Dead Silence

by Kimberly Derting

  Everyone knows

  I can’t see

  Innocence

  Do you want to suffer?

  The lead singer’s voice was hypnotic, guttural and warbling, and she felt like he was calling out to her, and her alone. The pulses continued to flash in her eyes, making it harder and harder to see, which seemed odd in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Still, that voice called to her.

  Eyes brim with need

  Pull me down

  ’Neath the dark

  Scrub your sins away

  Emptiness

  One last breath

  Baptized in blood

  Do you want to suffer?

  The meaning was almost as chilling as the vocals themselves, hitting a little too close to home considering why she was here. She turned once, to look for Jay or Rafe or Chelsea, but the bodies around her had swallowed her up, creating just enough space so she could breathe. So her heart could beat.

  And then it hit her, almost at the same time she recognized the line in the song, “Do you want to suffer?”

  She knew that line. She’d seen it before. Smeared in blood on the wall where the couple had been slaughtered . . . the place where Veronica’s body had been found.

  And now, right here in this club, there was that strange flashing, blinding her. Only it wasn’t just the strobe lights, Violet realized. There was something else too, something closing in on the edges of her periphery.

  Same as before.

  From the lake house.

  She rubbed her eyes, not caring that she was likely smearing her makeup. But it didn’t change anything. The flashing, and the colors too, were still there. Still clouding her vision.

  It was the imprint. The one that matched the man with the slashed throat. Veronica’s father.

  And the lyrics, Do you want to suffer . . .

  It wasn’t a coincidence.

  He was here. The killer.

  Violet shoved her way forward, straining to get to the stage to see if she’d missed something before. It didn’t matter, though, if he was up there with them . . . if he was one of them. He couldn’t hurt her now, not in the middle of his show.

  She watched the lead singer, still listening to the haunting sound of his voice.

  Silence the voices in my head

  Tell me which road to follow

  Silence the voices in my head

  I’m under their spell

  Am I deaf?

  Or is it mercy?

  She begs to be spared

  It wasn’t him, she was sure of it, even from here, she couldn’t feel the strange colors, the swirling and shifting kaleidoscope coming from him, so she turned to the drummer, whose drums themselves bore the brimstone cross.

  If I should die

  Torch me on an altar of sacrifice

  Frustration welled inside her as she moved to the next member and the next, ticking each of them off her list. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t any of them.

  Monster or human?

  Drowning in doubt

  The evil consumes me

  So who then? She whirled around as the chorus started again, straining through the flashes in her vision to see those around her. If he wasn’t onstage, then he was down here, in the crowd.

  With her.

  She searched and searched, stumbling now as the song started to wind down.

  If I should die

  Ashes . . . ashes . . .

  She looked to her left and saw Rafe, but only the back of him as he moved in the opposite direction. She took a couple of steps his way but knew immediately that was the wrong way to go as her vision began to clear. Backtracking, it strengthened once more, but there were too many people, especially up here, near the stage.

  The next song started, and this one Violet recognized. Screams erupted all around her, as everyone seemed to go wild. If it hadn’t been for the imprint, she would’ve stopped to listen too, but there was only one thing driving her now.

  She tried to move toward it, to follow the path that was calling to her, but instead she got tangled in a mass of bodies and limbs, all pushing against her at once, all shoving her toward the front. Her chest tightened as she became trapped, enmeshed in the human prison.

  Hopelessly, she glanced up to the stage, to see if there was any other way out. But there were just more people in her way. More bodies. And not enough room to maneuver.

  It wasn’t hard to realize she had no option but to ride the song out, and maybe the one after that, as she struggled just to remain on her feet. She was pinched and grabbed, and she elbowed and shoved back, but mostly she concentrated on the music.

  Because that’s all she could do right now.

  STICKS AND STONES

  AT FIRST HE THOUGHT HE’D MADE A MISTAKE.

  She was as tough and as bold as he’d first guessed. But almost to a fault.

  She was kind of a bitch.

  He started to wonder if he’d chosen wrong. If she wasn’t the right girl after all. Colton deserved better, didn’t he? Colton deserved someone warmer, softer, at least in the right moments.

  This girl seemed to be all hard edges, incapable of softness.

  But he decided to wait a bit, to see if the roofie mellowed her out some.

  It wasn’t hard to slip the powder into her drink. She was barely giving him the time of day, and no one else was watching him as Safe Word broke out into their anthem, “Fire and Brimstone.” But she’d at least given him enough space to stand beside her at the table.

  He’d tried to talk to her, even before she’d started sipping her drink, but what he realized was that the more irritated she grew by his attempts at winning her over, the more agitatedly she chewed on, and drank from, her straw. Until she’d downed half her glass.

  Along with half the Rohypnol he’d been able to drop in there when he’d casually opened his palm as he’d reached across the table—and her glass—for a napkin.

  She had no idea what hit her, but by the end of the second song, she was chattier. And far softer.

  And he was far, far more hopeful as she leaned on him, draping one arm over his shoulder to steady herself.

  Kisha found them like that, as she watched Evan from where she stood in line for the bathroom. But instead of being jealous to find him with some suburban wannabe who hung on him like a cheap whore, she just smiled, asking him with her eager expression if this was the girl.

  His nod said, It’s her, as he told the girl at his side, “Let’s get outta here.”

  “Wha’s yer name?” Her words were starting to bleed together, and he knew they needed to move fast, before he lost her altogether and someone started asking questions. Before her friends came back.

  “Evan,” he said patiently as she led her to where Kisha was waiting. “But you can call me Father.”

  CHAPTER 18

  THREE—POSSIBLY EVEN FOUR—SONGS LATER, when Violet finally managed to free herself from the confines of the crush in front of the stage, she took a deep breath, and focused. Her vision was still distorted, but not nearly as intensely as it had been just minutes earlier. As if whoever she’d been tracking had left the building.

  She searched around frantically, not wanting him to get away as she tried to find that sensation again—desperately wanting to be blinded by the colors of death.

  Yeah, because she wasn’t strange. Who even thought things like that?

  “Jay!” She jumped up and down when she saw him, waving and trying to draw his attention. “Jay!” She hoped he could hear her above the music and the shouting, but somehow she doubted it. She could barely hear herself.

  But he did see her, and that was enough as he, much more successfully than she had, shoved his way through the crowd. When he reached her, he was out of breath. “Jesus, Vi, I looked all over for you!” He had to yell to be heard. “One second you said something about splitting up, the next you were gone.” He scowled at her.

  But Violet just grabbed his han
d and started dragging him away from the mob of people. “We have to go,” she hollered back, hoping he wouldn’t ask why. Telling him that she was following a killer wasn’t something she wanted to scream in the middle of an audience.

  There was a hallway to their right and Violet headed toward it, realizing that with each step the colors grew bolder, more distracting.

  Once they’d ducked through the doorway, it wasn’t hard to guess where the hallway led. There were three doors, two clearly marked with the universal stick figure signs that specified men’s and women’s restrooms, although the signs didn’t seem to make a difference to the people waiting in line, as they took whichever room came available first. Apparently, when you had to go, you had to go.

  Violet slowed as she passed the first door, but she could still see, making it more than clear that the person she was after wasn’t in there. He also wasn’t in line, she realized as she passed those who were still waiting. She and Jay got several strange looks as they squeezed by, and raised a few pierced brows.

  Violet ignored them all.

  “Damn,” she cursed as she kept dragging him toward the third door.

  This one was clearly marked: an exit. But she knew it was the right way to go if she intended to follow the imprint.

  As she reached for the handle, Jay drew her up short. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  She pressed her palms against the long bar that would release the latch, the one that would let them outside. “He’s out there, Jay. The killer. He was in here, and now he’s gone. I know he’s out there, just past this door. We have to go find him.”

  Jay stopped her, pulling her back. “Are you kidding? We’re not going out there.” He gripped her arms. “Violet, think about it for a minute. This is what I was talking about, you can’t just chase after murderers.” His voice became gentler, more persuasive. “Look,” he said. “Let’s go back inside and get Rafe and Chelsea. Then we’ll call your uncle, or Rafe’s sister, and tell them what you found. Let them go after this psycho.”

  Violet wavered, shifting anxiously on her feet. “But what if it’s too late by then? What if he’s already long gone?”

  “Then he’s gone, Vi. You can’t put yourself in danger just because you’re afraid the guy’ll get away. Some things are out of your control.” He started pulling her back inside. “Accept it.”

  She was only half convinced, and not at all happy, but she followed him because she knew he was right. It was the same thing Sara had been trying to tell her since she’d joined the team, teaching her the importance of putting her own safety—and the safety of her team—above all else. It was the same thing Dr. Lee had tried to teach her with all his stupid methods and techniques.

  Yet here she was again, about to impulsively follow another imprint. About to put herself in harm’s way . . . again.

  Rafe was waiting for them at their spot at the table. Violet glanced up ruefully at two guys in her way as she squeezed past them.

  “He was here,” she told Rafe, looking around nervously to make sure no one else was listening to them. And then she added, “He must’ve slipped out the back though. I think we should call Sara.”

  Rafe straightened up from where he’d been slumped forward, leaning on his elbows. “Why didn’t you go after him?”

  “Because,” Jay answered from over her shoulder, “I told her we should come back and get you and Chelsea first.”

  Rafe considered that and then nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Where is Chelsea, anyway?” Violet asked, her eyes raking the throng of people swarming the immediate area. She didn’t see Chelsea anywhere.

  “Dunno.” Rafe shrugged. “I figured she was with you. Probably in the bathroom.”

  Violet knew that wasn’t true. She’d just been by the bathrooms, and Chelsea wasn’t there either.

  “Hey!” she called to the boy Chelsea had been making eyes with when they’d left her. He was still sitting by himself. “Where’s the girl who was here?” She tapped Chelsea’s root beer, which was mostly empty.

  He looked back at her indifferently, like he was going to shrug it off, pretend he had no idea who Violet was talking about, so she decided to jog his memory. “You know? Cute girl, short skirt, foul mouth? She was checking you out when I left.”

  He grinned slightly. “Yeah, I saw her. But she was more interested in that other dude.”

  Violet glanced questioningly at Rafe, but he just lifted his shoulder. “What other dude?”

  “Dude she left with.” His grin grew, knowingly. Leeringly. “She was pretty hammered though. You probably shouldn’t’a left her alone. She could hardly walk—he practically had to carry her.”

  Violet’s heart started pounding, beating at least five times its normal speed, and she felt like she was sweating through her skintight T. What was he talking about hammered? Chelsea hadn’t been drinking.

  She scrambled for a way to make sense of his words as she searched Rafe and then Jay for an explanation.

  Her tongue was thick and dry, and she thought she might be sick.

  She heard Jay asking the guy, “What did he look like, the guy she was with?”

  “Like everyone else, man. A little on the short side. Black hair.” And then his eyes widened. “And a neck tatt. One of those cross things.” He pointed toward the band. Toward the stage. “Like on the drums. Big black one.” He traced his finger down the left side of his neck, showing where it was. “From his ear to his shoulder.”

  The brimstone cross.

  The guy Chelsea had left with—had been carried out of here by—had a tattoo of the brimstone cross.

  Violet lifted the root beer, her hand shaking so violently she could barely get the straw to her lips. Just as her mouth closed around it, just as she was going to take a long pull from the straw to quench her parched throat and hopefully soothe her stomach, she felt it being jerked from her hand.

  “Don’t drink that!” Rafe shouted at her, and Violet blinked back at him, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

  And then she saw what he was pointing at, what he’d been scraping into a small pile on the marred wooden tabletop.

  Fine white powder that could barely be seen between the flashes of light coming from the stage. Not much, but just enough to be noticeable. Just enough to make Violet take a second glance at the glass that was sitting on the table between them now.

  At the bottom of the brown liquid, she could just make out a few of the same white granules settled in the base of the glass. Almost invisible. Almost all liquefied now, save those remaining few.

  “That’s not sugar, is it?” Violet asked.

  Rafe shook his head, but it was the look on his face that made the knot in her chest tighten. It wasn’t the look of someone who didn’t care. He looked scared. “We have to find her,” he told Violet.

  Behind Rafe, she heard Jay talking to the other guy at the table, while her heart struggled to find its rhythm. “Did you see which way they went?”

  The guy, who hadn’t been paying attention to them as they’d figured out what had happened to Chelsea, turned back to them and pointed toward the exit. “They went out that way,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll catch ’em. That was a couple’a songs ago.”

  That way, Violet thought, thinking of the way she’d felt when she’d been standing at the exit.

  She’d followed the imprint to that door, knowing he’d gone out there. The killer.

  The guy with the brimstone cross tattoo.

  And he had Chelsea.

  They were running by the time they reached the door, and didn’t stop as they burst through it. The cool night air was refreshing after the stifling atmosphere inside the club, and Violet hadn’t realized how hard it had been to breathe in there. How suffocated she’d felt.

  She hadn’t stopped to think about what she’d do once she was out here. Where they were going or what their plan was. All she’d thought about was Chelsea.

  Saving her
.

  “Call Sara!” she screamed over her shoulder as she reached the small lot behind the club. “Tell her to call my uncle. To call everyone. We need help.”

  On the road in front of them, several cars zipped past and she was forced to slow down, to consider her next move. She had no idea which way to go next.

  Spinning to face the others, she saw that Rafe already had his phone out and was dialing.

  “What if it’s too late, Vi?” Jay asked. “He’s probably long gone. We don’t even have a description of what he was driving.”

  Violet couldn’t even consider that possibility, not when they had so much at stake. When she answered him, her breath came out in a wheeze. “If, Jay. If he was driving. We don’t know he had a car. They could be on foot.”

  “Violet.” Jay’s voice tried to be placating, but Violet could hear the disquiet behind it.

  Beside her, Rafe hung up.

  “What’d she say?”

  “She’s calling the local police, and your uncle, and she’s on her way now. She said to stay put.”

  Violet shifted nervously, barely able to stand in one place now. It didn’t matter what Sara said, she couldn’t just stand here. “I think we should split up. We can cover more ground that way.”

  She didn’t have to convince Rafe—he was already nodding.

  “But, aren’t we supposed to stay put?” Jay countered. “Isn’t that what you just said?”

  Rafe grinned at Violet. “I said that’s what Sara told us to do. I didn’t say that’s what we were gonna do.” His attention shifted to Jay then. “You stay with Violet. Don’t let her outta your sight.” He started walking away from them, leaving them to decide which way to go, when he called back. “And keep your phone on!”

  Violet only half nodded as she looked around, trying to decide which direction made the most sense.