The Vision by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

and pans—
    or as if chains were being furiously shaken.
    Marshall Miro was aware of the sound, deep in the fog of sleep. He twisted and turned.
    He almost awoke. The sound was unsettling. It reminded him of…
    What?
    Something…unpleasant.
    He fought the sensation and the noise. His body clock informed him it was too early to wake up.
    So he didn’t.

    Jack Payne was vaguely aware of a noise. It fit right in with the video game he was
    playing in his dreams. The game was called Kick-Ass Karena, and kick-ass it was.
    Gorgeous animated women battled one another and the player for supremacy. And when
    a guy won, it was all his: the booze, the women and the victory, hot or ruthless.
    The sound just seemed to be part of the game.
    Victor heard a noise and woke up with a start. For several seconds, he just sat up in bed
    wondering what the hell had woken him up.
    He heard nothing. Nothing at all.
    Groaning, he lay back down and prayed for a little more shut-eye.

    Jay Gonzalez never quite made it up. The noise seemed to be coming from a distance. He
    wanted to get up. Wanted to stop it. But there were times when he fell asleep with the
    lights or the television on, then wanted them off but couldn’t quite rouse himself enough
    to do it.
    He didn’t even open his eyes, despite the fact that the sound disturbed him deeply. It
    brought to mind things that were…uncomfortable. Painful. It touched memories that….
    That he wished would remain lost.
    Ignore it, he told himself. Sleep.
    The sound would be gone by morning.

    Thor bolted up. What in God’s name was going on?
    He slid his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t turn on a light, having learned it was
    better to cloak oneself in darkness to check whatever might be going on in the light.
    Barefoot, he walked softly to the door of his bungalow and looked out.
    A benign moon fell over the sand, water and nearby cottages. It was a serene picture. A
    semitropical night in paradise, all as it should be.
    So where the hell had the noise come from?
    Looking at the next bungalow, he saw that it was alive with light. It was Genevieve’s
    bungalow, he was certain. Okay, so she liked things bright. Couldn’t hang her for that.
    Not that he wanted to hang her. Just…
    Why the hell couldn’t the woman be normal?
    He started, suddenly certain he had heard a scream.
    Or not.
    It almost seemed as if the sound had come from inside his own head. He studied the
    cottage next to his own. If anything was wrong…
    Swearing, he strode toward her lighted window.

    Genevieve stared at her reflection in the mirror, all but paralyzed.
    Okay, this was frightening. A dream was one thing. Hopping out of bed to plunge into the
    water in the middle of the night was another. What the hell was happening to her?
    She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a hurried knocking at her door. She
    glanced at her watch. Five-thirty-five. Not as late as she had wanted to sleep, but early
    enough to get up for the day. Early enough for someone to be knocking at her door?
    Then she heard her name called, softly but urgently. “Genevieve?”
    She froze, recognizing the voice.
    “Are you all right in there?”
    She strode to the door, opening it to see Thor Thompson, as expected.
    But for once he wasn’t laughing at her; he actually looked concerned.
    “Uh, good morning,” she murmured, holding tightly to the door. “Of course I’m all right.
    Why are you asking?”
    He stared at her as if she were suffering from something contagious. She realized she still
    had seaweed in her hair. Self-consciously, she reached for it.
    “You didn’t hear a…racket?” he asked her.
    “What?”
    He sighed, pointing to the neighboring cottage. “That’s me, next door. It sounded as if
    something was…clanking over here, and then it sounded like a scream.”
    “Clanking?” she repeated blankly.
    He shrugged, looking ill at ease. With her—or himself? “Yeah, clanking, clanging…like
    chains. You