The Last Echo

Violet wondered if that was the doll Sara had told her about. Sophie’s doll.

“She’s always like that,” Rafe answered, but Violet was ignoring him now as she wandered toward the shelves. She ran fingers along the spines as she read the titles in her head: On the Road, The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, The Giver, Fahrenheit 451. There were classics sitting alongside books by Stephen King, Michael Crichton, and Anne Rule. There was no rhyme or reason to his hodgepodge reading collection. “She’s mad because I’m not the brother she always dreamed of.”

“You think she’s bitchy to me because you’re not nice to her?” Violet stopped, her finger poised over a tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know, kind of.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Violet’s lips quirked, her eyes widening. “Maybe you should teach her to use her big-girl words, and then we’ll know for sure.”

His eyes dropped, but his mouth curved into a shy smile. “I just meant she’s kinda pissed that I haven’t been nicer to her since she moved in. It’s not that I don’t like her or anything . . .” His voice trailed off.

“It’s just that you don’t want to get to know her.” Violet finished his sentence.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and shrugged again. “I guess so.”

Hesitating, Violet spied a photograph sticking out from between two of the books. It was ragged around the edges, but even from her vantage point, Violet could see that Rafe was in the photo beside a blonde girl. Not pale blonde, like Gemma’s—perfectly styled and fashionable. This girl’s hair was darker blonde, more natural-looking.

Without thinking, Violet pulled the picture free and examined the frail-looking girl with black-lined eyes and a pierced lower lip. In the photo, Rafe’s arm was slung possessively around the girl’s neck. He looked . . . happy. “Is this . . . Sophie?”

Something flashed behind Rafe’s eyes—hurt or misery—worse than the physical damage to his body, but gone much more quickly. “Man, she told you everything, didn’t she?”

She recalled her conversation with Sara, the way Sara had opened up about their mother but had been reluctant about discussing Sophie. “She didn’t want to. I asked.”

“I guess it’s my fault. If I hadn’t said her name . . .” He took the picture from Violet’s fingers and slid it back between the books without even glancing at it. “You know, she had it too,” he explained quietly, mournfully. “That thing that happens whenever we touch, that shock between us. I felt it when I touched her too. You two are the only ones I’ve ever had that with.” His gaze flicked nervously to hers.

“So . . . what is it?”

He shrugged, as always. “I don’t know. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. All I know is . . .” His voice lowered. “I don’t hate it.”

Violet’s cheeks burned. “Do you think it’s because you’re . . . that you can . . .”

Rafe stepped toward her and instinctively she backed away. “What? Do I think it’s what?”

It was her turn to shrug. “Because you’re psychic? That we have some sort of weird . . . connection?” Violet turned away from him, her gaze flicking nervously over the titles on the bookshelf again to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “Sam says you’re different with me. Is that true?” And when he didn’t answer, when the silence went on too long and Violet wasn’t sure he understood, she tried again. “Are you? Different, I mean?”

When she heard him speak, his voice was right at her back. She could practically feel his breath against her neck. He was close. Too close, and Violet felt her stomach tighten. “I am,” he whispered, even quieter than usual. “I don’t want to be, but I am.”

Violet shook her head, wanting to deny his words and giving the only answer she could. She didn’t know if she could even breathe.

His hands, both of them, touched her arms while he stood there, behind her. The shock of his touch was overshadowed by the pounding of her heart and the blood beating through her veins.

She heard him swallow, and his fingertips tightened just the barest amount.

Violet squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know what to say, but everything seemed wrong. “Rafe . . .” was all she managed.

His hands fell away. “I know.” His voice sounded like it was being ripped from his throat. “I already know, you don’t have to say it. I’ve known all along, it’s what I do. It’s one of my gifts.” He practically spat the word, making it sound vile, dirty. “But it doesn’t mean I have to feel the same way. And that’s why I don’t want you around.”

Violet turned to face him, tears stinging her eyes as she blinked furiously, angrily. Why had he said all of this? Why couldn’t he have left things the way they were?

But he wasn’t finished with her yet. “It’s also why I can’t leave you alone.”

Chapter 21

VIOLET FELT LIKE AN IDIOT AFTER SHE LEFT Rafe’s, and she replayed the conversation in her head all the way home. How had she not seen that coming? How had she not known that Rafe’s feelings were more than just . . . friendly?

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she had known. Why else would Rafe have gone out of his way to spend so much time with her, especially when both Krystal and Sam had told her that Rafe avoided everyone else?