Dead Silence

Every nerve in her body sang in anticipation and she could feel the magnetic pull to be closer, nearer to the body. Or bodies, rather, since she’d sensed two distinctly different echoes, noting the coffee-grounds smell that hovered in the air.

“You can’t do this. You have to wait for the police,” she told herself, thinking that if she said the words aloud they might mean more, might carry more weight. She tried to remind herself of the things Sara had tried to teach her, and even the techniques Dr. Lee had offered, to help her contain her impulses . . . so that she could avoid situations like this. So that she wouldn’t wander into dangerous situations on her own. But her words sounded hollow and robotic in her own ears, and she knew she didn’t mean them, any more than she meant to stay in her car and call for help.

She couldn’t help herself.

She had to go in there.

Turning off the ignition, she stepped outside her car. The sun beat down on her from overhead, reminding her that she should be elsewhere. With her friends, she thought vaguely. Having fun.

Not here.

She tucked her phone into her pocket, maybe the only intelligent thing she could think to do at the moment as she raised her hand to her eyes and searched for signs that someone was out there, on the grounds beyond the closed iron bars of the gate.

But it was just her . . . and the flashing colors and the decayed coffee grounds.

She wasn’t sure what she should do next.

Pacing in front of the entrance, she eyed the wall. It was too high to scale, at least without help. On impulse, she pressed the button on the intercom that was attached to a stone post.

She waited for a long moment, and then pressed it again. After the third buzz, she realized no one was going to answer.

The edginess inside of her was building, the call of the dead had reached a fevered pitch as the echoes grew. The sensation caressed her skin and rattled her bones, alternately seducing and terrifying her.

It was strong, this need to be found. So very, very strong.

Violet edged closer to the gate once more and gripped the iron rails in her hands. She strained to see to the other side of the grounds, to the waters beyond. That was when she realized the flaw in the wall surrounding the home. The lake. The tall stone fence line ended where the shoreline began. Where the water met the shore, she could get around the wall.

That realization set her in motion, propelling her into action.

She began moving, slowly, uncertainly at first, but soon she was running, following the tall stone barrier. She stopped when she reached yet another obstacle. The next-door neighbors had a similar fence surrounding their house. Also tall and also imposing, and also blocking her way.

But she was determined now, and she went around to the other side of the house. Her body was tingling everywhere, her vision disrupted by the shattering colors. Her breath hitched when she reached that side of the property, where still another house stood.

A house without a fence of its own.

Violet sighed out loud as she started running again, racing now toward the water’s edge. When she reached it, she didn’t stop, or even slow, she just stumbled into it, letting it splash all the way up to her knees until she’d rounded the end of the stone wall and had made her way back up onto the firm green lawn on the other side.

She didn’t stop to think about what she was doing . . . and what might await her if she didn’t turn back.

Her wet feet plodded over the grass as she ran up the sloped yard toward the house. She had no plan, no idea what she’d do if the bodies that beckoned her turned out to be human. All she knew was that they needed her.

She passed flowered gardens that had been pruned to perfection, and a detached garage with four regular-sized car doors and one oversized one. Through a window in the side of the structure, she could see a polished boat with bright red stripes parked inside.

When she came around the front corner of the house, reaching the entrance, she stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly feeling the gravity of her situation as a cold tingle of apprehension crept down her spine.

The front door stood open, and from where Violet stood, the colorful explosions were moving, drifting from her periphery and crowding her line of sight.

This was it. This was where the bodies were.

And what if it wasn’t just the bodies in there? What if whoever was responsible for the echoes was still inside as well?

She held her breath and strained, trying to decide if she could distinguish imprint from echo . . . if she could tell if there was a killer in her midst. She listened, trying to hear beyond her own imprint, but all she could hear were the sounds coming from the lake beyond: splashing and waves lapping, shrieks of laughter, boat engines that seemed to blur, one into the next.

And still, the bodies begged to be discovered. And still, her body ached to answer them.

She took one cautious step forward, her self-control teetering on the edge as the toes of her wet shoes abutted the front step. She stood there, letting the coffee-grounds smell and the medley of shapes envelop her, letting them overshadow all else.

Even common sense.

And then she stepped again.

It was the third step that led her across the threshold—of both the house and of reason—and into the darkened entryway.

The first thing she was aware of was the air-conditioning. It was set entirely too high despite the outside temperatures. The second thing she noticed was the smell. A real one that pierced even the bitter coffee-grounds scent that had been suffocating her. She knew now, more than ever, that she was in the right place.

It was the scent of death. Of newly decaying flesh.