Desires of the Dead
Page 48
But Violet didn’t need Jay to remind her of her first-grade teacher. That was entirely different; Violet had only been six when her teacher had come to school carrying the shadowy aura that she hadn’t worn the day before. The dark air that clung to her skin like heavy black smoke had terrified Violet, and she’d run from the classroom, forcing the school nurse to call her parents.
By the time her mother had finished picking up Violet’s class work from Mrs. Webber, the teacher had confided to her that she’d run over a raccoon on her way to school that morning.
And Violet had learned to be careful in making assumptions.
But this time she wasn’t confused. She felt the sting behind her lids as she blinked furiously to ward away the tears.
Hadn’t Jay just assured her he was still her best friend? Hadn’t they just spent the night in each other’s arms, making promises and whispered pledges? Hadn’t she given herself to him completely? How could he question her? Especially now. Over this.
“I’m not wrong,” she insisted quietly. It pissed her off that her voice betrayed her, making her sound weak instead of determined. “You’re wrong, Jay. This time, you’re wrong.”
She hung up the phone, no longer fighting the tears. She leaned down, curling around her pillow and sobbing, using it to muffle her frustrated cries. She didn’t try to stop herself, didn’t try to tell herself that everything would be okay; she just let the tears come. She let herself feel everything.
For the first time in months, she let herself feel angry, betrayed, afraid, alone. Everything that she’d so carefully tucked away.
She cried until her eyes were raw and her face was swollen. She felt drained and empty. Hollow. It felt good, the nothingness. And when she finally felt nothing at last, she slept.
Her phone was ringing—or vibrating, in this case—from beneath her pillow. Violet dug it out and squinted at the small screen.
Her eyes felt like they’d been scraped with steel wool. She tried to rub away the grittiness, but it was hard to see through the watery haze. The LED screen glowed in the darkness.
The clock on her nightstand told her it was 2:03.
The caller ID on her phone said: Unknown Caller.
Her breath lodged in her throat, and her pulse quivered as she hauled herself up. She thought about ignoring the call. But she had to make a decision fast, or she would miss it. She closed her eyes and hit Answer.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?” Her voice was still scratchy.
Like before, there was nothing from the other end. Violet strained to hear, listening for something, anything that would confirm the girl’s identity. She cupped her hand over her other ear.
“Hello?” Violet repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
Silence was the only response.
Violet was nervous, but when she spoke, she tried to sound confident. “I know who you are,” she stated quietly.
And there it was.
She’d heard it that time. Without a doubt, something—someone—on the other end. She was sure now that the girl was listening. Violet had her attention.
She heard a brief rustling, as if the phone were moved, being repositioned.
She waited a moment and then tried again. “I know what you did,” Violet said as calmly as she could. Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest, slamming violently against her aching ribs. “I know you killed that cat.”
The stillness around her was unbearable. The quiet in the house was matched only by the silence from the caller. Violet suddenly had second thoughts about her accusations; somehow, saying them out loud to the person she suspected of committing them made them sound strangely absurd. She had a fleeting insight into what Jay must have felt.
Not that it mattered; he should have trusted her.
She took a breath, deciding that she didn’t care how it sounded. She wasn’t wrong. “I know it’s you, Megan.” Her voice dropped even lower, if that were even possible, until she could barely hear herself. “And so does Jay.”
On the other end, there was a barely audible sound. Violet thought it might have been a breath, a sigh, or maybe the whisper of a moan. She couldn’t be certain. But after that moment, after that brief lapse, there was nothing but a deafening hush.
Nothing.
Megan had hung up on her.
Chapter 20
Violet studied herself in the mirror and understood why her mom hadn’t given her a hard time about staying home from school. She looked like a train wreck. Her skin was pale and sickly, her eyes red and puffy. She winced as she wiped her nose, which was raw and sore.
She blamed Jay for the dismal image that stared back at her.
And Megan, of course.
Violet made her way back to bed. She had been tired before, but never like this. She felt defeated, stripped of all rational thought. She was certain she’d be incapable of making it through a single class, let alone an entire day.
She tried not to think about Jay. Whenever she did, she felt her heart collapsing in on itself.
She told herself that she should be concerned about Megan, a girl who’d been capable of some pretty terrifying stuff, but she couldn’t make her mind stay there. Jay’s refusal to stand by her when she needed him was more than Violet could bear. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thought away.
She was too weary to play this game again. But it was too late; he’d already found his way back in, and she could feel the tears, despite her best efforts to hold them back.
God, how was it possible that she even had any tears left?
By the time her mother had finished picking up Violet’s class work from Mrs. Webber, the teacher had confided to her that she’d run over a raccoon on her way to school that morning.
And Violet had learned to be careful in making assumptions.
But this time she wasn’t confused. She felt the sting behind her lids as she blinked furiously to ward away the tears.
Hadn’t Jay just assured her he was still her best friend? Hadn’t they just spent the night in each other’s arms, making promises and whispered pledges? Hadn’t she given herself to him completely? How could he question her? Especially now. Over this.
“I’m not wrong,” she insisted quietly. It pissed her off that her voice betrayed her, making her sound weak instead of determined. “You’re wrong, Jay. This time, you’re wrong.”
She hung up the phone, no longer fighting the tears. She leaned down, curling around her pillow and sobbing, using it to muffle her frustrated cries. She didn’t try to stop herself, didn’t try to tell herself that everything would be okay; she just let the tears come. She let herself feel everything.
For the first time in months, she let herself feel angry, betrayed, afraid, alone. Everything that she’d so carefully tucked away.
She cried until her eyes were raw and her face was swollen. She felt drained and empty. Hollow. It felt good, the nothingness. And when she finally felt nothing at last, she slept.
Her phone was ringing—or vibrating, in this case—from beneath her pillow. Violet dug it out and squinted at the small screen.
Her eyes felt like they’d been scraped with steel wool. She tried to rub away the grittiness, but it was hard to see through the watery haze. The LED screen glowed in the darkness.
The clock on her nightstand told her it was 2:03.
The caller ID on her phone said: Unknown Caller.
Her breath lodged in her throat, and her pulse quivered as she hauled herself up. She thought about ignoring the call. But she had to make a decision fast, or she would miss it. She closed her eyes and hit Answer.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?” Her voice was still scratchy.
Like before, there was nothing from the other end. Violet strained to hear, listening for something, anything that would confirm the girl’s identity. She cupped her hand over her other ear.
“Hello?” Violet repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
Silence was the only response.
Violet was nervous, but when she spoke, she tried to sound confident. “I know who you are,” she stated quietly.
And there it was.
She’d heard it that time. Without a doubt, something—someone—on the other end. She was sure now that the girl was listening. Violet had her attention.
She heard a brief rustling, as if the phone were moved, being repositioned.
She waited a moment and then tried again. “I know what you did,” Violet said as calmly as she could. Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest, slamming violently against her aching ribs. “I know you killed that cat.”
The stillness around her was unbearable. The quiet in the house was matched only by the silence from the caller. Violet suddenly had second thoughts about her accusations; somehow, saying them out loud to the person she suspected of committing them made them sound strangely absurd. She had a fleeting insight into what Jay must have felt.
Not that it mattered; he should have trusted her.
She took a breath, deciding that she didn’t care how it sounded. She wasn’t wrong. “I know it’s you, Megan.” Her voice dropped even lower, if that were even possible, until she could barely hear herself. “And so does Jay.”
On the other end, there was a barely audible sound. Violet thought it might have been a breath, a sigh, or maybe the whisper of a moan. She couldn’t be certain. But after that moment, after that brief lapse, there was nothing but a deafening hush.
Nothing.
Megan had hung up on her.
Chapter 20
Violet studied herself in the mirror and understood why her mom hadn’t given her a hard time about staying home from school. She looked like a train wreck. Her skin was pale and sickly, her eyes red and puffy. She winced as she wiped her nose, which was raw and sore.
She blamed Jay for the dismal image that stared back at her.
And Megan, of course.
Violet made her way back to bed. She had been tired before, but never like this. She felt defeated, stripped of all rational thought. She was certain she’d be incapable of making it through a single class, let alone an entire day.
She tried not to think about Jay. Whenever she did, she felt her heart collapsing in on itself.
She told herself that she should be concerned about Megan, a girl who’d been capable of some pretty terrifying stuff, but she couldn’t make her mind stay there. Jay’s refusal to stand by her when she needed him was more than Violet could bear. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thought away.
She was too weary to play this game again. But it was too late; he’d already found his way back in, and she could feel the tears, despite her best efforts to hold them back.
God, how was it possible that she even had any tears left?
