Desires of the Dead

She nodded. “I’m tired. Really, really tired.”

He accepted that, mostly because he knew, probably better than anyone, that it was true. And it had been.

Up until she’d read that note.

Jay had to work that afternoon, so Violet had planned on going home to take a well-deserved nap. But when she got there, her dad was still at work and her mom was gone for the afternoon, and Violet realized that there was no way she’d be able to sleep. Not yet. Not while her house was empty.

She wandered around, trying to find a way to make herself comfortable. It was crazy that she was afraid there, of all places. Violet had never been afraid in her own home, not even as a little girl.

She’d never believed in the bogeyman or monsters that hid in the shadows beneath her bed or in her closet, in the places where a night-light couldn’t reach . . . if she’d been the kind of girl who had actually needed a night-light.

And yet, here she was, terrified in the one place she should feel the most secure.

Thanks to that stupid note.

She pulled it out of her backpack and stared at it again, not sure what she hoped to gain from reading it one more time:

Rosie Is Dead

Violet Is Blue

You Can’t See Me . . .

But I’m Watching You

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d heard that nursery rhyme put together a hundred different ways using her name. But it had never felt so threatening, so ominous. Violet understood the implied meaning behind the words.

It was another message from the person who’d left the cat. The same person she’d followed today through her very own school.

He, or she, Violet corrected herself as she scrutinized the girlish handwriting, was taunting Violet. Stalking her, openly baiting her.

And that person knew where she lived.

Violet shoved the note into the bottom of her backpack and closed all the blinds in the family room, sitting on the couch in the dark and trying to trick herself into feeling isolated, safe. She wanted to be tired again, enough so she could fall asleep, so she would feel better and be able to think more clearly. But the longer she sat there trying to make herself relax, the more she realized it was impossible.

Finally she decided that she needed to get out of her house. At least for a while. At least until her parents got home. But she needed to do one thing before she left.

She put on her shoes and her jacket and double-checked that Carl was safely inside before slipping through the kitchen door at the back of the house and hurrying across the lawn to her mom’s art studio. Inside she rummaged around the messy tabletops until she found a small piece of wood. It was flat and smooth, the perfect size for what she needed. She hoped her mom wasn’t saving it for anything special.

She opened a small container of acrylic paint and grabbed a thin paintbrush. The color she’d chosen was a pretty shade of pink.

Violet worked meticulously—respectfully—on her project, making sure to give it the care it deserved. When she was finished, she rinsed the brush and replaced the paint where she’d found it.

She crept quietly around the shed, toward the edge of the woods to where her tiny cemetery bordered the back of their property. She walked around the grave markers and homemade headstones, watching her step, until she found the site she was looking for.

Then she knelt down in front of the fresh grave and set the small painted plaque with the little cat’s name on it:

ROSIE

Violet had planned to hit the drive-through and grab a cup of tea, a little something to keep her going for the rest of the evening. Something to keep her alert.

But when she got to Java Hut and saw Chelsea’s car in the parking lot, she changed her mind. It wasn’t like she had anyplace better to go.

As she locked her car, Violet couldn’t help wondering if the person who’d written the note also hung out at the Java Hut. The thought made her suspicious of everyone she passed.

Inside she spotted Chelsea and Jules at a table in the back corner.

Violet ordered a cup of tea at the counter and carried it back to where her friends were sitting. She was surprised that Claire wasn’t with them, since Claire hated being left out.

Chelsea made a face at Violet’s tea. “Shouldn’t you be having a milk shake or something?”

That was Chelsea’s way of saying Violet should order a milk shake so Chelsea could “share” without actually paying.

Violet shook her head, ignoring the not-so-subtle hint. “Nope, I’m good.” She pulled the plastic top off her cup and stirred in a packet of honey.

“I’ll split one with you, if you want,” Jules volunteered to Chelsea.

“Aww. See? Jules gets me.” Chelsea’s response was meant as a commentary on Violet’s intentional snub.

Jules held out her hand, palm up.

Chelsea frowned at it. “I thought you were getting it.”

Jules smiled and wiggled her fingers. “I said I would split it with you. So pony up, sister.”

Chelsea glared at Jules as she dropped some change in her hand. “Anything but strawberry.”

Jules grabbed the money and headed toward the counter to order their milk shake.

“I thought you loved strawberry,” Violet said once Jules was gone.

“I do. It’s reverse psychology. She’ll get the strawberry.” Even when her statements were outrageous, Chelsea always sounded so sure of herself.

Violet just laughed. “Just because you would do the opposite doesn’t mean Jules will.”