Being overtaken by such fear earlier had been confusing. Running away from the strange woman in the kitchen and into her father’s study had been reflexive, an instinct, a reaction that she knew was counterproductive, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. She wanted to meet the family, so why had she run? But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The woman in the kitchen had scared her on purpose. She’d done it so that Vivi would find that strange silver relic in her dad’s study. And then, in some inexplicable way, Jeffrey’s faithful had ushered her up the stairs and back into her room. Everything was happening for a reason. Every move was calculated. She was a puppet, and Jeff Halcomb was tugging her strings.
The Ouija board. The cross. This was what would truly bring Jeffrey back from the dead.
“Jeff . . .” She whispered the name into the silence of the room, into the stillness of the closet. “Are you here?” She laid the cross onto the black paper, her fingers just barely grazing its silver surface.
As she knelt there, the familiar sense of not being alone began to crawl across her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She squeezed her eyes shut as the sensation grew. There was a whooping outside, like kids on a playground, reminding her of how she and her best friends had gallivanted around the neighborhood only weeks before. She opened her eyes, abandoned the makeshift board, crossed the room, and paused at the window.
A group of men and women ran together across the yard.
It took her a moment to realize that they were in pursuit of something. Someone. It took her even longer to realize that night had turned into day. But she lost those details when her gaze stopped on a man standing to the side of the stampede. Vivi’s heart skittered like a needle on an old record.
“Dad?” It came out as a whisper of disbelief. Was it really daytime? Had she been stuck inside her room all night? What was her dad doing out there? He wasn’t supposed to be there, not when she was so close to bringing Jeff back.
He’ll ruin everything.
She was ready to smack the palms of her hands against the glass in frustration—to yell at him to go back inside, to mind his own business—when that sensation of not being alone returned. Except this time, whoever was watching her wasn’t doing it from a distance. Someone was standing directly behind her, as though peering over her shoulder. She could hear breathing. The small barrier of electricity buzzed between them, like the sensation of just barely being grazed by a passing hand.
Her father’s attention didn’t return to the window. Whatever was happening amid the trees was far too interesting for him to break away. Because of course it was. A fresh pang of anger seized her heart. She knew her dad had seen her in the window. Their eyes had met. And yet, there was always something more pressing, someone more interesting, something more deserving of his attention.
But she didn’t move, her own trepidation cementing her in place. Afraid to confront whoever was standing behind her, she watched the group drag a captive out from the cherry grove. A blond pregnant girl thrashed madly as two guys and two girls carried her across the grass. She was choking on her sobs, her hair flying around her face.
Vivi recognized her from the photos she’d seen online. It was the girl that used to live here, the daughter of the dead congressman, Audra Snow.
The intake of air behind her was steady, unyielding. Something about its enduring rhythm convinced her that she could stand at that window for days, weeks, years, but the person behind her could stand there even longer.
She had to turn around, face her fear.
“Jeffrey?”
She whispered the name, hoping that it would illicit some sort of response. Or maybe she was dreaming, like she’d read about in her dad’s book.
One, two, three, four, five.
She counted out the fingers of her right hand, one by one.
One, two, three, four, five.
Still the same.
In dreams, you weren’t supposed to be able to perform the finger-counting trick more than once. Failure meant that you were asleep. But even on the third try, there were five digits on her right hand.
She was wide awake.
The breathing continued.
Jeff killed people. Distant logic buzzed at the back of her brain. He’s dangerous. If he doesn’t like you, he might just kill you, too.
The sudden onset of doubt made her feel sick. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe, rather than loving her the way she had hoped, the way Echo had suggested, the person standing behind her would reach out and grab her by the neck. Perhaps she’d be knifed in the back, garroted with piano wire so fiercely that her head would pop right off her neck.
But, no. No, that was wrong.
You’re just like them, you know, Echo reminded her. Kids like you, that’s who Jeffrey loved the most.
Jeff wanted to meet her. He’d said so himself on the back of that photograph. He’d written it out—Dearest Vivi—before he had died. Why would he hurt her? What reason would he have to lie?
She sucked in a breath, slowly turned, kept her gaze focused on the ground and gritted her teeth against her own unease. She half expected to see a couple of snarled Gollum feet, but it was a pair of scuffed-up combat boots instead—boots that made her mind flip to the ones her father kept at the back of his closet and refused to sell. The faded black denim reminded her of Tim, the boy she had once secretly adored, who she had so badly wanted to impress with her knowledge of the strange and unusual. The kid she’d completely forgotten when she had found Jeffrey Halcomb’s smiling face online. Because Jeffrey was better than Tim could ever be. Vivi didn’t need to prove herself to Jeff, or find a way to make him pay attention. He would love her for who she was, just as he’d loved Chloe and Georgia and everyone else. She was just like them.
Kids like you . . .
Her gaze drifted upward until it settled on a weatherworn logo printed on a black T-shirt. It was a triangle with a rainbow shooting through it, something she couldn’t place but knew she had seen before. That shirt was half-hidden beneath a beat-up leather jacket. Taking a half step back toward the window, she blinked at the man before her, her anxiety obliterated by sheer distraction. If this guy was an ax murderer, Vivi would never suspect it past his pretty face and disarming smile.
“Vivi.” Her new nickname rolled off his tongue like spun sugar, those two syllables palpitating her heart. He smelled like patchouli and red currants. Nearly pinned against the window, she could hardly move when he reached out to touch her hair. The man who had looked at least twenty-five or thirty years old ten seconds before was now toeing the edge of seventeen.
“Vivi. Almost like viva. Do you know what that means?” He canted his head to the side, as if inspecting her, a sly smile clinging to his lips.
She shook her head, too stunned to speak. It’s him. It’s him! Except Jeffrey Halcomb was even more beautiful than any visage captured on grainy old film.
“Viva mi familia,” he said. “Long live my family. Viva mi amor. Long live my love. And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but there was no sound.
“Love,” he said. “Your parents.” Those two words hit her like a double-fisted punch. “I know all about them, I know how cruel they can be. It’s not easy being forgotten. I know that.”