Shards of Venus

by Tjalara Draper

  Nathan released a burdened sigh. Right there, in the vaporous echo of the man’s neck, was a tattoo of a crystal scorpion.

  Ignoring his rising emotions, Nathan continued to follow the trail back out into the night.

  2

  Assaulted Taste Buds

  Violet jerked awake; someone had taken hold of her arm. Strobing memories of her abduction flickered through her mind, and she yanked away.

  “It’s okay, Violet,” said a female voice. “I’m just checking your vitals.”

  Violet’s panic subsided when she recognized the nurse by her bed. She relaxed back into the pillows and rubbed her eyes.

  “I’m going to check your blood pressure, okay?”

  Before Violet could reply, the nurse slipped on the blood pressure cuff and switched on the electric pump. The squeeze on Violet’s arm had just passed uncomfortable when the nurse released the pressure and noted down the reading. Then she briskly moved on to checking Violet’s temperature and heart rate.

  Violet silently berated herself. She should be used to this routine by now, considering a nurse checked her vitals roughly every six hours. She’d been well looked after by the nurses and doctors at Brookhaven Hospital, but that didn’t do a thing to change how much she hated being there. As far as she was concerned, all hospitals were odious, with their stark white walls, the promotional “Ask your doctor” medical posters, and the nose-pinching aromas of infected bodily fluids mixed with the sharp tang of antiseptic.

  But even the smells and ambience were infinitely more bearable than the lifelong ache of what hospitals meant to her—the stinging reminder that her mother had abandoned her in one of these cold, lonely buildings shortly after she was delivered. Violet had long ago given up on the idea that her mother would one day return to claim her, but that didn’t stop her grief from resurfacing every time she was forced to step into one of these godforsaken places.

  “Hmm,” said the nurse, jotting down some notes on the clipboard at the end of Violet’s bed. “Your injuries are healing beautifully, but you’re still showing a low-grade fever. I’ll make sure you get another dose of Tylenol.”

  Violet nodded, blinking away the sting of tears, and swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

  Despite the heavy weight of emotions, staying at the hospital was still preferable to the alternative. A slight shudder raced through Violet’s body at the thought of being sent back to her foster parents.

  The nurse frowned. “Are you cold?”

  Violet responded with a small nod. It was better than giving the real explanation. How could she stand to face her “home” now that Lyla-Rose was gone? Lyla had been her lifeline, the spark in the darkness, the breeze under her broken wings. Lyla had kept Violet going, her only friend in the world. And now she, too, was gone.

  “I’ll get you a warm blanket.” The nurse gave her a reassuring smile and left the room.

  Violet stared up at the bland pattern of ceiling tiles, trying to breathe through the growing tightness in her chest.

  Dead. Lyla’s dead.

  This time, she didn’t even try to blink the tears away. They cascaded down her cheeks, and she turned her face into her pillow. The aches and pains that hadn’t fully healed roared back to life as her body shook with sobs.

  The last few days had been a blur, clouded by pain and tangled up in a constant string of nurses, doctors, social workers, and police officers. The police had questioned her for every detail. What happened? Who? But no matter how hard Violet tried, she still couldn’t remember anything—except for one blazing image. A neck tattoo of a crystal scorpion.

  Violet squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingertips into her skull. Come on. Think! Try to remember. It didn’t change a thing. Her memories remained locked away. For the space of a few heartbeats, fear shoved aside her frustration. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Faint chatter cut through Violet’s thoughts. As it grew louder, Violet recognized the baritone voice of her doctor and the lighter voice of her social worker, Miranda. Judging by the tone of their conversation, they were discussing something serious.

  Violet quickly nestled into her pillows and feigned sleep as the two paused outside her door.

  “We can’t keep her here forever, Miranda.”

  “I know, I know . . . I was hoping to have another home ready for her by now, but at her age it’s becoming next to impossible.”

  A slight panic began to churn in Violet’s chest.

  “I understand, but she’s been here for almost two weeks, and that’s only because we aren’t overrun with patients at the moment. She’s more than ready to be discharged. I’m not running a halfway house here.”

  “You’re right. I get it. And I can’t thank you enough for keeping her in longer than necessary. I just can’t stand the idea of taking her back to those god-awful people.”

  “I wish there was more I could do to help. Really, I do. But for now, all I can give you is the rest of the afternoon. You need to take her today.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. That should be enough time for me to make some more calls.”

  “Great. For now, we’ll leave her to sleep. I’ll make sure one of the nurses gives you the discharge forms.”

  Footsteps tapped away on the hospital linoleum.

  Violet’s eyes flew open.

  Today. Miranda was taking her home today. Her eyebrows pinched together as she analyzed her options. Sure, she didn’t have anywhere else to go, but she was sixteen. She wasn’t a child anymore. She could fend for herself—hitchhike to the city, find a job, lie low until child services forgot about her. The plan wasn’t foolproof, but there was no way she was going back to a foster home. Of that, she was sure. She was done.

  She threw her blanket off and winced. Another thing she was sure of was that she needed some painkillers for the road.

  A few moments later, Violet was dressed, and her small denim bag, packed with the few belongings Miranda had retrieved for her, was slung over her shoulder. She poked her head into the hallway and checked both ways before leaving the room.

  Over the years, she’d become a pro at sneaking around. She stayed clear of the nurses’ station and ducked out of the hallway whenever someone passed by who might recognize her. With a bit of luck, she made it to the hospital pharmacy without any problems.

  The patient roller window was shut, as was the access door around the side. The pharmacist was either doing ward rounds or out to lunch. With a casual glance around to make sure no one was watching, Violet dug into her bag and pulled out some hairpins. Wedging one in her teeth, she bent the metal out of shape, then stuck her makeshift lockpicks into the pharmacy door handle with a finesse gained from hours of practice.

  Click.

  Perfect. She eased the door open.

  “You know,” said a deep voice behind her, “it’s one thing to run away from the hospital, but stealing meds is a shortcut to juvie.”

  Violet froze. She barely had the door open an inch. In her periphery, a guy leaned against the wall next to the pharmacy door—one of the cops who had frequently visited and questioned her about Lyla’s murder. He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he casually inspected his nails.

  She glanced toward the hospital exit at the opposite end of the hallway.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he warned. “I’ll have you crash tackled and handcuffed before the sliding door sensor even registers your existence.”

  Violet frowned. With her ribs, thigh, and ankle still not one-hundred-percent healed, he was probably right.

  “But what I would do,” he continued, “is contemplate very carefully which decisions to make next.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “If you make some wise decisions, then it’s likely I’ll forget to say anything to my partner and the hospital’s superintendent. Not to mention Miranda. She’d be crushed if she knew what you were up to. She’s been singing your praises the whole time.”

  Violet he
sitated, but the steel in his tawny eyes warned her to act soon, or he would. With a juvenile huff, she removed her hairpins from the lock and let go of the door, which slowly closed with a pneumatic wheeze. All her adrenaline had dried up, leaving only shame. The cop was likely to snitch anyway, and Miranda was going to kill her.

  “This way, kid,” said the cop. He headed down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the hospital exit. Violet shot a mournful look at the door to freedom. She could still make a run for it; the cop hadn’t even bothered to check if she was following him.

  She winced. Who am I kidding?

  With a defeated sigh, Violet trailed after the cop, but after a few paces, she frowned. He wasn’t leading her back to her room. Instead, he pushed through a glass door and held it open for her.

  “This isn’t my room.”

  “I know” was all he said as he gestured for her to enter.

  The world she stepped into was a complete contrast to the sterile hospital: the facility’s botanical gardens. Trees towered high above. Instead of stark white walls, every hue of green imaginable tumbled and climbed in all directions, broken up only by a vast spectrum of bright flowers. Water trickled musically down a rocky feature wall by the door, and a gentle breeze, heavy with the scents of rich earth and flowers, chased away the smell of antiseptic.

  Other patients were wandering along the weaving path or sitting on the benches provided. A nurse pushed an elderly lady in a wheelchair, but she stopped to allow her patient to stroke a low-hanging flower with her wrinkled hand.

  “What are we doing here?” Violet asked.

  “Remembering for a few minutes that life isn’t always crap.”

  He walked up the path a few paces and settled on a bench overlooking the pond, which was fed by an artificial waterfall.

  Violet frowned. What was this guy’s deal? He’d just busted her for trying to steal drugs, and instead of gloating, he wanted to zen out in nature?

  After a few moments, Violet sauntered over and plonked down on the opposite end of the bench. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He had his eyes closed, and his face was tilted up, catching patches of sunlight that speckled through the leaves. She figured he was maybe early forties, judging by some silver streaks in his dark hair and the salt-and-pepper stubble along his square jaw. The creases around his forehead, eyes, and mouth gave him resting I’m-about-to-kick-your-ass face, and his towering height and muscular build only added to his edge of intimidation.

  Still, Violet didn’t feel scared around him the way she had with previous cops—the ones who liked to use their badge and brawn to bully culprits into so-called justice. Something about him felt soothing.

  “So, kid, you wanna tell me why you were trying to run away?”

  Violet picked at the ends of her sweater sleeves, glaring at the orange koi fish gliding leisurely through the water. “I wasn’t trying to run away.”

  “Oh, really? Then what would you call it?”

  She folded her legs up onto the seat and hugged her knees. “I was . . .”

  A few silent moments passed. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. There was no point. The cop was probably mentally rehearsing his lecture, including threats to use his taser to make her go back to her awful foster parents. Because it was the right thing to do. Because she wasn’t old enough to take care of herself. Blah, blah, blah . . .

  Instead he unzipped his jacket halfway, reached in, and pulled out a white paper bag. He opened it and held it out to her, revealing some kind of candy in the shape of black discs. She took one. He took one too and popped it in his mouth before putting the bag back in his jacket.

  Violet inspected both sides of the disc. One side was smooth, while the other had an embossed impression of some kind of European coin. With a small shrug, Violet put the disc in her mouth. Immediately, her tongue wanted to commit suicide. Her whole face screwed up as the intense flavor of salt and licorice coated her mouth.

  “What the—?” she exclaimed right before involuntarily spitting the rubbery gunk into the garden behind her. Warbled sounds of disgust followed as she tried to hack out the lingering flavor. When that didn’t work, she rubbed her tongue with her sleeve.

  “What a waste,” said the cop. His expression held a hint of amusement.

  “What is that stuff?”

  “In this part of the world, it’s called Dutch licorice.”

  Violet’s whole face twisted in revulsion. “Ick! Remind me never to put one of those in my mouth again.”

  His amusement spilled into a smile. “Aw, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d rather lick the road! Ew!”

  He chuckled at that, a bass resonance from deep in his chest.

  “Violet, there you are!”

  Violet turned to see Miranda barging through the door a few feet away. Her face was calm, but her eyes were blazing. Uh-oh, she’s pissed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Miranda. “Please tell me you weren’t trying to run away again? Do you seriously think living on the streets is a better option for you? It’s bad enough that one girl has died already, and now you—”

  “It’s okay,” a new voice cut in. Another cop Violet recognized, a middle-aged woman, came up behind Miranda and touched her shoulder. “We found her.”

  Violet curled into a ball and hugged her legs again. Her eyes stung with fresh tears.

  “Come on, Miranda,” said the lady cop, steering her away from Violet. “How about we have a chat? Nathan, do you mind?”

  “I’ll be back, kid.” He patted her on the shoulder and went to join the ladies.

  They huddled a few feet away, close enough that they could keep an eye on Violet—and close enough that she could still hear their conversation despite their hushed tones.

  “I’m sorry, Jude,” said Miranda.

  “There’s no need to apologize to me.”

  “I know. I’m just . . . I don’t know what to do. I understand why she’s running away. I get it. I would be doing the same thing in her situation. I’ve been making calls for days to try and get her into a new home, but even all my emergency housing is over capacity. I just . . .” She dropped her head into her hands and gave a restrained groan of frustration.

  “I hear you, Miranda,” said Jude. “I don’t like the idea of her going back to those people either. Hell, if I wasn’t already raising two kids of my own, I’d offer her a bed in a heartbeat.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. And you too, Nathan. Thanks for making sure she didn’t take off. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she’d disappeared again.”

  “Can she stay here for another night?” Nathan asked.

  Miranda shook her head. “I’ve already tried that. Violet has stayed past her welcome. I have to take her today, and the best I can do for the moment is a group home back in the city—at least, until I can find a home willing to take on a sixteen-year-old. If only she were ten years younger.”

  Violet dropped her head against her knees.

  “Well, I do happen to have a guest bedroom that isn’t being used,” said Nathan.

  “Oh my gosh! Would you?” exclaimed Miranda.

  “Look, I don’t know whether it’s appropriate or not for a cop to take her in, but—”

  “Don’t worry,” cut in Miranda. “Leave it to me. It would only be temporary. I promise.”

  “Nathan, are you sure?” said Jude. “It’s not like taking in a puppy, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But the kid’s had a rough ride. I can at least give her a bed for a few days. Besides, you can give me some pointers, can’t you, Jude?”

  Jude scoffed. “I’ve yet to experience the teenage mood swings. It might be a case of the blind leading the blind.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “Great, it’s settled.” Miranda rattled off a list of forms she needed to prepare before bringing Violet around to Nathan’s place.

  “Hey, Violet,” sai
d Jude.

  Violet raised her head to see Jude looking down at her, Nathan at her side. Miranda was already making a phone call behind them.

  “Some temporary arrangements are being made for you to stay in Nathan’s spare room until better accommodations can be found.” Jude inclined her head to Nathan. “Do you think you can handle putting up with this guy for a few days?”

  Violet gnawed on the inside of her cheek. The idea of staying with a cop was a foreign concept. But what other option did she have? As far as cops went, he wasn’t too bad. He certainly hadn’t needed to give her a chance after busting her for breaking into the pharmacy, and he hadn’t snitched on her. Yet. In fact, so far the worst thing he’d done was assault her taste buds with that tar-flavored disc.

  “Yeah,” she said, giving them a slow nod, “I think I can handle it.”

  3

  Stupid Rose

  Three Years Later

  Nathan sighed with relief when he spotted a vacant parking spot near the college entrance. “Must be my lucky day,” he said in a low voice.

  The jeep rolled to a stop, and Violet’s sleeping form jolted in the passenger seat. Her arms flailed, smacking against the dashboard, and she cried out, eyes still clenched shut.

  Nathan leaned over and took hold of one of her arms. “Wake up! It’s just a dream.”

  She released a strangled growl, fighting his grip.

  “Violet!”

  Her eyes flew open and harried pants replaced the screams. She looked around, brow furrowed in confusion. When she spotted Nathan, she slumped back in her chair and groaned. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. Was I screaming again?”

  Nathan nodded, his lips in a tight smile. “Same dream?”

  Violet rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Yeah, the faceless man with the neck tattoo.”

  The familiar wave of guilt surged through Nathan’s chest. That damn neck tattoo. Violet’s trauma had latched so fiercely on to that image that it was impossible to erase. He sucked in a breath and held back his sigh. “No need to worry, Vi. It was just a dream.”