Through the cafeteria window, Violet could see Chelsea and Rafe sitting on the grass in the quad, rather than at their usual table. While the weather cooperated, the grassy area out in the courtyard, and benches surrounding it, was crowded during the lunch hours. After that, when the rain returned, or when it was too cold to be comfortable, only the loners—either by choice or by circumstance—would continue eating out there, sitting alone and thumbing their noses at the rest of the school for forsaking them.
But for now, as the sun beat down, and students crowded every open space, eating outside didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
Violet had expected to interrupt another lopsided conversation, in which Chelsea talked and talked, and talked some more, while Rafe only half listened, nodding occasionally so she wouldn’t think he was a total D-bag. As far as Violet could tell, that was about as far as his social charms extended . . . to attempt to tolerate those around him.
Except that wasn’t what she walked into at all. It wasn’t until that very moment, when Violet approached the two of them, Chelsea sitting with her legs crossed in front of her, and Rafe sitting up, leaning one elbow on his knee, that she realized just how chummy the two of them had gotten. So much so, that she heard Rafe, his voice as low as ever, actually responding when Chelsea asked what he was reading.
When he told her it was Catcher in the Rye, Chelsea cast him a knowing grin and said boldly, “‘In my mind, I’m probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw.’”
Rafe laughed then, and Violet froze in place, trying to figure out what had just happened. Trying to unsort the jumble of emotions that knotted tightly in her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
Rafe’s laugh was such a foreign sound. Of course Violet had heard him laugh before, but never that kind of laugh. An encouraging one. A flirtatious one. And that’s what that laugh had been, Violet was sure of it. They were sitting there, in the quad at school . . . flirting. With each other.
Violet took an uncertain step backward, thinking that sitting outside might not have been such a great idea after all. Suddenly all this fresh air was making her woozy. Or possibly it was the company. Either way, her head was spinning and she felt like she might be coming down with something.
Rafe glanced up then, at that very moment, and saw her standing there gaping at them. And she saw something cross his face, something dark and unexpected, filling her with guilt. It was a look so close to longing it made Violet wince. “Violet?” he said, his voice no longer flirtatious and teasing, and she thought she might have actually heard a note of regret, buried in the deep timbre of her name.
Violet wanted him to stop looking at her like that, and she certainly didn’t want Chelsea to see him doing it, so she dropped her gaze to her friend, ignoring Rafe altogether. “Did . . . did you just quote Catcher in the Rye?” She couldn’t help asking the question any more than she could stop the incredulity that saturated her voice. Since when did Chelsea quote anything from the required reading list at school? Or more importantly, since when had Chelsea ever read anything from the required reading list?
Chelsea’s smile was mischievous as she glanced up at Violet, admitting, “It’s the only line I know. And that’s probably the only chance I’ll ever have to use it.” She turned back to Rafe, her grin widening lasciviously. “Or maybe not.”
But Rafe was no longer flirting with her, and Violet’s legs felt unsteady, and all she wanted to do was turn and run away. Because standing there, with Rafe’s blue eyes boring into her, she felt far too vulnerable . . . far too exposed.
And far too confused.
When she felt a hand at her elbow, she jumped and spun nervously to face whoever had just grabbed her.
Jay was there, staring back at her with his warm, faithful eyes and a crooked smile on his lips. Gemma stood beside him, looking like they’d just arrived together.
“You aren’t serious, are you? We aren’t really going to eat our lunch in the dirt, are we?” Gemma folded her arms across her chest and eyed the grass as if Chelsea and Rafe were rolling around in an oozing pile of sloppy mud.
“You don’t have to sit here at all,” Chelsea told her, lifting her chin defiantly. One thing about Chelsea, she either liked you or she didn’t, and you didn’t have to guess which side of the line you fell on. And Gemma, for whatever reason, had landed on the wrong side. “We were doing just fine before you got here.”
Violet was still dazed, and then Jay’s hand slid down to hers, his palm settling lightly, gingerly over her own. For several seconds their hands stayed like that, their fingers lined up in perfect rows, from thumb to pinkie, his dwarfing hers. She savored the feel of his rough skin sliding over hers. It was electric, his touch, but not in the way it was when Rafe touched her. This kind of electricity started inside of her, filling her up and spreading to every fissure, making her feel connected. Whole.
Rafe glanced away, and she could feel him withdrawing once more, disappearing inside himself. A different kind of guilt stabbed her; she didn’t want to be responsible for hurting him.
But Jay’s fingers were still there, and when he finally slid them in and through and between hers, Violet felt the knot in her chest loosen. She could breathe again. And more than that, she could feel the rush of her own pulse pumping blood past her ears. Without saying a single word, Jay drew her down onto the grass, and Violet followed, letting her knees fold beneath her as she stayed right by his side . . . where she belonged.
Gemma, still standing above them, rolled her eyes and exhaled dramatically. “Fine,” she snapped, just as Claire and Jules came out into the quad, joining them. “I guess I’d rather sit in the dirt than sit alone.”
She scowled at each and every one of them in turn, but most especially at Chelsea, who smirked as the blonde girl tried to find some position that would keep both her and her clothing from touching the ground at all. Ultimately, Gemma ended up using her fancy new book bag as a cushion of sorts, keeping her knees bent so that her jeans didn’t so much as graze the tops of the grass. She brushed obsessively at nonexistent pieces of dirt or pollen or whatever else it was she thought might be landing on her, and she barely touched her lunch.
But it was Jay who had captured Violet’s attention, when he leaned across her shoulder, his breath finding her ear and sending shivers along the length of her spine. “What do you say we spend some time together tonight? Maybe do some homework?”
By the time she reached Anatomy & Physiology, the class where Violet had spent the entire first week of school pretending Grady didn’t exist—trying not to look his way or draw attention to herself—she’d nearly allowed herself to forget what happened. But now that she was standing inside the classroom they shared, Grady was all she could think about. Even though it had only been a week since school had started, the seat he’d occupied during that brief time had indisputably become his. And now it sat empty. Untouched. A shrine of notoriety.
Violet slumped solemnly in the chair next to Gemma, who’d fled from lunch early so she could wash her hands—and probably everything else she could reach—after being subjected to the “filthy outdoors.” Violet didn’t bother trying to contain the conflicting emotions she felt toward her classmates: anger, unease, disgust, worry—all coiled together in one enormous mass that had turned her into a time bomb of sorts. Even if Gemma hadn’t been an empath, she probably would have sensed something was wrong.
Turning an exasperated glance at Violet, Gemma scooted her chair a little farther away.
Violet just shrugged, not bothering to apologize or explain as she pulled out her notebook. She didn’t care whether she was making Gemma uncomfortable or not.
“Oh, for god’s sakes,” Gemma huffed. “It’s so hard to make you miserable if you don’t give a shit. Fine, I give up.” Her voice shifted, becoming . . . almost nice. “I’m sorry you had such a craptastic weekend. And . . . sorry about that guy, even thought you sorta hated him.” She nodded toward the empty chair. “If it makes
you feel any better, I think everyone else hates him now too.”
Violet’s jaw tensed. “It doesn’t. And I don’t hate him. I just . . . we just . . .” She didn’t owe Gemma any explanations. “We weren’t friends anymore, but that doesn’t mean he deserves this.”
“So it’s true then? What Sara said about him not being guilty?”
Sometimes Violet forgot that Gemma lived with Sara and Rafe, that they were the only family she had, and that she knew what they knew.
She nodded. They might not be friends—she and Gemma—but it was nice to have another person she could confide in. Or rather, not have to lie to all the time. Not to have to hide her ability from.
She wished it could be this easy with her real friends.
“Hmm,” Gemma exhaled. “I sorta pegged him as an ass.” When Violet turned in her chair to gape at her, she lifted her shoulder. “What? I did.”
“Well, just because someone’s an ass doesn’t make them a murderer.”
Gemma’s lips twisted into a meaningful smile. “You got that right, sister,” she said. “If that were the case, Rafe would definitely be a serial killer.”
Violet couldn’t help the smile that slid over her lips. Gemma was right. She thought of the way Rafe generally kept others at a distance, ensuring that no one got too close or became too attached, by offending everyone. In that sense, it almost seemed logical that he’d be drawn to Chelsea. She was sort of offensive herself.
But Violet knew there was another side of him too, he’d shown it to her. He’d told her how he felt.
Unfortunately, Violet couldn’t share Rafe’s feelings.
Couldn’t, she thought, turning the word over in her mind. It was a strange way to phrase it. Hadn’t she meant didn’t? That she didn’t share Rafe’s feelings?
It didn’t matter though, she had someone. She had Jay.
She and Rafe could only ever be friends.
“People are talking, you know?” Gemma said, interrupting Violet’s thoughts and dragging her back into the classroom.
“About Grady? I know.”
“No. About you.” She shrugged. “I mean, not about you, really. But about the person who found the bodies. They know it was someone who goes to school here. There’s a lot of guessing going on about who it could be.”
Goose bumps broke out over Violet’s skin. “Have they . . . ? Did they . . . ? Has anyone said my name?”
Gemma made a face, dismissing the notion as absurd. “Of course not. They point at each other mostly, trying to get someone to admit it was them. Really, they have no idea who it was.”
Violet looked around her, at the other students in her class, most of whom she’d known her whole life. Somehow, Gemma’s assurance, even with her empathic abilities, didn’t make Violet feel any more secure.
By the end of the day, Violet was exhausted. What she wanted was to go home and flop on her bed. To read through more of her grandmother’s journals. To sleep.
But it was Monday and she had an appointment, one she wasn’t allowed to miss. After Jay had dropped her off at her house so she could get her car, she made the long drive into the city, trying to give herself every reason to cancel her weekly meeting with Dr. Lee, but knowing, no matter how good the excuses she came up with, it was against the rules he’d laid out for her. And the last thing she wanted to do was to put her family in harm’s way.
Instead she concentrated on the fact that he might actually be able to help her this time. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a way of making her feel better when an echo—or in this case, echoes—weighed on her.
She was doing okay. Better than okay, really. By comparison to how it used to be after she’d found a body, the dull headache and the sluggishness she felt now were a cakewalk. She could manage through this like a champ.
Still, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be better, which was where Dr. Lee came in. He had ways . . .
Ways of stilling her mind. Ways of easing the tension. Ways of chasing away her demons.
And for that, she almost hated him more. For making her lean on him, even when he was twisting her arm and forcing her to do things.
She barely said two words during the entire first half of the session. It wasn’t until Dr. Lee asked her about the events of the weekend that she—reluctantly—allowed him to walk her through a breathing exercise.
Of course, it worked. And of course, inwardly she cursed herself for letting him be so useful. But she did feel better, despite herself.
As she slipped out into the waiting room, a familiar voice startled her. “Violet! Hey! How are you?”
She glanced back, checking to see if Dr. Lee was watching, but the door to his office was closed, giving them a few minutes of privacy. Sam didn’t seem to notice her guardedness as he stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug that was too tight.
Violet laughed, momentarily forgetting her silent vow to be sullen and brooding whenever she was in Dr. Lee’s presence. “Sam . . .” She could feel his ribs poking out beneath her hands as she shoved out of his grip. “What are you doing here?”
Sam’s skinny arms fell away, but his smile stayed firm and affixed on his face. She still had a hard time with the notion that Sam was some sort of super genius—or at least self-professed super genius. She knew it must be true, though. He wasn’t even sixteen and already he was a sophomore at the university. Hard to imagine since he barely had his learner’s permit and still had to take the bus and get rides from his parents everywhere he went.
He tapped the side of his head. “You know, psych checkup. Makin’ sure all the cogs are still in working order.”
Violet scrutinized Sam, trying to decide if he was being forced here the same way she was. But he stared back at her with his usual unreserved, too-eager expression, the one that looked like he had nothing in the world to hide.
Sometimes Violet forgot there’d actually been a time when she wanted to be here, when her visits to Dr. Lee were less than obligatory. “Yeah. Me too,” she said, knowing she couldn’t tell anyone else about the doctor’s coercive tactics.
“Man, I heard about the righteous crime scene you stumbled on. I’m so jealous. I heard it was disgusting.”
“Um, yeah,” Violet agreed. “It was pretty gross. And you’re pretty twisted if you’re jealous.”
He lifted his scrawny shoulders. “Duh,” he said, like that much was obvious. “Never said I wasn’t. So? Any suspects yet?”
Violet shook her head, thinking about Grady being cleared, and her uncle’s promise to let her know if he learned anything new. “Not yet.”
Sam glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were still alone before he leaned closer. “Man, I wish I could’a been there. That’s my favorite part . . . being at the scene itself. Touching things that belonged to the . . .” He shifted nervously on his feet, as if what he was saying was disrespectful, and then he shrugged. “Victims and whatnot. I love that flash . . .” His eyes lit up then, filled with wonder. “When I know I’ve got something. When I know I can help. Hopefully Sara can snag us some of their things. I hear the girl’s still missing. Hopefully it’s not too late for her.”
Violet felt a sudden jolt at Sam’s words, and wondered how she’d nearly forgotten that Rafe wasn’t the only one who could glean information by touching objects. Sam had the gift of psychometry too.
“Sam, Sam, Sam . . .” She flashed him a knowing grin as she reached for her backpack. She fumbled around inside it for a second, her fingers closing around the leather-bound journal that had once belonged to her grandmother.
She felt giddy, as she opened the front flap of the journal and reached for the photograph she’d hidden there, the one of the missing girl—the school picture Violet had lifted from the crime scene. Violet wasn’t sure it would work, but they could try at least. Maybe someone had handled it enough, maybe it had meant enough to one of them, that something could be read from it.
“Here,” Violet said, handing it over to him. “Keep
it safe. And, please, don’t tell anyone I gave it to you. I don’t want anyone to know I took it.”
Sam watched her, his eyes wide as if she were presenting him with a work of art, rather than something she’d stolen off someone’s refrigerator.
“You can count on me,” he breathed, pressing it against his chest and closing his eyes.
Dr. Lee opened the door to his office then, pausing as he looked at each of them slowly, his face masked of all expressions. “Sam? Are you ready?”
Sam nodded, as he slid the picture discreetly into his back pocket. “Coming.”
Dr. Lee stood there a second longer, and then vanished inside to wait for Sam.
Sam winked at Violet, keeping his voice quiet. “I’ll let you know if I sense anything,” he said. Then he, too, disappeared into the doctor’s office.
Violet suddenly felt better. She may have a lead at last.
BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER
“I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T COMING BACK THIS time.” There was a mocking quality to his father’s words that he’d grown accustomed to over the years. He’d expected it from the old man.
“I’m not. I just need to grab a few things, then I’m outta here.” He’d hoped to get in and out without running into his dad, especially since the old man’s piece of shit car wasn’t parked out front. But even he’d known that had been hoping for too much. His dad rarely left except to make a run for more cigarettes or booze. Which is probably where his car was now, stranded somewhere on the side of the road . . . out of gas.
His dad barely looked up from the TV. “Don’t be like that. Stop being such a pansy and get your ass home. I got shit needs to be done around here.” The SOB had been drinking, and his words were sloppy. To an unaccustomed ear, it sounded like he’d said, “I go’ shi’ nee’s be done ’roun ’ere.”
Evan’s stomach clenched, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.
“Oh, I know. Yer too good for us, isn’t that right, boy? Yer gonna run off and be a rock star.”
Dead Silence Page 12
