The Last Echo

by Kimberly Derting

  “S-stop . . . please,” she begged, her face in her hand, her cheek throbbing savagely. “I didn’t see anything! I swear.” It wasn’t a lie, not really.

  “Then what? Did you hear her? Did you hear that dumb bitch screaming for her life?” A sadistic grin broke over his face. A depraved and sinister grin. Violet felt sick as his voice dropped. “Did you hear her screaming for the lives of her babies?” Violet tried to shake her head, to tell him no, she hadn’t heard anything, but he was already reaching for her, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He yanked her so hard that her neck felt like it had snapped as he lifted her so her face was even with his. “Do you know how much trouble you caused me? You should’ve kept your fucking mouth shut!” Spittle sprayed from his lips as he cursed her, his face red with rage. “I’m’a gonna kill you, bitch.”

  And then he was dragging her by her hair, away from the mouth of the alleyway into the shadows beyond, where no one would see them. Violet struggled, her fingernails digging into the pavement, trying to find something, anything, to grab on to.

  She believed what he’d said about killing her, and she was desperate to find a way to stop him. When he threw her down behind a pile of wooden pallets covered with broken-down cardboard boxes, her entire body was shaking, her fingertips bloodied and raw. She desperately hoped that the haunting chorus of echoes he carried wasn’t about to become the eerie backdrop to her death.

  He loomed over her, wearing an expression that made her blood freeze.

  She was no longer thinking when she kicked out at him, operating in pure survival mode now. She put every ounce of strength she had into her legs, and she was rewarded when she felt his kneecap grind beneath her foot. When she heard him gasp sharply, practically a scream, Violet scrambled to her hands and knees, realizing she still had a chance.

  “Help!” she shrieked, running—stumbling, really—away from James Nua. “Please . . . someone help me!” But her voice was splintered, too soft and too frail.

  And then the other sound was back, the thumping resonance of bass.

  But she couldn’t run fast enough, and she shrieked as she was jerked from behind, caught by her own hood when James Nua snagged it, hauling her backward.

  Violet fell, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to watch the creeping black vines that crawled beneath James Nua’s skin as he stood above her.

  It was then that she heard the soft click in front of her face, and felt the whoosh of air just beneath her nose.

  And she did look. Unable to stop herself.

  Nua held up a knife, a switchblade with a polished steel blade for her to see. His lips twisted into a menacing snarl as he touched the tip of it to Violet’s neck, just below her left ear, and traced a fiery path along her jawline. She could feel the drag of the blade, the smooth metal sliding over her skin. If she moved—if she breathed—he might very well cut her.

  “You fuck with me . . . I . . . fuck . . . with . . . you.” His voice was low and he dragged out each word, each syllable, as his narrowed eyes held hers. She felt his muscles tense and she knew that this was it. “Dumb bitch,” he whispered.

  A gunshot rent the air, making Violet jump, and she felt the point of the knife prick her skin. Above her, James Nua went rigid, his eyes widening as he released her jacket and she fell back. He stood there for moment, confusion contorting his features as he struggled to sort through what had just happened. And then his mouth opened and he released a gut-wrenching, ear-shattering howl of half pain, half rage.

  Like Nua, Violet’s brain moved too slowly. But she seized her opportunity to escape. She was on her back, and she scooted away from him, stumbling awkwardly over her own hands and feet as she crawled as far from him as she could manage. As she did, as she pressed herself against the concrete wall, she started to make sense of everything in front of her.

  Fresh blood bloomed at James Nua’s side, the stark crimson stain spreading against the white of his T-shirt. He let go of the knife as he clutched his wound with both hands, his eyes incredulous, his face contorting with pain.

  “Stay where you are!” Sara ordered from the alley that opened onto the street, and Violet could see that her gun was aimed directly at James Nua now.

  Violet watched recognition dawn on his face as pain contorted into undisguised fury. With effort, he staggered to his feet.

  “I said stay where you are!” Sara yelled again, taking a cautious step closer.

  Nua just grinned at her, but even from where she stood, Violet could see the beads of sweat prickling across his forehead.

  Violet remained still, watching Sara’s approach. Relief unfurled within her, but she was shaking all over and her teeth chattered violently.

  Behind Sara, the music drew closer, and Violet’s stomach tightened. It came upon them slowly, and Violet blinked as she turned to the street beyond the alleyway. It was moving far too deliberately.

  As the nose of the car came into view, the resonating bass pounded so loudly that Violet could feel it beneath her feet. Sara was watching it too, positioning herself so she could keep Nua in her sights while never losing sight of the big red car. She kept her gun aimed at Nua’s grinning face.

  It was like a scene out of a movie. Violet saw the boys, both with the same tribal-like tattoos as James Nua’s. Neither looked old enough to be driving. One kept his hand on the steering wheel while pointing his gun down the alleyway. The other boy sat higher, perched in the passenger-side window frame, leaning over the roof of the car, his gun directed right at them. As if on cue, both boys began firing at once.

  Sara’s training was evident, and she moved like lightning. She dropped to the ground and was firing back before Violet could even breathe. Violet pressed herself as close to the ground as she could, covering the back of her head with her hands. She didn’t need police training to know that lifting her head was a bad idea.

  The rapid bursts of gunfire lasted mere seconds before Violet heard the peal of tires. And then there was silence.

  Violet knew, even without looking, that James Nua had gone. She knew she was safe, at least for now. His imprints were nowhere near her.

  But he could still come back, Violet thought, shuddering.

  Yet that wasn’t why she stayed where she was, her face pressed against the filthy blacktop beneath her, breathing in dirt and oil, and letting pebbles grind into the swelling flesh of her cheek. She stayed there straining, trying to feel for new echoes . . .

  . . . not yet ready to know if Sara had survived.

  Because if she hadn’t, that meant Rafe had just lost his sister too.

  Chapter 16

  “VIOLET! VIOLET, ARE YOU HURT?” SARA’S HAND was at her shoulder, but it was her voice, so dynamic, so . . . alive, that made Violet tremble with relief.

  She pushed herself off the ground, sitting up on her knees while she collected herself.

  Sara gave her the once-over, then glanced back toward the street, her weapon still clutched in her hand as she watched for signs that James Nua might reappear.

  “Don’t worry.” Violet smiled weakly. “He’s gone.”

  “You sure?”

  Violet nodded and Sara visibly relaxed, letting her hand—and her gun—drop to her side. “Just stay put for a sec,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. “You don’t look so good.”

  Violet didn’t feel very good either, but mostly she just felt shaken. Well, aside from her bloodied fingers and a throbbing eye. She listened as Sara dialed someone at the police department directly, rather than calling 9-1-1.

  When she hung up, Sara squatted beside her. “What about you?” She reached out and prodded Violet’s cheek, her intrusive fingers probing the base of Violet’s eye socket. It took every ounce of willpower Violet had not to cry out, but the last thing she wanted was to let on how badly she was injured. All she really wanted was to go home, take a long, hot bath, and crawl into bed.

  Scratch that, just the bed. And maybe some extra-strength Tylenol.

&nbs
p; “I don’t feel anything moving,” Sara said almost absently as her fingers explored the injury, and Violet had to bite down on the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. “How’s this?” Without warning, Sara applied pressure.

  Violet jolted and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting until the stars behind her eyelids disappeared. She reopened them slowly, her hands fisted at her sides, somehow managing not to cry. “It’s—it’s fine,” she hissed from between clenched teeth. “Great, in fact. I think it probably looks worse than it is, you know?”

  She definitely didn’t want Sara calling an ambulance. She already didn’t know how she was going to explain this to her parents.

  Her parents. Her stomach dropped and her head reeled. There was no way she wanted to explain that she’d just been attacked outside the Center. They were worried enough about what she was doing with her new team. If they knew she’d been assaulted . . .

  Violet couldn’t let herself think what that might mean. Still, she should call someone, she supposed; she definitely didn’t think she could drive herself home. Maybe Jay would come get her.

  Of course he would, she silently corrected herself. He was Jay; he was always there for her.

  She glanced around, her eyes darting back and forth nervously.

  “What’s wrong?” Sara asked, following Violet’s gaze.

  “My purse. I must’ve dropped it when . . . when he grabbed me. Maybe it’s by my car.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll look for it after the police get here. They’re on their way now.”

  Violet nodded. Of course. The police would find it, probably in the same place she’d dropped her phone.

  Sara knelt down beside Violet while they waited. “I’m so sorry about this.” She patted Violet’s knee, doing her best to comfort her. “No one should have to go through what you just did.”

  “I’m just glad you heard me.”

  Sara frowned, looking intensely at Violet. “What are you talking about?”

  “The call button. I couldn’t get to my keycard so I pushed the call button. I was hoping you’d know I needed help when you heard the buzzer.” Wasn’t that why Sara had come looking for her? “Didn’t you hear it?”

  Sara shook her head, slowly, hesitantly. “No. I didn’t.” And then she stood up, brushing off her knees as the sound of sirens approached. She looked down at Violet, who was confused now. “It was Rafe. He called me and said something was wrong. He said he was sure you were in trouble.”

  For the second time in her life Rafe had saved her, something she was more than just grateful for.

  She knew she didn’t need to go to the hospital by the time she’d finished answering questions and recounting her statement over and over again. She was scraped, especially on her hands, and bleeding from some small gashes on her hands and elbows. But once she’d cleaned them up, she realized they weren’t serious. A little peroxide and some Band-Aids and she’d be good as new, she was sure of it.

  It was the shivering that was making her crazy, since she couldn’t seem to make it stop. It was the kind that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the fact that she’d just gotten the crap kicked out of her.

  Violet sat in the passenger seat of Sara’s SUV, hugging herself and glancing nervously up and down the street, watching as police cars, both marked and unmarked, came and went. From down in the alley, there were constant flashes from a camera as crime-scene investigators recorded evidence. Sara finished up with one of the female officers who had taken Violet’s statement. They chatted in a way that made Violet suspect they knew each other outside of this situation, which she realized wasn’t that far off, since Sara seemed to know everyone in law enforcement.

  Violet’s questioning hadn’t taken all that long, and she’d been surprised when someone told her she’d only been outside the Center less than five minutes. The attack felt as if it had lasted hours.

  She kept the window down, and could hear snippets of Sara’s conversation with the officer she spoke to: “. . . he’d been following her,” Violet heard Sara explaining to the woman who took notes. “. . . he knew what school she went to . . .” Sara looked up, glancing past the officer’s shoulder, to where Violet was sitting. “. . . thought she’d seen what he’d done . . .” She continued, and Violet wondered if Sara knew she could hear them. “I wish someone would’ve told me the charges didn’t stick . . .”

  Violet wanted to hear the rest, but that was when she saw the black Acura pull up. Jay’s car.

  She climbed out of Sara’s car on shaky legs as Jay was stopped by one of the uniformed officers. She saw Jay reach for his ID and hand it to the cop. She waited where she was, still shivering, until Jay was allowed through.

  Jay stood motionless when he reached her, and Violet moved first, stepping toward him, closing the gap between them, and laying her hand over the thin fabric of his worn Led Zeppelin T-shirt. She needed to feel him. He reacted then, gently cupping Violet’s chin as he inspected the damage to her face. His fingers traced her injuries, his frown deepening. “Are you okay?” His eyes traveling the length of her as his hands moved down her arms and then up again, settling gently on each side of her face, pinning her so he could inspect her more closely.

  Mutely, Violet nodded, not caring that people, Sara and the police officers around them, had stopped what they were doing to watch the two of them. “And Sara shot him?”

  She nodded again, her cheeks brushing his hands as they framed her face. His grip was so soft, so tender.

  Violet could see the fear in his eyes. “I have to tell you, the idea of losing you scares the hell out of me, Vi. You know that, don’t you?” He sighed heavily, still holding on to her as he stared back at her. “Promise me, no more gang fights.”

  Violet half-laughed and half-grimaced. “I swear it.” She reached up and gripped one of his hands, turning into his palm. He squeezed back, lacing his fingers through hers as he dropped his other hand and pulled her to him.

  It was Sara’s voice that interrupted them, making Violet jump. “They found your cell phone . . .” She handed it to Violet. “And your keys.” Sara dangled the familiar surfboard keychain Jay had gotten her when he and his mom had gone to Hawaii. It said Maui on one side and Victoria on the other, the closest he could find to Violet. “It’s nice to see you again, Jay.” Violet had nearly forgotten that they’d met before, that night at the mountain cabin. “Are you driving her home?”

  “Is that okay? Is she almost done here?”

  “I think that’s a great idea. She shouldn’t drive herself.” Then she turned to Violet. “We’ll have someone bring your car to your house by tomorrow. And I’ll call your parents as soon as I can.” Sara tucked the keys in her pocket and then turned to Jay.

  Violet gripped Jay’s hand; she wasn’t ready to explain this to her parents, but she knew she had no choice. They were parents, after all.

  “What about my purse?”

  Sara shook her head. “It wasn’t there. Are you sure you had it with you? Could you have left it somewhere else?”

  Violet’s head whirled. It had to be there; she wasn’t wrong about this. There were only two places it could have been: in front of the Center, or in the alley.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll keep looking,” Sara assured her, patting her arm.

  There was a quiet moment as Sara thoughtfully surveyed the scene before them.

  Violet glanced toward the woman who Sara had been talking to. “Why didn’t you tell her? Officer Durden? You know, about me. That I knew James Nua killed his family?”

  Sara glanced reluctantly at Jay, but didn’t hesitate. “Not everyone needs to know what you kids are capable of. Sometimes it’s better to keep what you can do . . . quiet. Even the DA never really knows where I get my information. We have an understanding, I tell him he needs to dig deeper, and he doesn’t question how I know.” She glanced down regretfully at Violet. “I really am sorry, Violet. It was dumb luck you even ran into Nua in the first place, and
that you happened to be wearing your school sweatshirt at the time.” She shook her head. “I mean, really, what are the odds?” Her voice took on a pensive quality. “We should never have gone back there that next day. I should never have taken the chance he’d see you again. It’s my fault. I’m supposed to keep you kids safe, and I let you down. I’d do anything to protect you.”

  “I know,” Violet said, and meant it. Sara emphasized safety in everything she did, every decision she made. There was no way she would have intentionally put Violet—or any of her team, for that matter—in danger.

  They stayed there like that for a long, quiet moment.

  Finally, Violet asked the question she was hesitant to broach. She was trembling as the words left her lips. “What about James Nua? What happens now?”

  Sara gave a cursory nod. “Every agency in town is looking for him. I got a partial plate, but I imagine he and his buddies have already ditched the car somewhere. Either way, he’s going to have to go for help eventually—that wasn’t a flesh wound. And the second he walks into any emergency room, clinic, or doctor’s office, we’ll be notified and he’ll be arrested. I’d say he has three . . . maybe four hours tops.” She rested her hand on Violet’s shoulder.

  But that wasn’t what Violet noticed, the gentle, reassuring gesture. It was something else altogether that made Violet freeze. Literally.

  Sara’s fingers were frigid. Not cold, but arctic, like they’d been turned into solid ice. And her skin was equally hard and unyielding.

  Violet turned toward Sara. Everything moving slower now, as if time too had frozen. Sara smiled at her, her face the same as it always was. Her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, everything formed as they should be. Even her eyes, that same brilliant blue as Rafe’s, remained the same.