Summary: It has been three years since the massacre on Harper's Island. The island is abandoned, as the island's economy took a nosedive after the killings. Rumors of sightings of John Wakefield and other ghosts abound, as do rumors of disappearances on or near the island. When Abby, now living back in LA, learns that Jimmy has disappeared and may be on the island, she heads for Seattle and, along with Shea Allen, enlists the help of Aaron Thomas, a local fisherman with his own ties to the island, and some other locals to find him. What they discover on the island is that some evil does not die easily. And that love can be found where you least expect it.
She was running through the woods to the marina. She needed to meet the chopper to the mainland. She needed to escape from him.
The marina was in sight. The chopper was just setting down. She tried to run the last few yards, but she was knee deep in syrup. She could barely move. It became increasingly harder to make each step. If she didn't make that chopper, he would find her and kill her. She needed to get away. She needed to get away from him.
When she reached the Marina, she lost her footing and fell. When she looked up the chopper was taking off. "Wait," she cried, getting up. "Wait for me!" The words seemed to echo around her. The pilot didn't seem to hear her or see her. He just kept climbing higher and higher. She continued to call out until the chopper was out of sight.
She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands, crying. She was trapped. There was no way out. He would find her, and he would kill her.
When she finally looked up, there he was standing at the end of the dock. John Wakefield. He stared at her. She stared at him. He slowly raised the boarding knife and pointed it at her. She watched as blood dripped off of it. The blood of her friends. Their eyes met. She could see the anger in them. Then he spoke. The same word. "Soon." Only the voice wasn't Wakefield's. It was Henry Dunn's.
Abby Mills sat up in bed, breathing heavily. She had had that same dream every night for nearly a year. Jimmy Mance had been a terrific support through those first nights after the nightmare had first appeared. Now, though, he was three months into a six month job on a fishing schooner. He was out at sea and wouldn't be home until it was over. She had received a few letters postmarked from various cities and towns along the west coast. The last one was dated one month ago and was from Seattle.
As the dreams continued, she had gone to see a psychiatrist who turned out to be no help at all. Her only suggestion was that Abby return to Harper's Island to confront her demons. She had walked out of the session, but not before letting the doctor know exactly how she felt with some carefully selected four letter words.
Abby went to the bathroom and washed her face. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but smile a little at her disheveled appearance. Abby Mills, you look like hell, she thought. She then turned and walked back into the bedroom. She got back into bed and soon fell asleep. This time, however, the dream was different.
She was standing in the lobby of the Candlewick Inn. It hadn't changed much since she had been there last, except for the layer of dust that now covered everything. As she looked around, she noticed that there was a key missing from the rack behind the front desk—the key to room 209.
As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, a mixture of dread and anticipation filled her. It continued to grow as she approached the room—the one where she had stayed the last time she was here, the one where she watched John Wakefield murder her father.
She saw the key in the door from halfway down the hall. When she reached it, she started to knock, but then thought better of it. Instead she reached for the knob. As soon as her hand was on it a woman from inside the room said, "Come in, Abby."
She hesitated. The voice sounded very familiar, but she couldn't place it, perhaps because it was muffled by the door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. From the doorway, she couldn't see any one. She slowly stepped into the room and turned the corner and saw no one sitting on the bed. Confused, she took a quick look in the bathroom, and saw no one there either.
Looking back into the room, she saw a note lying on the pillow nearest her. She slowly walked toward it and picked it up. When she unfolded it, something fell out. She bent down and picked it up. It was a picture of Jimmy and her in Chinatown that they had taken two days before Jimmy had left. In a panic, she looked at the note. It said:
I have him. Come get him
She gasped. This can't be happening, she thought. He's dead. I saw Henry stab him. A hand on her shoulder made her turn around. Trish Wellington was standing there, wearing the wedding dress she had died in. "We need your help Abby," she said.
"I can't," Abby said, backing away.
"You have to," said another voice, a young man's, from behind her. She turned and was face to face with Sully. "You're the only one who can save us."
"You're dead," Abby said, looking from Sully to Trish. "I can't help you."
"Save him, Abby" Trish said in a soft voice, pleading. "Save Jimmy. Save us."
With a start the dream ended. Abby sat up in bed, sweat dripping off her forehead. The sun had just started coming up. In an hour she would need to go to work, but right now her heart wasn't in it. The dream had shaken her up pretty good. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them.
It was then that she noticed the paper in her hand. It was folded like the note in her dream. She opened it and a photograph fell out. It landed right-side up and her breath froze. It was the picture from her dream. She quickly opened the note—and dropped it on the bed when she saw it was also from her dream. She jumped out of her bed and stared at the note and the picture.
What the hell is going on? she thought.