The Body Finder (25 page)

Her head was spinning.

This is crazy,
she told herself.

He didn't wait for her to respond, and she didn't. He seemed to like flaunting his twisted prowess. Besides, what difference did it make if she knew? She doubted he planned on letting her get away from him again.

“That's right,” he said, enjoying the game he was playing now. “The little girl who found the little girl. Of course, at the time I had no idea that you were involved, and according to the official records, you weren't. But the name listed in the
file was close enough. An Ambrose is an Ambrose, and your father's name was as indicative as your own would have been.” He leaned closer to her, as if he was telling her a secret, even though they were all alone. “I wonder why he felt the need to leave your name out of it.”

She didn't answer. She didn't need to; he wasn't really asking her a question. But his nearness was unnerving, and Violet found herself leaning back against the wall to get away from him.

He straightened up, his voice taking on a deceptively casual quality once again. “I didn't actually kill them, you know?” He watched her, waiting for her reaction.

She wasn't sure she should rise to his bait, but his cryptic explanations were wearing thin. And curiosity was a powerful emotion. He had no way of knowing that she could recognize the lie he spoke. “I don't believe you,” she stated flatly.

“It's true. Or at least it
was
true.
He
was the one who killed them,” he said, alluding to his partnership again. “I would find them and bring them to him. That was the part I loved, the hunt. That was the part that
did it
for me. After that, at least until it was time to dispose of the bodies, they were
his
problem.” He said it as if the girls themselves were insignificant. And Violet believed that, to him at least, they were. Their lives meant nothing to him; they were simply quarry to track, useless once captured.

It suddenly made sense to her, why the other man had carried so many echoes on him, like a patchwork coat he wore all around him. She hadn't wondered before, but if she
would have had time to process it, to think it through, she would have noticed it. That this man, the cop in front of her now, carried only one shrill echo.

So whose echo was it?

It was a question she couldn't ask.

But she didn't have to; he answered anyway.

“They'll never find her, you know, the girl they were searching for out in the woods.” He smiled again, only slightly, and it made Violet's skin crawl as she studied him. “I was always so careful, dumping each of them in different locations, in different ways. Never the same place twice.

“But not this time, not
her
. She was my first kill, and this time they'll have no idea to look for her in the exact same spot where they found my partner, standing guard over the McDonald girl.” His smile grew, revealing a flash of glistening white teeth. “And they'll never find you either.”

JAY STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE DANCE FLOOR,
still holding Violet's purse and scanning the darkened gymnasium, searching for her. He tried to ignore the panic rising within him. Something was wrong.

But when he saw Chelsea, dancing with her date, he was no longer able to contain it.

He interrupted the two of them on the dance floor. He didn't seem to notice that he was causing a minor scene. “Where's Violet?” he demanded, ignoring Chelsea's shocked expression.

“What…
Jay
?
What are you doing?
” she asked, her eyes widening at his unexpected outburst.

But Jay was too determined. “Chelsea…
where is she
?”

Chelsea stopped, momentarily stunned by the alarm she heard in his voice. “Relax! She's in the bathroom, fixing her ankle wrap. She'll be right back.”

Jay looked up, in the direction of the restrooms, and felt himself relaxing when he saw the swarm of girls coming and going in clusters. Chelsea watched his reaction.

“Not that one.” She corrected his mistaken belief that Violet was in there with the crowd. “We went down to the one past the locker rooms, so we could be alone.”

Jay felt his blood turn to ice; he felt freezing fingers grip his heart with chilling dread. “You left her there?
Alone?
”

Chelsea shrugged, glancing rudely at a couple beside them who were staring now. They looked away, embarrassed to be caught in Chelsea's cutting gaze. “So what?” She turned back to Jay. “She'll be right back. Go get some punch, or maybe something stronger if it'll calm you down.”

Jay searched the room, spotting one of the uniformed officers stationed near the entrance. His irritation with Chelsea turned to insistence, as he barked orders at her. “Go tell that cop to get help. Tell him where Violet is, and tell him to call her uncle!”

Chelsea was confused, but something in Jay's cryptic demands broke through to her, making her feel panicked without even knowing why. She didn't question him again; she just ignored her date, who was still standing there stunned by the conversation he'd just witnessed, and she raced toward the doors—toward the officer standing there—to get help for her friend.

Jay was already running the other way.

 

The giant man in front of her reached out and captured a stray tendril of Violet's hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefingers thoughtfully, and then he looked up as if he were genuinely sorry. “I'd love to sit here and chat with you, and believe me, I am enjoying myself. But we have to go.” He spoke somberly, sadly. “It's time.”

Violet shook her head. “I'll scream,” she insisted, not sure what she really hoped to accomplish with the empty threat.

He seemed authentically disappointed. “I would snap your neck before anyone even had a chance to respond. Besides, Violet”—hearing her name on his vile lips made her visibly recoil again—“no one can hear you. And even if they did, I have a gun.” He glanced down at his weapon. “I have to get rid of you or I lose everything. It's too late to go back now, right?”

Violet thought about her classmates…her friends…
Jay
. How could she allow any of them to be hurt by drawing attention to her…unfortunate predicament? She
wanted
to scream, to cry for help, but she couldn't. She wouldn't.

She stood up and reached for her crutches, feeling dead already. She had no other choice.

He led the way, holding the door open for her while she awkwardly shimmied through. He was sickeningly polite…and calm. He wasn't the hunter now, just the nameless executioner leading his prisoner to the gallows. There was no chase, no thrill in capturing her, at least not this time. She had made it far too simple for him.

VIOLET'S ARMS WERE ACHING FROM TRYING TO
keep up with him, but she refused to complain or even to slow down. His strong, calloused hand was wrapped tightly around the back of her neck, a warning to her of how fragile she was, how easily he could end her life should she try to get away from him at any point. She had a hard time imagining just how he thought she might escape, given the fact that she could barely walk, let alone outmaneuver him. But she kept her opinions to herself.

They were alone out here, in the long deserted hallway, heading toward the doors that led to the faculty parking lot. She could still hear the distant music, seemingly farther now
and fading fast, in the background of her distressed thoughts.

She was worried, not about
if
she would die, as it seemed a certainty at this point. And although Violet had never been particularly afraid of death itself, she was worried about
how
it was going to happen. She prayed he would do it quickly, without making her suffer too much.

The other thought that haunted her in these last moments of her life, the one that bothered her even more than dying, was the idea that this monster, this madman, would wear her imprint on him for the rest of his life. Maybe longer.

The very idea made her feel physically ill, as she imagined sharing any part of her life's essence with him.

At first she thought she'd imagined it, the voice she heard coming from the other end of the hallway, from behind them. But it was too real, too perfectly beautiful, to be imagined. The moment her name was spoken, and she recognized who it was, her eyes began to tear up painfully.

It can't be him!
Violet thought.
Anyone but him!

“Violet?” His familiar voice was filled with confusion as he called out to her.

The hand around her neck tightened, and Violet followed the tactile cue and stopped. The grip was a threat in itself. They turned around in unison, the unbearably strong fingers never leaving the tender, already bruised flesh around her neck.

Facing Jay in person was nearly too much for Violet right now. She felt her frail heart splintering into a million lifeless shards.

He said her name again. “Vi?” He glanced up curiously at
the man escorting her, and he visibly relaxed a little. “What's going on? I was so worried…. I thought something might have happened to you.” He waited for one of them to speak, and then he asked the obvious. “Where are you going?”

Silence ensued—the kind of void-filling silence that yawns endlessly until it becomes virtually impenetrable.

Violet wanted to build a bridge across the quiet chasm, but she couldn't find the words. They felt lodged behind the aching lump in her throat. She struggled with herself not to cry.

Suddenly the presence of the cop was not enough to make Jay feel secure. His posture stiffened, and he took a threatening step forward, his mouth set in a determined line. “What's going on?” he demanded this time.

Violet felt the iron grip squeezing forcefully, and she knew what was expected of her. Her mind raced, as she tried to think of something—
anything
—that would make Jay leave now.

“We…we're just…” She hated the way she stammered, and she ordered herself to get a grip. She wasn't saving herself here…she was trying to save Jay. She started again. “I asked the officer here”—she glanced up pleadingly at the rock-solid man beside her—“to take me to his car so I could call my uncle. My dad said he'd kill me if I didn't check in at least once.”

Jay stood his ground. He knew she was lying to him, and Violet wanted to scream at him to just go away. “Here,” he challenged, lifting her purse out to her and eyeing the officer's hand around the back of her neck. “You can use your cell phone.”

She shook her head, no small feat with the jawlike grip
squeezing her. “No, I need to use
his
phone.” Her voice had taken on a pleading quality, and she begged him with her eyes to believe what she was saying. She was losing her tentative grasp on the situation, and she didn't want Jay to get hurt. “Please, Jay, just go back to the dance. I'll be there soon.” Her words broke, and she felt herself struggling to keep her composure. This wasn't the time to fall apart.

Jay took another calculated step forward, and the punishing fingers dug deeper into Violet's skin, biting at her fiercely. She winced. She didn't mean to, but the pain was so intense that it happened reflexively. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

That was all it took. That one nearly imperceptible recoil on her part, and Jay lunged forward. “Get your hands off her!” he yelled, his voice unmistakably filled with rage.

Violet couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She hadn't wanted this; she simply wanted to disappear into the night, with this man she knew would kill her, and silently vanish. Forever.

That way no one else would get hurt.

She felt her neck jerk forward as the giant hand released her, shoving her away. If it hadn't been for the support of her crutches she would have toppled over.

Jay was already swinging his fist wide and hard, hitting the man who'd been holding her captive. His fist connected solidly against the man's jaw, and the officer's head snapped hard to the side from the impact. Violet felt a surge of hope blossom within her.

And then it incinerated into white-hot ash.

The officer remained upright, almost insultingly so, as if he'd never been struck at all. He sneered at Jay, his face hideously masked with contempt for the younger man. “You stupid little punk! You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?” He approached Jay now.

She knew what he was going to do. She knew that now, like her, Jay had no chance of getting out of there alive.

She reacted without thinking.

Violet watched the arc of the metal crutch swinging widely before thudding sickeningly against the side of the cop's head. A metal wing nut, holding a long, pinlike bolt, struck his temple, gouging him deeply. He never saw it coming, and the force of the blow carried more weight than she would have thought possible, and she watched as he staggered sideways.

She saw him hit the ground. Everything seemed to happen so fast, and so slowly, all at the same time. The look on his face was that of complete surprise as he struggled to process what had just happened to him. Her ankle throbbed from the leverage she'd used to hit him with the crutch, but somehow she ignored the pain.

She couldn't think fast enough, but Jay was already grabbing her by the arm and dragging her down the hallway, back in the direction of the dance. But they were so far away, and every time Violet's foot hit the ground, fresh pain radiated up cripplingly from her ankle to her hip, nearly incapacitating her. He did his best to hold her up, pulling her against him, with his arm anchoring her around her waist, but she was lagging now…slowing him down.

They didn't look back.

And they didn't get far before the pain was more than she could bear. She slumped against him. “Jay, go get help,” she whispered sadly. “You'll get there a lot faster without me.”

“No way.” He pulled her up again, dragging her into his arms so he could carry her.

“Don't, Jay,” she insisted, crying now and struggling to make him set her down again. “You'll never make it with me. Please…just go!”

But there was no answer to give…because neither of them was going anywhere.

Violet felt the massive jolt jarring Jay from behind, and then she was falling…flying nearly, through the air. She landed with a dull, skidding thud against the industrial tiling of the school's vacant hallway. The sounds she heard bouncing off the walls around her were those of defeat.

She glanced up, trying to ignore the bright sting from her injuries. She scrambled to turn around, despite her own physical discomfort, to see what was happening behind her.

She heard it before she could see it.

The soft click. The menacingly quiet sound that made her throat constrict painfully.

Jay, who was lying facedown, had heard it too, and he slowly, warily, rolled over onto his back…careful not to make any sudden movements. He put up his hands cautiously, palms out and fingers spread, letting the huge man standing above him know that he was surrendering. That he was defeated.

The gun was all Violet could see now. It was black, and
from her position it looked like it could have been a child's plastic toy. But Violet knew better. This was not a toy that he expertly handled. And it was pointed directly at Jay.

The man holding it was bleeding; rivulets of oozing red blood trickled down the side of his face. He seemed somewhat off balance, and he staggered a little, probably from the blow he'd taken to the side of his head…but his aim looked perfect.
Dead-on
.

Violet could only whimper as she watched. “No!
Please, God, no!
” And then she was crying, “You don't need him. He can't hurt you. Please…” She crawled forward, meaning to block Jay, but she was moving too slowly. She felt like she was progressing in slow motion, like a bad dream where her feet were too heavy to make any real headway. She looked up at the man, and when she saw the look in his eyes, she realized that she was too late.

The sound of the gun was like a deafening crack, and Violet instinctively flinched, closing her eyes, her hands covering her ears at the same time that she started to scream. She heard a second shot immediately follow the first.

She opened her eyes just long enough to see the blood. Everywhere…blood. And she squeezed them tight again, unable to look. She knew she was still screaming, but she couldn't hear anything aside from the internal ringing that seemed to fill her head.

But her mouth was suddenly filled with the strangest sensation…the taste of dandelions. It was the bitterly familiar taste of childhood, of picking the weeds to make a yellow
bouquet, and then later, when you put a finger in your mouth, you could still taste the caustic flavor of the dandelion milk clinging to your skin. Her tongue recoiled.

Violet realized, while she was being peeled up from the floor by strong hands, that the taste had nothing to do with picking flowers.

It was an echo.

A brand-new echo.