Free Deadly Visions by Roy Johansen

he when he heard these voices?”
    O'Connor gestured around the studio. “Around here, mostly.”
    “Did anybody else hear them?”
    “Not at the time. That's why I thought he was daft. Not daft, maybe, but exhausted. He was practically living here. The album was late, and the label wanted it something awful. But something strange happened when I came in here to try and wrap things up. That's what made me call you fellas last night.”
    “What happened?”
    “I was cataloguing some of the tracks he'd laid down for this song, and I heard something I couldn't explain.” O'Connor's fingers glided over his console. “Listen for yourself. This was a percussion track that Murphy recorded sometime in the last week of his life.”
    O'Connor pushed a button and moved up a slider until they heard a slow, rhythmic drumbeat throughthe sound booth's speaker system. Chris suddenly pointed at the speakers. There was a faint whispering sound.
    “Hear that?” he said.
    “What was it?” Carla asked.
    O'Connor grinned. “I couldn't tell at first either. I thought maybe Glen was trying to lay in a subliminal message or something.” He pushed a red button.”So I filtered out the drum and took a closer listen. Here's what I came up with.”
    He pushed another slider, and a low voice whispered from the speakers, “
Come with us, Murphy…. Die with us, Murphy….
”
    Carla stepped away from the speaker as if the voice might reach out and grab her.”Holy shit.”
    “
Leave your world behind you, Murphy…. The time has come….
”
    The whispers had a bizarre, ethereal quality unlike anything he'd heard, Joe thought. “Is this what Murphy claimed to be hearing?”
    O'Connor nodded.”Near as I can tell. He was wearing headphones playing the other tracks while he recorded this, so he might not have known he actually got the voice on tape. But he described it to us, and this sounds like it.” O'Connor rewound the recording and played the whispers back.
    “
Die with us, Murphy….
”
    Howe pointed through the booth's glass window. “Are you telling me that this voice somehow came from that room?”
    O'Connor nodded. “That's where the microphones are.”
    Carla nervously moistened her lips.”This is incredible. Most of those victims claimed to hear voices, but this is our first evidence that they actually existed.”
    “Can you make us a copy of this?” Joe asked.
    O'Connor picked up a CD and handed it to him. “Already done, my friend. I hope it helps. You know, I think I may leave it in the song. Couldn't hurt sales, you know. I think this is going to be the album's breakout single.”
    “What's it called?” Carla asked.
    “'Nothing but the Stars.'A real catchy tune.”
    Sam Tyson stared at the boom box in the cluttered back room of his downtown magic store. “Jeez, kind of chills you to the bone, doesn't it?”
    Joe pushed the stop switch. He'd made a cassette copy of Murphy's percussion track before turning the CD over to the police crime lab. The techs already knew that the song's title,”Nothing but the Stars,” had been “read” by Monica at Murphy's crime scene, and they pestered him for an explanation. All in good time, he'd told them. “The voice doesn't sound real, does it?”Joe said.
    “Neither does the music, for that matter. How do people listen to that crap?” Sam picked up an armload of packing straw and shoved it into a wood crate. He was packing up a custom-built illusion he called Ice of Atlantis to send to a Las Vegas magician who had become rich performing Sam's spectacular tricks.
    Joe smiled.”Let's forget for a moment that you hate any music past Rudy Vallee's time.”
    “I'm not that old, kid.”
    “Crosby and Sinatra's time.”
    “Now you're talking.”
    “Most of the spotlight murder victims heard strange voices in the last days of their lives. This is the only recording we have. Do you know anybody who specializes in audio tricks?”
    “Like ventriloquism?”
    “Not exactly.