Desires of the Dead

Still, she didn’t want to talk about it with Chelsea. Not even the kinder, more sensitive Chelsea. “I’m sure he’s fine, Chels. And if he’s not, he’ll get over it.”

Chelsea just shook her head. “All I’m saying is . . . I’m here if you want to tell me about it. . . .” She left the offer hanging there.

And Violet felt guilty for not taking her up on it. She wished she could talk about what had happened. She wished she could tell Chelsea everything, to explain what she and Jay were fighting about, to tell her about Megan, and what she’d seen at Mike’s house that night. But she couldn’t. It was too tangled together with her ability.

So she said nothing, and tried to ignore the disappointment on Chelsea’s face.

When Chelsea realized that she wasn’t getting anywhere with Violet, she changed the subject, but Violet found the new topic even more painful than discussing Jay. “I got the cutest jacket to wear up to the cabin next weekend,” Chelsea gushed. “You know, warm but not too warm, so maybe Mike will have to use some of his body heat to keep me from getting hypothermia.”

But Violet had stopped listening. All she could hear was the rush of blood coursing through her ears.

Her friends were still planning to go to the cabin. Of course they were. How could Violet have expected otherwise?

They reached her car, and Violet clumsily got inside, reaching over to unlock the door for Chelsea. She tried to concentrate on what Chelsea was saying. She wanted to interrupt Chelsea long enough to ask the questions that she knew she would never dare utter: Was Jay still going? Was he planning to go without her?

And: Was Megan?

Violet’s fingers tingled as she gripped the steering wheel. She struggled to remember what she was supposed to do next, and then it came to her. She wrapped her fingers around the key and twisted it. Her car rumbled to life.

Chelsea was unaware of the punishing emptiness that crept over Violet, stealing her resolve and tackling her spirit. Violet stopped listening as Chelsea prattled on, and the words buzzed in the air until they reached Chelsea’s house.

Violet remembered to say good-bye, but it sounded bleak and empty in her throat, leaving a caustic trail over her tongue.

She felt as if she were vanishing, like a shadow sitting behind the wheel of her own car, and she wondered how her friend couldn’t notice that. How she could just ignore it.

It wasn’t until Chelsea stopped at her front door and gave Violet a strange look that Violet realized she was still sitting there, staring at nothing.

Chelsea waved awkwardly.

Violet blinked, reminding herself that it was time to leave. She put her car into gear and drove away, not bothering to wave back.

If she had, Chelsea wouldn’t have seen her anyway.

Violet had become invisible.

Violet stopped at the Java Hut on her way home, desperately needing not to be by herself right now. She had hoped that the chaos of the after-school hangout might help. That somehow the noise might penetrate, even obliterate, the nothingness that was smothering her.

But when she stopped her car and looked out the windshield at the crowded parking lot, she hesitated.

She knew she wouldn’t run into Chelsea, who she’d just dropped off at home. Or Jules or Claire, who were still at school working on their science project. Or Jay.

It was Wednesday, and Jay worked on Wednesdays.

So why was she suddenly so uncertain? What was her problem?

She didn’t know, but now that she was there, seeing her classmates coming and going from the busy café, it was the last place in the world she wanted to be. The problem was, she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. So she just sat and watched them go about their lives.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long she’d been staring at the entrance, but she recognized the moment that her heart started to beat again. It was the instant she saw the girl walking through the front door of the Java Hut.

Megan was pretty. Small and fragile-looking, and for a split second, for just the briefest of moments, Violet could understand why Jay would have a hard time believing that this delicate wisp of a girl could ever be capable of doing the things Violet had accused her of.

She exited the café, followed by two of her friends, who, by comparison, made Megan appear pixielike. That contrast made Megan’s stilted movements seem even more oddly out of place. She gave the impression that she would move gracefully, fluidly, like a dancer, but instead she came across as guarded and cautious. She kept her head low, her arms drawn in tightly, protectively, around her. She appeared frightened. Like a hunted animal.

But that wasn’t what stole Violet’s breath, making her lean forward to get a better view.

And it wasn’t the sudden appearance of a flashing white light that clung to Megan’s alabaster skin. Because it wasn’t there. The light. The imprint.

It wasn’t there.

Violet blinked, thinking that she’d seen wrong. She was tired, exhausted, and maybe her eyes were playing some sort of trick on her. But they weren’t.

Megan wasn’t the one.

No matter how many times Violet blinked, or how hard she tried to tell herself that she knew what she’d seen that night in the woods, she couldn’t make herself see it now—here—if it didn’t exist.

She tried to make sense of it, of what it could have been. Could someone else have been in Megan’s house the night the power had gone out? Someone who had been responsible for the cat’s death? Or maybe Jay had been right all along. Maybe she hadn’t seen an echo at all, maybe it had been something else altogether. A flashlight. The flicker of candlelight.