Sam’s skinny arms fell away, but his smile stayed firm and affixed on his face. She still had a hard time with the notion that Sam was some sort of super genius—or at least self-professed super genius. She knew it must be true, though. He wasn’t even sixteen and already he was a sophomore at the university. Hard to imagine since he barely had his learner’s permit and still had to take the bus and get rides from his parents everywhere he went.
He tapped the side of his head. “You know, psych checkup. Makin’ sure all the cogs are still in working order.”
Violet scrutinized Sam, trying to decide if he was being forced here the same way she was. But he stared back at her with his usual unreserved, too-eager expression, the one that looked like he had nothing in the world to hide.
Sometimes Violet forgot there’d actually been a time when she wanted to be here, when her visits to Dr. Lee were less than obligatory. “Yeah. Me too,” she said, knowing she couldn’t tell anyone else about the doctor’s coercive tactics.
“Man, I heard about the righteous crime scene you stumbled on. I’m so jealous. I heard it was disgusting.”
“Um, yeah,” Violet agreed. “It was pretty gross. And you’re pretty twisted if you’re jealous.”
He lifted his scrawny shoulders. “Duh,” he said, like that much was obvious. “Never said I wasn’t. So? Any suspects yet?”
Violet shook her head, thinking about Grady being cleared, and her uncle’s promise to let her know if he learned anything new. “Not yet.”
Sam glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were still alone before he leaned closer. “Man, I wish I could’a been there. That’s my favorite part . . . being at the scene itself. Touching things that belonged to the . . .” He shifted nervously on his feet, as if what he was saying was disrespectful, and then he shrugged. “Victims and whatnot. I love that flash . . .” His eyes lit up then, filled with wonder. “When I know I’ve got something. When I know I can help. Hopefully Sara can snag us some of their things. I hear the girl’s still missing. Hopefully it’s not too late for her.”
Violet felt a sudden jolt at Sam’s words, and wondered how she’d nearly forgotten that Rafe wasn’t the only one who could glean information by touching objects. Sam had the gift of psychometry too.
“Sam, Sam, Sam . . .” She flashed him a knowing grin as she reached for her backpack. She fumbled around inside it for a second, her fingers closing around the leather-bound journal that had once belonged to her grandmother.
She felt giddy, as she opened the front flap of the journal and reached for the photograph she’d hidden there, the one of the missing girl—the school picture Violet had lifted from the crime scene. Violet wasn’t sure it would work, but they could try at least. Maybe someone had handled it enough, maybe it had meant enough to one of them, that something could be read from it.
“Here,” Violet said, handing it over to him. “Keep it safe. And, please, don’t tell anyone I gave it to you. I don’t want anyone to know I took it.”
Sam watched her, his eyes wide as if she were presenting him with a work of art, rather than something she’d stolen off someone’s refrigerator.
“You can count on me,” he breathed, pressing it against his chest and closing his eyes.
Dr. Lee opened the door to his office then, pausing as he looked at each of them slowly, his face masked of all expressions. “Sam? Are you ready?”
Sam nodded, as he slid the picture discreetly into his back pocket. “Coming.”
Dr. Lee stood there a second longer, and then vanished inside to wait for Sam.
Sam winked at Violet, keeping his voice quiet. “I’ll let you know if I sense anything,” he said. Then he, too, disappeared into the doctor’s office.
Violet suddenly felt better. She may have a lead at last.
BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER
“I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T COMING BACK THIS time.” There was a mocking quality to his father’s words that he’d grown accustomed to over the years. He’d expected it from the old man.
“I’m not. I just need to grab a few things, then I’m outta here.” He’d hoped to get in and out without running into his dad, especially since the old man’s piece of shit car wasn’t parked out front. But even he’d known that had been hoping for too much. His dad rarely left except to make a run for more cigarettes or booze. Which is probably where his car was now, stranded somewhere on the side of the road . . . out of gas.
His dad barely looked up from the TV. “Don’t be like that. Stop being such a pansy and get your ass home. I got shit needs to be done around here.” The SOB had been drinking, and his words were sloppy. To an unaccustomed ear, it sounded like he’d said, “I go’ shi’ nee’s be done ’roun ’ere.”
Evan’s stomach clenched, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.
“Oh, I know. Yer too good for us, isn’t that right, boy? Yer gonna run off and be a rock star.”
“I just need to get some things,” he repeated as calmly as he could manage, leaving the room while the miserable bastard still ranted behind him. He needed to pack his shit and get out of there before the old man’s words morphed into full-on rage.
He passed a darkened bedroom, the door slightly ajar, just like it always was, and he hesitated. Something inside of him stirred, something small and childlike. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Ma,” he breathed almost soundlessly into the still room.