresh air," he said. "Good for the brain cells."

"How would you know?" Jarron retorted with a grin. He gestured toward the car. "What was all that speedy-lock stuff about? With Paul at our heels, you probably didn't even need to lock it."

Nick's expression showed a flicker of guilt, and Jarron looked at him curiously. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just making sure you can't change your mind."

Uh-oh. The twinge of suspicion came back. Whatever Nick was about to do, he'd be sure it was in Jarron's best interests, but that didn't mean Jarron was going to like it.

Jarron told him slowly, with exaggerated patience, "We already know I'm not here because I want to be."

"Ingrate. After all I've done for you--"

"I'll do a few things to you, too, if you don't tell me what's going on." Jarron's smile took the sting out of the words. "Odds are, you're hiding something."

"Odds are, you're right," Nick told him quickly. "Hey--I'm entitled to my little secrets. Besides, suspicion's a product of warped minds."

Jarron looked amused. "Warped, you know about."

"Relax, Jar. The museum's that way." Nick emphasised his words with a push in that direction.

Jarron groaned. "Not the museum--"

"Oh, yeah."

"Don't tell me: Leif Ericson's back in town--"

"Shut up and enjoy the outing. You've been spending way too much time in the lab. It's not healthy."

Jarron sobered. "Says who?" He was so tired of being watch-dogged, with every move on record.

"Says me." Nick glanced at him. "Don't be so damned sensitive."

Jarron felt like a fool. Suspicion is a product of warped minds, Jarron. And nobody's could get more warped than yours. He forced a smile. "So, instead, you drag me out to see a bunch of musty old crud--"

"'Crud?!' Just because it's not your field--" Nick almost managed to sound indignant.

"It's not your field, either. Admit it, Acklin. You and I both know what this is about."

No, you don't, Jarron. Or you would've already left. "I'm telling you it's research," Nick insisted. "You, of all people, should understand research."

"You're right. Which is why I know that's not what we're doing," Jarron replied patiently. "Not even you can confuse a bunch of Viking trash with space travel."

"It's not trash. We're talking major artefacts."

"It is so trash. Where do you think they find this stuff? In rubbish heaps," Jarron said reasonably. "What's that saying? 'One person's trash--another person's treasure??"

"And what was that crack, about 'not even me??"

Jarron went on as though he hadn't spoken. "Did you ever think there might be a good reason someone threw that stuff away?"

Nick muttered derisively, "What else can I expect from someone whose fame is fungus?"