Desires of the Dead (4 page)

She took a step away, and the hand holding the handset fell to her side as she strained to listen to the sounds around her, searching for any sign that she wasn’t alone. The metal cord that connected the receiver to the pay phone reached its limit and she froze. She could hear the operator speaking on the other end, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She needed to get out of there, but that need was outweighed by the desire to make someone come . . . to find whoever was trapped inside the steel box.

She lifted the receiver back to her ear, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “That’s all I can tell you. There’s someone in there, a person . . . locked in one of the containers. A
red
cargo container. Please . . .
send help
. . . .” She was whispering now, afraid that someone besides the operator might be listening to her.

“What is your name—”

Violet hung up, ending the call with an eerie sense of foreboding.

She ran as quickly as she could to her car. Once she was inside with the doors locked, she leaned her head back and fought to catch her breath. She started the engine and listened to its rough purr as she waited for the heat to catch up—and for her heart to slow down.

Outside the car, the echoes of the harp were muffled now, but the quivering aftershocks stirred all the way to her soul. She could hear the distant sound of sirens. She wondered if this was their destination . . . if they were coming because of her call.

She didn’t wait to find out; she put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot, a little surprised that her tires didn’t squeal as she stomped on the accelerator.

And as the watery dawn broke across the sky, she was haunted by the nagging sensation that she’d just made a terrible mistake.

Chapter 4

It was still early as Violet passed the turn to her house, but she kept on driving. She wasn’t quite ready to go home, not ready yet to face the questions from her parents about where she’d gone to so early on a Sunday morning.

Her note had simply said she was going out and would be back soon. Violet knew it was a lie, even if only one of omission. To her parents, however, a lie was a lie; the distinction wouldn’t matter. She only hoped they wouldn’t ask too many questions.

She drove, instead, to Jay’s house and parked next to his shiny black Acura.

He’d bought the car in the fall, right before the Homecoming Dance. Violet couldn’t recall ever seeing it when it wasn’t polished to a high-gloss shine, which was no small feat in a climate where it rained more often than not. Jay spent so much time at the do-it-yourself car wash that Violet was afraid he might buff away the top layer of paint. But so far it managed to sparkle even on the gloomiest of winter days, and Violet’s car just looked sad and dull sitting beside it.

Even though it was a Sunday morning, Jay’s mom answered the door ready for work. She was a nurse at the hospital in the next town over, so her schedule was irregular at best, but the flexible hours were perfect for the single mother. After Jay’s dad had left, Ann Heaton had moved to Buckley, the town where she’d grown up, to raise Jay on her own.

“Hey, Violet, you’re up early,” Ann said, letting Violet inside. “Jay’s up in his room, still asleep.”

“Thanks. I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”

“Oh, honey, even if I didn’t have the early shift this month, I’m not one to laze around in bed all day. Even on a weekend.”

“I’m not sure it counts as
lazing
when it’s only seven thirty in the morning,” Violet teased. Her eyes watered as she followed Jay’s mom inside, and she blinked against the familiar sting that Ann Heaton always caused her. Jay’s mom carried an imprint of her own.

Violet had only confided in her own mom about Ann’s imprint; she’d never told anyone else. Her mother had explained to her the difficulty that nurses sometimes faced when watching their terminally ill patients suffer agonizingly slow deaths.

Violet had decided
not
to tell Jay that his mom had killed, even out of mercy.

Now, years later, the smoldering scent of burning wood that Ann carried had dulled, and the sting that hit Violet’s eyes, like smoke from a campfire, had lessened. Although not by much.

“You know what I mean, young lady.” Ann smacked Violet on the behind, the same way she did to Jay whenever he was giving her a hard time. And then she winked. “You can go on up, dear. I’m sure he won’t mind if you wake him.” Ann grabbed her purse and car keys from the table beside the door. “Will you please tell him I’ll be home after dinnertime, so he should feed himself?” Without waiting for an answer, Ann gave Violet a quick peck on the cheek, and the smoky scent wafted around both of them . . . only Ann couldn’t smell it. “I gotta run or I’ll be late. See ya later, sweetie.”

Violet watched her leave. She liked Ann, loved her even. She was quirky and funny, and she never made Violet feel unwelcome. Their home was a place that was as comfortable to Violet as her own.

She dropped her coat on the back of a chair and crept quietly up to Jay’s room. She did her best not to wake him as she pulled the door closed behind her. She watched him sleep, stretched out on his back, feeling herself coming back to life in his presence.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Violet startled, feeling like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. Like when they were little and they were busted for looking at a dirty magazine one of the other kids brought to school.

Jay rolled onto his side and squinted one eye open at Violet, grinning. “Come over here,” he growled, lifting the corner of his sheet up, inviting her in. He looked rumpled and messy and alluring.

Violet slipped off her shoes and climbed in beside him. He wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close. His breath was warm, his body warmer, and she felt herself thawing for the first time since she’d stepped out into the shipyard that morning. Even the heat blasting inside her car on the way home hadn’t helped.

She tucked her feet between his legs.

“What are you doing here so early?” His voice was rough from sleep but it sounded like soft velvet. He stroked her back lazily. “Are you feeling better today?”

Neither question really needed an answer; they were just Jay’s way of letting her know he’d been worried about her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered as she let herself get comfortable against him. She’d been cold and tired, and now that she was warm again she thought she might actually be able to fall asleep, right there in his arms.

He rested his chin against the top of her head. “You didn’t,” he assured her. “I was already awake.”

Violet sighed. It felt so good to be here. It was the first time she’d felt comfortable since she’d gone to Seattle yesterday with Chelsea. Jay made her feel safe—
among other things
—and she needed that right now.

She closed her eyes; they were gritty and raw from lack of sleep. She breathed deeply, inhaling him, and relaxing as she sank further into him . . . and into the pillow beneath her head.

She fell asleep like that, wrapped in warmth.

Wrapped in Jay.

When Violet awoke, she was alone.

She was in Jay’s bed, and even though he was gone now, she could still smell him in the blankets around her. She stretched long and hard, waiting for the blood to start flowing so she could find the strength to get up.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the familiar cracks in the faded plaster above her. Bright daylight strained to get through the closed curtains. Violet stretched again, and then reluctantly threw back the covers.

Jay was in his kitchen when she came downstairs.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, looking up from the beat-up laptop he was working on at the kitchen table.

Jay’s mom was a lot of great things that Violet admired; technologically savvy was definitely not one of them. She was one of those people who were loath to move into the twenty-first century and embrace all things modern. She was the only adult woman that Violet knew of who didn’t own a cell phone, and she refused to buckle beneath the pressure to pay good money for high-speed internet, so Jay was forced to plug his secondhand laptop into the phone line and use dial-up. Not because they couldn’t afford such luxuries, but because Ann Heaton wasn’t going down without a fight.

Violet smiled lazily at him. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“I figured you were pretty exhausted.”

“Yeah, sorry about waking you so early. I probably should’ve gone home.” She wrinkled her nose, hoping it looked adorable, so he would forgive her.

Jay grinned, and suddenly
he
was the one who was adorable. “You didn’t wake me. Your mom called before you got here to see if I knew where you were.”

Violet cringed as she glanced at the clock. She was surprised to see that it was already after lunchtime. “
Oh, crap!
I better call and let her know I’m alive. She’s probably freaking out!”

“Don’t worry. I called her after you fell asleep. She’s fine.” And then his face became serious. “So? Where were you?”

Violet bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t planned on telling him, but she couldn’t lie either. He would know. He always knew.

She lifted one shoulder, trying to play it off as nothing. “Seattle.”

From the look on his face, it was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “So you went all the way to the city and back before, what, like eight o’clock? What time was it when you got here anyway?”

“A little after seven thirty,” she confessed, gnawing on her cheek again.

“Really, Vi?” He ran his hand through his messy hair, a sure sign that he’d moved from confused to irritated. “Why? Did you forget something yesterday that you had to go back for?”

Violet nodded halfheartedly, noncommittally. “Something like that.” She turned around so she didn’t have to face him. She grabbed the kettle from the stove and filled it with water.

“Mm-hmm.”
Jay’s voice was filled with skepticism. “So,
what
exactly?”

She set the kettle back on the burner and turned around, leaning against the stove. She was going to have to tell him. There was no way around it.

“I sensed something, Jay. Down by the ferry terminal, when Chelsea and I were there yesterday. That’s why I didn’t want to go out last night.” She sighed. “I think I might have freaked Chelsea out. She had no idea what was going on.”

He scowled at her. “So why the hell did you go
back
?”

She rubbed her temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, covering her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the worry on his face. Even with a good dose of sleep, she still felt uneasy . . . unsettled. And she knew she wouldn’t feel any better until they found whoever was inside that steel crate, and he—or
she—
was laid to rest. “I had a dream, and I needed to go back and find out for sure if something—someone—was there.”

When she glanced up, Violet saw the muscles in his jaw flex. “So?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Did you? Find something, I mean?”

Violet’s cheek was getting sore from where her teeth were ripping it apart. “N-no,” she stammered. “I mean, kind of.”

“Well, shit, Violet, what’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s someone locked inside one of those gigantic shipping containers down on the docks. But I couldn’t get inside, so I still don’t know for sure. I mean, not in any way I can prove.”

Jay jumped up from his chair. It was more than he could take. “Are you telling me you went down to the shipyards before it was even light out? In the middle of the night?
All by yourself?
”

Violet smiled then. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help herself; she felt the corners of her mouth twitching upward before she could stop them. She was never going to get used to this, his worrying about her.

“Yeah,” she challenged, taking a step toward him. “Something like that.” She walked to where he was standing, barely containing his frustration. She didn’t try to hide her grin. She put her palms against his chest and could feel his heart beating wildly. “You think you’re gonna be okay? Do you need to sit down? Do you want me to get you a cup of tea or something?”

“Hell, Violet, it’s not funny. I swear to God, you’re asking for trouble when you do things like that.”

She dropped her hands, her eyes narrowing. “
Things like that,
Jay
?
Things like what? I
never
do
things like that
. And it’s not like I
wanted
to go; I
had
to go.” She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Jay exhaled loudly. “You should have called me. I would’ve come with you.
You know I would have
.”

The teapot started to hiss behind her. “I know,” she admitted. “But you also would’ve told my parents. Or my uncle. And I didn’t want them to know. Please don’t tell them, Jay.” Steam whistled through the kettle’s spout, and Violet turned around to slide it from the burner.

She kept herself busy for a moment, pouring hot water into a mug and giving Jay a chance to absorb what she’d just asked of him, letting him consider her request.

Before the dance and before they were a couple, there would have been nothing to think about; he would never have told on her. They’d kept each other’s secrets. No matter what.

But now everything—
everything
—had changed, and Violet was sometimes surprised by how far he would go to keep her out of harm’s way. She knew that, for him anyway, it meant that he would even betray her secrets if it meant she’d be safer in the end.

She carried her steaming mug, with the tea bag steeping inside, and set it on the table as she sat down.

Jay reluctantly sat too. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, watching her warily. Finally he sighed, “I won’t tell . . .
if
you make me one promise.”

She met his eyes, hesitating at the look she saw on his face. The unusual mixture of tenderness and fear were at odds, but it made Violet feel warm and soft inside. He reached out his hand to her, and she took it, letting him pull her toward him. She settled onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply as if the scent of her was somehow reassuring.

“Next time . . .” he insisted in a voice quieter than before, “you call me.”

She nodded, satisfied that he would keep her safe . . . secrets and all.