Desires of the Dead

“Megan, please try to understand. She wanted to take you kids away from me. She wanted to separate us, but I couldn’t let her do that. I couldn’t let her take you . . . not with Roger. He was scum. He used to beat your mother, and I couldn’t risk him hurting you too. I don’t know why he had to come back and ruin everything. . . .” He took a step, closing the distance between them. He tried to reach out to her with his free hand, but she drew away, shrinking from his touch as if his hand were contaminated. “I love you. . . .”

Violet took the opportunity to get to her feet. She felt shaky, wobbly from the echo’s drugging effect. For the moment, however, she was clear enough to think—fear keeping her thoughts somewhat in focus—but she wasn’t sure how long that would last, how long the adrenaline could stave off the intruding sensations.

“You don’t love us!” Megan screamed, finally finding her voice. “How could you hurt her? You’re no better than him. You’re worse! She was our mother!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “She wouldn’t have let him hurt us! How could you?” she howled. “How could you?”

“I do! I do love you! You’re my princess. I couldn’t live without you!” He tried again to touch her, his hand grazing her cheek.

Megan jerked, falling backward and landing in the snow at Violet’s feet as she tried to get away from her own father. That was when he noticed Violet again, and his face twisted, contorting with hatred. “This is your fault,” he hissed. “This is all because of you! If you hadn’t come, we would have been fine!”

Megan sobbed. “We weren’t fine. We’ve never been fine. You killed my mother!”

Violet’s eyes were wide, her heart thundering inside her chest. She wanted to explain that this was all a mistake, a misunderstanding—anything that might make him go away—but he was already lifting his shotgun to his shoulder, aiming it directly at her.

Violet shivered, from fear and from cold. She was frozen in place. The phantom rainstorm continued to pour as she wondered what her echo would be.

“What the f**k? What are you doing?” The distorted sound of Mike’s voice rushed past her like a violent wind. She heard the thud of body colliding with body as Mike threw himself against his father, shoving him against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Megan got to her feet. “She didn’t leave us. She didn’t run away. He killed her,” she sobbed, pointing at her father.

Mike glanced at Violet, confused. “Who?” And then he turned to Megan, taking in her state, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. His confusion vanished.

“Is it true?” Mike moved his hand to his father’s throat, pinning him to the large tree trunk. “Is what she said true?”

His father just closed his eyes, and even though he didn’t deny the accusation, his answer was evident.

And then Violet felt Jay as he arrived only seconds behind Mike. He gathered her into his arms, reassuring himself that she was safe before pushing her behind him to shield her.

Mike tore the shotgun from his father’s hands. The older man didn’t even fight for it; he just let it go, as if he were giving up. As if he were already defeated.

Mike took a step back, releasing his grip on his father’s neck with a rough jerk, and his dad’s head cracked against the tree. The sound rattled around them.

“How could you hurt her? How could you do that to us?” But even while he spoke, Violet watched as Mike expertly released the handle of the shotgun, checking to see if there were shells inside.

From where she stood, Violet saw the same thing he did, and she knew that the gun was loaded.

She half-expected Megan to say something, to object to where this was going. The look on Mike’s face as he squared off with the man who had just admitted to murdering his mother was chilling. The fact that he was armed was something shades darker than unspeakable.

But Megan just stood there, slipping silently into the backdrop, vanishing in plain sight. Even her eyes had gone blank.

Violet clung to Jay, afraid to even breathe.

Mike’s father crumpled to the ground. He sobbed openly, bawling into the brisk air, his hot breath making puffs of steam as he begged his children: “I’m so sorry. . . . Please . . . forgive me.” His words came out in wheezing jags. “I don’t deserve to live. Please just kill me. . . . I don’t want to go to jail. . . .” He buried his face in his hands.

As Mike pointed the gun at the top of his father’s bowed head, his hands were visibly shaking.

“Mike,” Violet heard Jay saying as he took a step forward. Violet wanted to stop him, but she was too late. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he begged his friend.

She wondered how Jay could sound so calm, so rational, when she doubted whether she could even speak at that moment. The nebulous feelings of the echo infringed on her again as she fought against them, fending them off.

Mike’s glare shifted to Jay, his eyes glittering strangely, madly. For an instant, it was as though he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone . . . that it wasn’t just him and his father. He frowned at Jay, baffled.

Jay put his hands up in front of him as he moved closer still.

In her head, Violet screamed at Jay to come back to her, to protect her, to stay away from the volatile situation.

“You don’t want to do this, Mike. Trust me. He’s already confessed, and he’ll go to prison for what’s done. Don’t make things worse by hurting him.”