Dead Silence (23 page)

There were three coffins, one much smaller than the other two, and Violet wondered if it was strange that they were holding the service without the daughter being present . . . without even knowing where she was, or whether she should be joining her family in the ground today. She supposed they had to have the funeral eventually, and that those left behind deserved their closure too.

There were flowers everywhere, making it look more like a garden show than a funeral. And behind the caskets, there was an easel with a blown-up family photograph propped up on it—one that included the girl.

They were a lovely family, Violet couldn’t help thinking, as she gripped the rough tree bark, trying hard not to look too long at the little boy with freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose.

She turned instead to the people in attendance. There were so many of them, far too many to simply be family members. But Violet’s attention was drawn by a couple sitting in the front row, closest to the three caskets. They were older, much older than the couple being buried, and she watched as they leaned into each other. Or rather, as
she
leaned into him. She blubbered mournfully against his shoulder, while he did his best to maintain a stoic expression. His lips were pressed so tightly they were nearly bloodless.

Parents
, Violet thought, guessing at their relation to either the man or woman in the caskets.

Beside them, two women squeezed hands, each pressing tissues to their mouths. One cried soundlessly as the other sniffled and choked loudly on her sobs. From their resemblance, Violet thought the two might be sisters.

When the man speaking, the minister or preacher or priest or whoever he was, finished, he asked if anyone wanted to share stories of the family. He said their names, and even from where she stood, Violet could hear them: Brian, Dawn, and Tyler.

Tyler.
The little boy with the freckles was Tyler.

Her chest constricted as she thought of all the things Tyler would never get to experience, of all the things he’d miss out on: kissing a girl, driving a car, getting married, watching his children grow old.

She wondered if his sister missed him. If she’d be crying too if she were here.

She felt the hot air on the back of her neck again and she brushed at it, trying to make it go away.

“I knew you were up to something,” the voice behind her said. Violet jumped, whirling to stare into Chelsea’s I-told-you-so expression. “I knew I’d catch you eventually. So what’s the deal, V? Why are you all dressed up like you’re going on a job interview or something? You applying to be a gravedigger?”

Violet just stared at her friend, her throat constricting as she tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for why she was standing in a cemetery, hiding behind a tree.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Chelsea said when Violet didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t answer. “So what is it then?”

Violet blinked, mustering up the only words she could manage, “Where are Jules and Claire?” She looked past Chelsea, still trying to figure out what her friend was doing here, how she’d found her. “Are they . . . are they here?”

Chelsea shook her head. “I dropped ’em off at school. But after I saw you, I decided I had better things to do than learning inverse trig functions.” She wiggled her eyebrows, letting Violet know that
she
was that better thing. “Oh, and you dropped this.” She waved a piece of paper in front of Violet, the printed directions she’d been searching for.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, neither of them speaking.

Chelsea looked past Violet then, to where the funeral was still underway. To where the three caskets were lined up perfectly, ready to be lowered into the ground. Her brows drew together, and Violet could see her working it out, piecing it all together, and then she turned back to Violet, her expression clearing. “Oh my god,” she breathed. And then again, as she squeezed Violet’s arm. “Oh my god.” She looked at Violet with eyes that were wide and lucid. “It
was
you, wasn’t it? It was
you
at the house on the lake.”

Violet’s heart crashed in her chest, but she didn’t answer. Chelsea didn’t seem to notice. She looked at Violet like she’d never looked at her before, with a mixture of shock and awe. “
You
were the White River student who found the bodies. And now you’re here, watching their funeral.” She frowned, confused all over again. “Why? Why would you come here?”

Violet reached up to cling to the tree for balance. Her head was spinning, and she was choking on the accusations her friend threw her way. As if somehow the truth was filling her lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

She looked at Chelsea, a girl she’d known her entire life. Someone she’d grown up with, someone she’d laughed with and leaned on. This was her friend. One of her
very best
friends in the entire world. Why shouldn’t she tell her? Why shouldn’t she know what Violet could do . . . and why she was here now?

She thought of Jay, and how he wasn’t talking to her because he was sick and tired of all the lies.

And then she thought of her grandmother, and how she’d once tried to confide in someone she’d cared about. Ian. How he’d turned on her and told others her secret. How she’d been considered a freak . . . and had been ostracized by her entire community. By her own family, even.

But this was Chelsea
, Violet told herself, looking into her friend’s expectant eyes. Eyes that begged for an explanation.

“Come on,” Violet said abruptly, making her decision as she reached for Chelsea’s hand and dragged her away from the shelter of the tree.

“I don’t get it. What are we doing out here?” Chelsea complained for the millionth time. “When are you going to talk to me?”

Violet lifted her skirt as she picked her way along the overgrown path. It was cooler here, beneath the canopy of trees, and there were mosquitoes to contend with. She was glad for the sweater she’d swiped from her mom’s closet. “Just wait,” Violet told Chelsea, concentrating on her steps. It was harder to walk in the girly flats than she’d realized it would be this deep in the woods.

It was easier to concentrate now, though, since the bodies had finally been lowered into the ground and the first soft shovelfuls of dirt had been tossed upon their caskets. The bodies had said good-bye to the earthly world. They had their peace.

And so did Violet.

She hadn’t realized just how much tension she’d been carrying until that moment, until the last body had let go. It was almost hard to believe she hadn’t noticed it sooner, the way the muscles of her shoulders had felt bunched and tight, the way her jaw had clenched.

Everything unraveled now, freeing her as well.

“How much farther?” Chelsea asked from beside her, swatting at a bug on her arm. “I’m getting eaten alive here.”

But they were close now . . . very, very close. Violet could feel the vibrations just beneath her skin. Rippling outward as the tiny hairs all over her body stood on end, alert.

Violet stepped off the path, reaching for Chelsea and dragging her with her. Chelsea stumbled but caught herself before she actually fell. She even managed not to complain about the detour, and instead remained silent as Violet lost herself in the sensation that tugged her . . . reaching into her gut and propelling her forward.

Ahead of her, Violet could see a soft red radiance, the echo that came up from the ground, near the base of a gnarled pine trunk. A glow that existed only in that single space on the forest floor.

“Here,” she whispered reverently, bending down and scooping the soil with her bare hands. “I told you it wouldn’t be far.”

“Um, okay . . .” Chelsea said dubiously, as she fell back and watched, like Violet had lost her mind.

And maybe she had. Maybe this was all just a huge mistake.

It only took a second to uncover the body. A dead possum.

It was ugly and partially decayed and its teeth were still exposed as if it had died trying to defend itself.

Chelsea staggered backward. “Gross, Vi! What the
frak
? That’s disgusting!”

But Violet wasn’t deterred. She stood up and brushed her hands on her skirt. “You asked if it was me who found those bodies at the lake that day . . . ?” Violet said, speaking slowly now, carefully. She paused only for a moment and then plunged ahead. “It
was
me,” she confirmed, watching her friend closely for signs that this might be too much information to take in at once. “It’s kinda what I do, Chels.”

“
What you
. . . ? What do you mean, it’s what you do?”

Violet pointed at the possum and Chelsea glanced down too, flinching before she looked away again, acting as if she might puke. “I find bodies,” Violet told her.

She waited for Chelsea to say something, to tell Violet she was crazy or to warn her to stay away from her. Instead Chelsea looked stunned as she glanced first to Violet and then back to the dead animal, and then back to Violet again. Doubt gradually transformed her features.

And then she pretended to cough the word
bullshit
, as she propped her hands on her hips. “No one
finds
dead bodies.”

Violet shrugged, her brows raised as she did her best to emulate the same cocky gesture she’d seen Chelsea pull off a thousand times before. “
I
do.”

“You could’ve planted that.” Chelsea nodded toward the possum, barely able to look at its decomposing form.

Violet thought about that for a minute. “Really, Chels? Why would I do that? On the off chance that you discovered my little secret and decided to call me on it? And how would I know when that might happen? Wouldn’t I have to plant a dead possum, like, every day or something?”

“Didn’t say it had to be a possum.” But then Chelsea stopped to consider Violet’s explanation. “So, if you didn’t plant it, find another one,” she challenged.

Violet shrugged. Cynicism was way easier to deal with than straight-up disbelief. At least Chelsea wasn’t shutting her out. “Fine, but I can’t promise how long it’ll take.”

“Course you can’t,” Chelsea chided, making it clear that she doubted Violet would ever “find” another body again. At least not the way she’d just found this one. Still, she followed as Violet moved back toward the path that was overrun with branches and roots.

It didn’t take as long as Violet thought it might. There was another echo nearby, not as strong as the first one, but noticeable nonetheless. It reached into Violet’s gut and tugged her, a sensation she doubted she’d ever really be able to explain to anyone, as if her body were no longer moving of its own accord. As if she were possessed.

She answered the call, straying from the path, and she could hear Chelsea right behind her, saying nothing at all. The only sounds were the twigs that snapped beneath Chelsea’s sneakers—shoes that were far more suitable for this terrain than Violet’s.

At first, Violet thought the echo was faint, but she soon realized she was mistaken. It wasn’t faint, it was just . . . melodic.

This echo was a sound.

A sound that made Violet grin as she drew nearer, and it grew clearer, louder. It was like she’d stumbled into a carnival, the music lilting and rising.

No, Violet thought. Not like a carnival, like a carousel. The music reminded her of riding the colorfully painted wooden horses when she was a little girl.

She stopped suddenly, every nerve in her body telling her she was in the right place. She turned to Chelsea. “This is it.”

Chelsea gave her a look that told her what she thought about her proclamation: Violet was full of crap.

But Violet was already turning away from her, falling to her hands and knees as she began brushing away the thin layer of rotting leaves and needles and twigs. Her heart was beating harder than it should, almost as if some part of her worried that Chelsea might be right. That there might not be anything there at all.

But then she felt it. She let the carousel sound overtake her, relishing this song, one that was so different from what her own imprint had been, with its notes rising and falling over her like a nostalgic rainstorm, drenching her. She smoothed the remaining dirt away, creating a small circle on the ground so Chelsea could see what Violet saw.

“
Holy
. . .” Chelsea breathed from over her shoulder now, looking down at the animal—a squirrel, or maybe a rabbit. Something too small and too far decomposed to be recognizable any longer.

Violet turned back, a sly smile finding her lips. “Bang,” she said. “I just blew your mind.” But she said it quietly, as if she were afraid she might disturb the animal beneath them.

Then Chelsea leaned away from Violet—and her discovery—as she lifted the hem of her shirt up to cover her nose. “Oh my god!” she gasped. “Do they always smell this bad?”

“Sometimes it’s worse,” Violet admitted. And it was. Sometimes it was almost unbearable.

Chelsea took a couple of steps back, and Violet watched her as the color drained from her face. “So, are you telling me this is for real? This
body-finding stuff
?” Her face had gone chalk white. “This is freaking me the hell out, Violet.”

Violet reburied the animal, gently mounding the leaves and dirt back in place before standing up again. “Yeah, Chels. It’s for real,” she said. “And no one knows about it. You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. It has to be a secret.
Our
secret.” Violet waited for Chelsea to meet her gaze. “Promise,” she coaxed her friend.

Chelsea nodded, but it was slow . . . the exact opposite of her usual unflappable determination. Her hesitation made Violet uneasy. But then she recovered, and she clutched Violet, gripping her upper arms and leaning so close that Violet could smell peanut butter on her breath. “I promise,” she swore without a trace of doubt. “Whatever you want.” Her eyes were shiny and filled with utter confidence now—just like the Chelsea that Violet needed her to be. “Dude, you know I love you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Consider it in the vault.”