Desires of the Dead (23 page)

Chapter 28

Violet’s breath caught in her throat as she felt herself being hauled up from behind and lifted into the air.

She knew immediately that it was Jay, because she heard the gravelly sound of his laughter mingled with the warmth of his breath against her ear as they landed sideways in a drift of soft snow. She heard him gasp as her shoulder smashed into him when they hit the ground. Still, he was smiling when she peeked at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, laughing at the grin on his face. She wondered if she’d ever get tired of that stupid, overconfident look. She hoped not.

“Come here and I’ll show you.” He beckoned, flicking a lazy snowflake away from Violet’s eyelashes with the fingertip of his glove.

It had begun snowing lightly by the time they’d finally gotten all of their things unloaded and decided to go outside. Mike had invited his sister to come along with them, but she’d ignored the request, not even bothering to answer. So they’d bundled up and ventured out to explore, just the five of them.

Despite Violet’s misgivings about the actual structure of the building, the location of the cabin was spectacular. It was secluded, sitting high in the mountains amid a serene backdrop of trees that, coupled with the glistening layers of snow, was nothing less than breathtaking.

They had been out in the woods for over an hour, yet no one complained about the temperature. It was just too beautiful, and the snow too captivating, to grumble over the chill.

Claire had tried to organize teams for her snowball fight, girls against guys, but it quickly turned into a free-for-all, and before long Jay was defending Violet from Chelsea, and Chelsea was protecting Mike against Jay. Claire became neutral, like Switzerland, trying to make up rules to keep a full-scale war from erupting. But eventually she gave up and found a quiet place out of the way, where she could make snow angels.

By the time Chelsea and Violet had joined her, they’d unanimously decided that Chelsea’s “angels” weren’t really angelic at all and had to be renamed. Thus, “snow devils” were born. They even made little horns on them, to complete the effect.

But now that it was just her and Jay, stealing a few minutes for themselves, Violet was happy to submit to the quiet calm of the ice-covered forest surrounding them.

Jay’s lips touched hers. It was like igniting a fire.

Violet closed her eyes and got lost in the warmth that radiated from the pit of her stomach as his mouth settled over hers. She drew herself against him, straining to get closer beneath the thick layers of clothing.

It was the frozen explosion of a snowball overhead that interrupted the moment. Icy debris rained down over them.

Jay wrapped his arms around Violet’s head and covered her while he glanced up to see who had broken the temporary cease-fire.

And then he whispered so that only Violet could hear him, “I’ll be right back.” He gathered a handful of snow, compacting it tightly, eagerly, between his gloves as he stood and hurried away, leaving her alone beneath the shelter of the trees.

Violet heard Chelsea and Claire bickering in the distance over the snowman they were working on.

She lay there, on her back, staring up into the white-capped branches that crisscrossed above her, filtering the falling snow and diffusing the already tenuous light that tried to penetrate the thick gray sky. It wasn’t yet twilight, and already darkness was descending as the low cloud cover deepened, threatening to mask the remaining daylight from view.

Violet blinked as fragile snowflakes battered her face, and she breathed in the cold, crisp air deeply. She listened as, farther away, Jay and Mike attacked each other with snowballs, their laughter booming loudly in the otherwise calm of the day.

It almost would have been easy to disregard the tugging she felt coming from the opposite direction. And she tried, closing her eyes and pretending for a moment that she hadn’t noticed it at all. But it was visceral, the pull, finding its way beneath her skin and slithering there until she itched with it, until she could no longer ignore its enigmatic lure.

The song of the dead.

And it was calling her.

She eased herself up slowly, still trying to decide—as if she’d ever had a choice in the matter—and brushed the snow from her back as she rose. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching. She didn’t want anyone to see her as she slipped between the trees, into the woods, to seek out whatever wanted—no,
needed
—to be found.

She felt the glimmer of cold pain dawning at the base of her neck, and she shivered against it, rolling her shoulders forward, trying to draw warmth from herself.

It was darker there, underneath the shadowy layer of branches, away from the more open field where she’d played with her friends, and she worried briefly about losing her way as she moved deeper and deeper beneath their cover.

These weren’t
her
woods; this wasn’t
her
land to navigate. Here, if she got lost, if no one knew where to find her, she could wander aimlessly for hours and hours, and there would be no familiar landmarks to guide her back again.

But there was the snow.

And as long as the branches continued to catch the newly tumbling flakes, her tracks would lead her back out once more.

She clung to that hope as she abandoned all other reason in pursuit of a baser desire. To find the echo within the woods.

It was hard work, walking through the thick drifts that had built up, even beneath the shelter of the snow-crusted foliage. The heavy white layers made it difficult to move forward, tugging at her boots and making her legs burn. And before long, even Violet’s head ached from the effort.

The skin around her cheeks felt hollow and dry, and her eyes burned against the frigid air that seemed colder here, denser somehow, and harder to breathe. Violet strained to keep moving, and with each step, the pain became more and more intense. Yet beneath her skull she could feel the tremulous vibrations of the echo pulling her onward.

She blinked heavily, squinting against the imaginary blades that slashed through her scalp, her forehead, her eyes.

That is the echo,
she realized, the excruciating ache that ravaged her, nearly blinding her at the same time she was compelled to locate it. And she was helpless to stop herself from seeking it out.

To Violet’s way of thinking it was the very definition of insanity. But there was nothing she could do about it now. Whatever was out there needed her to come.

And she would.

She gave no more thought to the cold, her body feeling numb in comparison to the pain in her head. She wasn’t even sure she would know if she
was
cold anymore, which could be dangerous at best. Life threatening at worst.

And then a sudden awareness seeped through her discomfort, and all at once Violet was certain that she’d found the source of the echo. The body she’d been searching for. It was buried beneath the very spot on which she stood. She was besieged by a sense of relief like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It was as if the torturous grip on her was abruptly loosened by her proximity to the dead thing below her.

She could breathe again. Freely. Almost euphorically.

She dropped to her knees and sighed, enjoying the dizzying sensation that swept over her.

But she didn’t waste any time. She reached out and dug her gloves into the soft upper layers of snow, scooping quickly and creating a fresh mound beside her. Her hands broke through deeper sheets of thin ice, cracking them apart easily and shoveling that snow aside as well.

She worked diligently, efficiently, and the effort warmed her, distracting her from the lingering headache that buzzed dully in the backdrop of her brain, fogging her thoughts and keeping them from becoming completely lucid.

She felt like she was stoned. Drugged by the echo itself.

The disorienting, narcotic sensation kept her focused on her task as she kept digging.

When her gloved hands reached solid ground, Violet belatedly realized that it had all been an effort in futility. The ground wasn’t soft, the soil not loose enough to dig in. And it wasn’t just hard; it was frozen into an icy barrier. Solid.

It was no use. There was no way to reach whatever lay below.

That was how Jay found her, kneeling in the snow, trying to think what she should do next through the haze of her cloudy mind. Trying to decide how to solve this puzzle.

“
Crap, Violet
. Didn’t you hear us yelling for you? You scared the hell outta me.” Jay scolded her at the same time he stretched his hand out for her.

Violet stared at it, momentarily confused by the gesture.
What does he want me to do?
she wondered dreamily.

“Do you want up?” he asked, bending down this time and grasping both of her hands in his. He pulled her to her feet, guiding her until she was standing.

The ringing in her head intensified.

Jay looked around Violet’s feet, glancing from her puzzled expression to the piles of snow on the ground and back to her face again.

Understanding finally forced his brows together. “Did you sense something out here?” he asked, keeping his voice low now.

Violet nodded. That much she knew. That much was clear to her still.

“We can’t stay here, Vi. Everyone’s coming. They’re looking for you, and you made it pretty easy once we found your trail. They’re right behind me.” Jay wrapped his arm protectively around her, drawing her closer to him. He kicked at the piles of snow, spreading them out. “Come on, let’s start back. We’ll head them off before they get here and start asking questions.”

She allowed herself to be led, despite the increasing pain as she left the location of the body behind her.

It didn’t want her to go.

They never did though.

She felt like she was suffering from some sort of withdrawal from the drugged haze of the echo she’d discovered, and the farther she walked, the stronger it gripped her.

But her thoughts, at least, started to clear again as the headache intensified, and as they did, she knew that Jay was right. The discomfort was nothing compared to what she would feel if she had to answer invasive questions from her friends about what she’d been doing, about what she had been searching for in the snow.

Claire was the first one to reach them, although Chelsea and Mike weren’t far behind, meandering at their own slow and steady pace, hand in hand. Obviously not
everyone
had been worried about Violet’s whereabouts.

“Oh good, you found her!” Claire exclaimed as she reached Violet and Jay, picking her way carefully through the path of footprints. “Where were you?” she asked Violet.

Violet was leaning her head against Jay’s shoulder, trying in vain to block out the throbbing pangs of the echo as it called for her to return again. The vibrations, the impatient itching beneath her skin, continued to draw her back into the woods, and it was a struggle not to answer that call. She clung to Jay to resist it.

Jay kept moving, following the trail back toward the clearing from which they’d come. “She just went for a walk,” he answered Claire, “and got turned around.”

Claire wrinkled her nose as Jay brushed past her, half-carrying Violet now. “Why didn’t you just follow your tracks?”

Violet heard Claire’s question, and she vaguely caught the sound of Jay’s voice thundering against the side of her head, but his actual words escaped her.

Cold sweat prickled against the top of her lip. The chills that seized her had nothing to do with the climate.

Shadows tugged at the periphery of her vision and then slowly squeezed tighter and tighter, until she was swimming in a vortex of darkness. She felt herself falling, and it seemed like forever before she finally stopped . . . landing in a heap against something solid . . . and warm. . . .

Chapter 29

When Violet opened her eyes, she was inside the cabin. Four anxious faces were staring back at her.

And one mildly disinterested one.

Apparently, Violet’s “mishap” had even enticed Megan from her bedroom.

“Look who’s back,” Chelsea said as she plopped herself onto the armrest of the threadbare couch Violet was lying on. Violet couldn’t help noticing that Chelsea’s voice had returned to its normal range—the Mike-free range—and was filled with concern.

“How are you feeling?” Jay asked next, kneeling down in front of her so they were eye to eye.

She felt better just seeing him there.

Violet ran her fingers tentatively over the back of her neck and then gingerly touched her fingertips to her temples. There was no pain. It was gone now. All of it.

All that remained was the lingering pull to go back into the woods.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. And when he didn’t look like he believed her, she added, “Really. I feel fine now.”

“I’ll get you some hot cocoa,” Chelsea offered, and Violet realized that Chelsea must have been genuinely worried. She felt like she’d been seeing this side of Chelsea a lot lately.

Claire went with Chelsea to the kitchen, where they fumbled around trying to get the gas stove lit, until Megan, who had been hanging silently in the background, went in to help them. The younger girl moved expertly within the small space of the kitchen, lighting the burner and locating a pan for them, and, ultimately, Claire and Chelsea stepped aside. Megan seemed comfortable with that arrangement.

“What happened?” Violet asked Jay, when Mike went to join the girls in the kitchen, giving them a moment alone in front of the fire.

Jay shook his head, his expression dark. “You tell me. One minute you were leaning on me, and the next you passed out. It freaked the shit out of me.”

“Claire actually screamed,” Chelsea added, rejoining them. She sat down on a wooden chair across from Violet. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear her. I’m with Jay though—it was pretty scary. You’re lucky he caught you before you hit the ground.”

Violet cringed. She glanced up at Jay, humiliated. “You . . .
caught me
?”

He nodded, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was enjoying this part. A lot. “You’re welcome,” he said with a completely straight face.

She looked at him again and rolled her eyes, stubbornly refusing to thank him after he’d already so clearly patted himself on the back.

Megan came back in, carrying a mug of hot chocolate, and Claire trailed behind her.

“Be careful,” Megan warned quietly, handing it to Violet. “It’s kind of hot.”

Their fingertips brushed as the mug exchanged hands. Violet locked eyes with the younger girl. “Thank you.” She imparted as much meaning as she could in the two simple words and hoped that it was gesture enough, even if only for herself. She felt bad for the things she’d thought about Megan, for the hateful things she’d suspected her of doing.

Megan pulled her hand away and glanced down nervously. “You’re welcome.” Her voice was timid and hesitant.

“So she gives you hot chocolate and you thank her. I save your life and get nothing. That’s messed up,” Jay complained.

Violet smirked at him over the top of her hot cocoa. “Hers tastes better,” she teased, blowing on the steaming liquid and then taking a sip. “Besides, I think you’ve already thanked yourself.”

Claire interrupted the two of them, handing Violet a napkin. “So, seriously, Violet, what happened out there?”

Violet shook her head, trying to piece together those moments after Jay found her in the woods, after she’d discovered the location of the echo. She remembered the intense pain that she’d followed, the call of the body, and the mind-altering, drugged feeling once she’d located it. And then Jay dragging her away, and the pain coming back again, followed by her vision tunneling. And then . . .

“I just got dizzy, I guess,” she finally answered, knowing it was a weak excuse. “I’m okay, though,” she repeated, this time trying to sound more convincing.

Lame or not, no one asked any more questions; they seemed to accept her story.

Violet still felt distracted by the echo, despite the distance that now separated her from it. For now, though, all she could do was try to ignore it.

When they decided it was time to put dinner together, Mike and Jay went outside, to a small storage shed out back, to get more wood for the fire.

“Is your dad gonna be here for dinner?” Claire asked Megan, who was doing her best to remain inconspicuous in the open space of the cabin.

Megan simply shook her head in response, barely making eye contact as she answered.

Chelsea cast a questioning look in Violet’s direction. “Do you know where he is?” she pried, even though it was evident that the girl was uncomfortable.

Violet recognized Megan’s discomfort. It seemed to radiate off of her. She didn’t
want
to be noticed; she didn’t
want
to be included. She hovered, wordlessly, soundlessly, on the periphery, existing in quiet solitude.

She’s so sad,
Violet thought.
Sad and lonely
. Violet wondered if she’d always been that way.

“He’s in town. He’ll probably be out late.” Megan practically whispered the words.

“What does he do, hang out at a bar all night?” Claire attempted to joke.

Megan looked up at Claire, her face serious. “Sometimes,” she responded.

Mike came in then, unwittingly shattering the strange hush that had fallen over the girls. Jay followed right behind; each of them had their arms piled high with logs. A wheelbarrow with more logs sat beside the back door, and Violet and Chelsea both jumped up to help them, stacking the wood neatly beside the hearth.

It was a convenient diversion from the awkwardness caused by Megan’s starkly honest answer.

So what did that mean, exactly, about their father? That he was a drinker? An alcoholic? That the kids were frequently left on their own to fend for themselves?

It would explain Megan’s ease in the kitchen and her isolating demeanor, wouldn’t it? That she and Mike were used to taking care of themselves?

Violet’s shame deepened.

Dinner was simple: grilled cheese sandwiches and potato chips. Of course, it was Megan who had to fire up the stove-top. And Megan, again, who managed to grill the sandwiches without burning them. Chelsea’s attempt didn’t end quite so expertly, and her sandwich was more charred than grilled. Violet’s was even less admirable. Jay fared better, making something that was at least edible. But Megan proved to be something of a culinary whiz. Or at least a grilled-cheese-sandwich whiz.

So Jay helped Megan at the stove, and that was the only time Violet saw Megan going out of her way to interact with any one of them. She asked him quiet questions while they worked, and she smiled hesitantly when she responded to his playful banter.

It reminded Violet of why she’d suspected Megan of stalking her in the first place. Besides all her other suspicions, it was obvious that Megan had a little crush on Jay. Maybe more than a little one. And Violet felt immediately guilty for even entertaining the thought again.

She knew it hadn’t been Megan.

Violet and Claire set the table while Jay and Megan made dinner. Mike and Chelsea “tended to the fire,” which turned out to be equivalent to Violet and Jay “doing homework,” so when they were called to get their plates, they were glassy-eyed and distracted.

After dinner, Mike and Chelsea were assigned to clean up the mess, which
actually
meant “cleaning up the mess,” since they hadn’t done anything to help with preparation. Everyone else went to sit in front of the fire.

Violet continued to feel pulled by whatever she’d discovered beneath the cover of the trees, buried under the frozen layers of ice and snow. She wondered briefly how she was going to resolve this predicament . . . it was an animal she couldn’t get to, couldn’t rebury. She still didn’t understand why the draw to find some was so much stronger than others, why some creatures, like the deer by the roadside, could let her pass while others wanted so badly to be found that they continued to lure her, long after she should have left the radius of their reach.

She hoped beyond hope that the need to find this body would simply fade over time, releasing her eventually from its indefinable grip.

It was already past nine o’clock by the time they were finished cleaning up and were settling in for the night. Outside the snow had stopped falling, and even though the sky was dark, the ground shimmered eerily, capturing strands of light and reflecting them like tiny pieces of glass. It created a ghostly backdrop.

They had rearranged the furniture and spread their sleeping bags around the floor in front of the fireplace. There was one bedroom, which Violet presumed was where Megan would sleep, since that was where she’d been hiding earlier, and a small overhead loft, where she guessed Mike’s dad stayed. When he was there.

But, even though she had a bedroom, Megan didn’t retreat again. She stayed with the group, lingering on the fringes, sitting without making a sound in a chair as far away as she could get from them and still be considered in the same room.

As often as she could, Violet tried to include Megan in their conversations. But Megan was reluctant, answering in as few words as possible and then falling silent again, stubbornly evading Violet’s attempts to befriend her.

When it grew late, one by one they began finding their way into their sleeping bags. Violet crawled into hers, beside Jay, and eventually Megan went down the short hallway to her bedroom.

Conversation dwindled, and then disappeared into silence, until all that remained was the crackling of the fading fire.