The Last Echo

They were coming fast now, and above a haunting sound she’d heard once before, she recognized the pounding of footsteps and the swish of fabric.

He was running right for her.

She pressed the button on the intercom with a sharp sense of satisfaction. Blood rushed past her ears, deafening her and making it impossible to tell if she’d pushed it hard enough, signaling that she was out there . . . calling for help.

Before she could blink, she felt a muscled arm snake around her throat, and a hand close viciously over her mouth. She was dragged backward, violently hauled down the stairs and away from the intercom that might have connected her to Sara. The cell phone fell from her hand, skittering across the ground.

Violet struggled—or tried to—but the arms that held her bore down with brutal force, squeezing her so tightly that she was already suffocating within them. She thrashed, trying to break free from the callused hand that covered her mouth and nose. Her eyes bulged and her throat burned as her windpipe threatened to collapse on itself.

He whisked her away from the entrance, carrying her as if she weighed less than nothing. It took her a moment to realize they were in the alleyway between the Center and the next building. It was dark in the space between the massive warehouses, darker than it had been out in the open. And when he released Violet, throwing her to the ground, she landed hard on her hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air. She didn’t bother to look up. She didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. Or what he was capable of.

James Nua. She would have recognized those imprints anywhere.

“Look what we have here.” His words came out like a growl, mingling with the choral voices of the echo he carried. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.” He squatted down in front of her, forcing Violet to look directly at him. She cringed, unable to tear her gaze away from the slithering black marks that wriggled beneath his skin, shifting around the permanent ink on his face and neck. He’d shaved his head since she’d seen him at the jail just three days ago. It was smooth now, clean, and the swirling echo snaked over his skull now too.

Unsteadily, Violet struggled to her feet. “Why are you here?” she squeaked out, her throat barely making room for her words. “What do you want from me?”

He rose too, matching her movements so that his mouth remained just inches from hers. So close that Violet could feel his sticky breath. So close she was certain he could taste her fear. “I came here to find you.” One of his black brows slashed upward. “And you made it so easy,” he sneered. “Not that many White Rivers around. My boys and I, we were able to track you down like . . . that.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, and Violet flinched.

Her heart hammered recklessly as she struggled to think of a way out of this. Tried to decide if there was a way out. “Why m-me? Wh-what did I do?”

“I think you know why. I think you should stop asking stupid questions.” His jaw flexed and Violet could see him gritting his teeth, could feel the unrestrained fury oozing from him in viscous waves. “I think you should stop pissing me off by lying.” His fist shot out without warning, and Violet was thrown backward by the powerful blow. Her cheek just below her left eye exploded with shattering pain, and her vision blurred as she crashed to the ground behind her. “I don’t know what you told them, or what you think you saw, but you don’t know shit.” Violet barely had time to catch her breath before he’d taken a long stride and his foot was flying toward her. Instinctively, she rolled away from him, but he was fast, and she felt the toe of his shoe graze her hip.

“S-stop . . . please,” she begged, her face in her hand, her cheek throbbing savagely. “I didn’t see anything! I swear.” It wasn’t a lie, not really.

“Then what? Did you hear her? Did you hear that dumb bitch screaming for her life?” A sadistic grin broke over his face. A depraved and sinister grin. Violet felt sick as his voice dropped. “Did you hear her screaming for the lives of her babies?” Violet tried to shake her head, to tell him no, she hadn’t heard anything, but he was already reaching for her, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He yanked her so hard that her neck felt like it had snapped as he lifted her so her face was even with his. “Do you know how much trouble you caused me? You should’ve kept your f**king mouth shut!” Spittle sprayed from his lips as he cursed her, his face red with rage. “I’m’a gonna kill you, bitch.”

And then he was dragging her by her hair, away from the mouth of the alleyway into the shadows beyond, where no one would see them. Violet struggled, her fingernails digging into the pavement, trying to find something, anything, to grab on to.

She believed what he’d said about killing her, and she was desperate to find a way to stop him. When he threw her down behind a pile of wooden pallets covered with broken-down cardboard boxes, her entire body was shaking, her fingertips bloodied and raw. She desperately hoped that the haunting chorus of echoes he carried wasn’t about to become the eerie backdrop to her death.

He loomed over her, wearing an expression that made her blood freeze.

She was no longer thinking when she kicked out at him, operating in pure survival mode now. She put every ounce of strength she had into her legs, and she was rewarded when she felt his kneecap grind beneath her foot. When she heard him gasp sharply, practically a scream, Violet scrambled to her hands and knees, realizing she still had a chance.

“Help!” she shrieked, running—stumbling, really—away from James Nua. “Please . . . someone help me!” But her voice was splintered, too soft and too frail.