Desires of the Dead

by Kimberly Derting

  Flustered, she bent down, trying to avoid his eyes as she grabbed the pepper spray that had slipped from her fingers. She cursed herself for being so clumsy and wondered why she cared that he had been the one to catch her. Or why she cared that he was here at all.

  She stood up to face him, feeling more composed again, and quickly hid the evidence of her paranoia—the tiny canister—in her purse. She hoped he hadn’t noticed it.

  He watched her silently, and she saw the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Violet waited for him to say something or to move aside to let her in. His gaze stripped away her defenses, making her feel even more exposed than when she had been standing alone in the empty street.

  She shifted restlessly and finally sighed impatiently. “I have an appointment,” she announced, lifting her eyebrows. “With Sara.”

  Her words had the desired effect, and Rafe shrugged, still studying her as he stepped out of her way. But he held the door so she could enter. She brushed past him, stepping into the hallway, as she tried to ignore the fact that she was suddenly sweltering inside her own coat.

  She told herself it was just the furnace, though, and had nothing to do with her humiliation over falling. Or with the presence of the brooding dark-haired boy.

  When they reached the end of the long hallway, Rafe pulled out a thick plastic card from his back pocket. As he held it in front of the black pad mounted on the wall beside a door, a small red light flickered to green and the door clicked. He pushed it open and led the way through.

  Security, Violet thought. Whatever it is they do here, they need security.

  Violet glanced up and saw a small camera mounted in the corner above the door. If she were Chelsea, she would have flashed the peace sign—or worse—a message for whoever was watching on the other end.

  But she was Violet, so instead she hurried after Rafe before the door closed and she was locked out.

  The room she walked into was like nothing she’d expected, especially after her brief tour of the unremarkable outer hallway. Beyond the secured door, and the camera, was a mammoth space, probably three stories high. Most likely a warehouse that had been converted. But converted in a big way.

  There was nothing “warehouse” about it now. It was more like a cushy business center. It resembled Violet’s image of what a corporate advertising agency might look like. Spacious, airy, comfortable.

  Rather than being portioned off into separate work areas, the room was left as one big, wide-open floor plan, filled with computer stations spread out on long tables. There were individual desks, conference tables, and sitting areas. There was even a large break area, complete with what appeared to be a fully stocked kitchen and vending machines.

  And there were cameras. Lots of them.

  The only thing missing were windows; there were just a few skylights in the ceiling to allow for natural lighting.

  Violet was overwhelmed by the vastness of it.

  She didn’t have much time to take it all in before she saw Sara, the agent-who-wasn’t-really-an-agent, sweeping toward her in her starched suit.

  Violet tried to muster some enthusiasm. She reminded herself that she was the one who had called for this meeting.

  “It’s good to see you again, Violet. I’m glad you decided to come. Do you want the tour?”

  Violet was worried that there was a sales pitch coming, that Sara had misunderstood her reason for being there. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I was hoping we could just talk.” She was suddenly very nervous.

  Sara nodded. “Of course.” And then she tipped her head at Rafe, who was still beside them. He took the hint, excusing himself without a word.

  Violet watched him go to the kitchen area and grab a can of Coke before dropping onto one of the couches. He practically disappeared into the cushions as he slouched down.

  He picked up a remote and flipped through the channels on one of several flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls. Violet was surprised when he stopped at the national news channels, surfing through CNN, MSNBC, FOX News. She’d expected something less . . . serious, she supposed. He propped his sneakered feet on the table, making himself at home.

  “So what do you think?” Sara asked.

  Sara’s voice grabbed Violet’s attention, and Violet realized that she’d been staring at Rafe. Embarrassed, she glanced away, pretending to study the rehabilitated warehouse instead.

  Violet had only seen one other person in the building, a girl not much older than her and Rafe, who worked quietly at one of the computers. She never looked up, as though Violet’s presence was unremarkable. The woman—the one with the too-loud voice from the speaker outside—was nowhere to be seen.

  “It’s . . .” Violet wasn’t sure exactly what to say. “It’s big. And impressive.”

  Somehow she’d expected something more like a tiny bookkeeper’s office, a place where Sara could run her unusual operation in relative obscurity. She hadn’t expected this kind of oasis, especially not out here, in the middle of the industrial section of the city.

  “We get that a lot,” Sara explained, sounding less formal now. “It’s easier to come and go down here without being noticed. And it’s important that we draw as little attention as possible. That’s how our clients prefer it. Discretion, complete and total discretion.” She led Violet away from Rafe and the girl, to where they couldn’t be overheard. “Have a seat.”

  Violet sat down on a couch and tried her best not to sink in too deep. The cushions were thick and squishy, and Violet struggled to lean forward so she could be taken seriously.

  Sara perched on the edge of an adjacent chair, somehow managing to look as stiff and formal as ever, even within the casual setting.

  “You know, we do some amazing things here, Violet. My team is one of the best around. Many of them feel a sense of responsibility to use their talents to help others.” She was still smiling, all sales-pitchy, and Violet felt uneasy again. “Which begs the question, did you ever get a chance to look over those files I gave you?”

  Violet felt her palms start to sweat.

  She’d looked at the files, yes, but that was all she could do. She nodded.

  Sara waited for something more and then filled in the blanks herself. “But nothing?”

  Violet half-shrugged, half-nodded, not sure of the right way to respond. She realized that she was dangerously close to crossing that line, to admitting more than she wanted to, but she also needed help. And Sara was her best bet right now.

  “That’s okay. I want you to know you can trust me, Violet. Whatever you came to discuss stays right here between the two of us.”

  This was it, Violet decided. “I need your help,” she blurted out. “Or at least I was hoping I could ask for it.”

  Violet watched Sara, wondering at her lack of reaction. Either she really wasn’t surprised that Violet had come to ask for a favor or she had a great poker face. Violet was putting her money on the poker face.

  “What is it you think I can help you with?”

  Violet shifted closer to the edge of the couch. “I have a problem. At home. Well, not really at home. But with someone who doesn’t seem to like me, I guess you could say.” Words suddenly seemed inadequate. “Someone has been leaving me messages. And hang-up calls.” She paused briefly before confessing the last part. “And a dead cat.”

  The poker face cracked, just slightly.

  “Are you sure it was left for you? How do you know that you didn’t just happen across it?”

  “It was left in a box, next to my car. Whoever put it there did it in the middle of the night so I would find it in the morning.” Violet reached into her purse and pulled out the folded pink paper. “And later, there was a note left for me at school.”

  “May I?” Sara asked, stretching out her hand.

  Violet was already handing it to her, and she waited while Sara read it. Violet chewed nervously on her lip.

  “What do you think?” Violet finally asked.

  Sara re
folded the paper but didn’t hand it back to Violet. “It’s definitely a warning. And you think Rosie was supposed to be the cat, right?”

  Violet nodded.

  “Right,” Sara agreed. “What about the calls?”

  “Hang-ups mostly, usually right when I answer them. But sometimes whoever it is stays on the line a little longer. I’ve talked to them, but they never answer me. I thought I knew who it was,” Violet admitted. “But it turns out I was wrong.”

  Sara eyed Violet carefully as she asked her next question. “How can you be so sure you were wrong?”

  Violet decided to be vague; the last thing she wanted to do was to drag Megan’s name into this. She’d been through enough already. “I just know. It wasn’t her.”

  Sara weighed Violet’s words as she scrutinized her, not suspiciously but inquisitively. Violet felt as though she were being interrogated without a single word being uttered.

  “So you think it was a girl then?” Sara finally asked. “Or, rather, you thought it was a girl?”

  Violet shrugged. “Well, yeah. The note. And the handwriting . . .” It didn’t seem like a whole lot of evidence. But then the other part of her suspicion—the imprint she thought she’d seen—had proven to be mistaken. It hadn’t actually been Megan. She supposed that a boy could have forged the note.

  “It is decidedly feminine in nature,” Sara agreed. “Even the tone of it. However, killing an animal is generally not female behavior. Not to say that it’s impossible, mind you. Anything’s possible, and I’ve seen some terrible, and extremely contradictory, things in my job. May I keep the note?”

  Violet nodded eagerly. Hopefully. “So you’ll help me?”

  Sara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Of course I will, Violet. I’ll do everything I can to figure out who would do this. Do you have any other leads or suspicions about who it might be? Have you made any enemies recently?”

  Violet had gone over this again and again. She couldn’t think of anyone obvious.

  She shook her head but then paused. There was someone who hated her, someone who had been hell-bent on making sure Violet knew how much she resented her.

  “Lissie Adams. Elisabeth Adams,” Violet answered. “She goes to my school.”

  Violet tried to recall the last time she’d seen Lissie at school. She couldn’t remember exactly, but it could have been before the cat had been left at her house.

  Sara scribbled Lissie’s name on a notepad she’d pulled from her pocket. “Can I ask you one more question, before you go?”

  Violet nodded again, this time a little more hesitantly.

  “I understand that you’re not comfortable talking about this, and I respect that. I hope that in time you’ll feel you can confide in me.” Sara placed a hand on Violet’s knee. It was meant as an encouraging gesture, but to Violet it was terrifying. It meant that Sara was asking Violet to share her secrets. “I know you won’t tell me what it is that you can do, but can you answer me this?” She didn’t wait to see if Violet was willing or not; she just asked her question. “You can do something, can’t you?”

  Chapter 24

  Violet had driven home in complete silence, without even the radio to replace the buzzing that filled her head. She preferred the stillness; it gave her the opportunity to sort out what had just happened.

  How had Sara gotten her to admit that she had a secret?

  She hated the way she’d left things after that moment when she’d simply nodded her head. She’d felt dizzy almost immediately, regret pummeling her. She’d wanted to take it back . . . that slight, almost imperceptible bob of her chin. But it was too late. It was out there. And Sara had seen it.

  Too late.

  Violet had told Sara she had to go. She’d allowed the woman to walk her outside, but only because she was too afraid to go out there alone again, among the darkened warehouses.

  But she’d realized sometime during the ride home that, despite being distressed over her confession, something else had changed too. Something she hadn’t anticipated.

  She felt like a burden had been lifted.

  She was sure she must be imagining it. Probably some sort of latent insanity finally rearing its ugly head. That sounded about right. She was crazy. It explained everything, really. The echoes, and dead cats, and serial killers. Insanity, all of it.

  But she wasn’t about to question it, because whatever it was—her confession to Sara, or the realization that Megan wasn’t the one who’d been stalking her, or making up with Jay—she felt better. And that was a far nicer place to be than where she’d been before, wallowing in self-pity and loathing and fear.

  She wasn’t about to second-guess it. Insanity might not be so bad after all.

  Plus she’d slept a deep, dreamless sleep that night, and in the morning, when Jay arrived to drive her to school, she felt alive again. And happy.

  Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t sharing her optimistic views on madness.

  “Good morning,” Violet said cheerfully as Jay stomped into the kitchen without knocking.

  He frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. “Not really,” he grumbled in response.

  Violet laughed as she grabbed her backpack. She wasn’t surprised that he was still pouting; this was pretty much how he’d looked yesterday, after he’d reluctantly agreed to let Violet handle things her way.

  “Actually it is,” she insisted, stepping closer and kissing him on the cheek, demanding that he notice her for a moment. She wanted him to pay attention to what she had to say.

  Luckily it didn’t take much to get Jay’s attention. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her there, gently pressing his lips to hers. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she wasn’t complaining. She let her backpack fall to the floor.

  She’d missed the feel of his lips. And the warmth of his touch.

  She reacted quickly, getting lost, first in one kiss, and then another. She wanted to stay there, giving herself over to him. He kissed her until her lips felt bruised and swollen, and still they yearned for more. Her head swam, and her heart was whole.

  Yet she knew there was something she wanted to tell him, something important.

  After a moment, she remembered what it was.

  She pulled her head back, smiling at his frustration. Playfully she planted one last peck on his lips. “She’s gonna help,” she stated smugly.

  Jay looked fuzzy, but then his expression cleared. And the scowl was back. “Are you sure? What did she say?”

  “You don’t need to worry about anything. It was a good meeting. I explained everything, and I gave her the note.” Violet tilted her head and smiled. “She said she’d take care of it.”

  She watched as his jaw flexed, and she knew this was hard for him, letting her handle things her way. But then he sighed, and even though it sounded more like he was choking, Violet was sure that he was exercising a level of restraint that was practically painful for him. It made her want to giggle. She was sure that must be another symptom of her newly arrived lunacy, but she managed not to laugh. Instead she cocked her head and somehow maintained a straight face.

  When he didn’t say anything, didn’t, in fact, move, Violet raised her eyebrow inquisitively. “Are we good?” She almost lost it when she heard her voice and realized that she sounded like a schoolteacher scolding an errant child.

  Jay frowned as if he were trying to decide, and Violet took that moment to soften her stance.

  She lifted her backpack from the floor and, with her other hand, hooked her arm through his. “Come on. Let’s get to school so we don’t have to stop at the office and explain why we’re late.” She squeezed him reassuringly. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Trust me.”

  “Aww! Look, Jules, they’re all kissed and made up. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?” Chelsea mocked as she dropped her lunch tray onto the table. But even with her voice dripping sarcasm, she winked at Violet when she thought Jay wasn’t looking.


  Chelsea was interrupted when Mike came up behind her and put his hands over her eyes. Thankfully the attempted mustache was gone; his lip was smooth and clean-shaven.

  “Guess who?” he asked, and Violet smirked. If Chelsea had caught Jay playing such a childish game with Violet, she would have verbally crucified him for being lame. But with Mike, she totally played along.

  “I don’t know, but I hope my boyfriend doesn’t see us together.” This time her honey-sweet voice wasn’t laced with arsenic.

  They were kissing before Mike had even taken his seat beside her.

  It was almost embarrassing to witness.

  But that wasn’t why Violet felt herself squirming.

  She wondered what Mike would think if he knew the things she’d said about his sister.

  She had to remind herself that he didn’t know. The only person who knew was Jay, and he would never tell.

  When Claire joined them, her face lit up. “Violet! You’re back!” she announced, drawing unwanted attention to Violet.

  Violet glanced nervously at Mike, who just noticed she was sitting there. “Hey, welcome back,” he said. “Chelsea said you were really sick.”

  Chelsea winked at Violet again, this time a little less subtly.

  Violet smiled at her. “I’m better now.”

  “Good,” Chelsea declared, brightening. “Then you won’t be ditching us this weekend.”

  Violet stared at her blankly.

  “This weekend . . .” Chelsea prompted. “The cabin. We’re all still going, right?” She smiled dazzlingly up at Mike, who seemed powerless to resist her.

  He grinned back. “Of course.”

  This weekend! God, is it really so soon? That’s, what, just two days from today?

  Violet looked to Jay for help. “I don’t know . . .” she wavered. “I’m not sure I should.” She kept thinking about Mike and his family. About spending a weekend up there, in a small, snowbound cabin in the mountains with them. With her—Megan. Violet just didn’t think she could do it.