Desires of the Dead
Page 3
Jay shrugged again.
“That’s weird. You should find out,” Chelsea commanded. “What about her? Does she have a name? Not that I care really, but it would be rude to call her ‘new girl’ once Mike and I are dating.”
“I have an idea,” Jay suggested, leaning toward Chelsea from across the table. “Why don’t you put together a list of questions, in order of importance, and I’ll have him fill out the answers? Kind of like new-kid homework.” He smiled innocently. “You don’t have to do it now, of course; just try to get it to me before the end of the day.”
“Ha-ha.” Chelsea made a face. “You’re freakin’ hilarious, Jay.” And then she turned to Violet. “That must be why you like him so much. ’Cause other than that, I just don’t get it.”
Claire’s brow creased, as though Chelsea’s statement didn’t make sense. She decided to help Violet out. “No, he’s cute too.” And when Jules started laughing, she added, “Well, he is!”
Chelsea was unmoved by Claire’s explanation and, as usual, had to have the last word. “No offense, Violet, but no one’s that cute. That’s all I have to say about it.” And then, in usual Chelsea fashion, she changed the subject before Jay had the chance to remind them all that he was sitting right there. “Hey, don’t forget, we’ve got a date on Saturday.”
“I didn’t forget,” Violet assured her. “I’ll take any excuse I can to go into the city.”
Besides, Chelsea might be obnoxious, but Violet knew they’d have fun. Plus it was a chance to get out of Buckley for the day. . . . She wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity like that.
At the sound of her uncle’s voice coming from the back door, Jay threw Violet off his lap.
Violet giggled as she hit the cushions on the back of the couch.
“What are you doing?” she complained. “It’s just Uncle Stephen.”
Jay sat up. “I know, but ever since the Homecoming Dance, I feel like he’s always watching us. I just don’t want him to think we’re doing anything we shouldn’t be.”
The Homecoming Dance. It had been almost three months since that night, but the memories still made Violet shudder.
Not a day went by that she wasn’t grateful Jay was still alive. Grateful the bullet from the killer’s gun had only grazed his shoulder, despite the fact that the man—one of her uncle’s own officers—had been aiming directly for Jay’s heart.
If her uncle hadn’t shown up at the dance when he did, firing the fatal shot that took the killer down, neither she nor Jay would have made it out of there alive.
Jay had always liked her uncle before then, but now it was something closer to worship. And even though Jay would never admit it out loud, Violet suspected that Jay felt indebted to her uncle for saving his life . . . a debt he knew he would never be able to repay.
A debt he wouldn’t even owe if it weren’t for Violet. It was Violet’s fault that he’d been in that situation in the first place. Violet and her . . . ability.
All because she was different. In more ways than most people could, or would ever, understand.
The dead called to Violet.
They used echoes that only Violet could sense, pulling her onward, steering her to their locations. These echoes came in many forms. Smells, sounds, sometimes an inexplicable color. Anything.
Yet not all the dead had echoes, only those who had died prematurely, their lives cut short by the actions of others. And it wasn’t just the dead who stood out to Violet but also those who had killed. They bore a mark as well: an imprint identical to the echo of their victim.
The imprint might fade, yes, but only over time. And only slightly. It would remain with them forever, in some form, an unambiguous reminder of the life they’d stolen. A reminder they would unwittingly carry with them.
And Violet was the only one who knew it was there. She was the only one who would ever see, or feel, or taste, what they had done.
They couldn’t hide it from her.
“What are you two doing?” Her uncle’s teasing voice came into the room before he did. But his voice was the second warning that they were no longer alone, since Violet had tasted his presence long before he’d actually stepped into her house. Ever since saving her and Jay at Homecoming, her uncle carried an imprint of his own. The bitter taste of dandelions still smoldered on Violet’s tongue whenever he was near. A taste that Violet had grown to accept. And even, to some degree, to appreciate. “Nothing your parents wouldn’t approve of, I hope,” he added.
Violet flashed Jay a wicked grin. “We were just making out, so if you could make this quick, we’d really appreciate it.”
Jay jumped up from beside her. “She’s kidding,” he blurted out. “We weren’t doing anything.”
Her uncle Stephen stopped where he was and eyed them both carefully. Violet could’ve sworn she felt Jay squirming, even though every single muscle in his body was frozen in place. Violet smiled at her uncle, trying her best to look guilty-as-charged.
Finally he raised his eyebrows, every bit the suspicious police officer. “Your parents asked me to stop by and check on you on my way home. They won’t be back until late. Can I trust the two of you here . . . alone?”
“Of course you can—” Jay started to say.
“Probably not—” Violet answered at the same time. And then she caught a glimpse of the horror-stricken expression on Jay’s face, and she laughed. “Relax, Uncle Stephen, we’re fine. We were just doing homework.”
“That’s weird. You should find out,” Chelsea commanded. “What about her? Does she have a name? Not that I care really, but it would be rude to call her ‘new girl’ once Mike and I are dating.”
“I have an idea,” Jay suggested, leaning toward Chelsea from across the table. “Why don’t you put together a list of questions, in order of importance, and I’ll have him fill out the answers? Kind of like new-kid homework.” He smiled innocently. “You don’t have to do it now, of course; just try to get it to me before the end of the day.”
“Ha-ha.” Chelsea made a face. “You’re freakin’ hilarious, Jay.” And then she turned to Violet. “That must be why you like him so much. ’Cause other than that, I just don’t get it.”
Claire’s brow creased, as though Chelsea’s statement didn’t make sense. She decided to help Violet out. “No, he’s cute too.” And when Jules started laughing, she added, “Well, he is!”
Chelsea was unmoved by Claire’s explanation and, as usual, had to have the last word. “No offense, Violet, but no one’s that cute. That’s all I have to say about it.” And then, in usual Chelsea fashion, she changed the subject before Jay had the chance to remind them all that he was sitting right there. “Hey, don’t forget, we’ve got a date on Saturday.”
“I didn’t forget,” Violet assured her. “I’ll take any excuse I can to go into the city.”
Besides, Chelsea might be obnoxious, but Violet knew they’d have fun. Plus it was a chance to get out of Buckley for the day. . . . She wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity like that.
At the sound of her uncle’s voice coming from the back door, Jay threw Violet off his lap.
Violet giggled as she hit the cushions on the back of the couch.
“What are you doing?” she complained. “It’s just Uncle Stephen.”
Jay sat up. “I know, but ever since the Homecoming Dance, I feel like he’s always watching us. I just don’t want him to think we’re doing anything we shouldn’t be.”
The Homecoming Dance. It had been almost three months since that night, but the memories still made Violet shudder.
Not a day went by that she wasn’t grateful Jay was still alive. Grateful the bullet from the killer’s gun had only grazed his shoulder, despite the fact that the man—one of her uncle’s own officers—had been aiming directly for Jay’s heart.
If her uncle hadn’t shown up at the dance when he did, firing the fatal shot that took the killer down, neither she nor Jay would have made it out of there alive.
Jay had always liked her uncle before then, but now it was something closer to worship. And even though Jay would never admit it out loud, Violet suspected that Jay felt indebted to her uncle for saving his life . . . a debt he knew he would never be able to repay.
A debt he wouldn’t even owe if it weren’t for Violet. It was Violet’s fault that he’d been in that situation in the first place. Violet and her . . . ability.
All because she was different. In more ways than most people could, or would ever, understand.
The dead called to Violet.
They used echoes that only Violet could sense, pulling her onward, steering her to their locations. These echoes came in many forms. Smells, sounds, sometimes an inexplicable color. Anything.
Yet not all the dead had echoes, only those who had died prematurely, their lives cut short by the actions of others. And it wasn’t just the dead who stood out to Violet but also those who had killed. They bore a mark as well: an imprint identical to the echo of their victim.
The imprint might fade, yes, but only over time. And only slightly. It would remain with them forever, in some form, an unambiguous reminder of the life they’d stolen. A reminder they would unwittingly carry with them.
And Violet was the only one who knew it was there. She was the only one who would ever see, or feel, or taste, what they had done.
They couldn’t hide it from her.
“What are you two doing?” Her uncle’s teasing voice came into the room before he did. But his voice was the second warning that they were no longer alone, since Violet had tasted his presence long before he’d actually stepped into her house. Ever since saving her and Jay at Homecoming, her uncle carried an imprint of his own. The bitter taste of dandelions still smoldered on Violet’s tongue whenever he was near. A taste that Violet had grown to accept. And even, to some degree, to appreciate. “Nothing your parents wouldn’t approve of, I hope,” he added.
Violet flashed Jay a wicked grin. “We were just making out, so if you could make this quick, we’d really appreciate it.”
Jay jumped up from beside her. “She’s kidding,” he blurted out. “We weren’t doing anything.”
Her uncle Stephen stopped where he was and eyed them both carefully. Violet could’ve sworn she felt Jay squirming, even though every single muscle in his body was frozen in place. Violet smiled at her uncle, trying her best to look guilty-as-charged.
Finally he raised his eyebrows, every bit the suspicious police officer. “Your parents asked me to stop by and check on you on my way home. They won’t be back until late. Can I trust the two of you here . . . alone?”
“Of course you can—” Jay started to say.
“Probably not—” Violet answered at the same time. And then she caught a glimpse of the horror-stricken expression on Jay’s face, and she laughed. “Relax, Uncle Stephen, we’re fine. We were just doing homework.”
