Read Desires of the Dead Online
Authors: Kimberly Derting
Violet cringed as the ax struck the frozen earth, sending a tingling sensation up her arms. The ax felt too heavy in her hands, the weight too solid for the task.
She’d positioned the flashlight in the snow so that it was shining over the spot where she was trying to dig.
She was having a hard time holding on to coherent thoughts. They were vaporous, drifting like opaque threads of smoke, only to vanish like shadows whenever she tried to grasp them. This particular echo had an indefinable intoxicating effect on her that seemed to suddenly intensify . . . its grip on her tightening, clutching her in its embrace.
But she was already here, answering its call; why would it get stronger now? Unless . . .
His voice, deep and haggard, confirmed what she’d guessed—she was no longer alone.
She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sneak up on her—if it was the lack of clarity that plagued her brain or if it was the lingering pain filtering in around the edges. Or simply that she was too absorbed in trying to find her way below the surface of the icy ground to notice that something had changed in her surroundings.
That something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
“How did you know?” The man’s words grated harshly through the night.
Violet’s head cleared briefly as she jerked back from her task, fear temporarily jolting her from her stupor. She didn’t need to ask who he was; when she saw him standing there, the broken bursts of light emanating from beneath the hood of his coat gave her that answer. She noticed it was raining again, that she could hear the same heavy drops that had awakened her.
No,
she realized belatedly.
It isn’t raining; it’s too cold to rain.
It was only the sound she heard.
She glanced down at her gloved hands, at the ax she held there. She wasn’t sure what to say. Terror blocked her throat, strangling her.
He spoke again, this time quieter, his voice ravaged by something that sounded like sorrow. Maybe even regret. “How did you find her?”
His questions didn’t make any sense, and Violet struggled to pay attention.
Her?
Violet tried to remember what she knew—which wasn’t much—about hunting, about the laws that hunters were expected to abide by. Weren’t they supposed to hunt only the males? Wasn’t it illegal to kill the females?
She clenched her teeth, forcing herself
not
to succumb to the alluring pull of the echo, the venom that promised to deaden her senses.
He stumbled as he took another step toward her, and Violet could see his red-rimmed eyes behind the flickering light, and the dark circles beneath them. From this close, he looked so much older. And so very tired.
He stared back at her without seeing.
Violet remembered that he’d been out—presumably drinking—and she wondered if he felt half as blurry as she did.
She thought about moving away from it, from the echo beneath her feet, in an effort to gather her wits. But the prospect of facing that pain again, amplified by the presence of the man who carried the matching imprint, was unbearable. She preferred to remain drugged.
His voice, when he spoke again, was riddled with anguish. “I loved her. And a long, long time ago, she loved me too. I didn’t want to do it.”
Violet was losing the battle to understand what he was telling her. His words felt like nothing more than pieces of an unsolvable riddle to her addled mind.
She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but she couldn’t seem to formulate the thoughts into words, and instead she sat there, gaping dully.
“She promised to love me forever. She made a vow. . . .” His voice became bitter, angry. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth, and Violet could tell that he was no longer talking to her. He gazed over her head, lost in his memories. “But she lied. And then she told me she didn’t love me anymore. She said she . . .” His voice broke. “. . . she said she wanted
him
. He
ruined
my life.” His jaw clenched.
Violet’s eyes dropped down to his hand, which dangled limply at his side. She saw the shotgun he leaned against, clutched in his palm.
Her head started to clear as she shivered. Her blood felt electric within her veins and she was suddenly,
lucidly
, aware of her surroundings . . . and of the man standing before her. She was terrified by what she was witnessing, even though she still wasn’t certain what it was that he was confessing. But she knew, deep down in her heart, that he was telling her something she probably didn’t want to hear. That no one should ever have to hear.
Still, he didn’t look at Violet. “But I loved her,” he whispered, lost in his past. “How could she just leave like that? How could I just let her leave?”
Violet couldn’t tear her eyes away from the weapon, and her heart pounded painfully, thrumming violently. Loudly.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he admitted, his gaze finding Violet, trying to convince her, beseeching her to understand.
Violet’s heart exploded within her chest, and she was shaking all over as she waited to see what he wanted from her. What he planned to do to her.
She nodded, telling him that she believed him.
“I couldn’t let her take my children away from me. I couldn’t let them start a new family with him.” His eyes became fevered as he explained. “They love me, you know? And I tried to explain that to her, to tell her that she was wrong, that I
could
change. But she’d already decided. She said it was too late. She said I was never going to see them again.” He paused, looking confused, asking Violet,
“Never see them again? How could she do that to me?”
He frowned and shook his head, determination set in every hard line of his face. “I tried to talk to her, and when she wouldn’t listen, I tried to stop her. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He cried then, the sentence trailing off on a fractured sob. “And afterward I brought her here, so that she could be in the one place she’d always loved. Forever . . .”
He gripped the handle of the shotgun so tightly that his fingers turned white as he glanced up at Violet. “I’m really sorry that you found her,” he explained sadly. “I didn’t want anyone else to die.”
Jay rolled over in his sleeping bag and stretched his arm out to Violet. When his hand swept over the cool surface of her pillow, he opened his eyes.
In the glow of the fading embers from the fireplace, he could see that she wasn’t there, that she was no longer lying beside him.
She must have gone to the bathroom,
he thought lazily, as he shifted on the floor and waited for her to return.
He listened to the even sounds of sleep all around him. Mike’s deep breathing bordered on snoring, and Jay thought about nudging him—maybe more of a punch in the arm—to get him to stop, but he decided he would rather be alone with Violet when she came back, and waking Mike would be counterproductive.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, how much time had passed, but eventually he realized that it was too much, and he got up to see what was taking her so long.
When he looked down the hallway, to the open doorway of the darkened bathroom, his stomach sank.
Violet wasn’t in there.
He hesitated briefly outside the closed bedroom door—Megan’s room—thinking that maybe . . .
maybe
Violet had slipped in there to talk to Mike’s little sister.
Why
, he didn’t know. But he had to find out.
He tapped as softly as he could, trying not to wake the others. There was no answer.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he turned the knob to peer inside. The lamp beside the bed was on, and the bed was unmade but empty. Nobody was in the small, chilly bedroom.
Panic took hold. Something was wrong.
This was all wrong
.
He hurried back out to where his friends were asleep, and this time he grabbed Mike’s arm, leaning down to wake him. “They’re gone. Megan and Violet, they’re not here,” he whispered loudly.
Mike was groggy and slow to grasp what he’d said. “What—” He held his arm in front of his eyes, as if the diffused light from the lingering fire was too much for him. “What are you talking about?” he croaked.
“Jay
, where’s
Violet?” Chelsea asked as she sat up, rubbing her face.
“I don’t know,” Jay answered, his voice getting louder. “She wasn’t here when I woke up, and I checked your sister’s room,” he said to Mike. “She’s gone too.”
Mike sat up now, grabbing his sweatshirt from the floor and tugging it over his head. “Is my dad here?”
But he was already going to the front of the cabin to see for himself. He came back and double-checked his sister’s room before hurrying up the stairs to the loft above.
“Well, his truck’s here, but he’s not,” Mike stated, fully alert now.
“Where do you think they are?” Claire asked, hugging her pillow to her chest.
Mike shook his head. “There’s really nowhere to go out here.” He looked to Jay for suggestions.
But Jay was already putting on his snow gear. He knew where Violet was; he should have known all night long that she’d try to go back out there after she’d discovered that echo . . . the pull was too strong for her to ignore.
“You and Claire stay here,” Jay told Chelsea. “Put some wood on the fire, and if Megan and Violet come back, you guys just stay put. Mike and I will be back as soon as we can.”
The confusion on Mike’s face was evident, but he got dressed anyway, following Jay’s lead.
When the two of them stepped out the back door, into the punishing cold of the night, there were three clear, and distinctly separate, sets of fresh footprints in the snow.
“Are you saying she didn’t leave us?” It was Megan’s broken whisper that shattered the deadly calm hanging in the night air.
Violet wasn’t sure whether to be relieved by the interruption, or whether she should scream at Megan to run.
Even in the eerie glow of the flashlight lying in the snow, Violet could see the tears streaming down Megan’s face as the other girl struggled to understand what was happening. She stared at her father disbelievingly, revulsion and sorrow evident in her features. “Are you saying that she’s . . .” She pointed to the ground, to where Violet had been digging.
“. . . here?”
The last word was empty, absent of any real sound, but Violet still heard her, and felt the girl’s pain.
“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 fuck?
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.”
Mike’s answer was flat. “I wasn’t planning to
hurt
him.”
Jay took another step closer, understanding the meaning behind Mike’s words. “I know. But think about your sister.” Jay glanced over to where Megan stood quietly, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “She needs you, Mike. If you
do anything
to your father, they’ll take you away from her, and then who will she have?”
Something frantic flickered in Megan’s eyes. Fear, perhaps. And need.
Mike looked too and saw her,
really
saw her standing there, broken. He hesitated, his shoulders falling slightly as the rage on his face splintered into something softer.
Megan didn’t move, but her eyes never left his.
When Mike looked back at Jay, he nodded. “Take the girls back to the cabin and then go into town for help. I’ll stay out here and wait for you.”
“You won’t do anything to him?” Jay asked, wanting some sort of assurance that Mike wouldn’t shoot his father.
Mike stared back at Jay. Seriously and with resolve, he answered, “I promise.”
Violet didn’t mean to, but she once again found herself leaning against Jay as the torturous withdrawals from the echo hollowed out the inside of her skull.
What was surprising to Violet, however, was Megan’s reaction. The younger girl refused to let go of Violet, clinging to her other hand while Jay kept them moving through the snow at a steady pace. Violet couldn’t tell if the grip was meant to lend to—or to draw support from—her. All she knew was that Megan held on tight.
And after everything the girl had been through, Violet had no intention of letting go. Somewhere along the way, while the ache was almost too much to bear, Violet swore she heard Megan whispering something to her, something so quiet that only Violet was meant to hear it.
It sounded like:
“I’m sorry.”
But Violet was too weary to be certain.
As they moved away from the trees, cutting a path out into the open, the pain began to wane, only slightly at first, and then with each step, Violet could feel relief blooming within her like a flower. She breathed deeply, relishing the release.
Up ahead of them, the night sky around the cabin was fractured by strange incandescent bursts. But these lights were different from the imprint that radiated from Megan’s father’s skin. These were the kind of lights that
everyone
could see. Red and blue flashing lights that illuminated the crystalline landscape with hues of indigo and crimson.
The police were already there.
But how?
Behind them, the blast of the shotgun cracked sharply, deafeningly. Violet and Jay both startled, jerking reflexively as their feet stopped moving in the snow. On the other side of her, Violet felt nothing from Megan. Not even a flinch. She only stopped moving because they had.
And they knew, all three of them, that any beauty that snowy night had only been an icy illusion.
The cabin before them suddenly ruptured in a frenzy of activity. Where it had been quiet just moments before there was a sudden outpouring as people rushed toward them, erupting through the back door like an agitated swarm. Flashlights bounced along the ground, finding them where they stood, frozen in the night.
In the bustle, Violet recognized uniforms among the crowd. She saw her uncle and her parents, who were running through the snow to reach her.
And, somewhere, amid the moving and shifting faces that swallowed up the three of them—her and Jay and Megan—she saw Sara Priest.