Dead Silence A Body Finder Novel

Chapter 22


VIOLET SAT BACK IN HER CHAIR, STARING UP AT the ceiling tiles. She knew that it was daytime, and that Chelsea was out of surgery and was now in recovery, but other than that she had no idea what time it was . . . or even what day.

Time seemed to bend and sway and warp around her, distorting her every thought and making her head split.

It felt like weeks had passed since that night at the abandoned house.

Yet only hours had gone by since her best friend had died.

She’d opted against waiting with Chelsea’s family—her parents and her little brother and older sister—and with Jules and Claire, and the rest of the people who’d gathered in the family waiting lounge. Instead, she’d found this quiet stretch of hallway, too brightly lit, but entirely private from the stares of well-meaning friends and family.

Her own parents had come and gone, at Violet’s insistence, giving her the space she’d claimed she needed. They were good like that. Patient.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Startled, Violet stopped humming, not even realizing she’d slipped into the old habit, as she glanced up at the familiar voice. She shrugged, not sure how she could explain her need to be alone at a time like this, when she should be clinging to others for support. “I’ve been here.”

Sara sat down next to her, and the temperature dropped at least five degrees, at least in Violet’s estimation. She drew in on herself, wrapping her arms around her as she turned to face her fearless leader.

“The girl came to, the one from the attic. Couple of hours ago. She was dazed but she told the officers who escorted her that they needed to find someone named Colton. She said he was hurt and needed help. Most of what she said didn’t make much sense, but they were able to get a location from her.” Violet watched Sara’s blue lips, wondering at the sheer beauty of them. The frost that coated them sparkled beneath the glare of the too bright lights. “When they got there, they arrested a boy and a girl, and found another boy severely beaten, barely clinging to life.” She winced as breath gusted from her mouth on a sigh. “They’d been treating him with heroin. He may never regain consciousness.”

“One of their victims?” Violet asked.

Sara shook her head. “One of their own. As far as we can tell, Evan Schulte, the boy who hurt your friend . . .” Her expression was grave. Sad. “Evan Schulte, the boy we have in custody for hurting Chelsea, was using his friends for home invasions, where they would steal enough to pay for drugs. Apparently, the Bowmans weren’t their first victims, just the first situation that got out of hand and turned deadly. Evan hasn’t said a word, so unless we get the other kid, or one of the girls, talking again, we won’t know much more until forensics start coming back.”

“Unless one of us can help sort things out,” Violet said, smiling a little now. Glad the killing spree was finally over.

“Yeah, you should be able to sort out who killed who at least,” Sara agreed. “With this many suspects it’ll be hard to know for sure who’s to blame. As far as the why and the how, well, I’m hoping to get my hands on some of their things so I can let the rest of the team start working on it.”

There was a long quiet moment, and Violet felt time slipping once more. She couldn’t tell if it was too long, the silence, or if just enough time had passed.

“How’s Jay?” Sara asked at last.

As if conjured by her words, Jay appeared, carrying a Styrofoam cup. There was a bandage on his face, covering the stitches he’d gotten in the emergency room.

“It’s not Starbucks,” he said, handing the cup to Violet. “But it was the best I could find.” He looked ruefully at Sara. “I’d’ve gotten you one, but I didn’t know you were here.”

Violet sipped the bitter liquid, tasting the powdered creamer and wishing he’d have been a little more generous with the sugar.

“Here,” Jay said, reading her thoughts. He unloaded his pocket, which was stuffed full of sugar packets. “I had no idea how much you’d need.”

She smiled at him, as she tore into three of the packets, dumping them into her coffee.

Sara was watching Jay, watching both of them, when she told him, “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this. Both you and Chelsea.”

Jay sat down on the other side of Violet and leaned forward, so he could look Sara in the eye. “I didn’t get dragged into anything. I’d do anything—go anywhere—for Violet. I’m glad I was there, glad I could help stop that creep.”

Violet was glad too. She’d already wondered what might have happened if Chelsea hadn’t told Rafe where they’d been planning to go. Things might’ve ended very differently.

But Jay was still talking. “And as far as Chelsea, I gotta be honest. That girl doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. No one dragged her into this mess. She went willingly. She wanted to be part of Violet’s life. I think she was just glad the secret was finally out in the open.”

Apprehension wrenched her gut as Violet watched Sara’s reaction. Sara didn’t know Violet had confided in Chelsea. Or at least Violet hadn’t told her. And she was learning that Rafe didn’t tell Sara everything.

He hadn’t told Sara about Dr. Lee. Or about their mother being part of the Circle.

Sara didn’t flinch from the news, didn’t respond at all. Still, Violet was grateful when a nurse wearing pale pink scrubs came toward them, interrupting the tense silence.

“You can see your friend now,” she told Violet. They were the sweetest words Violet had ever heard.



“Hey there . . . how ya doin’?” Violet asked, easing her way inside the hospital room. The antiseptic smell stung her nose, and she winced when she heard the incessant beeping of machines all around her.

She stopped short when she saw Rafe there too, standing by Chelsea’s bedside.

“Oh . . . I, um, I’m sorry . . . is this a bad time?” Violet took a half step backward, hating the surge of resentment that rose up her throat like bile.

Chelsea’s head rolled over on her pillow, and her half-lidded eyes widened. “No, don’t go.”

“It’s okay,” Rafe said to Violet, his actions jerky as he rubbed at his neck. “I was just leaving.” Then his gaze fell on Chelsea, and his voice lowered . . . softened. “I’ll come back later, okay?” His hand dropped, and the back of his fingers brushed over the back of hers in a gesture that was far too intimate.

Chelsea smiled blearily up at him, and Violet swallowed hard, forcing herself not to watch the two of them.

“I’ll see you later,” he told Violet as he brushed past her on his way out.

It was true, Violet thought. They would see each other. At school, and at the Center, and maybe even outside both now that he and Chelsea seemed to be . . . getting closer. So why did that thought make her stomach churn? Why did she want so badly to keep them apart?

Didn’t they deserve to be happy?

“I heard I have you to thank,” Chelsea said, drawing Violet’s attention, her lips moving slower than usual. She seemed to have difficulty peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Each word was sluggish and hard fought. “I told you you were a hero.”

Violet forced her smile to remain in place, but inwardly she cringed. “Don’t say that, Chels. I’m just glad my stupid stunts didn’t get you killed.”

Chelsea frowned, her entire face collapsing. “Are you kidding? Look at me. I’m bulletproof.”

Violet looked. At the tubes coming in and out of Chelsea’s arms. At the machines lining both sides of her bed, making noises and monitoring her vitals and who knew what else. Leave it to Chelsea to try to sound tough even when she was half conscious in the hospital.

“Too bad for you it wasn’t a bullet, I guess.”

Chelsea laughed, which turned into a cough, which made her moan and set off a round of monitors, causing a nurse to come rushing into the room. The woman glowered at Violet, who had the good sense to look shamefaced about what she’d done.

“Yeah,” Chelsea said, while the nurse peeled back the sheet and checked the bandage beneath Chelsea’s blue-green hospital gown. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. “I guess I’m not stab proof.”

The nurse flashed Chelsea a disapproving look, and then shot another one at Violet.

Violet understood the meaning well enough, but the nurse voiced her thoughts anyway. “You need to take it easy. If you can’t, then we’ll have to restrict your visitors. I doubt we’d have a hard time persuading your parents to agree.” Her already arched eyebrows raised almost to her hairline as her warning sank in.

She was probably right. Chelsea’s parents had always liked Violet . . . but that was before. What would they think of her now, after what had happened last night at the club? After Chelsea had almost gotten killed?

When the nurse was gone, Chelsea dismissed the notion. “My folks’ll be fine. They don’t hate you or anything. I already told them it was my idea to go down there. And it’s not like you were the one who drugged me.”

Violet knew Chelsea was right about all of those things, but she also knew parents. Fear could trump logic.

She reached for Chelsea’s hand, thinking how strange it was to hold one of her friends’ hands like this. When they were little, everyone held hands. Everyone hugged and shared Popsicles and sang songs, never caring if they were off-key or that everyone might be listening.

Now, they kept their hands to themselves and didn’t say things like “I love you” even when it was true.

“I’m so sorry, Chelsea. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I would never have let you go with me if I’d’ve known . . .”

Chelsea’s fingers twitched, and Violet wondered if she was trying to squeeze her hand. “Shut up, Vi. That’s messed up if you think I’m gonna let you take the blame. I knew what I was doing.” She smiled then, a small un-Chelsea-like smile with not enough oomph behind it. “Well, except for that whole stabbing part. That, I could’a done without.”

Violet shook her head. She had no idea what more she could say.

But she didn’t have to, Chelsea wasn’t finished yet. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything, Chels.”

“You know in that room? When you came in and I . . . well, right before I . . .” She tried to shrug, but she grimaced when she tried. “. . . died?”

“Yeah.” Violet nodded, wondering where Chelsea was going with this.

Chelsea’s face scrunched up, her brow wrinkling as she concentrated. “This is gonna sound weird, but I thought I saw something. I swear I saw an angel. . . .”

Violet’s eyes widened as she waited for her next breath to come. It felt trapped, caught in the space between her lungs and her mouth. Stuck in the denial she wanted to voice, but couldn’t.

“I felt warm all over, and then saw this weird flash of light, and then, right before I closed my eyes,” she added, her voice so quiet Violet had to strain to hear it over the blood rushing past her own ears. “He just flew away.”

Chelsea’s eyes flitted closed then, and Violet just stood there, waiting to see if there was more. If Chelsea was going to open them and tell her this was all a hoax. That she was playing some sort of practical joke on her.

But there was none of that. Just Chelsea lying there, her breathing growing quieter, her eyelids flickering back and forth beneath her closed lids.

Violet waited a few more minutes, and then realized that she should go. Chelsea needed to rest, and it wouldn’t do Violet any good to hover over her and watch her sleep. She should probably get some rest too.

But how could she? After what Chelsea had just told her?

An angel. Chelsea thought she’d seen an angel.

But was that really so weird? Didn’t people who’d died often say they saw angels? She couldn’t have meant Evan Schulte, the boy who’d drugged her. She couldn’t have seen the same halo of light that Violet had seen.

Violet started to go, barely noticing the flowers and balloons that sat on tables and trays, already lining the wall near the door. But then something caught her eye. She took a step closer as she saw something peeking out from beneath one of the arrangements. Something familiar, something she’d seen too many times before not to recognize. She wandered closer and plucked it free, turning the small business card over in her hands.

On the back was a handwritten annotation:

PTSD Therapy

Violet shoved the card in her pocket and left the room.