The smile slipped from Violet’s lips, even as nervous laughter bubbled up her throat. “Uh, no, Chels, it doesn’t.”
But she could see the wheels in Chelsea’s head already turning. “Think about it, Vi. How many people do you think can do this? I’ve never heard of it before, have you?” She didn’t wait for Violet to answer, she could carry this conversation on her own. “None. And you know why? Because you’re special. Like Superman or Spider-Man or Batman.” She stopped. “Scratch that, not like Batman. He was just some dude with a bunch of cool gadgets on his belt. But you know what I mean, you have a power. A power, Vi.” Her eyes got wide then . . . like, lunatic asylum wide. She was grinning now. “You know what you need, don’t you?”
Violet groaned, wondering how this conversation had gone sideways. She answered hesitantly, worried about what she might hear next. “What’s that, Chels?”
“A sidekick!” Chelsea announced, beaming back at her, and suddenly Violet realized why she’d been so worried. Because Chelsea was a lunatic. “And who better to be your Robin than me? Not only can I keep your secret, I can help you.”
This time it was Violet grabbing Chelsea’s arms. She gave her a brisk shake, trying to snap her back to reality. “I’m. Not. A. Superhero,” she insisted, enunciating each word carefully. “And what, exactly, would you help me do? Comb the woods searching for dead animals? I seriously don’t think we need capes and secret identities for those kinds of adventures.”
Chelsea deflated beneath her, but she shot Violet a withering stare. “Buzz kill,” she accused. “Fine. No capes . . . got it. But I have, like, a million questions. I don’t even know where to start.”
Violet just smiled. That, she could totally understand. It was a lot to take in, a lot to process. Chelsea had just discovered that her best friend was some sort of freak of nature.
She dragged Chelsea over to where there was a large boulder covered with sprinkles of soft green moss. “Here,” Violet told her, waiting till Chelsea got settled. “Think about it for a minute. Then you can ask me whatever you want, ’kay?”
Violet kept a watchful eye on Chelsea as she sat down. She was glad when the color returned to her friend’s cheeks, and it didn’t take long for Chelsea to gather her thoughts, sounding more like herself again. Flippant, but rational . . . ish. “So, you’re definitely not some kind of necrophiliac or anything, right?”
“Gross, Chels!” Violet shuddered. “You’re disgusting.”
“Me?” Chelsea sounded shocked at the accusation. “And you’re trying to tell me that that . . .” She waved her hand toward the newly mounded soil in front of them. “That that isn’t disgusting?”
Violet thought about it for a second, then half shrugged. “Well, sort of. I guess. But in a completely different way. It’s not like I wanna make out with the bodies I find. I’m only drawn to find them. And only if they’ve been . . .” She hesitated, uncertain how to explain this part. “Only if they’ve been murdered.”
Chelsea’s eyes grew three sizes larger. “So you’re saying that thing was murdered?”
“I’m saying it didn’t die of natural causes. Something killed it, probably a coyote or a cat or something.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Chelsea said, as if she were glitching. She took a breath. “Okay,” she repeated. “Let’s start at the beginning. How long have you known about this?”
Violet tried to remember the first time she’d realized she was different, when she knew that she was doing something other kids didn’t do. She was little, that much she remembered. And she’d been with her father, walking in the woods around their house.
She remembered her father telling her, even then, how important it was for her not to tell anyone about it—what she could do.
And here she was, confessing everything.
“Forever,” she said at last. “For as long as I can remember.”
Chelsea’s mouth dropped open. “And you never said anything . . . to anyone?”
“Except my family. And Jay,” she admitted guiltily.
Jumping up from the rock, Chelsea pointed her finger accusingly. “Oh, come on! Are you kidding me? He got to know and I didn’t? How long, Vi? How long has he known?”
Violet couldn’t stop her laugh. She knew Chelsea wouldn’t like the answer. “Since the summer between first and second grade. He used to help me bury animals in my graveyard.”
“Your what?” Chelsea asked, her brows and lips all pinched and puckered. “Is that what that thing in your yard is? By the woods?” When Violet just nodded, Chelsea grimaced. “Burying animals in your backyard, isn’t that one of the signs they look for in a serial killer? That, and, like, bed-wetting or something?”
“I think it’s torturing animals, not burying animals in a graveyard, Chelsea. Big difference.”
Chelsea sat back down, still shaking her head. Still not happy that she’d been left out of the circle of trust all these years. “Yeah. You’re probably right,” she said, sounding serious now, and Violet wondered if she should be offended that Chelsea had said “probably,” like there was still some doubt. But she’d already moved on to her next question, and she leaned forward, captivated. Morbidly curious. “So, how does it work anyway? How do you know where to find them? How did you find that family at the lake?”