Samantha Ranvali hasn't slept in months. Haunted by memories of a brutal attack, she seeks an experimental cure. Doctors call her treatment a success -- until she begins having nightmares of a violent murder strikingly similar to her own assault. The line between sleeping and waking blurs even further when she discovers the body of a friend in a scene that seems to have come straight from her dreams. A recording of Bach's "Goldberg Variations" plays nearby -- a sinister calling-card for a mystery that Samantha soon discovers spans more than two hundred years. As the killings continue, Samantha and her former lover start tracking down clues to these ritualistic crimes, digging deeper into Sam's past. Every murder reveals that an age-old curse has taken hold of her world. And every clue brings her closer to the revelation that she may be the next victim. Night Visions is stunning suspense that masterfully blends historical richness with modern-day terror.

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Night Visions
A Novel of Suspense

Chapter One

Night Terrors

Thursday

Her eyes open suddenly in the darkness. At first there is onlypanicked breathing and the tympani of a pounding heart.She struggles to lift her arms and legs but can't move. Car tiresscreech on the street below, and she turns her head toward thewindow. Moisture beads on the inside of the pane. She triesagain to move, straining until her body rises like an anchorfrom deep waters. One at a time, her feet touch the floor, andshe begins to feel safe. Sweat bleeds through both sides of herT-shirt.

The bedside clock reads 3:20.

That night, she isn't focused on the match. Her opponent, abeginner, hopes to win by brute force, but fencing is aboutrefinement, strategy, precision. En garde. Relying on strengthslows him down, and his body telegraphs each move. Onceagain, he overcommits to the attack, lunging too hard with littlesense of timing or distance. Her right arm feels heavy, slow. She blinks twice, trying to ease the sting of her tired eyes. Foils clasharound them, and she glances at a nearby duel. Each movementthere seems choreographed, almost rhythmic.

Suddenly, she sees the metallic masks as cold and tortured.The fencers look like the faceless men who come for her indreams. Coal-black eyes and bodies without shape. Her armstiffens and her rhythm falters. A brute force punches through.

He scores a point.

"Gotcha, Sam." He smiles arrogantly through the wire mesh.

The masks return to normal.

Other than giving her a few bruises, he hasn't accomplishedmuch in the last five minutes. Now, with this point, he can feelless embarrassed about losing to a woman. En garde. It's time tofinish the match and go home. She attacks on his preparation,lunges, and parries for a quick point. Match.

"Damn!" He yanks off his mask and glares.

"Maybe next time, Jim." Samantha tries to sound encouragingbut is too exhausted from her sleepless nights to really care.

"Yeah, yeah ... " He hesitates, and Samantha wonders if he isgoing to ask her out for a drink. Again. She has used a string ofunimaginative excuses to dodge his advances in the last fewmonths, and she senses his growing resentment about her lackof interest.

They shake hands, and instead of speaking, he turns abruptly.

She can't be bothered with his bruised ego, she thinks. He's apoor fencer and a sore loser. She walks to the locker room withher head down.

Samantha undresses slowly. Her white cotton T-shirt is dampand heavy with sweat. Standing before a full-length mirror, shenotices the way the light seems to reflect off the crescent-shapedscar on her abdomen. Its pallor disrupts the brown planes ofher skin.

An image suddenly appears. A blade slicing through her yellow shirt into the skin. Her attacker's hand steady, the motioneven and smooth.

She blinks, moving her head quickly from side to side.

She pulls a loose gray sweatshirt over her head, then frees theback of her shoulder-length hair from the collar. She grabs thegym bag at her feet and looks again in the mirror. Her thin bodyseems frail in the reflection. Dark circles have formed underneathher deep brown eyes.

She leaves the club without saying good-bye to anyone.

A cold, steady wind pours honey-thick fog over the hills of SanFrancisco. Samantha wraps a thin coat around her body andhurries past the vacant shops and dark office buildings. Even ina city this large, the streets can feel empty. Shadows from treesand parking signs quiver under the yellow streetlights, and herfootsteps ricochet against the brick and plaster walls. At timesshe changes the rhythm of her steps to hear the sounds shift. Itmakes her feel less alone.

Samantha parked near her favorite church in the city. It's afew blocks out of the way, but she likes listening to the choir thatrehearses on Thursday evenings. In the vestibule, she picks upthe program for Sunday Mass, then steps into the nave. Dozensof candles glow peacefully in front of an altar to the Blessed VirginMary. Some of her white toes have turned flesh-coloredfrom the hands and lips of the faithful. Her outstretched armspoint downward.

Samantha has often considered lighting candles in a gestureof prayer but can't bring herself to worship. Instead, she sits inone of the back pews. It smells like dry leather and incense.

Inhaling deeply, she thinks about the long-ago Sunday morningswith her family. While Father slept, Mother would get herand Rachel ready for church. Then after dressing in their nicestoutfits -- faces shiny with makeup and hair brushed back and clipped -- the sisters sprang into action. They pulled hair andtugged at clothes. They yelped and screeched while chasing eachother through the house, dodging precariously close to endtables and floor lamps. Invariably someone fell. Invariably someonecried for Mother. A few scratches and quickly forgottentears later, they were out the door at 8:40. Mother in the middle.One girl clinging to her right hand, the other to her left.

All of this while Father slept.

The brisk walk in the cool air never failed to restore peace.Mother smelled like orange blossoms and lilacs, and her long,soft dress moved in waves as she walked. Samantha remembersthinking she wanted to smell that way when she grew up.She wanted to take long strides and wink while smiling. A fewminutes before Mass, they climbed up the wide marble stairs,dipped their fingers into a bowl of holy water, and slid into ahard wooden pew. They fidgeted and half-listened as the prieststarted muttering in Latin that couldn't drown out a chorus ofcrying babies. The mixture of colognes, perfumes, and sweatmade her dizzy ...

Excerpted from Night Visions: A Novel of Suspense by Thomas Fahy
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