~ A/N – This story picks up approximately 24 hours after The Ghost Writer ends. Please be aware that this is a sequel, and it will allude to prior events. Ghost Writer is currently hosted on Authonomy - details in my profile~

Please leave comment on Second Sight – I need constructive feedback and I will post all of it here for review. Thanks.~

PROLOGUE – WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS

April 5
4:02 p.m.

The little wedding chapel is cute, one of those fake Victorian houses that was built in the last decade but tries to capture some of the old world charm. Seeing a life size Elvis in the window sort of breaks the mood. The marquee outside the building claims that ceremonies can be performed in fifteen minutes, so maybe few find time to notice.

My view from the passenger seat of the unmarked police car is limited. The Las Vegas strip isn’t far from here, but I haven’t come for the atmosphere. My sister called me, claimed she was going to marry Jack Gallo, and then hung-up. What was Bailey thinking? What did Jack say to convince her to come? I don’t for a minute believe that blissful nuptials are planned. Just yesterday Jack tried to kill me. I think somewhere here in Las Vegas he’ll try the same with Bailey. I didn’t get the chance to tell my unsuspecting sibling that Jack was dangerous, and she hasn’t answered my phone calls in the twelve hours since.

A steady stream of happy couples walks through this part of town. Most appear relatively sober. They smile. None of the men look like a baseball bat wielding, coffin digging lunatic with a brunette hostage.

I figure I have until dark. Jack had a habit of committing his crimes after the sun sets.

Detective Beth Olsen has made the trek with me from Placerville. She sits beside me as we wait, parked across the street from the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. We’re both dressed in casual clothing, but I envy the tourist who walks by in the short sleeved shirt. In my rush to get here, I forgot I’d be sitting in a black car in the desert.

I pull at the collar of my sweater and roll down the window. No air moves outside, and I wonder why I bothered.

“Hale, we’ve been here over an hour,” Beth says, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yep.” I reply. One can never be completely sure when dealing with a psychic vision, but I have enough confidence to reassure her. “I keep hearing that Elvis tune in my head.” I point at the marquee that shows the song title. “I think Jack is humming it to annoy me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack seems to have the ability to get in my head, just as much as I’m able to get into his. It’s a bit . . . unusual, but the trail leads me here. So, I guess we wait.”

“Hum.” Beth looks over her shoulder. Another car is parked behind us, a black sedan with two occupants. I watch as they accept some hidden signal from my companion and get out of the car. They’re dressed nicely, the man in a suit, the woman in a linen skirt with a jacket and sensible shoes. I can only assume they’re the Las Vegas reinforcements that Beth called for.

“Why are they going inside?” I ask, watching the two officers walk across the street, hand in hand.

She looks at her watch, “Makes sense to make sure we didn’t miss them. They have the photo of your sister, and God knows it will be more comfortable inside the chapel with the air conditioning.”

“Did you find a picture of Jack Gallo anywhere?”

“Surprisingly, no. Believe me, we looked. No driver’s license, no birth certificate. Makes all this a bit harder.” She keeps her eyes on the building, “I wish I’d seen him myself last night. It would make things easier. Right now, we’re just working on your description. I still don’t get why the guy is after you and your sister.”

“Bailey’s convenient.” I’ve tried to explain a bit, but admittedly I left some parts out. “I’m the real target.”

“And you say that he changed his identity and altered his appearance so much you can’t even show me an old high school yearbook to help with the search?”

“The eyes are the same.” But he’s not the friend I remember. “That’s about it.”

I don’t like sitting. I’m nervous and I shift uncomfortably, trying to find space in the sedan where my long legs won’t be so cramped.

“I need to walk,” I announce, and get out to do just that.

Beth’s irritated voice carries through the open window. “Hale Marcum, get back in this car.”

I pretend not to hear her. I watch the cars go by, half expecting one to turn and park with our criminal inside. My eyes zero in on a white Toyota, but I'm disappointed as it roars on past. The sunlight is starting to fade, but I can still feel the heat of the desert radiating through the sidewalk. Something draws my gaze to the chapel across the street. At first, I think it’s the couple walking out the exit, but then I realize it’s the Elvis in the window.

He’s waving.

The subtle ruffle of the fingers is enough to pull all the air out of my lungs. I can’t be completely sure I haven’t just let my imagination take over. The white sequin jumpsuit is still. The face is concealed by tinted yellow sunglasses. Every hair in the wig is in place.

From inside the car, Beth asks, “Hale? What is it?”

“Elvis.” My eyes grow wide as I watch the manikin come to life and disappear behind the curtain.

I don’t stop to explain. I run across the street, the blare of a horn the only reminder that I should have looked both ways first. Breathless, though it has nothing to do with physical exertion, I pull open the chapel door with sweaty palms.

Inside the building is white: walls, rug and bright florescent light. Organ music plays the traditional wedding march, but I’m busy looking for Mr. Viva Las Vegas. He’s nowhere in sight. I hear a familiar voice, and turn to see my sister looking at me with a smile. She’s talking to the plainclothes detectives in one corner.

Has she been here this whole time?

“Hale, you—” she says.

I don’t let her finish. “Where did Elvis go?”

"What?” She blinks. The innocent look convinces me that Bailey didn’t realize that her intended was laying some sort of trap -that his real name is Juan Gallaraga and he has a vendetta.

“The manikin in the window.” I insist, “It was Jack.”

Beth has followed me inside. She draws her gun at my words. “I’ll go look around back.”

My gut clenches. I can tell that’s a bad idea. “Wait.”

But Beth has already darted through a side door out of sight.

“What’s going on?” Bailey asks. The police officers that were talking to her mobilize; one moves closer to her while the other exits the front door. My sister looks confused. “How did you find me? What are you—”

There’s no time to fill her in. I hear a door slam open from the rear of the building. It’s stupid to go running toward the sound, but I can’t help myself. I feel responsible. If anyone gets hurt it will be my fault.

“Wait here,” I throw back over my shoulder as I run towards the rear of the chapel.

The backdoor is open. I step outside and find Beth jogging back towards me. She’s alone.

“Where is he?” I ask, staring at the empty alley.

“I yelled for him to stop, but he started running.” Beth leaves her gun drawn as she points to the open door behind me. “I’m going to call for backup. I want you inside with your sister.”

For once, I agree with her. The detective breaks into a run, heading toward the street in the opposite direction, and I go back inside.

In the lobby my sister is waiting. Next to her is a man in a suit. It’s a black suit like he’s going to a funeral. Could it be the same outfit I saw him in yesterday?

How did he get changed so fast?

One of the police officers who came with me is reading from a card, “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Hale,” my sister walks over and clings to my arm. Tearfully, she says, “They say Jack killed someone. He walked in the front door and they started reading him his rights. What’s going on?”

I look at my nemesis. Amber eyes meet blue. The Elvis suit is gone, as is the beard I saw him with during our standoff last night. He looks like the documentary filmmaker my sister described. For half a heartbeat, I’m not sure that this is the same guy that Beth pursued down the alley.

Then he smiles. My sister’s hand on my arm is the only thing that stops me from moving forward and giving Jack a piece of my mind, or better yet, a punch in the jaw. I’m not a man prone to violence, but our last encounter has changed me. Maybe he sees some of that on my face, for his smile fades.

“Jack Gallo murdered Janet Gleeson and kidnapped Nadiya, buried her alive.” I say.

“What?” Bailey says, her grip on my arm tighter. “Impossible. How can you say that?”

“Because I saw him do it.”

My admission seems to take Jack by surprise. I wasn’t standing over him when he used a baseball bat to strike each woman, but my visions were vivid.

Before they lead Jack away, he taunts me one last time. “Sure about that Hale? Absolutely sure?”

The fact he just called me by name convinces me like nothing else. Only one person in this room is crazy. I’ll lay odds on any table in Vegas that it’s not me.