The Certainty of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #5)(5)

I flip it over and read the sentence on the back. ‘Look how easy it was to get by them.’

My hands begin to tremble with rage. I’m assuming the ‘them’ is the police car.

‘Fuck.’ This is a new one for him, coming straight up to the door. I want to beat the shit out of the bastard, but it’s complicated when the bastard’s hiding. I think about going across the street and scoping out the house and restaurant, although I doubt he’s still there. But the police can probably already see me and I’m sure they’d wonder what the hell I was doing, which would be fine if they didn’t know who my mother was. They’re suspicious of me, like I might know where my mother is and I’m protecting her – that’s been made clear.

After locking the door, I jog down the stairs and across the parking lot to the police car parked in front of the curb of the home for sale on the opposite side of the street. When I rap on the window the driver rolls it down, looking wary.

‘Can I help you? ‘He’s probably in his late thirties, wearing civilian clothes, in his normal sedan, attempting to blend in, but clearly the disguise isn’t working very well.

‘I’m Luke … Violet’s boyfriend … ‘I clear my throat, realizing we’ve never even discussed what we are yet, but it feels right to say it. ‘This was left on the doorstep of our apartment.’ I give him the photo and the box.

The policeman looks the photo over then glances at his partner, a female officer, probably in her forties, wearing jeans and a collar shirt.

‘When did it arrive?’ he asks me, which is annoying as f*ck. He should know this if he was actually watching the place like he was supposed to, since they were there already here when we left for the party, and the box had to have arrived sometime between then and now.

‘You tell me,’ I say, irritated, stuffing my hands in my pockets as I glance around, looking for something out of the ordinary. ‘You’re the ones who are supposed to be watching the place.’

He gives me a stern look as he reaches for his coffee in the console. ‘Don’t give me crap about how to do my job kid.’

‘I wouldn’t have to if you were doing your job.’ My gaze travels over to the house on the other side of the car. ‘It looks like it could have been taken from there.’ I point down at the sleepy looking restaurant. ‘Or there, which means it was close.’ I pause, my eyes narrowing at the policeman. ‘Which means he was close.’

The cop gives me a dirty look. ‘There’s no proof who left it yet.’

‘It’s kind of a given,’ I say. ‘Considering she has only one stalker.’

He tosses the box and photo to his partner. ‘Thanks for the input,’ he says. ‘But leave the police work to the professionals.’

He starts to roll up his window as I mutter, ‘Fucking douche’, before walking away. I should have just waited until morning and taken it to Detective Stephner. He’s more a professional and he cares more about solving this case’ cares more about Violet’s wellbeing.

I go back to the apartment and lock the door behind me. Violet is still sleeping on the sofa, sprawled out on her back, her arm draped over her head, her breathing soft. It’s the most peaceful I’ve seen her look in a long time, which is sad since she’s passed out drunk.

Deciding that it’s best to take her back to our room instead of trying to squish on the sofa beside her, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. I lay her down, slip off her shoes, then shuck out of my shirt and jeans and climb into bed with her, pulling the blanket over us. She instantly slides closer to me until her face is nuzzled against my chest. I slip an arm around her and kiss her forehead, pretending that everything’s okay. That in the morning we’ll wake up like a normal couple, with the sunlight peeking through the window in the silence of our home. But deep down I know that I’ll wake up probably before the sun even makes it in. And the house will be anything but silent. It’ll be filled with Violet’s screams.





Chapter 3


Violet


I feel so small, hiding in the dark in the basement, listening to the sounds of voices that I’m sure belong to monsters. I know if I dare look, I won’t see faces and bodies but strange shapes covered in thorns or needles or something else sharp, the kind of skin monsters are supposed to have. I’ll see pointy fangs instead of teeth, claws instead of fingers, soulless eyes that will reflect my horror back to me.

So I try to stay concealed in my hiding spot behind boxes and toys. I try to remain as still as possible, holding my breath. I tell myself that eventually they’ll leave and when it’s all over I’ll go upstairs and climb into bed with my mom and dad who will tell me it was just a nightmare. Because that’s what they do. They’re good parents who know how to comfort me when the world is grey, covered in shadows, when sunlight doesn’t seem like it exists anymore and every bad thing in the world has come out.

I try to tell myself that the monsters didn’t hurt them.

There’s a lady singing like crazy. I think she actually might be crazy. And the man, his voice is so low, so calm, so very un-monster like. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a monster. Maybe I’m just making things up.

Then the lady stops singing and I tell myself that it’s okay to look, just a peek. Turning around, I peer around the boxes. Light flows in from the windows and makes me able to see just a bit. At first the room looks empty, but then my eyes adjust and I see them. Two figures, perfectly still. In fact, the world seems still at that moment.