Desires of the Dead (15 page)

He tugged his hoodie over his bare chest, and then he leaned down to kiss her one last time, his lips lingering.

His thumb traced the line of her cheek. “I love you, Violet Marie. I’ll always love you.”

And then he left.

And, once again, Violet slept deeply, soundly, wrapped in Jay’s shirt.

He was the perfect remedy to all her worries.

Jay had to work the next day, but he called frequently. Checking in to make sure Violet was feeling all right, that she hadn’t changed her mind about their decision, and that she missed him. Violet called him just to hear the sound of his voice. And to make unfairly suggestive comments, taunting him across the phone lines.

Violet loved this new game. Jay would groan uncomfortably from the other end, but he never cut her off.

Violet continued to ignore all of the calls that weren’t from Jay. Not just the ones from the anonymous caller but also those from Sara Priest.

Sara had left another voice mail for Violet, and even though she was no longer calling from the FBI field offices, Violet felt no less threatened by the subject matter. She just wasn’t ready to deal with that part of her life, especially while she was still getting used to this new twist in her relationship with Jay.

But by afternoon, Violet was lonely and bored. She sat in her bedroom, trying to concentrate on her homework, as memories of their night together continued to distract her. She could practically
feel
Jay’s skin against hers, his lips glancing over her body in previously undiscovered locations. Even thinking about it made her feel flushed and dizzy.

She couldn’t stop herself from stealing a look out her bedroom window. The wind was blowing, harder than before, and the tall trees around her house rocked, thrashed about by the strong gusts.

Violet loved the wind.

She tried to stay focused on her reading assignment, but the noises outside her window beckoned her. She closed the book, setting it aside. She couldn’t just sit inside on such a great afternoon.

In no time, she had changed and was making her way along the same path she’d run hundreds of times before. She skipped her iPod in favor of the sounds of the wind rushing past her, whipping strands of her own hair against her face, gathering leaves and debris and rustling them along the ground.

For the first time in weeks, Violet allowed her mind to empty as she ran with complete abandon. The air that blew around her was brisk; she could smell the chill, and she inhaled it deeply. But as long as she kept moving, she stayed warm. Only the exposed skin of her cheeks tingled from the icy drafts.

Overhead, branches creaked in protest as they were bent too far by sudden gusts. Violet looked up and watched the treetops rocking wildly above her. The gales were getting stronger as the sun moved lower against the sky.

She continued to run, appreciating the power of the mounting storm.

Somewhere nearby, a branch snapped, and Violet slowed, realizing just how hard the wind was blowing. The sky grew dusky as twilight descended, casting a shadowy hue across the forest as the trees above her shivered and waved.

She was no longer certain she was safe beneath the canopy of evergreens. They were no match against the sheer force of the escalating wind. She knew where she was, and she knew that the fastest way out of the woods was to move off trail and to head toward the road.

She stepped through the brush, moving as quickly as she could. She passed rotting stumps and climbed across fallen trees. She wasn’t far, and as long as there was still light, she could find her way easily.

The hem of her running pants snagged on a gnarled branch that tangled through the undergrowth, and Violet tugged her leg. The wind continued to pound her, whipping her face as she leaned into it now, keeping her head low.

As she bent to free her pant leg, she saw something flicker. Strange that she noticed it at all, and she turned her head toward it, squinting. After a moment, the same white light seemed to come out of nowhere. A blink.

Whatever it was, it had Violet’s attention and she moved in that direction, away from the main road. She could see where it was coming from, flashing from between the trees, and as darkness fell, it became clearer, easier to locate. But as she neared it, she questioned what it was she thought she’d seen.

Ahead of her, Violet approached the back of a house. She walked slowly, watchfully, until she was practically standing in a backyard.

Night seemed to drop in suddenly, leaching all of the remaining light until she felt as if she were inside a void, looking out. The house was bleak and weary-looking, even from behind, and she realized, after just a moment of studying it, that she’d seen this house before.

Inside the lights were off but, behind the glass, from between the curtains of a single window, the flickering continued, sending broken fragments of light into the blackness that encircled Violet. She blinked, recognizing what the sputtering light reminded her of, and she wondered if there was a television on somewhere inside the house.

The wind blistered her back, blasting her and tangling its icy fingers through her hair. Another branch, this one practically right above Violet, cracked loudly. She jolted, feeling suddenly dizzy, but her eyes never left the window.

And then Violet realized why it couldn’t be the light from a TV that she was witnessing. She scanned the property, looking beyond it to the street on the other side.

There was blackness for as far as she could see. No streetlights, no signals in the distance.
Nothing
.

The electricity was out. The windstorm had taken out all the power to the area.

And inside the house the white flash burst again.

Violet knew what it was. She recognized it from the night she’d woken in her house. In the dark it was almost unmistakable. It was the imprint that matched the dead cat.

Whoever had killed the animal was in there.

She stumbled backward, trying to create some distance as she made her way toward the road . . . and away from Mike’s house.

By the time Violet got home, she’d had time to think. More than enough time.

She’d been cautious along the darkened streets, where the wind wasn’t filtered, where she wasn’t protected by the layers of trees and brush, and some of the gusts had nearly knocked her off her feet. Small trees and branches littered the roadways like an obstacle course, and they’d continued to fall as she picked her way among them toward her house.

The power was out all the way home, and the blackness was oppressive. Just one more obstacle forcing her to pay extra care to every step she took.

Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just seen. The lone bursts of light amid a canvas of shadows, flickering from that one window and reminding Violet that someone had been stalking her. Leaving her messages . . . and worse.

And now she knew who that person was.

She’d known immediately,
without question
, that it wasn’t Mike. She’d seen him too many times since the cat had been left for her; she would have recognized the imprint on him easily. And she would never forget the feminine handwriting on the note, the pink paper and the scented pen.

She also remembered seeing Mike’s little sister flirting with Jay the only other time she’d been at Mike’s house, when Megan hadn’t realized that Violet was waiting in the car, watching them.

The very thought of the pretty girl killing that poor little cat made Violet’s skin crawl. She couldn’t imagine what kind of twisted human being could wrap their fingers around an animal’s neck and snap it, for any reason . . . let alone to send some sort of sick message.

And just what was that message supposed to be? What had Violet done to make the girl hate her so much? Why did Violet deserve to be despised?

It didn’t matter, though, did it? Whatever her reason, whatever she thought Violet had done, she was sick, and someone had to stop her. Before she hurt something,
or someone
, again.

Violet knew it was time to stop keeping secrets. She had to tell Jay.

Her dad had been waiting for her on the front porch, holding a flashlight and pacing. He rushed to meet her at the road. Violet was trembling, both from the cold of the cutting wind and from the disturbing discovery she’d made in the woods.

“Violet,” her father scolded, taking off his coat and throwing it around her shoulders. “What were you thinking, going out on a night like this? Your mother was about to call in the National Guard.” He squeezed her tightly as he led her up the steps. Violet leaned into him, her teeth chattering. “Come on, there’s a fire in the woodstove, and I bet you could talk your mom into making you some hot cocoa.”

He was right, of course. Her mom was so relieved that she forgot to lecture Violet for taking off in the middle of a windstorm. Violet sat as close as she could to the woodstove without actually burning herself, until the warmth began to find its way into her numb fingertips and toes, and the chill was chased away.

The wind howled as it continued to pummel the house, and the sound of branches and treetops cracking intermittently filled the night. Inside they lit candles and used flashlights to get around.

Violet knew that if the power stayed out, her father would go out to the garage and set up the generator. But generally, in storms like these, the power was back on in hours rather than days, so until then they would just wait it out.

Violet wanted to call Jay, to tell him what she’d learned, to tell him everything, but not with her parents so nearby. They had gathered together, staying close to the fire to keep warm while the temperatures outside continued to plummet.

Violet’s mom handed her a mug of steaming hot chocolate, and Violet wrapped her still icy fingers around it, inhaling the rich scent. “Thanks,” she breathed.

Her mom sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. She patted Violet’s leg. “So I know you didn’t want to make a big deal of it,” she started, “but I invited Uncle Stephen and Aunt Kat and the kids over for your birthday.” Before Violet could protest, she held up her hand. “It won’t be a party. Just dinner. And a cake.” She looked pleased with herself as she added, “And presents.”

“Yeah? And it’s not a party?” Violet complained.

Her mom grinned. “Come on. We just want to wish you a happy birthday. Jay and his mom are coming too. It’ll be fun.”

Violet rolled her eyes. She knew there was no point arguing; she’d already lost this particular battle. She realized even before the conversation had started that her mom was going to throw her a party, regardless of what she wanted. “Fine,” Violet finally conceded. “But no hats. And no streamers or balloons. Seriously, it’s just a birthday
dinner
. Okay?”

“Agreed. No streamers,” her mom promised.

“Or balloons.”

Her mom sighed as if Violet was ruining everything. “Fine, no balloons either.”

Violet smiled, lifting her mug and taking a sip of the steamy chocolate inside. It felt good going down. “And, Mom . . .” she added quietly.

“Hmm?”
her mom answered, lost in her own thoughts, probably dreaming of ways to get around the no-balloon rule.

“Thank you,” Violet whispered.

Chapter 19

When Violet awoke, the power was back on. All the switches must have been in the on position, because where it had once been black, light now radiated into every corner, every crevice. She was certain that was what had awakened her.

She and her mom had fallen asleep at opposite ends of the same couch, and their legs were tucked beneath the heavy blanket they shared. Outside, Violet could still hear the wind whistling low and deep as it danced around the house, but it was so much quieter than the unremitting pounding she’d fallen asleep to.

The overhead light turned off, and Violet sat up to peer at her dad. “What time is it?” she whispered, trying not to disturb her mom.

He glanced at his watch. “Just after midnight. Power just came on, so the house should be warm in a few minutes, if you want to go up to bed.”

Violet stretched as she untangled her legs from her mom’s; her neck ached from leaning crookedly against the armrest. Her dad went back to closing up the house, checking windows and doors and turning off light switches.

Violet went to her bedroom, working out the kinks in her neck along the way. But as she left the warmth of the woodstove behind, she realized that her dad was right about the heat. It was still freezing, although she could hear the old furnace working now, and she knew the heat would kick in soon.

She tugged on a sweatshirt and climbed beneath her blankets, covering her head before dialing Jay’s number on her cell phone.

He answered on the second ring. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours. You okay?”

“Yeah, the power just came back on. Yours?”

“It’s only been on for about ten minutes.” And then his voice took on a completely different quality. “I was kind of hoping you’d need someone to keep you warm.”

Violet smiled, curling into a ball against the chill and letting the heat from his words creep through her. “You wish. You know, that’s all you seem to think about lately,” she teased. She heard him laugh, and she smiled, enjoying the moment. And then she sighed, ruining it. “Jay, we need to talk.”

“Sounds serious.” His tone was still mischievous. Violet wished she could play along.

“It is.”

There was a pause, and then, “Do you want me to come over?”

“No.” Violet hesitated. It seemed so much harder now. She’d been thinking about this all evening, replaying the words in her head, in conversation after conversation. And in every one, she’d felt so confident, so sure. Now, not so much.

She sighed again.

“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out, Vi. What’s wrong?”

She shook her head against the handset. “I saw something tonight.” Again she felt so
un
sure.
Crap! Why was this so hard?
“I went for a run before it was too windy, and while I was out there I saw an echo. An imprint, actually, of an echo that I’ve seen before.”

His voice was playful once more. “You’ve seen
a lot
of echoes, Vi.”

He still didn’t get it.

“You know I haven’t been entirely honest lately, that something’s been bothering me.” She was sitting up now, no longer cold. She let out a breath. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The truth would be good.” There was nothing playful about his tone now, but there was no going back.

She took another breath. “A couple of weeks ago someone left a dead cat at my house. It was the middle of the night, but I know it was meant for me, because whoever put it there left the box next to my car.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Violet worried that she’d made a mistake confiding in him. “Jesus, Violet, why didn’t you tell me? Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?” She could practically hear him raking his hand through his hair, just as he always did when he was stressed.

And that was exactly why she hadn’t said anything. That, and his next unambiguous words.

“What did your uncle say?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She knew Jay would be upset when he heard her response. She braced herself. “I haven’t told anyone else. You’re the only one who knows.”

“Why would you keep this to yourself? What if someone’s after you again? What if whoever did this decides that a dead cat isn’t threatening enough? Was it that guy from the movies last week?” He sounded breathless, and she knew he was pacing. “I’m coming over,” he insisted. “We have to tell your uncle.”

“Wait, Jay
. Please
, just . . .
wait
,” Violet cut him off. “Just let me finish. It wasn’t the guy from last week.”

She heard him exhale. “Okay. Fine. Go ahead. . . .”

“I do know who left it, though,” she continued before she could change her mind again. “The imprint I saw tonight—the one from the cat—it was coming from inside Mike’s house.”

At first Violet thought the line might have gone dead; Jay said nothing.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was like a dry whisper, barely a breath. “Hello?”

“I’m here.” But there was an edge now that Violet hadn’t heard before, one that had nothing to do with concerns for her safety. She could feel her heart plummeting. “So what are you saying, Vi? You think Mike left the dead cat? You think
Mike
did that?”

“No, not at all.” She leaned forward, needing him to understand. “There were other things that happened. A note, the one that was left on your car; it wasn’t from Chelsea. I didn’t know who put it there, but it was from a girl. And there were some hang-up calls.” Her heart was hammering as she got closer to it, hovering near the threshold of her accusation, and when she finally made it, her voice came out reedy and weak. “I think it was Mike’s sister.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him in that moment, but it certainly wasn’t anything like the response she got.

“Megan?”
he countered, his voice incredulous. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, Jay. But I think it’s safe to say she’s messed up.” Frustration flared, setting her cheeks on fire. Violet recalled the way the girl had flirted with Jay the night they’d stopped at her house to drop off Mike’s wallet. “Maybe she likes you. Maybe she doesn’t like that we’re together, and she wishes that
she
was your girlfriend.”

And then he laughed. Softly. Just beneath his breath.

But that was all it took. Violet bristled, her back stiffening as resentment overshadowed reason. “What the hell, Jay? This is definitely not funny. Whatever her problem is, it’s serious. She killed a cat. And for some twisted reason, she left it at my house as some sort of
message
. And then there was the note. She’s a psycho, Jay. She needs help.”

Violet waited. She wanted him to say something,
anything
, to let her know that he understood. She squeezed a handful of her quilt in her fist, balling it tightly and then releasing it as she waited for his response.

“I think you’re wrong, Violet.”

Violet squeezed her eyes shut.

“They’ve been through so much this year. Mike’s mom isn’t around, and his dad is barely hanging on. Mike’s sister is pretty much all he has left.”

The last thing she wanted right now was to feel sorry for Megan. “It doesn’t change what I saw.”

“Maybe you were confused. It was dark, maybe it wasn’t an echo at all. We both know you’ve been wrong before. Remember Mrs. Webber?”

But Violet didn’t need Jay to remind her of her first-grade teacher. That was entirely different; Violet had only been six when her teacher had come to school carrying the shadowy aura that she hadn’t worn the day before. The dark air that clung to her skin like heavy black smoke had terrified Violet, and she’d run from the classroom, forcing the school nurse to call her parents.

By the time her mother had finished picking up Violet’s class work from Mrs. Webber, the teacher had confided to her that she’d run over a raccoon on her way to school that morning.

And Violet had learned to be careful in making assumptions.

But this time she wasn’t confused. She felt the sting behind her lids as she blinked furiously to ward away the tears.

Hadn’t Jay just assured her he was still her best friend? Hadn’t they just spent the night in each other’s arms, making promises and whispered pledges? Hadn’t she given herself to him completely? How could he question her? Especially now. Over this.

“I’m not wrong,” she insisted quietly. It pissed her off that her voice betrayed her, making her sound weak instead of determined. “You’re wrong, Jay. This time, you’re wrong.”

She hung up the phone, no longer fighting the tears. She leaned down, curling around her pillow and sobbing, using it to muffle her frustrated cries. She didn’t try to stop herself, didn’t try to tell herself that everything would be okay; she just let the tears come. She let herself
feel
everything.

For the first time in months, she let herself feel angry, betrayed, afraid, alone. Everything that she’d so carefully tucked away.

She cried until her eyes were raw and her face was swollen. She felt drained and empty. Hollow. It felt good, the nothingness. And when she finally felt nothing at last, she slept.

Her phone was ringing—or vibrating, in this case—from beneath her pillow. Violet dug it out and squinted at the small screen.

Her eyes felt like they’d been scraped with steel wool. She tried to rub away the grittiness, but it was hard to see through the watery haze. The LED screen glowed in the darkness.

The clock on her nightstand told her it was 2:03.

The caller ID on her phone said:
Unknown Caller.

Her breath lodged in her throat, and her pulse quivered as she hauled herself up. She thought about ignoring the call. But she had to make a decision fast, or she would miss it. She closed her eyes and hit Answer.

She cleared her throat. “Hello?” Her voice was still scratchy.

Like before, there was nothing from the other end. Violet strained to hear, listening for something, anything that would confirm the girl’s identity. She cupped her hand over her other ear.

“Hello?”
Violet repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Silence was the only response.

Violet was nervous, but when she spoke, she tried to sound confident. “I know who you are,” she stated quietly.

And there it was.

She’d heard it that time. Without a doubt, something—
someone
—on the other end. She was sure now that the girl was listening. Violet had her attention.

She heard a brief rustling, as if the phone were moved, being repositioned.

She waited a moment and then tried again. “I know what you did,” Violet said as calmly as she could. Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest, slamming violently against her aching ribs. “I know you killed that cat.”

The stillness around her was unbearable. The quiet in the house was matched only by the silence from the caller. Violet suddenly had second thoughts about her accusations; somehow, saying them out loud to the person she suspected of committing them made them sound strangely absurd. She had a fleeting insight into what Jay must have felt.

Not that it mattered; he should have trusted her.

She took a breath, deciding that she didn’t care how it sounded. She wasn’t wrong. “I know it’s you, Megan.” Her voice dropped even lower, if that were even possible, until she could barely hear herself. “And so does Jay.”

On the other end, there was a barely audible sound. Violet thought it might have been a breath, a sigh, or maybe the whisper of a moan. She couldn’t be certain. But after that moment, after that brief lapse, there was nothing but a deafening hush.

Nothing.

Megan had hung up on her.