Desires of the Dead (20 page)

“May I?” Sara asked, stretching out her hand.

Violet was already handing it to her, and she waited while Sara read it. Violet chewed nervously on her lip.

“What do you think?” Violet finally asked.

Sara refolded the paper but didn’t hand it back to Violet. “It’s definitely a warning. And you think Rosie was supposed to be the cat, right?”

Violet nodded.

“Right,” Sara agreed. “What about the calls?”

“Hang-ups mostly, usually right when I answer them. But sometimes whoever it is stays on the line a little longer. I’ve talked to them, but they never answer me. I thought I knew who it was,” Violet admitted. “But it turns out I was wrong.”

Sara eyed Violet carefully as she asked her next question. “How can you be so sure you were wrong?”

Violet decided to be vague; the last thing she wanted to do was to drag Megan’s name into this. She’d been through enough already. “I just know. It wasn’t her.”

Sara weighed Violet’s words as she scrutinized her, not suspiciously but inquisitively. Violet felt as though she were being interrogated without a single word being uttered.

“So you think it was a girl then?” Sara finally asked. “Or, rather, you
thought
it was a girl?”

Violet shrugged. “Well, yeah. The note. And the handwriting . . .” It didn’t seem like a whole lot of evidence. But then the other part of her suspicion—the imprint she
thought
she’d seen—had proven to be mistaken. It hadn’t actually been Megan. She supposed that a boy
could
have forged the note.

“It is decidedly feminine in nature,” Sara agreed. “Even the tone of it. However, killing an animal is generally
not
female behavior. Not to say that it’s impossible, mind you. Anything’s possible, and I’ve seen some terrible, and extremely contradictory, things in my job. May I keep the note?”

Violet nodded eagerly. Hopefully. “So you’ll help me?”

Sara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Of course I will, Violet. I’ll do everything I can to figure out who would do this. Do you have any other leads or suspicions about who it might be? Have you made any enemies recently?”

Violet had gone over this again and again. She couldn’t think of anyone obvious.

She shook her head but then paused. There was someone who hated her, someone who had been hell-bent on making sure Violet
knew
how much she resented her.

“Lissie Adams.
Elisabeth
Adams,” Violet answered. “She goes to my school.”

Violet tried to recall the last time she’d seen Lissie at school. She couldn’t remember exactly, but it could have been before the cat had been left at her house.

Sara scribbled Lissie’s name on a notepad she’d pulled from her pocket. “Can I ask you one more question, before you go?”

Violet nodded again, this time a little more hesitantly.

“I understand that you’re not comfortable talking about this, and I respect that. I hope that in time you’ll feel you can confide in me.” Sara placed a hand on Violet’s knee. It was meant as an encouraging gesture, but to Violet it was terrifying. It meant that Sara was asking Violet to share her secrets. “I know you won’t tell me what it is that you can do, but can you answer me this?” She didn’t wait to see if Violet was willing or not; she just asked her question. “You
can
do something, can’t you?”

Chapter 24

Violet had driven home in complete silence, without even the radio to replace the buzzing that filled her head. She preferred the stillness; it gave her the opportunity to sort out what had just happened.

How had Sara gotten her to admit that she had a secret?

She hated the way she’d left things after that moment when she’d simply nodded her head. She’d felt dizzy almost immediately, regret pummeling her. She’d wanted to take it back . . . that slight, almost imperceptible bob of her chin. But it was too late. It was out there. And Sara had seen it.

Too late.

Violet had told Sara she had to go. She’d allowed the woman to walk her outside, but only because she was too afraid to go out there alone again, among the darkened warehouses.

But she’d realized sometime during the ride home that, despite being distressed over her confession, something else had changed too. Something she hadn’t anticipated.

She felt like a burden had been lifted.

She was sure she must be imagining it. Probably some sort of latent insanity finally rearing its ugly head. That sounded about right. She was crazy. It explained everything, really. The echoes, and dead cats, and serial killers. Insanity, all of it.

But she wasn’t about to question it, because whatever it was—her confession to Sara, or the realization that Megan wasn’t the one who’d been stalking her, or making up with Jay—she felt better. And that was a far nicer place to be than where she’d been before, wallowing in self-pity and loathing and fear.

She wasn’t about to second-guess it. Insanity might not be so bad after all.

Plus she’d slept a deep, dreamless sleep that night, and in the morning, when Jay arrived to drive her to school, she felt alive again. And happy.

Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t sharing her optimistic views on madness.

“Good morning,” Violet said cheerfully as Jay stomped into the kitchen without knocking.

He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. “Not really,” he grumbled in response.

Violet laughed as she grabbed her backpack. She wasn’t surprised that he was still pouting; this was pretty much how he’d looked yesterday, after he’d reluctantly agreed to let Violet handle things her way.

“Actually it is,” she insisted, stepping closer and kissing him on the cheek, demanding that he notice her for a moment. She wanted him to pay attention to what she had to say.

Luckily it didn’t take much to get Jay’s attention. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her there, gently pressing his lips to hers. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she wasn’t complaining. She let her backpack fall to the floor.

She’d missed the feel of his lips. And the warmth of his touch.

She reacted quickly, getting lost, first in one kiss, and then another. She wanted to stay there, giving herself over to him. He kissed her until her lips felt bruised and swollen, and still they yearned for more. Her head swam, and her heart was whole.

Yet she knew there was something she wanted to tell him, something important.

After a moment, she remembered what it was.

She pulled her head back, smiling at his frustration. Playfully she planted one last peck on his lips. “She’s gonna help,” she stated smugly.

Jay looked fuzzy, but then his expression cleared. And the scowl was back. “Are you sure? What did she say?”

“You don’t need to worry about anything. It was a good meeting. I explained everything, and I gave her the note.” Violet tilted her head and smiled. “She said she’d take care of it.”

She watched as his jaw flexed, and she knew this was hard for him, letting her handle things her way. But then he sighed, and even though it sounded more like he was choking, Violet was sure that he was exercising a level of restraint that was practically painful for him. It made her want to giggle. She was sure that must be another symptom of her newly arrived lunacy, but she managed
not
to laugh. Instead she cocked her head and somehow maintained a straight face.

When he didn’t say anything, didn’t, in fact, move, Violet raised her eyebrow inquisitively. “Are we good?” She almost lost it when she heard her voice and realized that she sounded like a schoolteacher scolding an errant child.

Jay frowned as if he were trying to decide, and Violet took that moment to soften her stance.

She lifted her backpack from the floor and, with her other hand, hooked her arm through his. “Come on. Let’s get to school so we don’t have to stop at the office and explain why we’re late.” She squeezed him reassuringly. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Trust me.”

“Aww! Look, Jules, they’re all kissed and made up. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?” Chelsea mocked as she dropped her lunch tray onto the table. But even with her voice dripping sarcasm, she winked at Violet when she thought Jay wasn’t looking.

Chelsea was interrupted when Mike came up behind her and put his hands over her eyes. Thankfully the attempted mustache was gone; his lip was smooth and clean-shaven.

“Guess who?”
he asked, and Violet smirked. If Chelsea had caught Jay playing such a childish game with Violet, she would have verbally crucified him for being lame. But with Mike, she totally played along.

“I don’t know, but I hope my boyfriend doesn’t see us together.” This time her honey-sweet voice
wasn’t
laced with arsenic.

They were kissing before Mike had even taken his seat beside her.

It was almost embarrassing to witness.

But that wasn’t why Violet felt herself squirming.

She wondered what Mike would think if he knew the things she’d said about his sister.

She had to remind herself that he
didn’t
know. The only person who knew was Jay, and he would never tell.

When Claire joined them, her face lit up. “Violet! You’re back!” she announced, drawing unwanted attention to Violet.

Violet glanced nervously at Mike, who just noticed she was sitting there. “Hey, welcome back,” he said. “Chelsea said you were really sick.”

Chelsea winked at Violet again, this time a little less subtly.

Violet smiled at her. “I’m better now.”

“Good,” Chelsea declared, brightening. “Then you won’t be ditching us this weekend.”

Violet stared at her blankly.

“This weekend . . .” Chelsea prompted. “The cabin. We’re all still going, right?” She smiled dazzlingly up at Mike, who seemed powerless to resist her.

He grinned back. “Of course.”

This weekend! God, is it really so soon? That’s, what, just two days from today?

Violet looked to Jay for help. “I don’t know . . .” she wavered. “I’m not sure I should.” She kept thinking about Mike and his family. About spending a weekend up there, in a small, snowbound cabin in the mountains with them. With her—
Megan
. Violet just didn’t think she could do it.

As usual, Jay understood Violet’s reluctance. “Maybe Violet’s right. She’s just getting better. She should probably take it easy this weekend.”

“I’m still going,” Claire interjected, in case Chelsea was taking a head count.

Chelsea glanced impatiently at Claire and then ignored her. “Oh, come on!” Chelsea complained to Violet. “Seriously? We had it all planned. You can’t bail on us now. You have to come. Please, Vi, I never ask for anything.”

“Umm, yeah, you do,” Violet pointed out.

Chelsea didn’t bother arguing. “Okay, yeah, but come on. This is important.” She was whining now, pleading with Violet. And then she turned on Jay. “You’re not thinking of crapping out too, are you?” She glared at him.

“Dude, no!” Mike practically shouted, finally realizing the implication of Violet staying home. It meant losing Jay for the weekend too. “You guys gotta come. My dad’ll hardly be around, so we’ll pretty much have the place to ourselves.”

Jay shook his head, and even though she knew he’d been looking forward to the trip, Violet heard him say, “Sorry, man, I don’t want her to get sick again.” He squeezed her hand beneath the table.

Violet suddenly felt guilty. Obviously their plans were hinging on her. If she didn’t go, Mike would be stuck up there with a group of girls and his dad. Besides, Chelsea would never forgive her for such a flagrant friend foul.

But an entire weekend with Megan.

Who did nothing, Violet reminded herself again. And who knew nothing about what Violet had suspected.

There really wasn’t a good reason
not
to go.

She tilted her head up to Jay, ignoring the daggerlike glares being shot at her by Chelsea—and probably by Mike too.

“You want to go, don’t you?” She lifted her eyebrows, knowing that the others could hear.

Jay grinned back at her, leaning closer, but not bothering to keep his voice down either. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for, Vi. I’ll do whatever
you
want. Don’t let Chels bully you.”

“I can hear you,” Chelsea complained.

Jay chuckled but never looked away from Violet. “Why don’t you think about it, and we’ll talk later?”

She smiled back at him. How did she get so lucky?

In the background, she heard Chelsea gloating. “They’re going. They’re
totally
going.”

Envy

She stood near the edge of the cafeteria, hiding. Watching.

She hated the way Mike and his friends laughed, the way he seemed to fit seamlessly into their group.

She wanted that too. To belong somewhere. Anywhere.

She’d thought maybe it would be different here. That this town, this school, might be special. That this time she would have real friends.

It was foolish, she knew that now, a child’s dream. And she wasn’t a child. She hadn’t been for a long time.

She fingered the hall pass in her hand, rubbing the paper between her thumb and forefinger, willing it to give her the strength she didn’t seem to possess on her own. She wanted to reach out to someone, to ask for help, but apparently she just wasn’t brave enough.

How many times would she request the office pass, only to change her mind before getting there? How many times could one person disappoint herself?

She stared enviously at Mike, keeping close to the pillar that hid her from view.

He didn’t belong either; he just didn’t realize it. He was no better than she was—worse, in fact. He was her brother; he was supposed to protect her, to look out for her. And yet he was oblivious to her suffering.

He looked up then, and Megan drew back, slipping all the way around the column so he couldn’t see her hiding there. Her hand tightened into a ball around the scrap of paper.

Her heart beat too fast as she waited. She didn’t want him to notice her; she didn’t want to face him while she was feeling like this.

Despair infected her.

She had friends too. Maybe not the kind of friends she’d dreamed of, but there were people she hung out with so that she didn’t stand out as some sort of freak.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was going to be different here.

On that first day, she’d had hope.

She was going to try; she was going to reach out, to let someone in. And she had, more than ever before, when she’d met him. . . .

Jay.

He was everything she could have hoped for, going out of his way to make them—her—feel welcome. He’d smiled when he’d introduced himself, and she’d actually felt something. He was telling her with that smile that he would be her friend. And maybe, someday, something more.

But she also recalled that other moment, could taste it like bitter bile. It was the moment she’d realized that he already had a friend. A girlfriend.

It was the moment that Megan had stopped feeling special.

Only that wasn’t entirely true, because Jay didn’t stop smiling at her. He didn’t stop inviting her to join him, and he even went so far as to use her brother to get closer to her. So, obviously, the girl—
his girl
—didn’t mean that much to him after all.

She was just the girl standing in Megan’s way.

Megan pounded her fist against the solid concrete of the column and peered around it once again. She pressed her cheek against the cool surface as she stared at her brother’s table.

Jay was still there. And so was Violet.

Why couldn’t Jay see Violet for the obstacle she really was? Why couldn’t he brush her aside so he could—
finally
—be with Megan?

Tears blinded her and she blinked hard, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

Why couldn’t he love
her
?

Well, it didn’t matter now. She was done trying to frighten Violet. It hadn’t worked anyway. Had she really expected that Violet would be so afraid that she’d . . . what, dump Jay? Stop coming to school? Or, better yet, leave town? All because of some stupid phone calls and a note?

Or a dead cat in a box?

It seemed to work for a while—Violet’s absence from school, her separation from Jay—but now they were closer than ever.

It turned out to be more childish fantasies on her part. More foolish daydreams.

She’d had to stop anyway. Violet suspected her. Violet had said her name, that night on the phone.

Of course, there was no way Violet could really know it was Megan. She’d only been guessing. But it wasn’t worth the risk.

Megan wouldn’t call her again. There would be no more “messages.”

Megan smoothed out the crumpled hall pass and read it one last time before dropping it into the garbage on her way back to her class.

Who was she kidding anyway?

She was never going to the guidance counselor’s office. She was never going to admit that her father was a drunk. That she was lonely and frightened and angry.

She was just going to shrivel up . . . and fade away.