Dead Silence (6 page)

CHAPTER 3

VIOLET SAT IN HER USUAL SPOT. THE SAME CHAIR she sat in every Monday afternoon. She listened to the ticking of the clock as she tapped the toe of each shoe to its rhythm. First one foot, then the other, then the first one again. She leaned forward and watched them, as if this were the most fascinating piece of choreography she’d ever laid eyes on.

It wasn’t. In fact, she was bored to tears, mentally counting down the minutes until her session with Dr. Lee would finally come to an end and she’d be put out of this particular brand of misery.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap
. . .

Is it possible to actually die of boredom?
Violet wondered, as she fixated on the toes of her sneakers, forcing her gaze to remain down. But she could feel the good doctor looking at her. Watching her. Waiting for her to grow tired of this latest delay tactic.

Last month, during one of her sessions, she’d told him she had to use the restroom, and she stayed in there for almost the entire hour—longer than anyone should ever have to stay in a bathroom. He’d seen through her little ruse, of course, and at her next visit he told her, even before she’d made it out of the waiting room and had the chance to ask, that his restroom was “out of order.” She hadn’t tried that trick again.

She sighed as softly as she could. Her shoulders were starting to ache from hunching forward and she wanted to stretch them, just a little.

She waited for as long as she could, until the crick in her neck was screaming for relief, and then she decided to take a chance. She arched her back, rolling her neck ever so slightly from side to side, relishing the stretch in her sore muscles. Her mistake had been in miscalculating Dr. Lee’s position. In not realizing that he’d shifted in his chair, so he was leaning toward her, and without meaning to, she accidentally made eye contact. It was fleeting, and Violet looked away again just as quickly as possible, but it was too late. Her reprieve had come to a bitter end.

She sagged, slouching back in her chair, not willing to admit how badly her back had been aching. “Fine,” she told him, glancing at the clock. “We only have five minutes left anyway. Might as well get this over with.”

Dr. Lee pressed his fingertips together, the way he always seemed to do when he was thinking about what he wanted to say. After a moment, he asked, “I take it you’re sleeping better?”

Violet shrugged. “I sleep enough.” But then she realized that her lie would get her nowhere; she needed him to give her another prescription. Her shoulders fell as she admitted, “But I could use a refill.” She searched his face, looking for any sign that he was satisfied to have something she needed.

If he did, his smugness didn’t show. “And what about echoes this week?” His bushy brows raised, same as always. He was like the clock in that regard—predictable. Tick-tick-ticking away.

She shrugged, a non-answer, knowing what was coming next: He reached up and tapped his lips. “Did you run across anything? Do you still feel like you have your impulses under control?”

Violet tapped her feet again. She knew what he wanted to hear. That she was doing great. That everything had changed since she’d met him.

Thanks to you, Dr. Lee, those pesky echoes never bother me at all. You’re my hero!
Or something to that effect.

Problem was, it was true . . . more or less. Dr. Lee was the one who’d made her ability bearable. He’d taught her the breathing techniques and meditation and had even used hypnosis, all of which helped her not just to overcome the fog of depression and unease and just plain desolation that had once developed in the wake of discovering a body. That used to haunt her, making her drift through her days, as if she were a shell of her real self . . . until the body that was plaguing her was buried at last.

Until it found peace.

But now . . .

Now she felt something different. There was still a certain cloudiness, a sense of being weighed upon by the dead. But it was nothing like she used to experience. Nothing like before she’d met Dr. Lee.

And together with Sara, they’d taught her the importance of working as a team. Of not wandering into dangerous territory—even when the pull of an echo was strong—without waiting for backup.

Under any other circumstances, in any other lifetime, she would have praised him for that. Instead, she shrugged again, trying to look as taciturn as possible. “I can handle myself” was all she said.

“Good. That’s good to hear,” he said, smiling as if she’d just led a cheer in his honor. “I guess that’s about it.” He got up to go to his desk and Violet waited as he slid open the locked drawer where he kept his prescription pad. “Oh, and Violet? One more thing.”

“Yeah?” she said absently.

“How was school? You started today, right?”

Violet cringed. She wanted nothing more than to get this appointment over with and get out of here, but there was something in the way he asked the question, in the way he’d kept his back to her as he’d posed it. “Fine. Why?”

He closed the drawer, sliding the key in the lock methodically, as if this were the most important task he’d ever taken on. And then he turned back around, his eyes boring into her. “I just wondered how it was having Rafe and Gemma there.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did Violet shook her head. “Was it you? Are you the reason they’re at my school?”

When he nodded, Violet gripped the seat of her chair, her fingers digging into the upholstery. Her voice was filled with quiet disbelief. “But . . .
why
?”

“Because, Violet. You’re not keeping up your end.” His lips parted and he was no longer the benevolent psychiatrist he pretended to be here in his office. “Being part of the team isn’t just about coming to your scheduled appointments and showing up at the Center when Sara calls you. I expect you to commit to this. Your team needs you.” He held out the prescription for sleeping pills to her, and for a moment she just stared at it. Inside, she was shaking, and it took a moment to register that she was shaking on the outside as well. When she reached out to take the paper from him, her hands trembled violently.

But when their fingers brushed, his voice softened. “And whether you believe it or not, you need them too. Having Rafe and Gemma at your school is just another part of being on the team. It’s our way of making sure you’re okay.”

She wasn’t sure if it was his tone or his touch, or whether she was lapsing into some sort of shock, but she could practically
feel
the concern radiating from him, and it made her believe what he said as acceptance washed over her. His words made sense to her.

He was right, of course. She was being stubborn to believe otherwise. They were her team, and she knew they only wanted what was best for her. She nodded back at him, letting his conviction calm her.

He placed his hand on her elbow, and he patiently led her to the door.

“I’ll see you next week,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything before then. . . .” It was the same thing he’d said every time since the first time she’d come to see him.

She didn’t have to respond because she was already in the waiting room, the door closing behind her.

Violet tried to shake off the feeling that she’d been played.

Sitting in her car in her driveway, parked far from Dr. Lee’s office, she couldn’t remember
why
she’d let him convince her it was okay for Gemma and Rafe to be spying on her at her own school.

It seemed they were there to stay. Whether she liked it or not. And she most definitely did not.

Chelsea didn’t seem to mind though. It had been sort of weird to watch her friend in the halls between classes, focusing so much energy on Rafe. Watching as she held one-sided conversations with the less-than-chatty loner and then laughed giddily at his nonexistent jokes as if he’d just charmed the pants off her. It was even weirder though as, by the end of the day, Chelsea seemed to have drawn Rafe out of his shell. Rafe, who preferred to brood and be left alone. Rafe, who hated pretty much everyone.

Violet actually saw him smile at Chelsea. It was small, practically invisible unless you were looking for it, and maybe Violet shouldn’t have been looking at all. But she had been . . . and she’d seen it.

The barest flash of teeth, the stark glint of amusement almost hidden behind his thoughtful blue eyes.

She’d turned away then, ignoring the pang, as the stone that had been there all day settled more heavily in her gut. She shouldn’t care.

So what did she feel? she wondered. Certainly not the warm sense of acceptance she’d felt less than an hour ago, when Dr. Lee had assured her it was all for the best. She glanced at the brand-new bottle of pills she’d picked up from the pharmacy on her way home, wondering if Dr. Lee had somehow managed to drug her while she was at his office.

Whatever the sensation had been, it had worn off now.

She stepped outside, relishing the fact that although it was getting late, summer temperatures still lingered and she didn’t need a jacket just yet. As it grew dusky, the sky was still tinged at the edges with fiery pinks and oranges that found their way up from the edge of the world, clinging to the undersides of the few clouds she could see, making them look like fat, sticky mounds of cotton candy.

“Vi?” She heard her mom call out to her as she slipped through the front door, and even though she’d meant to skulk up to her room and hide, she drew up short, knowing her mom would want to hear all about her first day back at school.

When she came into the family room, she saw her mother curled up on the sofa. “I made you some tea.” She held her own cup, and Violet tried to recall a time when her mom wasn’t drinking hot tea . . . even during the most sweltering days of summer. “It’ll help you relax.” Her mom smiled. “Maybe you’ll even sleep better tonight.”

“That must be some magical tea,” Violet said, a devilish grin finding her lips as she leaned her shoulder against the wall. She watched her mom pour another cup and slide it across the coffee table toward her, inviting her to sit.

“Not magical, just chamomile,” she answered, and Violet studied her mom’s fingernails, the polish beginning to chip and peel. Violet curled her fingers, hiding her own bare nails as she wondered if her mom—or anyone else—had noticed that she hadn’t painted them since her abduction. Since Caine had painted them for her. “And peppermint. It’s good for your sinuses.”

Violet smiled at her mother, shoving away from the wall and joining her on the couch. “My sinuses are just fine, thank you very much.” She picked up the cup and inhaled the steam coming up from it, infused with the scent of mint and the sweet smell of chamomile leaves. She leaned back, putting the cup to her lips and sipping. She didn’t tell her mom that she’d sleep fine tonight, that she had something stronger than tea to tide her over.

“So?”

“It’s good. I’m sure I’ll sleep great,” Violet told her instead.

Her mom scoffed, but her voice was determined. “Not
that
. School. How was it?”

“Oh,” Violet breathed. “Good.” But she knew what her mom really wanted to hear, so she said it. “It was good to be back.”

She saw the relief—the anxiety her mother had been shouldering—melt away in an instant with that simple statement.

“Rafe was there,” Violet added, trying to make it sound like an afterthought. Like something that didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. “He and Gemma are going to White River now.” She shrugged nonchalantly, hoping she was convincing.

She still felt weird talking about them with her mom. It was bad enough that Violet had attracted the attention of a serial killer, but her mom had wanted her to quit the Center even before then.

Afterward, though, her mom’s opinion had changed.

Afterward, her mom had left the choice up to Violet. All because it had been people from the Center who’d led the police to where the killer had been holding Violet. All because, in the end, they’d been the ones to find her.

Her mom lowered her cup, settling it on top of her lap as she eyed Violet, that burden returning. “Really? They’re at your school? As students?”

Violet nodded, wishing she couldn’t hear the air of disapproval in her mother’s words, echoing her own doubts.

“And you don’t find that . . . odd?”

She shrugged again, repeating the word she’d said far too many times in the past few months. “It’s fine.”
It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s just fine.
She was starting to hate that word.

“What about Jay? What did he think about Rafe being there?”

This time it was Violet’s turn to scoff, to make light of the matter, but she couldn’t manage to make it as believable as she’d wanted. Maybe because she didn’t believe it herself. “Why would he care?” she asked, taking a too-large gulp from her cup and wishing there was something stronger than just tea in there. She watched her mom’s eyebrows inch up meaningfully. “Mom,” she complained as if her mother had actually accused her of something. “We’re just friends. Jay knows that.”

But she could see her mom wasn’t buying it.