Violet saw her name written in Jay’s handwriting on the outside of the note, and her heart squeezed. She didn’t want to take it, but ignoring it, leaving it in Chelsea’s hand, wasn’t really an option either. She grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket.
Chelsea’s usual flippant expression faded and she leaned in close to Violet, almost as if she were afraid someone might see this side of her. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s been all sad doll lately too.”
“What are you talking about, Chels?”
Chelsea stopped walking and stared at Violet.
“Jay. I’m talking about Jay, Vi. I thought you might want to know that you’re not the only one who’s hurting. He’s been moping around school, making it hard to even look at him. He’s messed up . . . bad.” Just like the other night in Violet’s bedroom, something close to . . . sympathy crossed Chelsea’s face.
Violet wasn’t sure how to respond.
Fortunately sympathetic Chelsea didn’t stick around for long. She seemed to get a grip on herself, and like a switch had been flipped, the awkward moment was over and her friend was back, Chelsea-style: “I swear, every time I see him, I’m halfway afraid he’s gonna start crying like a girl or ask to borrow a tampon or something. Seriously, Violet, it’s disgusting. Really. Only you can make it stop. Please make it stop.”
Violet didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help smiling at the absurd picture that Chelsea painted of Jay. And even though she knew it wasn’t very mature to feel smug at a time like this, especially over the delusional image concocted by her mentally unhinged friend, she couldn’t help herself; she laughed anyway.
Still, she didn’t want to talk about it with Chelsea. Not even the kinder, more sensitive Chelsea. “I’m sure he’s fine, Chels. And if he’s not, he’ll get over it.”
Chelsea just shook her head. “All I’m saying is . . . I’m here if you want to tell me about it. . . .” She left the offer hanging there.
And Violet felt guilty for not taking her up on it. She wished she could talk about what had happened. She wished she could tell Chelsea everything, to explain what she and Jay were fighting about, to tell her about Megan, and what she’d seen at Mike’s house that night. But she couldn’t. It was too tangled together with her ability.
So she said nothing, and tried to ignore the disappointment on Chelsea’s face.
When Chelsea realized that she wasn’t getting anywhere with Violet, she changed the subject, but Violet found the new topic even more painful than discussing Jay. “I got the cutest jacket to wear up to the cabin next weekend,” Chelsea gushed. “You know, warm but not too warm, so maybe Mike will have to use some of his body heat to keep me from getting hypothermia.”
But Violet had stopped listening. All she could hear was the rush of blood coursing through her ears.
Her friends were still planning to go to the cabin. Of course they were. How could Violet have expected otherwise?
They reached her car, and Violet clumsily got inside, reaching over to unlock the door for Chelsea. She tried to concentrate on what Chelsea was saying. She wanted to interrupt Chelsea long enough to ask the questions that she knew she would never dare utter: Was Jay still going? Was he planning to go without her?
And: Was Megan?
Violet’s fingers tingled as she gripped the steering wheel. She struggled to remember what she was supposed to do next, and then it came to her. She wrapped her fingers around the key and twisted it. Her car rumbled to life.
Chelsea was unaware of the punishing emptiness that crept over Violet, stealing her resolve and tackling her spirit. Violet stopped listening as Chelsea prattled on, and the words buzzed in the air until they reached Chelsea’s house.
Violet remembered to say good-bye, but it sounded bleak and empty in her throat, leaving a caustic trail over her tongue.
She felt as if she were vanishing, like a shadow sitting behind the wheel of her own car, and she wondered how her friend couldn’t notice that. How she could just ignore it.
It wasn’t until Chelsea stopped at her front door and gave Violet a strange look that Violet realized she was still sitting there, staring at nothing.
Chelsea waved awkwardly.
Violet blinked, reminding herself that it was time to leave. She put her car into gear and drove away, not bothering to wave back.
If she had, Chelsea wouldn’t have seen her anyway.
Violet had become invisible.
Violet stopped at the Java Hut on her way home, desperately needing not to be by herself right now. She had hoped that the chaos of the after-school hangout might help. That somehow the noise might penetrate, even obliterate, the nothingness that was smothering her.
But when she stopped her car and looked out the windshield at the crowded parking lot, she hesitated.
She knew she wouldn’t run into Chelsea, who she’d just dropped off at home. Or Jules or Claire, who were still at school working on their science project. Or Jay.
It was Wednesday, and Jay worked on Wednesdays.
So why was she suddenly so uncertain? What was her problem?
She didn’t know, but now that she was there, seeing her classmates coming and going from the busy café, it was the last place in the world she wanted to be. The problem was, she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. So she just sat and watched them go about their lives.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long she’d been staring at the entrance, but she recognized the moment that her heart started to beat again. It was the instant she saw the girl walking through the front door of the Java Hut.
Megan was pretty. Small and fragile-looking, and for a split second, for just the briefest of moments, Violet could understand why Jay would have a hard time believing that this delicate wisp of a girl could ever be capable of doing the things Violet had accused her of.
She exited the café, followed by two of her friends, who, by comparison, made Megan appear pixielike. That contrast made Megan’s stilted movements seem even more oddly out of place. She gave the impression that she would move gracefully, fluidly, like a dancer, but instead she came across as guarded and cautious. She kept her head low, her arms drawn in tightly, protectively, around her. She appeared frightened. Like a hunted animal.
But that wasn’t what stole Violet’s breath, making her lean forward to get a better view.
And it wasn’t the sudden appearance of a flashing white light that clung to Megan’s alabaster skin. Because it wasn’t there. The light. The imprint.
It wasn’t there.
Violet blinked, thinking that she’d seen wrong. She was tired, exhausted, and maybe her eyes were playing some sort of trick on her. But they weren’t.
Megan wasn’t the one.
No matter how many times Violet blinked, or how hard she tried to tell herself that she knew what she’d seen that night in the woods, she couldn’t make herself see it now—here—if it didn’t exist.
She tried to make sense of it, of what it could have been. Could someone else have been in Megan’s house the night the power had gone out? Someone who had been responsible for the cat’s death? Or maybe Jay had been right all along. Maybe she hadn’t seen an echo at all, maybe it had been something else altogether. A flashlight. The flicker of candlelight.
Violet didn’t know. But she was certain of one thing now.
Megan hadn’t killed that cat. She didn’t carry the imprint on her. Violet had been wrong. And the truth stung. Knowing that she’d accused this girl of something so unspeakable. And that she’d fought with Jay because of it . . .
Jay.
How was she going to fix this? How was she ever going to explain it to him?
What if he wouldn’t listen?
Violet watched numbly as Megan got into a car with her friends, and she realized that she needed to stop her from leaving. Maybe none of it had been Megan—the cat, the phone calls, the note—but Violet had accused her, and now she needed to apologize. Even if the other g
irl didn’t understand why.
Violet’s fingers fumbled with the door handle, feeling clumsy and unsure. But she was already too late; the other car was pulling out of the parking space, and Violet stared helplessly as it drove away.
Violet hesitated outside the auto-parts store. She didn’t want to interrupt Jay at work, but from where she stood she could see he was alone in there, and she couldn’t go one more second without talking to him.
She needed to tell him that she’d been wrong.
As she pushed the door open, Jay looked up from behind the counter and saw her. Her heart lodged in her throat, making it impossible to breathe.
Her face crumpled, and the speech she’d practiced was lost on a whimper the moment she saw him racing around the counter to reach her. He didn’t say anything right away, just gathered her in his arms, squeezing her to him. It was his way of saying he was relieved she’d come.
She buried her face in his jacket, inhaling his familiar scent. She clung to him, unable to stop herself, even though she didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve him.
“God, Violet, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. . . .” He pressed his face against the top of her head, and she realized then that he needed her as much as she needed him.
She moved closer, molding her body against his, afraid that if they parted, somehow the moment might crumble. His arms tightened as if he knew what she was thinking, and she could feel his heartbeat thrumming beneath her own skin, bringing her back to life.
She tried to tell him, to explain, but her voice failed her, coming out on a strangled sigh.
Jay must have misunderstood the sound, and his grip tightened, pinning her against him.
“Don’t, Violet. Please, just listen to me. I can’t take it anymore. You win. I was wrong. I should never have doubted you. I do trust you. I love you, and I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be . . .” He struggled to find the right words. “. . . without you.” And then, finally, his arms slackened, releasing her, giving her the choice again. She felt his shoulders slump, and his heart shudder. “Please . . .”
Violet didn’t want him to be sorry, but she couldn’t speak just yet. She shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest, trying to make him understand. She moved her arms around him, beneath his jacket, and clutched his shirt in her hands, refusing to let him go.
That was all the encouragement he needed, and his hands were on her, touching, reassuring. He held her. He kissed the top of her head. And her cheeks.
He waited for her to be ready.
And when her heart rate returned to normal, she tried again. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jay,” Violet finally insisted, and this time her voice didn’t falter. “I was wrong . . . about everything. I shouldn’t have been so quick to jump to conclusions, or to force you to admit that I was right. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” She trembled, and Jay pressed her against him again, lending her his calm.
“Shhh . . .” he whispered into her dark curls.
“No, let me finish.” She cleared her throat, tipping her head back so she could look at him.
She felt bad for what she saw there. His eyes were bloodshot, and Chelsea was right: He seemed worn down. It was the same way Violet felt.
But when he smiled at her, all lopsided and sweet, everything felt better. He was beautiful. And he was hers. Still, she needed him to understand.
“Jay, it wasn’t Megan.” The words felt hot against her throat, like poison.
The smile vanished, and Violet’s stomach tightened as she searched for the right words.
“What are you saying?” Jay asked, confused.
“It wasn’t Megan who killed the cat. Either it wasn’t her who I saw at the house that night, or it wasn’t an imprint at all. I saw her today. She didn’t kill anything. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” She was pleading with him, hoping he understood.
He didn’t say anything right away, but Violet knew that something was wrong. She could feel it. His body stiffened, and she felt him move away from her, slightly—barely—but enough. The gap felt vast.
She was suddenly aware of where they were standing. That they were still in the auto-parts store. Somehow, surrounded by Jay’s arms, Violet had forgotten where they were.
“Jay, don’t,” Violet begged.
Maybe she hadn’t said it right. Maybe her explanation had fallen short and he didn’t understand. She needed to try again.
“Please, I can’t be without you either. I don’t want to be apart anymore. I was trying to tell you I was wrong—”
But she didn’t get a chance to finish, because Jay pulled her back, squeezing her against him, this time leaving no space at all. He leaned over her, wrapping his arms, and his body, around her, and she could feel him shaking his head.
She struggled to move, and to breathe, beneath him, and when she heard his words, she understood.
“No, I was wrong. I wasn’t thinking about this the right way. It would have been better if it was Megan. It’s worse now. It means you aren’t safe, because someone left that cat.” He loosened his hold only enough so that Violet could breathe. “Shit! Shit, Vi, someone left you a dead cat. Someone who’s still out there. You have to tell your parents. And your uncle. We need to find this guy.”
Violet thought about the note she’d received, the pink paper with the flowing script and the disturbing poem inside.
She tipped her head back and stared at Jay, realizing that he was right. “Or girl,” she corrected absently.
Chapter 23
Violet didn’t tell her parents, or even her uncle, right away. In fact, she didn’t plan on telling them at all. Instead, Violet proposed a different solution. An alternative.
Jay wasn’t crazy about her idea at first. Or at all, really. He would have preferred to go to her uncle. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.
But Violet was adamant, insisting that they keep her family out of it this time. She didn’t want to worry them. And selfishly, she didn’t want them crowding her, smothering her with concern. Justified or otherwise.
She wanted to try a different approach first.
Jay reluctantly agreed, but only for the short term.
Meaning that he was putting her plan on the clock. If her proposed solution didn’t work out within the week, he was calling it off and going to her family himself. He wanted Violet safe, no matter what.
Violet grudgingly accepted his terms, believing that her way was better and that it would work. Right up to the point of execution.
Now that she was sitting in her car carrying it out, she had her doubts. Serious ones.
She glanced down nervously at the scrap of paper in her hand and then up at the dilapidated-looking building again. It was the right address. She checked the street sign on the corner one more time—maybe she’d misread it and was on the wrong block.
Nope. Right street, right block. Damn!
She tried to ignore the prickling reservations about being here by herself after dark as she rubbed the hairs on the back of her neck to stop them from tingling.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, the location.
Violet had told Jay all about Sara and how she might be able to help, but she’d expected it to be a day or two before she could actually get an appointment. She was surprised, then, when Sara had agreed to meet with her that evening. And even more surprised that they would be meeting at this new place.
She called Jay at work, knowing he’d want to go with her, but explained that things were moving quickly and she needed to go. He offered to leave work, but they both knew the offer was empty; he’d never leave the store unattended.
So here she was, all alone.
Violet stuffed the piece of paper into her purse, trading it for her small can of pepper spray as she shoved her car door open. She positioned her finger on the canister’s trigger. Just in case.
The fact that no one was around should have made Violet feel safer, but it didn’t. It made her feel like bait.
Young, helpless bait armed with a tiny can of pepper spray.
She hurried up the steps to the lit doorway and pressed the chipped button. She heard it buzz from somewhere inside. Her finger remained in ready position on the trigger in her hand.
She jumped when a voice blared from beside her. “Can I help you?”
Violet glared at the black plastic intercom. She already felt like a worm on a hook—the woman’s voice was like slipping a colorful lure around her neck. Definitely baitlike.
“I’m here to see Sara Priest.” She said it as quietly as she could and hoped she could still be heard.
There was a click on the other end, like the machine had gone dead. And then nothing.
Crap! Violet silently cursed. Maybe she’d written the address down wrong after all. Maybe she was in the wrong place.
She thought about pressing the button again, but her sense of self-preservation, and her fear of the woman’s way-too-loud voice, kept her from going near it. Instead she just stood there, growing more and more anxious by the second.
Violet didn’t realize that she’d pressed herself so tightly against the door until it opened from the inside and she stumbled backward.
She fell awkwardly, trying to catch herself as her feet slipped and first she banged her elbow, and then her shoulder—hard—against the doorjamb. She heard her can of pepper spray hit the concrete step at her feet as she flailed to find something to grab hold of.
Her back crashed into something solid. Or rather, someone. And from behind, she felt strong, unseen arms catch her before she hit the ground. But she was too stunned to react right away.
“You think I can let you go now?” A low voice chuckled in her ear.
Violet was mortified as she glanced clumsily over her shoulder to see who had just saved her from falling.
“Rafe!” she gasped, when she realized she was face-to-face with his deep blue eyes. She jumped up, feeling unexpectedly light-headed as she shrugged out of his grip. Without thinking, and with his name still burning on her lips, she added, “Umm, thanks, I guess.” And then, considering that he had just stopped her from landing flat on her butt, she gave it another try. “No . . . yeah, thanks, I mean.”
Desires of the Dead Page 18
