Dead Silence A Body Finder Novel

Chapter 18


THREE—POSSIBLY EVEN FOUR—SONGS LATER, when Violet finally managed to free herself from the confines of the crush in front of the stage, she took a deep breath, and focused. Her vision was still distorted, but not nearly as intensely as it had been just minutes earlier. As if whoever she’d been tracking had left the building.

She searched around frantically, not wanting him to get away as she tried to find that sensation again—desperately wanting to be blinded by the colors of death.

Yeah, because she wasn’t strange. Who even thought things like that?

“Jay!” She jumped up and down when she saw him, waving and trying to draw his attention. “Jay!” She hoped he could hear her above the music and the shouting, but somehow she doubted it. She could barely hear herself.

But he did see her, and that was enough as he, much more successfully than she had, shoved his way through the crowd. When he reached her, he was out of breath. “Jesus, Vi, I looked all over for you!” He had to yell to be heard. “One second you said something about splitting up, the next you were gone.” He scowled at her.

But Violet just grabbed his hand and started dragging him away from the mob of people. “We have to go,” she hollered back, hoping he wouldn’t ask why. Telling him that she was following a killer wasn’t something she wanted to scream in the middle of an audience.

There was a hallway to their right and Violet headed toward it, realizing that with each step the colors grew bolder, more distracting.

Once they’d ducked through the doorway, it wasn’t hard to guess where the hallway led. There were three doors, two clearly marked with the universal stick figure signs that specified men’s and women’s restrooms, although the signs didn’t seem to make a difference to the people waiting in line, as they took whichever room came available first. Apparently, when you had to go, you had to go.

Violet slowed as she passed the first door, but she could still see, making it more than clear that the person she was after wasn’t in there. He also wasn’t in line, she realized as she passed those who were still waiting. She and Jay got several strange looks as they squeezed by, and raised a few pierced brows.

Violet ignored them all.

“Damn,” she cursed as she kept dragging him toward the third door.

This one was clearly marked: an exit. But she knew it was the right way to go if she intended to follow the imprint.

As she reached for the handle, Jay drew her up short. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She pressed her palms against the long bar that would release the latch, the one that would let them outside. “He’s out there, Jay. The killer. He was in here, and now he’s gone. I know he’s out there, just past this door. We have to go find him.”

Jay stopped her, pulling her back. “Are you kidding? We’re not going out there.” He gripped her arms. “Violet, think about it for a minute. This is what I was talking about, you can’t just chase after murderers.” His voice became gentler, more persuasive. “Look,” he said. “Let’s go back inside and get Rafe and Chelsea. Then we’ll call your uncle, or Rafe’s sister, and tell them what you found. Let them go after this psycho.”

Violet wavered, shifting anxiously on her feet. “But what if it’s too late by then? What if he’s already long gone?”

“Then he’s gone, Vi. You can’t put yourself in danger just because you’re afraid the guy’ll get away. Some things are out of your control.” He started pulling her back inside. “Accept it.”

She was only half convinced, and not at all happy, but she followed him because she knew he was right. It was the same thing Sara had been trying to tell her since she’d joined the team, teaching her the importance of putting her own safety—and the safety of her team—above all else. It was the same thing Dr. Lee had tried to teach her with all his stupid methods and techniques.

Yet here she was again, about to impulsively follow another imprint. About to put herself in harm’s way . . . again.

Rafe was waiting for them at their spot at the table. Violet glanced up ruefully at two guys in her way as she squeezed past them.

“He was here,” she told Rafe, looking around nervously to make sure no one else was listening to them. And then she added, “He must’ve slipped out the back though. I think we should call Sara.”

Rafe straightened up from where he’d been slumped forward, leaning on his elbows. “Why didn’t you go after him?”

“Because,” Jay answered from over her shoulder, “I told her we should come back and get you and Chelsea first.”

Rafe considered that and then nodded. “Good idea.”

“Where is Chelsea, anyway?” Violet asked, her eyes raking the throng of people swarming the immediate area. She didn’t see Chelsea anywhere.

“Dunno.” Rafe shrugged. “I figured she was with you. Probably in the bathroom.”

Violet knew that wasn’t true. She’d just been by the bathrooms, and Chelsea wasn’t there either.

“Hey!” she called to the boy Chelsea had been making eyes with when they’d left her. He was still sitting by himself. “Where’s the girl who was here?” She tapped Chelsea’s root beer, which was mostly empty.

He looked back at her indifferently, like he was going to shrug it off, pretend he had no idea who Violet was talking about, so she decided to jog his memory. “You know? Cute girl, short skirt, foul mouth? She was checking you out when I left.”

He grinned slightly. “Yeah, I saw her. But she was more interested in that other dude.”

Violet glanced questioningly at Rafe, but he just lifted his shoulder. “What other dude?”

“Dude she left with.” His grin grew, knowingly. Leeringly. “She was pretty hammered though. You probably shouldn’t’a left her alone. She could hardly walk—he practically had to carry her.”

Violet’s heart started pounding, beating at least five times its normal speed, and she felt like she was sweating through her skintight T. What was he talking about hammered? Chelsea hadn’t been drinking.

She scrambled for a way to make sense of his words as she searched Rafe and then Jay for an explanation.

Her tongue was thick and dry, and she thought she might be sick.

She heard Jay asking the guy, “What did he look like, the guy she was with?”

“Like everyone else, man. A little on the short side. Black hair.” And then his eyes widened. “And a neck tatt. One of those cross things.” He pointed toward the band. Toward the stage. “Like on the drums. Big black one.” He traced his finger down the left side of his neck, showing where it was. “From his ear to his shoulder.”

The brimstone cross.

The guy Chelsea had left with—had been carried out of here by—had a tattoo of the brimstone cross.

Violet lifted the root beer, her hand shaking so violently she could barely get the straw to her lips. Just as her mouth closed around it, just as she was going to take a long pull from the straw to quench her parched throat and hopefully soothe her stomach, she felt it being jerked from her hand.

“Don’t drink that!” Rafe shouted at her, and Violet blinked back at him, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

And then she saw what he was pointing at, what he’d been scraping into a small pile on the marred wooden tabletop.

Fine white powder that could barely be seen between the flashes of light coming from the stage. Not much, but just enough to be noticeable. Just enough to make Violet take a second glance at the glass that was sitting on the table between them now.

At the bottom of the brown liquid, she could just make out a few of the same white granules settled in the base of the glass. Almost invisible. Almost all liquefied now, save those remaining few.

“That’s not sugar, is it?” Violet asked.

Rafe shook his head, but it was the look on his face that made the knot in her chest tighten. It wasn’t the look of someone who didn’t care. He looked scared. “We have to find her,” he told Violet.

Behind Rafe, she heard Jay talking to the other guy at the table, while her heart struggled to find its rhythm. “Did you see which way they went?”

The guy, who hadn’t been paying attention to them as they’d figured out what had happened to Chelsea, turned back to them and pointed toward the exit. “They went out that way,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll catch ’em. That was a couple’a songs ago.”

That way, Violet thought, thinking of the way she’d felt when she’d been standing at the exit.

She’d followed the imprint to that door, knowing he’d gone out there. The killer.

The guy with the brimstone cross tattoo.

And he had Chelsea.



They were running by the time they reached the door, and didn’t stop as they burst through it. The cool night air was refreshing after the stifling atmosphere inside the club, and Violet hadn’t realized how hard it had been to breathe in there. How suffocated she’d felt.

She hadn’t stopped to think about what she’d do once she was out here. Where they were going or what their plan was. All she’d thought about was Chelsea.

Saving her.

“Call Sara!” she screamed over her shoulder as she reached the small lot behind the club. “Tell her to call my uncle. To call everyone. We need help.”

On the road in front of them, several cars zipped past and she was forced to slow down, to consider her next move. She had no idea which way to go next.

Spinning to face the others, she saw that Rafe already had his phone out and was dialing.

“What if it’s too late, Vi?” Jay asked. “He’s probably long gone. We don’t even have a description of what he was driving.”

Violet couldn’t even consider that possibility, not when they had so much at stake. When she answered him, her breath came out in a wheeze. “If, Jay. If he was driving. We don’t know he had a car. They could be on foot.”

“Violet.” Jay’s voice tried to be placating, but Violet could hear the disquiet behind it.

Beside her, Rafe hung up.

“What’d she say?”

“She’s calling the local police, and your uncle, and she’s on her way now. She said to stay put.”

Violet shifted nervously, barely able to stand in one place now. It didn’t matter what Sara said, she couldn’t just stand here. “I think we should split up. We can cover more ground that way.”

She didn’t have to convince Rafe—he was already nodding.

“But, aren’t we supposed to stay put?” Jay countered. “Isn’t that what you just said?”

Rafe grinned at Violet. “I said that’s what Sara told us to do. I didn’t say that’s what we were gonna do.” His attention shifted to Jay then. “You stay with Violet. Don’t let her outta your sight.” He started walking away from them, leaving them to decide which way to go, when he called back. “And keep your phone on!”

Violet only half nodded as she looked around, trying to decide which direction made the most sense.

Part of her knew Jay was probably right, that Chelsea was probably in the back of some guy’s car right now, too far away for them to help her. But she couldn’t just wait for Sara, or someone else, to arrive. Even if the police did show up in the next few minutes, she had no new information to give them. She’d already heard Rafe telling his sister about the club and the spiked drink and the brimstone tattoo, which was really all they had to go on at this point anyway.

She started pacing up the sidewalk, following the path along the street, certain Jay was right behind her. There was no way he’d let Violet out of his sight now.

“I should never have brought her here,” Violet groaned, her steps speeding up now.

They reached the crosswalk and Violet repeatedly pressed the button for the crosswalk signal to turn with her thumb, as if the repetitive action might spur the signal along. It didn’t and she grew more and more agitated, hopping from one foot to the other.

“There’s no way you could’ve known.” Jay tried to assuage her, but Violet didn’t want to hear that now. The weight of Chelsea’s predicament was crushing her.

“Except that’s not entirely true, is it? I’ve gotten myself into jams before, why did I think this one would turn out any different? I shouldn’t have involved anyone else. This is my burden, not hers.”

The signal changed and Violet started jogging, and then running, not wanting to let Jay make excuses for what she’d done. For the situation she’d put Chelsea in.

This was all her fault. And if Chelsea got hurt . . .

She’d never forgive herself.

“Which way should we go?” Violet asked, her voice rising when they reached the other side. But the question didn’t have an answer, not really, and she threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea what to do, Jay. She could be anywhere!”

She didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now, but her voice trembled and the frustration of their dilemma overcame her.

Tacoma was a huge city. Sprawling . . . with thousands upon thousands of homes. Thousands upon thousands of places he could have taken a girl to hide her.

And Violet knew what he was capable of. She’d seen the proof firsthand.

Hunching forward, Violet swiped at the tears she couldn’t manage to stop, rubbing her eyes. She felt helpless. Hopeless.

Useless.

“We’ll find her,” Jay offered, but the conviction was absent from his voice. Even he knew he couldn’t make a promise like that.

Sniffing, Violet stood upright again, and then she saw it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to decide whether it was real or not. Or rather if it was only because her makeup was burning her eyes that the spot flitted into her vision. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

But she was almost sure she hadn’t imagined it. That it hadn’t been a trick of her mind . . . that single, tiny blue fleck.

She took a step one way, trying to re-create the effect.

“We should go back to the club and wait for the pol—”

“Shhh!” Violet demanded, trying to concentrate.

When it didn’t come back, she took a step forward, and then another and another. Her heart seemed to match her paces now, quick and erratic, creating a staccato rhythm against the sidewalk, and inside her chest.

Nothing again.

She went back the way she’d come, to the place where she’d started, and still, nothing.

And then she crossed that threshold, moving one step farther. And again.

There it was . . . a quick burst of red.

And another step . . . a blast of yellow. Then one more . . . this time green.

The colors. They were back.

She laughed with relief, sounding deranged, unstable. “He’s here,” she practically sobbed. “We can find her.”

And then she was off, following a path that was gradually blinding her and could only mean one thing. That she was chasing a killer.



It was slow going, and they had to backtrack up and down side streets more than once as Violet would find the trail, and then lose it again. The neighborhoods they combed grew and more and more bleak, and more and more impoverished and menacing the longer they ran.

It felt like they’d been searching for hours, but according to Jay only five minutes had passed. Violet was worried. What if they were tracking the wrong guy? What if he didn’t have Chelsea?

Or what if he’d had her and already disposed of her?

The image of Veronica Bowman flashed through her mind, discarded at a home that wasn’t her own, a needle buried in her arm.

She’d been drugged too.

But Violet had something on her side that this guy didn’t know about. Her ability.

She could track him. And she had no intention of giving up.

Turning once more, Violet flinched as a pair of dogs hit the chain-link fence that contained them. They were frenzied and tried their best to get at her and Jay. Jay’s hand closed over hers as he drew her backward while the animals barked and growled, snarling and gnashing their teeth. There was nothing about the display that was meant for show. Those dogs would just as soon rip their throats out as let them pass.

“Holy crap,” Violet whispered, still not letting go of him when they reached the streetlight on the corner. She took a breath. “That scared the crap outta me.”

Jay’s grip tightened. “You and me both.”

They skipped that street, deciding to avoid Cujo and his friend. But they couldn’t stop. They were close, Violet could tell, because her vision grew more and more impaired.

When they turned down the next block, Violet gasped as her eyesight nearly imploded in a shattering display. But through the eruptions she thought she saw an outline ahead of her, dark and shadowy and hard to make out among the colors bursting in her way.

People. They were too far away, and were obscured by the night—and her deteriorating vision. But Violet knew . . .

It was Chelsea . . .

And him.

“Chelsea!” Violet shouted before she could stop herself, nearly stumbling over her own feet as she rushed forward, trying to reach them.

Just before they vanished once more.





SEE NO EVIL


THE GIRL WAS SLOWING THEM DOWN, BUT IT made no difference to him. He was anxious, sure, but Colton’s condition probably hadn’t improved since they’d left him. He was probably no different than he had been yesterday. And no different than the day before that.

He was in no shape to appreciate his girl just yet.

Evan would have to wait to see the look on his friend’s face when he presented him with his new toy.

In the meantime, it was a struggle just to get her home.

She fell, more than once, ripping her tights on the jagged-edged concrete of the broken sidewalks, and then laughing over the blood that oozed down her knees. He much preferred the drugged version of this girl, though, over the hard, prickly one he’d first met.

“C’ai tell yoo a seeee-krit?” The girl had her arms wrapped around each of their necks, as both he and Kisha dragged her along. The toes of her boots scuffed along the ground and her head lolled forward. He wondered how much longer she’d even be conscious.

He and Kisha exchanged glances over the back of her head.

“What’s that, sweetie?” Kisha asked her, her voice taking on a motherly quality that he couldn’t help being proud of. Ever since Colton’s accident she’d stepped into the role without being asked.

It was what he’d always wanted, for them to be the perfect family.

“I . . . don . . .” She started to drift away, her words losing steam. “I don’t . . . feel so . . . good . . .” The last words came out in a whisper.

Kisha was already panting, and he didn’t know how much more of the girl’s dead weight she could manage.

That’s when the voice cut through the shadows, finding its way to them, and he knew they were in trouble.

“Chelsea!” someone called out from not so far away, and the girl in his arms perked up, lifting her head as high as she could.

Chelsea. Her name must be Chelsea, he realized, glancing once over his shoulder and making out the curly-haired girl and her Abercrombie boyfriend just beneath the street lamp at the corner.

“Drop her!” Kisha insisted, releasing the girl. “Let’s get outta here.”

He glanced at the girl’s mystified expression, and wondered if she even knew where she was. Who she was.

But even with her dazed countenance and her smeared mascara she was beautiful. So very beautiful. She was perfect for Colton.

“No,” he snapped, hauling her all the way back up, bearing all of her weight himself. He searched around them, scanning the houses up and down the street, surveying the ones closest to them.

Most had the same vacant appearance. A little too dark. A little too run-down, and far too empty.

But it was the one ahead of them that held the most promise. The one with the For Sale sign sticking out of the dead lawn, and the foreclosure notice taped to its front door.

There was no light at all coming from within, and he guessed that even if someone still lived there, they weren’t home at this very moment.

He dragged the girl—Colton’s girl—through the patchy, brittle grass. “Come on,” he ordered beneath his breath to Kisha, who still looked uncertain, like she might bolt at any moment. “Get up here, Kish, I need you.” At that she moved, suddenly darting toward him. They rounded the back of the house, still dragging the girl, but now Kisha was helping, trying to pull her along by her other arm.

When they reached the back door he kicked it open, and not waiting to see if it was actually someone’s home still, they disappeared inside, closing the broken door as best they could behind them.