Dead Silence A Body Finder Novel - By Kimberly Derting Page 0,2

foolish to hope for such simplistic solutions, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that way. She hated that by taking this pill Dr. Lee would somehow know she needed him.

But the sad truth was, she did need him. The pills were the only things that seemed to help these days. The only way she could shut off the interminable imprint so she could sleep.

Check that, so she could drift into a comalike state—sensing, tasting, smelling, and hearing nothing at all.

It was bliss. Pure, unadulterated, drug-induced bliss.

She threw the pill into her mouth and swallowed, savoring the chalky feel against the back of her tongue. Relishing that soon—very, very soon—she’d feel nothing at all.

Even if it was only temporary.

Even if it meant going back to Dr. Lee for more.

“You excited about tomorrow? First day of school.”

Violet pulled a clean mug out of the dishwasher and scowled at her mom’s enthusiasm. “Seriously, Mom, take it down a notch. What’s gotten into you, anyway? Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” She frowned at the window, wishing the shades were still drawn against the glare of the morning sun.

Maggie Ambrose’s expression shifted, contorting into a mask of compassion. “I heard you last night. How late were you up?” She took a step closer, and Violet realized for the first time that her mom was already dressed, already wearing her paint-smeared smock, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. The only thing missing was a beret, perched just so, to complete the look of a picture-perfect artist.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Her mom’s mouth twisted. “Stop deflecting and answer my question. Is it the imprint, Vi? Is it keeping you up?”

Wincing, Violet shook her head a little too quickly, pretending she couldn’t hear the eerie plinking of the music box all around her. “Of course not.” She hated that she was so transparent, and wished her parents would stop looking at her like that . . . like she was somehow broken. “It’s . . . school. I’m just excited about school.”

Her mom laughed, but there was no mistaking the sarcasm in her voice. “Yeah, right. You and school, you’re like this.” She held her fingers up, crossing them tightly together. But she didn’t push the matter, even though that worried expression returned as she changed the subject. “I was thinking about taking a little field trip into the mountains, to see if I can find some inspiration up there. Maybe you should come with me,” her mom suggested, watching as Violet’s hand shot up to cover her eyes against the sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window. “The fresh air might do you some good.”

Violet didn’t doubt it, not that she thought a little fresh air could cure what ailed her. But she knew how she must look, standing there in the kitchen wearing her rumpled pajamas, her hair unbrushed in a tangled halo around her head. The pills had worked, maybe a little too well, because now Violet felt as if she were squinting out through a dense fog that clung to her—following her like a second skin and trying to dampen her mood.

She glanced down, scowling at the empty mug in her hand, suddenly remembering what she’d been planning to do with it when her mom had sidetracked her. She turned to the coffeemaker, thinking, Caffeine. I just need caffeine to clear my head, as she grumbled, “No thanks. I have stuff to do today.”

“Like getting ready for school?” her mom inquired, still sounding skeptical.

“No, Mom, like stuff. Just stuff.”

Her mom made a sound that might have been meant as a laugh, but by the time it reached her lips it came out sounding more like a strangled sigh instead. “Suit yourself, Vi. But I’m not wasting another minute of this glorious day.” Violet watched as her mom gathered up her heavy canvas bag that was overflowing with brushes and charcoals, a sketchbook, and a small stretched canvas, as if she hadn’t yet decided whether she’d be drawing or painting today. She wondered if there was clay in there too, in case the urge to sculpt struck her while she was on this little field trip of hers.

“Have fun with that,” Violet quipped sullenly.

Pausing at the door, her mom met her gaze. “I can stay if you want me to. . . .”

Violet lifted her hand in a half wave, a puny effort to appease her mom since it wasn’t her fault that Violet’s head pounded or that she’d used up the