Dead Silence
Page 79
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.
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.
