Desires of the Dead (5 page)

It was completely astonishing to her—even after all these months—being in love with her best friend.

Violet survived the surprisingly brief interrogation by her parents. She and Jay had come up with a lame story about going to Chelsea’s to get the cell phone she’d left in her friend’s car the day before. But as it turned out, she really hadn’t needed the lie. Her parents didn’t seem all that concerned about where she’d been. They were more worried about how she was feeling today, knowing that she’d locked herself in her bedroom the night before.

Later that evening, once again alone in her room, Violet turned on the TV and scoured the local news for reports that a body had been discovered on the waterfront. When she found nothing on the news, she checked the internet. She was afraid that it would be there, that her darkest fears would finally be confirmed, that someone
had
been murdered and left behind for her to find.

And she was equally afraid that there would be no news, that she would remain in this tormented state indefinitely. Either way would be devastating.

But in the end, she knew nothing more than she had that morning.

So it was another rough night for Violet, and it took her hours to drift into a sleep that was too light to be restful. But it was a dreamless night and, for that at least, Violet was grateful.

When morning finally came, Violet wanted to stay in bed and skip school. But somehow the idea of her mother hovering around her all day, asking if everything was okay, was even less appealing than trying to make it through another sleep-deprived day.

She managed to drag herself out of bed, feeling fatigued and unenthusiastic. The shower helped—a little. But breakfast only made her queasy. She felt off, out of sorts. And it completely sucked, because she knew she would be sleepwalking through this day, and probably the next, and the one after that. Until whoever was inside that container could be found and properly buried.

Her phone buzzed just before she walked out the door; she had a new text message:

Check the news.
It was from Jay.

As she stood, Violet grabbed the remote and flipped through the local TV channels. It didn’t take long to find what Jay wanted her to see; it was on all the stations.

A four-year-old boy had been found on the Seattle waterfront late last night. Inside a cargo container. They flashed a picture of the blond-haired, cherubic-faced little boy.

Violet recognized the photo; she’d seen his face before, on the news, a story that she’d too easily ignored. An Amber Alert had been issued when he’d first disappeared—several weeks earlier—after he’d gone missing from his home in Utah.

And even then, she remembered thinking . . . vaguely . . . in the back of her mind, that the boy on the screen reminded her of her little cousin Joshua.

Violet felt sick. She had to sit on the edge of the coffee table to calm her suddenly shifting equilibrium. She felt like all of the air had been sucked from her lungs.

But at last she understood her dream on Saturday night.

She had dreamed of a dead boy. A
real
dead boy.

She dropped her backpack on the floor, deciding to give in to her exhaustion and stay home from school.

If only she’d been wrong, if only the container had held nothing more than a dead animal, then everything would be different now. But as it was, knowing that she hadn’t been mistaken, that she’d somehow known what
—
or rather
who
—had been in there, she felt crushed by the burden.

She turned off the television and headed back to her room. She knew there would be no peace for her until this boy’s family was able to reclaim and bury him.

She sat on her bed. At least in the privacy of her bedroom she didn’t have to go through the motions of normal, everyday life.

Here, she could hide away without pretending to be anything other than what she really was:

A girl who found dead bodies.

Chapter 5

Violet stood outside the cafeteria, wishing Jay would hurry up. She needed him to anchor her, to make her feel safe.

She felt raw, exposed. Her skin ached and her teeth were on edge, making them hurt all the way down to her jaw.

She knew, of course, why this was, but knowing didn’t make it more bearable.

Violet heard her name again, and she glanced up. She recognized Lissie Adams and her friend, even though she couldn’t immediately dredge up the friend’s name—her brain was too fuzzy, her thoughts too muddled. But that didn’t stop her from trying to interpret the look on Lissie’s face. Disdain, maybe. Disgust. A mixture of both, most likely.

Apparently, Chelsea and Jules, who’d been waiting with Violet, saw it too.

“Go away, Lissie,” Chelsea said, standing in front of Violet. “Shouldn’t you be feeding with your own kind?”

“Stay out of it, Morrison. This has nothing to do with you. I was just tryin’ to talk to Violet.”

Chelsea took a step forward until she was practically nose to nose with Lissie. “Yeah, well, Violet’s not interested in listening to any of your crap. Besides, we all know you’re just pissed because Jay doesn’t like
skanks
like you.”

Lissie’s lips tightened, but her face paled. It was a low blow, Violet knew that much, even from behind the curtain that buffered her from the real world.

She couldn’t watch, but only because it was too difficult to concentrate. She turned away; her friends would handle it; they would take care of her until Jay arrived. Beside her, an unfamiliar girl stood quietly, waiting without saying a word. Violet had the distinct feeling that the girl was part of their group, that she should recognize her, but, again, the confusion that plagued her made her uncertain.

The girl smiled, a nice smile, but Violet just turned away, staring at the floor, trying to tune out everything around her. It was easier that way, not thinking, not noticing.

And then her heart fluttered—the first sign that it was still beating—as she heard Jay’s voice. She didn’t look up; she didn’t even acknowledge that he’d joined them except to herself. Except to feel fleetingly grateful that he was there. At last.

She listened to the chatter going on around her as Jay’s arm slipped over her shoulder and he steered her toward the lunchroom. She heard Chelsea and Jules. She heard Claire giggle. She heard the voice of the new boy—Mike, she remembered—deep like Jay’s. And she heard Jay.

She didn’t hear the girl, but she knew she was still there.

They were all just noise to Violet.

Background.

She felt Jay squeezing her hand with his. It was warm. It made her feel safe and attached to the world.

He reminded her that
she
was still alive.

Lust

She stood at her locker, only pretending to sift through its contents, when in reality she kept her focus on the students hustling through the busy hallway behind her, not wanting to miss him amid the after-school activity. She knew she couldn’t wait for too long, or she’d miss her ride. Not that she really cared. She’d walk home if it meant she could spend a few extra moments—even in passing—with
him
.

Just thinking about him made her heart flutter within the walls of her chest.

Casually she bent down to adjust the laces on her shoe so she could get a better view. And that was when she saw who she was looking for.

Jay Heaton.

Her heart beat a joyful rhythm as hope blossomed anew. She had to stop herself from grinning; she was all by herself and she didn’t want to appear crazed.

What she wanted was for Jay to finally notice her. She willed him to glance her way, to come to her, but he just kept walking, his eyes searching the crowds for someone else. What she wouldn’t give to be that person, just this once.

And then the look on his face changed, and a smile so sweet that it made her forget to breathe reached all the way into his eyes. He’d spotted the person he was waiting for, and her bloom of hope wilted.

Of course. The girl he was always waiting for . . . Violet Ambrose.

Envy rooted, spreading like a disease. Everyone had always told her how pretty she was, but what had being pretty ever gotten her? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get Jay to look at her like that.

Her jaw tightened as she ground her teeth together, trying to imagine what it was that Jay could possibly see in that shell of a girl, why he had ever decided to call Violet his “girlfriend” in the first place. She looked like a zombie, like one of the walking dead. Her skin was gray and slack, her expression . . . well, it was nothing. Violet was empty.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He lifted the backpack from Violet’s shoulders and curled his arm around her, guiding her protectively through the hallway as he led her outside.

She followed at a reasonable distance, trailing the two of them to the parking lot, trying to appear relaxed, like she was just another student. There were so many others around her that it was easy to blend, easy to go unnoticed.

She counted her steps, concentrated on keeping her breathing steady and her head low.

One.

Two.

Three . . .

When they reached Jay’s car, she slowed, keeping her distance so she could watch as he opened the door and helped Violet inside. Her stomach convulsed when he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on Violet’s forehead. She reached up and touched her own cold forehead in that same exact spot as she, once again, tried to imagine what it would be like to be in Violet’s place. . . .

For just a minute.

For a week.

Or maybe even forever.

Chapter 6

Exactly six days from when Violet had placed her anonymous phone call, the boy was taken home and buried by his family.

Six days.

She could almost pinpoint the moment it happened, the moment that he felt released, and that her burden was lifted. She was like a comatose princess in some fairy tale when the spell was broken by the kiss of her prince. Except that in
her
grim fairy tale, the kiss was the funeral of a four-year-old boy.

And there it was . . . that
closure
she’d been waiting for.

Only three days later, she was back among the living again, sitting in the cafeteria with her friends like the normal girl she wished she could always be. Yet she couldn’t help but notice the absence of her boyfriend.

Apparently, Jay and Mike had been practically inseparable since they’d started hanging out, right after Violet had discovered the boy’s body in the shipyard.
Inseparable
was probably too strong a word, but to Violet it felt damn close.

She hated being jealous. And of a guy, no less.

She wasn’t exactly sure
why
it bothered her so much. Jay was allowed to have other friends, wasn’t he? And it wasn’t as if Violet didn’t like Mike; he seemed like a nice enough guy. She just didn’t really know him.

Besides, Chelsea sure liked him. That said something for him . . . even if it was just that he was absurdly hot. From what Violet could tell,
everyone
seemed to love Mike.

And maybe that was it; maybe she was feeling left out. While everyone else had been getting to know Mike,
falling in love with him
for the past week or so, Violet had been sort of . . .
checked out.

But it wasn’t her other friends she was worried about. It was Jay. She missed him. She missed being
alone
with him. It seemed like everywhere Jay was, Mike was.

And wherever Mike was, Chelsea wanted to be.

So they’d created an odd foursome, and Violet was feeling crowded. Like the misfit of the group, the only one who
wasn’t
wild about Mike.

And worse, she was beginning to feel like she was competing for Jay’s attention. It was something she’d never done before . . . and she had no intention of starting now.

She found herself secretly hoping that Mike and Chelsea would hook up already, just to give her and Jay some breathing room.

“What are you thinking about?” Jay asked as he plopped down next to her.

She blinked, wondering if she was wearing her frustration on her face. “Nothing,” she lied, pushing her salad around her plate.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just tell him.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Jules interrupted from across the table.

Violet cast a quick glare at her friend for inconveniently pointing out the obvious.

“What?”
Jay asked, nudging Violet with his shoulder. “Tell me.”

Violet hesitated, suddenly embarrassed over her new insecurity. Yet, inside her head, she bitterly referred to Mike as “Jay’s boyfriend.”

Ironically, though, it was Mike who saved Violet from having to confess those very thoughts, when he slid into an open space on the other side of the table. “What’d I miss?” His lazy smile reached all the way into his tawny-colored eyes, and even the dimple on his cheek made a fleeting appearance.

Violet could see the draw for Chelsea; he
was
sort of stunning to look at.

So then what was Jay’s excuse? She jokingly hoped it wasn’t the adorable dimple too.

Sitting next to Jules, Chelsea, who’d been unusually quiet, immediately perked up. “Nothing. We were just wondering what was taking you so long.” She beamed at Mike.

Mike paused, not sure what to make of her comment, and then shot a half smile in Jay’s direction. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I showed up when I did then.”

Chelsea giggled, a strange, high-pitched sound that nearly caused Violet to choke on her food.
What the hell is going on with her?
Violet thought, eyeing Chelsea warily.
Someone needs to check her meds!

“Anyway,” Chelsea announced, as though she’d been interrupted by Mike’s arrival, rather than moping over his absence, “what do you guys think about all of us getting together tonight? Maybe going to the movies or something?”

Violet’s heart sank; a night out with “everyone” was definitely
not
what she’d been hoping for. Her shoulders fell as she sighed.

But it was Jay who cut Chelsea off before she could firm up her playdate. “Actually, Violet and I already have plans. We’re gonna do something by ourselves tonight.” He nudged Violet with his knee beneath the table. And to soften the blow with Chelsea, he added, “Maybe we can all go this weekend instead.” Then, keeping his voice low, he said to Violet, “Besides, we’ve got some
homework
to do.”

Violet sighed again, this time an entirely different kind of sound. He hadn’t forgotten about her after all. And she wasn’t losing him to a new guy with great dimples.

His barely subtle use of the word
homework
didn’t escape her notice either.

She smiled to herself.

“Sure. No problem, man,” Mike agreed as he took an enormous bite from his sandwich, making nearly half of it disappear at once. He was completely unfazed by Jay’s announcement, and Violet suddenly liked him a little more.

Chelsea, on the other hand, looked crestfallen, like she was shriveling, and Violet actually felt sorry for her friend, something that took her entirely by surprise.

But as bad as she felt for Chelsea, Violet wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to be alone with Jay.

Violet was sitting in the passenger seat of Jay’s car after school when the first call came in. It was a Seattle area code, but she didn’t recognize the number, and she wasn’t in the mood to find out who it was, so she hit Ignore on her phone.

The caller didn’t leave a message.

Jay dropped her off at home, kissing her sweetly with a promise that he’d be back as soon as he finished up the to-do list his mom left him every afternoon.

Generally the list consisted of picking up around the house and taking out the garbage, but Jay was like the man of the house, and occasionally his mom threw in an odd handyman job or two. He’d become rather skilled with a screwdriver and a roll of duct tape.

As his car pulled away, Violet’s cell phone rang again.

She checked it . . . it was the same number.

She hit Ignore for a second time
,
and, still, there was no message.

As she stood outside her front door, Violet glanced toward the street and watched Jay’s car disappear. She tried to disregard the nagging sensation that had been plaguing her over the past week or so. She’d been aware of it even while she’d been lost in that in-between haze, awaiting the boy’s burial. It was the disturbing feeling that she wasn’t alone, that someone was following her . . . watching her.

It’s just your imagination
, she told herself for the umpteenth time,
nothing more
.

She scanned her driveway once more before ducking inside her house and dumping her backpack by the door. Her mom was still out in her art studio—a converted shed in their backyard—working. But there was a note on the kitchen counter waiting for Violet.

It was a message. A name and phone number. The same number that had called her cell phone twice already.

Apparently someone
really
wanted to talk to her, but Violet didn’t recognize the name her mom had written down.

She pocketed the note, grabbed a can of soda, and wandered up to her room to find out who was so desperate to reach her.

She sat cross-legged on the bed as she scrolled down to her missed calls and hit Enter.

It rang twice before a woman’s voice answered on the other end. “FBI, Seattle Field Office. How may I direct your call?”

Violet jerked the phone away from her ear as if it had just caught on fire. She hung up and threw it against her pillow.

What the hell was that? Why was someone from the FBI calling her?

Blood rushed noisily through her ears as she pulled the message out of her pocket and reread the name.

Sara Priest.

Who the hell was Sara Priest? And why was she calling Violet?

Violet felt momentarily staggered. She thought about all of the law enforcement people she’d had contact with over the past year.

After the shooting at the dance, she’d given statements to the police, repeating her words over and over again to more officers and detectives than she could count. She’d even spoken to the prosecutors who were handling the case against the other serial killer, the partner who’d been captured alive.

But
never
to the FBI.
Never
to anyone named Sara.

She wondered if somehow the FBI had become involved in the case. But why now? They already had one of the men responsible in custody, probably imprisoned for the rest of his life. And the other was dead.

So what had happened to change all that? Had they uncovered more victims? More missing girls, buried and forgotten? But surely, if that were the case, it would have been on the news.

Which left something else, something more recent.

She quickly ran through the reasons why that should be impossible.

She’d used a pay phone.

Anonymously.

With no witnesses around to see her.

It had to be the serial-killer case.

Her cell phone rang again, jolting her back to awareness. She leaned forward and pulled the phone toward her with one finger, as though it were something repulsive . . . something to fear. She glimpsed down at the screen.

It was the same number.

Violet was assaulted by the lingering, stomach-clenching sensation that she was missing something.

She briefly thought about answering it, to find out once and for all. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, and, instead, she shoved the phone away.

She decided that, for now, ignorance really was bliss.