“Her name is Casey Atkins. She goes to the university, just like Antonia did.”
Violet felt sick. She wondered if there were any other connections between the two girls, other than the school they attended. She thought about this new girl, Casey, and tried to imagine what she was like, tried not to think about what she might be going through right now.
She hoped they could find her before it was too late.
“What about you?” he asked. “It was a rough day. How are you holding up?” Violet didn’t want to talk about what had happened at the morgue, but it didn’t matter—Rafe wasn’t really asking after her feelings to be nice. “Can you come to the Center in the morning? Sara’s trying to get some of Casey’s things.” He was asking if she could still work.
Violet shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to stave off the fogginess that threatened to steal over her once more. “Besides, there’s not much I can do anyway,” she added, as if that was the only thing keeping her away, her inability to do what the others could.
Rafe went silent again, longer than necessary, and Violet wondered if there was something else, something he wasn’t saying. But then he just softly added, “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t,” she stated resolutely. She didn’t want to know any more, not about Antonia Cornett and not about Casey Atkins. Not now. Not while she was feeling like this.
“Fine,” Rafe said. “Good night, V. Sleep tight.”
Violet hung up, ignoring the odd sensation that penetrated the leaden veil surrounding her. Sleep tight? she thought, wishing she had the strength to smile. Who says that anyway?
And what was that other thing? The barely concealed tenor she’d heard in his voice. Something like affection? Maybe tenderness?
Was Rafe going soft on her?
She shook it off, certain she’d only imagined the tone in his voice. She was disoriented, she reminded herself, as her thoughts once again drifted unwittingly to Casey Atkins.
Rubbing her temples, she wondered how on earth she was ever going to get any sleep now, with the fate of a missing girl weighing on her conscience.
After a few minutes, Violet got up and paced across the room once more. The pills were still there, lying on top of a pile of rumpled T-shirts in the top drawer, and she plucked them out, slipping the cap off without a second thought.
They were easier to swallow than she’d imagined they’d be, and for several long minutes as she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling she thought nothing was happening, that the pills weren’t working. And then her eyelids fluttered, growing heavier and heavier. Until, at last, she could no longer hold them open.
And a dark, dreamless sleep claimed her.
At some point, during the early hours of the morning, the dreams found their way in. They were dark dreams, treacherous, submerging Violet in their murky depths until she was incapable of finding her way to the surface. At first the images were harmless, like some sort of crazy kaleidoscope, drifting in and out of focus, colliding and splintering and reforming again. Happy childhood memories, mostly. Flashes of Jay and her friends. Summer days spent climbing trees and playing flashlight tag. Slumber parties, camping, picnics, cherry Slurpees, and school carnivals. Just quick snapshots that meant nothing at all when pieced together.
And then the images became more gruesome. Glimpses of dead squirrels and possums. A cat with empty sockets where its eyes had once been, now gouged out. And the face of the first dead person she’d ever seen—a girl whose eyes had been wide and pleading. Although what Violet most remembered was the girl’s echo, the haunting voice that had called her away from her father’s side as they’d walked through the woods behind their home.
But it was the last fragments of the dream, images that made her feel as if she were drowning, reminding Violet that her ability was nothing less than a curse, where she saw the faces of killers. The two men who’d hunted in her hometown just months before, killing violently, brutally. Mike and Megan’s father, a man who’d murdered his wife years earlier, and then killed himself in a final act of desperation. And her uncle, someone she loved almost as much as her own father, whose imprint had been earned simply by saving the life of his own niece from the hands of a serial killer. She saw too the sadistic James Nua, who’d ended the lives of his very own children.
Finally, the last man she saw didn’t have a face in her dream; she simply knew him as the collector—but he was there too, a dark, featureless mass, coming closer and closer to where Violet flailed, struggling to remain afloat and desperate to find her way to the surface and break free from the waters that threatened to drown her.
She gasped at the same time she jolted upright, her body gripped in the spasm of an unvoiced scream. As if deprived for too long, oxygen savaged her lungs as she gulped mouthfuls of air, waiting until enough time passed that, at last, her breathing finally found a rhythm that felt steady and calm.
And the tormenting visions faded, becoming nothing more than a memory. Enough was enough, Violet thought. She had to take control. She needed to go to the Center after all.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Violet asked once more before reaching for the door’s handle.
Jay scowled, but not at Violet. He was gazing uncertainly at the neglected façade of the warehouse they were parked in front of. “Are you sure this is the right place?” It was impossible not to notice the grime and the desolation in this part of town. “This is where all the magic happens?” He chuckled, but Violet could hear the concern and couldn’t help wondering at his use of the word magic. She was suddenly nervous about him being there, about having him so close to her team.
“But you understand why you can’t go inside, right?” She shifted in her seat, blocking his view of the building and forcing him to look at her instead.
Jay grinned, the corner of his lip riding up just a bit. “I know you have work to do, and that it’s top secret or something. That you’re some sort of super spy, right?” She didn’t stop him when he closed the gap between them, his lips finding hers in a deep—and territorial—kiss. She couldn’t help wondering who he thought might be watching.
She’d called Jay first thing in the morning, to ask if he could drive her to the Center before school. She hated that he had to wait outside, but she didn’t trust herself to drive this morning. Not after the pills . . . and the nightmare.
Besides, she was still feeling foggy from the pills Dr. Lee had given her, and she’d been worried about driving herself.
Inside the warehouse, Rafe was already in the hallway and Violet wondered if Jay hadn’t been right to think they might be being watched. She eyed Rafe curiously but he was already leading the way. “We don’t have much, but Sara wanted to fill us in on all the latest.” Violet followed him, feeling strange about leaving Jay outside.
In the Center, Sara had started the debriefing, and Violet and Rafe slipped silently into the gathering.
“—I was able to get photos of the first two victims, and a little more information about them. The first of the girls was from Ballard and had been doing an internship at a local advertising agency. She was twenty-three. The second was a twenty-one-year-old preschool teacher from the Green Lake neighborhood. Not much to link them—either to each other or to the two college students—except for their looks.” She passed the photos to Violet, and there was no denying that the resemblance was striking. Both girls looked like Antonia Cornett. “I’m still working on getting the file for the missing girl, Casey Atkins, and some items from her home, including the ring they found.” She smiled at Krystal when she mentioned the ring they’d discovered in Casey’s home. “I do have some things from the other girls, though, if you don’t mind taking a look at them.”
Everyone started to jump up, but Sara stopped them. “Oh, and guys. Just so you know, the police suspect that he’s the one who’s been calling in the girls’ locations.”
“What d’you mean?” Sam as
ked, his lip curled in disgust. “They think he’s the anonymous caller who told them where to find the bodies? Why would he do that?”
Sara’s mouth pulled into a tight line as she shook her head. “They have no idea. But so far the phone numbers he called from have been tracked down to disposable cell phones, and the receipts have been dead ends. Whoever he is, he’s careful, that’s for sure.”
Beside her, Rafe let out his breath, and Violet felt the way he sounded. Disgusted.
“Violet, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?” Sara asked as the rest of the team descended on the box sitting on the conference table.
Violet got up and followed Sara to her private workstation. When Sara turned around to face her, she frowned. “Didn’t I just say alone?”
But behind her, Violet heard Rafe, his voice low. “I wanted to talk to her too. I figured it was better to do it here than in front of everyone else.”
Sara crossed her arms but released a resigned sigh. “Fine.” She turned to Violet. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, after last night with James Nua. You look . . . you look tired, Violet.”
Violet glanced self-consciously over her shoulder at Rafe. “I am, sort of.” She shrugged. “I mean, you did call me in the middle of the night.”
Rafe swiped at the back of his neck, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that. I thought you’d want to know.”
Violet managed a weak smile. “Of course I did. But I’m still tired.”
“But you’re okay?” Sara interrupted. “Other than that, I mean?”
“Yeah. I’m a little groggy from the pills Dr. Lee gave me, but I’m fine.”
Violet watched as a silent look passed between them, something she didn’t quite grasp. And then Sara reached for an envelope on her desk, handing it to Violet. “I almost forgot. This is yours.”
Violet slid the flap open and peered inside, her stomach coiling. She felt strange taking a paycheck for an ability she had no control over, but Sara reacted before Violet could protest . . . again. “Violet, we’ve talked about this. It’s your job now. I couldn’t ask you to do these things and not expect to compensate you. Besides, how else are you supposed to afford all your gas money? Buckley’s not exactly around the corner.” She smiled patiently. “Now try to get some rest. Who knows, I might need you again tomorrow.”
Violet shook her head but stopped short of arguing. She folded the envelope and stuffed it in her pocket. It wasn’t until she turned around that she nearly gasped, surprised to find Jay sitting in the kitchen. He was across from Gemma at one of the small Formica tables, and she was cupping one of his hands in both of hers, her fingertip grazing the creases that ran through his palm. Neither seemed aware of Violet, and she watched in stunned silence as Gemma first glanced at Jay’s face, and then closed her eyes, as if deep in concentration.
Violet was about to storm over and put a stop to whatever Gemma was trying to pull, when Rafe grabbed her by the sleeve, jerking her to a halt. “Wait a sec, will ya? I wanna see where this is going.”
Violet frowned, turning her glare on Gemma once more. “You’ve got to be kidding. She’s not really telling his fortune, is she?”
“What an amateur,” Krystal tried to whisper, sneaking up on the two of them from behind and draping her arms around their necks.
But Jay and Gemma had heard Krystal too, and they looked up to find the three of them standing there, watching as they huddled over the top of the table. Jay jerked his hand away from Gemma’s, hiding it in his lap while his cheeks burned red.
Gemma just smirked at Violet, cocking her head. “Look who was sitting out in his car . . . all by himself.” Her voice was pouty, as if she were talking about a lost puppy.
Violet narrowed her eyes at the other girl as she swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of her throat.
Rafe sauntered over to the table and flipped one of the chairs around so he was straddling it. “Did you see anything interesting?” he queried, propping his chin against the back of the chair as he glanced from Gemma to Jay.
Gemma’s perfectly painted lips upturned in a slow, evocative smile. “Sure, a lot of stuff. I’m sure you’d be very interested,” she finished, letting the words hang between them, her brown eyes locked with his blue ones.
Krystal’s arm was still wrapped around Violet’s neck and she tugged her closer, so that her mouth was right at Violet’s ear. “That one’s like a snake. She’ll strike if you don’t watch your back,” she managed in the first quiet voice Violet had ever heard her use.
But Jay was already jumping up, rubbing his palm nervously on his jeans. “You all done?” he asked, his eyes widening in a silent plea. “We should probably get going—it’s getting late.”
Violet decided to let him off the hook; it wasn’t his fault Gemma had it out for her. Besides, she didn’t want Sara to see him and think she was the one who’d invited him inside. “He’s right,” she agreed. “We’ve got school.”
Violet grabbed Jay’s hand and dragged him through the Center, watching his reaction and remembering how she’d felt the first time she’d been there. High-tech didn’t begin to describe the wide-open interior with its oversized plasma displays mounted on the walls, state-of-the-art computer workstations, and security cameras that tracked movement throughout the Center.
“Surveillance, huh?” Jay breathed, his eyebrows inching up a notch. “Pretty high-tech.” This time, unlike when he’d first seen the outside of the building, he actually sounded a little awed.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
Jay leaned down. “I forgive you.” He grinned enthusiastically.
“For what?” The rest of her team was just steps away, and Violet’s stomach knotted angrily.
His voice dropped. “For ditching me all the time. This is way cooler than hanging at the Java Hut.”
Anger
THE SCREAMING HAD STARTED EARLY, AND EVEN though he couldn’t hear her from upstairs—not with all of the precautions he’d taken in preparing her room—the speakers on the monitor he looked at still blared with her staticky cries. He covered his ears as he rocked himself . . . forward and backward . . . forward and backward. He watched as she pounded on the doors, the walls, and even precariously balanced on her bed as she strained to reach the ceiling overhead, beating her fists against it. She had no way of knowing that no one could hear her, that her every effort was in vain.
Maybe it had been too soon. Maybe she hadn’t been ready for the freedom he’d offered when he’d released her from her restraints.
But he’d hoped . . .
He uncovered his ears, once again letting her hoarse shrieks find their way into his head, letting the sounds echo inside the walls of his skull, reverberate through his skin. Making his hair stand on end.
The screaming was more than he could bear. It always was.
He reached out and turned the volume all the way down as he paced toward the kitchen. He reached into the sink, pulling out a dirty bowl, and rinsed it hastily beneath the faucet. Without even bothering to dry it, he filled the sticky bowl with soup—the same special soup he’d made for her the night before—and he shoved it into the microwave.
He waited only seconds before pressing the cancel button and jerking the bowl out again. Soup sloshed over the sides of the bowl. He didn’t care if her food was warm. He didn’t care if it was good or that the bowl was still dirty. She would eat it, whether she wanted to or not. She had to. He had to stop her from screaming.
And then he’d get out of the house for a bit. Get some fresh air so he could think again . . . and he had a lot to think about right now.
Maybe she wasn’t the right girl for him after all.
Chapter 10
VIOLET HAD KNOWN BEFORE SHE WAS FULLY awake the next morning that she’d overslept, and she vaguely wondered why her parents hadn’t come in to wake her. She’d heard a faraway buzzing sound—something that sounded strangely like her cell phone—but even in the fuzzy depths of sleep she
knew that couldn’t be it. It wouldn’t have mattered, though; she’d been unable to rouse herself.
It was the dream again. The one from the night before, with the dark, faceless man. Only this time she wasn’t drowning. This time he was coming after her, his fingers reaching for her . . . and she knew what he wanted. She knew he meant to choke her, in the same way he’d strangled all those other girls.
She awoke drenched in sweat, and released a shuddering sigh into her pillow as she clutched it in her hands. Blinking hard, she lifted her head and glanced down at the fabric she held. But it wasn’t her pillow at all. It was soft fleece she gripped until her knuckles were white and her fingers ached.
The moment she recognized it, she threw it down, wondering how it had gotten there in the first place. And then she glanced at her nightstand and saw the phone there. Her cell phone. Beneath it was a note from her mother, and she realized it was probably her mom who’d folded her hoodie and placed it on her bed too.
She picked up the note.
You can have this back on a probationary basis. Mess up again,
and it’s ours for good!
XOXO,
Mom
Of course Violet knew what this was really about. Her parents had hated being unable to reach her, not being able to call and check up on her. Still, the hugs-and-kisses were a nice touch, she thought; glad to have her phone back, no matter the reason.
She scrolled through the messages and realized that she hadn’t been dreaming after all; there were calls and texts from Jay, Chelsea, and Jules, asking where she was. Already she’d missed first period, she realized as she glanced at the time.
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