Chapter Seven Violet
Chapter Seven
Violet
Last night felt like a dream, but I knew it was reality. I still felt the cold terror covering me.
I went through my morning ritual with a blank mind. Drank my tea. Ate my toast and fruit. Got ready for my shift at the coffee shop.
But when I opened my front door, a bundle was waiting for me on the porch.
The small package was wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied together with black twine. Something about the way it sat there—centered, perfectly placed—made my skin crawl.
My body was on autopilot as I bent down and picked it up with both hands, the weight not heavy, but substantial enough to make me fear what might be inside.
Go to the police. Show them this. Tell them everything.
No . . . no, I couldn’t.
I carried it inside without thinking. My body moved automatically, my mind still lagging, trying to make sense of it. I set it on the kitchen counter, staring at it for long seconds before finally unwrapping it.
The brown twine wasn’t tied like any ordinary knot.
It was intricate, almost ceremonial, the ends tucked with deliberate care.
A memory crawled up my spine—Marcus teaching us knots as symbols, each loop binding us tighter to the cause.
I loosened it, pulling the twine with just my fingertips, as if that could protect me.
The plain brown box gaped open slightly now that the paper and twine no longer held it snug. I gripped each corner and opened it, peering inside, the shadows obscuring what was inside for a moment.
But then I saw it.
A human heart, still wet with blood, the arteries and vena cava jiggling slightly as my hands, still holding the box tops, shivered.
Horror crashed into me. My mouth went dry and my pulse roared in my ears. I staggered backward, my hands catching the edge of my shirt as I realized what I was looking at.
The latest victim’s heart, gift-wrapped just for me. A gruesome tribute.
The monster who left this knew what they were doing. They weren’t threatening me.
They were reminding me.
I didn’t call the police. I couldn’t. What would I say? That someone had left a heart on my doorstep? I had no proof this was that young woman’s heart, but my gut told me that was who it belonged to.
I’d have to explain . . . everything. The authorities would dig deep into who and what I was. Into how I am connected.
No, I couldn’t risk it. It was selfish, but I was terrified.
Instead, I buried everything I felt until I felt . . . nothing. I closed the box and shoved it into a trash bag before going outside to grab a shovel. I went to the edge of the woods behind the house and kept going until I was deep enough that the sunlight barely pierced the canopy.
I dug the hole deep but small. I buried the box and covered it with soil and then spread leaves over the mound. I felt sick for what I was doing, gagging at denying the woman who owned this heart the justice she deserved.
But fear strangled me, and I knew bringing the organ to the police wasn’t going to help the woman in finding her killers.
Back inside, I sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, my fingers twitching against the mug I hadn’t realized I was holding. I didn’t know what to do. So I did something I never thought I would.
I texted Grayson.
Me: Can we talk?
He replied almost immediately.
Grayson: Yes. Where?
Me: Silver Springs Park. One hour?
The park was just around the block from where I worked. Easy enough to get to after our meeting, even if I still wasn’t sure why I had reached out to Grayson in the first place.
Being around noise and people sounded like hell after what happened this morning, but I knew being alone was even worse. I needed something to drown out the roar inside my head.
I arrived earlier than our meeting time, needing a moment to just . . . breathe. But when I got there, Grayson was already seated on the lone park bench away from the rush of people, dressed in black, like always. He stood when he saw me, waiting until I took my seat before he sat beside me.
He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t even speak for long seconds. We just sat there in silence and stared at the small pond in front of us.
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the strap of my purse and knew I needed to tell him what was wrong.
“I know I shouldn’t have reached out,” I said. “But I didn’t know who else to call.” I looked at him, but he stared straight ahead. It was a long moment of him staying silent, but when he looked at me finally, his gaze was sharp.
“You can trust me, Violet. What happened?” He kept his voice soft.
I hesitated. The truth was right there. But I lied. “A dead animal. Someone left it on my porch.” I tried to control my breathing and voice. “Maybe it was a prank. But . . . it felt wrong, and it freaked me out because it felt very staged.”
Grayson leaned forward slightly, his forearms on his thighs as he stared at the pond again. “Explain more about how it felt off.”
“I don’t know.” I shouldn’t have lied. I’d reached out to Grayson because I was terrified. Not being honest wasn’t going to help me. “The way it was wrapped. The way it was placed. It wasn’t random.”
He went quiet, watching me. He kept his expression so neutral that it was hard for me to read it, hard for me to judge what he was thinking.
Not just looking, studying. His gaze slid over my face like a slow, deliberate touch.
His focus lingered on my eyes a second too long before dropping to my mouth, then back up again.
The stillness in him was absolute. Even the faint rise and fall of his chest seemed to pause.
I felt heat crawl up my throat, my pulse thudding so hard I was sure he could see it jumping under my skin.
Only then did he speak. “I’ll look into it. Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything that might help me figure out why you were targeted? Any small detail could help immensely.”
I worried my bottom lip, stared at the pond, then whispered, “If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.” I swallowed. “Thank you, Grayson. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“That’s why I’m here . . . to help,” he said without hesitation.
I didn’t know if I’d expected skepticism. Maybe dismissal. But he surprised me when he gave me calm and steady concern instead. And maybe that was what broke through my defenses.
I leaned in slightly, just enough that I didn’t have to speak above a whisper.
“Grayson . . .” We stared into each other’s eyes, neither one of us seeming to breathe. “Have you ever worked a case where something felt more sinister than anything you’ve ever encountered? Where it felt like an infection had taken root and there was no cure?”
His gaze and expression didn’t waver. “More often than I’d like to admit, Violet.”
My chest tightened, and I shook my head. “Maybe this is just the way the world is.” I didn’t phrase it like a question. I spoke to myself, wondering if evil was so ingrained in everything that you couldn’t escape it.
“No,” he said with more force than I’d ever heard him use before. For once, his voice wasn’t calm. It was hollow.
We said nothing for a while after that. The noise of the park filled the space between us. It felt surreal, sitting there with a man I barely knew, talking about the virus in the blood of this town. Of me.
Something about Grayson’s presence anchored me.
He shifted on the bench beside me, not to touch me, but to hand me a pen and a small black notebook.
“Write everything you remember about it. How hot it was outside. The smell. The way the blood was drying. How it was presented. Was it wrapped, laid bare? We’ll start there.”
Something tightened in my throat, but I couldn’t name it. I spent the next five minutes in silence, writing down everything in detail . . . as much as I could be honest about. And when I gave the items back to him, I knew I had to go. This was all too raw. I felt bare and exposed.
But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.