The Body Finder

by Kimberly Derting

  Her parents arrived separately since her dad had come straight from work. They were both stressed and worried, and they too buried her in embraces, and whispered gentle reassurances, as she endured recounting the events several times to several different people from several different agencies.

  She and Jay had each given the details that led up to, and included, finding a corpse floating in the shallow waters of the lake, cradled in the willowy grasses. Although in Jay’s recounting there were no lies to tell, no stories to fabricate. Violet wished that her account could have been so simple.

  But it wasn’t.

  Coincidence. Chance. These were the words she counted on to create a veil of deceit, to keep her “gift” a secret.

  She must have been convincing enough, though, because she could see the sympathy in the eyes of everyone who heard her story. Sincere looks that conveyed compassion directed at the poor girl who had stumbled upon such a horrific scene.

  Her uncle Stephen’s presence was reassuring to her on many levels, and eventually, maybe sooner than was usual, she was released to her family. He also took responsibility for getting Jay home, since Jay’s mother, the only woman in the known universe who didn’t own a cell phone, couldn’t be reached.

  Violet rode with her dad, but Stephen insisted on taking Jay with him. Jay didn’t complain as he climbed into the front of the police cruiser, asking if he could turn on the siren.

  He was like an eager five-year-old. It was kind of childish. But also really adorable.

  Violet was glad for the relative calm that riding with her dad afforded her. He was a still sort of man, and sometimes just being within arm’s reach of him could soothe her most frayed nerves. Besides, unlike her mom, who was a little New Agey and was always encouraging Violet to “share” her feelings, her dad wouldn’t press her for information before she was ready. He would wait her out, listening silently when she did decide the time was right.

  Violet leaned her head back and tried to absorb some of her father’s tranquillity.

  After a time, though, she couldn’t not speak. “There was a light,” she explained. Her voice sounded strange, as if it were echoing up from a long, vacant tunnel. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I saw a rainbow of lights coming up from below the water.”

  He knew, of course. Not about the light, but that she had in some way been called by the girl’s lifeless body.

  Her dad was quiet in his usual way. He was serious, stable, solid. As always, he was Violet’s rock.

  “I didn’t say anything about it to Jay. I just followed it, so I could get a better look. Jay didn’t even realize what I was looking for until it was too late.” She kept her eyes closed as the car drifted over the familiar highway toward home.

  Her dad reached over and squeezed her knee. That was all it took.

  The tears finally came, crushing the breath from her with a surprising intensity. Her dad didn’t say anything, but she felt the car pulling off the road, and then he hauled her close to him. She cried like that, leaning against him inside of the parked car, for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes. She didn’t care that they were parked along a busy highway, or that she was clinging to him like she was a child. She let herself sob, crying for herself and crying too for the girl in the water, and for whomever that girl had left behind in the wake of her tragic death.

  It bothered her to know that the girl had been murdered. That she, and Jay, and her father, and her uncle all knew, based on the echo that Violet had discovered, but that they couldn’t tell anyone. She was sure the police would figure it out, that they would find evidence to support that fact, but still, she hated knowing for certain. She hated lying about it, and forcing others—those she cared about most—to keep her secrets.

  She held on to her father, even when the tears were nearly gone. She felt safe in his arms. “I don’t want to be able to do that anymore,” she mumbled hoarsely into his damp shirt. “I don’t mind the animals, I can’t explain why, I just don’t. But why did I have to see…that…her?” She whispered the last word so softly that she wasn’t even sure he’d heard it.

  He patted her back, and when he finally spoke Violet jumped a little. Every muscle fiber in her body felt bundled and tight.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Greg Ambrose said, his voice sounding strained. “I would do anything in the world to protect you from seeing things like that, your mother and I both. We never wanted you to go through anything like this again.” He pulled her away from him so that he could look at her. His eyes were red.

  “When you were little, we were worried when you first started finding dead animals in the woods. That was when we knew you’d inherited Grandma Louise’s special skill. We were afraid of what that would do to you, how it would make you feel to be drawn to so much death. We knew there was nothing we could do to stop you from sensing them there, but we used to try to discourage you from digging them up—we would try to distract you with diversions and bribes. We offered you gum and candy; we would even ask if you wanted to go for ice cream instead of digging up one of those animals. You were so little, but even then you were determined…you were so stubborn. And you would go out of your way to get to them, not satisfied until they’d had a proper burial. It seemed to give you a sense of…serenity, I guess, to know that they were taken care of. You even used to make up funny stories about those poor little lost creatures of yours. Remember Bob, the squirrel banker who forgot to pay his electric bill so he froze to death?” He laughed and wiped her cheek with his thumb. “I was always afraid we were going to get a call from the school psychologist. But your teachers just thought you were creative.”

  What Violet remembered was that her dad was the one who helped her when the local animals—dogs mostly—discovered the shallow graves of her cemetery and began to dig up the little bodies. He was the one who taught her to dig deeper and to cover the graves with heavy stones to prevent the scavengers from getting through to the animals buried below.

  And when the dogs remained persistent, he even helped her build a small fence from chicken wire.

  “When you found that girl, the one in the woods, I thought it would be your undoing. Your mom and I worried that it was too much for such a little girl to deal with. But you did it. You cried at first, and you even had some nightmares, but you didn’t fall apart. And as soon as that poor girl was buried, safe and sound in her own proper resting place, you seemed to just”—he shrugged—“move on.”

  He lifted her chin with his finger. “You’ll do it again. I know you, Violet. You will be okay. Better than okay. Trust me.” He smiled at her then.

  Violet tried to smile back, but she still felt miserable. She couldn’t explain it entirely, but it was similar to the way she would feel before she’d buried one of her animals—she felt restless and unsettled. Only this was worse…much, much worse. She felt like she was buried beneath a stiflingly heavy cloak of darkness that was suffocating her, and she desperately needed to claw her way out from underneath it. She didn’t share her dad’s optimism. To her it felt like she might never break free. But somehow, even if she didn’t entirely buy into it, it made her feel better just to hear him saying the words. She would be okay.

  “We should get home,” she reminded him, suddenly wanting to shift the focus away from her. “Mom’s probably getting pissed that we’re taking so long.”

  “Yep, I’m sure I’m going to get an earful about it.” He patted her leg and then started the car.

  Violet couldn’t shake the melancholy feelings that clung to her, infiltrating every pore of her body. She leaned back and closed her eyes, wondering if the nightmares from her childhood were about to return, to haunt her sleep once more.

  WATCHING

  THE CHAOS OF THE SCENE WAS DELICIOUS. IT created the perfect amount of disorder so that he was completely hidden amid the confusion. Undetectable.

  Just the way he liked it.

  He loved the hunt; it was what kept him going. Bu
t this… this was his guilty pleasure.

  Watching his work—the aftermath of a kill—exposed to the world.

  Of course he’d known it would be. Eventually anyway.

  After all, it was a water dump…in a busy lake. Somebody was bound to come across it sooner or later. The only surprise was how quickly she was found.

  But it was hot today, and people had flocked to the lake in droves. So not such a surprise really.

  It was okay, though. It was a clean drop. He’d made sure of that. As usual, he’d been careful. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing to tie it back to him.

  Spotless.

  Police and fire crews worked in unison to keep the scene contained as they dredged the waters and searched the shores.

  He watched as onlookers pushed and shoved, trying to get a better view of what was happening along the water’s edge. He liked their energy, their insatiable craving for the gory details, no matter how gruesome or unsettling they might be.

  And right now, they were ravenous.

  He stood as close as he could, listening to them, reveling in that need.

  They were talking about his work, about what he’d done, never realizing that he was standing among them.

  It excited him. He felt powerful. Alive.

  He knew he was taking a chance. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d already caught fleeting glimpses of people who knew him, who could, given the chance, identify him. He was glad he was hidden beneath a hat and sunglasses, and he was careful to stay near others in the crowd who were similar to him in size so he wouldn’t stand out too much. And in a crowd this large, they came in all sizes.

  He let his mind wander as he surveyed those around him, pressed against him. It wasn’t hard to find girls he liked, girls he could use. In their skimpy bikinis and ultra-short shorts, revealing smooth expanses of unblemished skin, they were particularly delectable to him. Perhaps someday he would see them again, in another place, at another time.

  But he knew he couldn’t stay. The longer he waited, the greater his chance of being discovered, especially in a setting like this.

  He ducked his head low and eased his way toward the back of the people straining to get closer. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes darted in every direction, absorbing as much of the scene as he possibly could, so that later, when he was alone with his thoughts, he would be able to recollect each aspect. Each dirty little detail.

  Today was a good day.

  He had seen enough to hold him. For now.

  CHAPTER 6

  THAT DAY, THE ONE AT THE LAKE, WAS LIKE THE last day of summer…not just for Violet, but for everyone. And even though the calendar didn’t support that argument, the weather cooperated, ignoring the forecasts that had predicted summerlike temperatures, and turning sad and dreary by the following day.

  Violet struggled to get through that first twenty-four-hour period. She continued to feel smothered, first by the darkness of night, and then by the oppressive gloom of that endless Sunday. She kept mostly to herself, staying in her room as much as possible, only half listening to the music coming from her headphones, and only half sleeping when exhaustion overcame her.

  Jay called several times, and as much as she wanted to hear his voice, she avoided his calls. She felt like she owed him an apology for what she had forced him to witness, but she wasn’t sure what she could possibly say to him to make it better.

  She felt like she was sleepwalking through those first painful hours.

  The second night came, and sleep finally defeated her. She’d tried to avoid it, spending countless hours laying in bed and playing the what-if game over and over in her head. What if she had never seen those haunting colors echoing up from the water? What if she had chosen not to explore them further? Or best of all, what if she had just been normal, going through life in ignorance…blissfully unaware of the dead? She was exhausted from her own self-deprecation and inner turmoil.

  But just like when she was eight, when sleep finally claimed her, it came at a cost. Nightmares of the dead girl drifted through the waves of her subconscious. Pale, lifeless eyes watched her closely whenever she closed her own. And no matter how shocking the images were, she couldn’t avoid them as sleep reclaimed her, again and again, until the dawn.

  She went back to school too soon, but didn’t realize it until it was too late.

  That Monday, as she ventured out, she thought the diversion would be good for her. Jay was relieved to see her, and even though Violet was still unable to ask for his forgiveness, his presence made her feel better…almost alive again.

  He reached out to her and held her cold hand as they walked to class together. At any other time that simple gesture would have caused her heart to skip beats, but at the moment, it simply reminded Violet that she was still awake.

  What she hadn’t bargained for was that what had happened over the weekend, at the lake, hadn’t happened only to her, or to the two of them. It was as if it had happened to the entire school. And every student who could get close enough wanted to talk about the events…. They wanted her to relive it for them, over and over again.

  How did Violet see her, the dead girl?

  Did she recognize her?

  What was it like seeing a dead body?

  Did she think the girl had drowned? Was there blood? Did she see bruises?

  Was she missing body parts?

  The questions were endless.

  Those who really knew Violet, her friends, were more sensitive but no less chatty on the topic. And their questions, for some reason, bothered Violet more than the predictably grim curiosity of the others. They were too personal.

  Was Violet all right? Did she want to talk about it? Did her uncle say if they knew who the girl was?

  She felt like concern for her was being paraded around like an exhibition, and even when she tried to change the subject, which she did as often as she could, they always managed to bring it back around to the topic they really wanted to discuss: the dead girl in the water.

  Jay was the only one who understood her, the only one who seemed to know that she wasn’t ready for this yet. He stayed as close to her as he could throughout the day, and even though Violet thought that she should be trying to offer some sort of comfort to him, she doubted that she could have brought herself out of her own well of self-pity long enough to try. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He didn’t appear to be damaged the way she was.

  At home, her parents were patient. They listened when she talked, and she did talk to them, but when she was finished they would leave her alone again. It was a cautious dance as they took great care to stay out of her way, and she wondered if they thought she were fragile or breakable. Instead of being grateful for the space they gave her, she felt annoyed that they considered her so weak.

  Her uncle Stephen made regular appearances during that first week too, checking in on her and dropping off cookies that her aunt Kat had baked, the real homemade kind that didn’t come in a roll from the refrigerated section at the grocery store. Violet tried but couldn’t seem to find it in herself to appreciate the effort her aunt had made.

  And then, almost simultaneously, two things happened that changed everything.

  Just one week after Violet found the body in the lake, another dead girl was discovered.

  It was exactly one week to the day.

  Then, on the following day, and two cities away, on a Sunday afternoon, the girl from the lake—Carys Kneer—was buried by her family…laid to rest in proper fashion.

  Once and for all.

  And despite the fact that another body had just been found, Violet was suddenly at peace with the world again. She seemed to abruptly wake from the haze that had claimed her.

  And she stayed that way….

  Until the next girl vanished.

  CHAPTER 7

  BY MONDAY, EVERYONE AT SCHOOL HAD HEARD about the discovery of a second body. The news was bigger this time, not just because another girl was dead, or because she
’d been found so close to home. It was bigger news because of who the girl was.

  Brooke Johnson might not have attended White River High School, but she had been a student in the next closest town. And as happens with kids in small towns, their social circles had overlapped: they attended the same parties, dated the same boys, and hung out in the same places. Brooke had been popular, which didn’t necessarily translate into being well liked, but which definitely made her more important on the gossip ladder. Violet hadn’t known Brooke personally, but she knew who Brooke was, in the same way that kids from Brooke’s school would know who Lissie Adams was.

  The other thing that made Brooke’s death more newsworthy was that it established a pattern…at least in the eyes of the community at large.

  They knew now what Violet had known all along: that the girl in the lake had been murdered before being dumped in the water. And despite the fact that the authorities could neither confirm nor deny a connection between the two bodies, locally, no one really doubted it. Two girls abducted, and then subsequently murdered and discarded so close to each other, in such a short period of time, hardly seemed like a coincidence.

  If it walks like a duck, seemed to be the sentiment regarding the assumed correlation, and people were reacting accordingly.

  Grief counselors had been made available at several area schools, including White River in Buckley. There were assemblies and after-school classes scheduled about personal safety, stranger danger, and self-defense. Suddenly every girl in school was preoccupied with concerns over her own well-being. And despite the fact that they were not actually permitted under the school’s “no-tolerance” environment, tiny cans of pepper spray became something of a staple—like lip gloss and tampons—in nearly every purse in school.

  But by the middle of the week, conversations began to feel more normal again, and while safety was still a real issue, even Brooke Johnson’s death was eventually eclipsed by the trivial quest for lighthearted rumors to cut through the gloom.