Dance with a Devil

It was dark–pitch black, actually. It gave off a creepy aura. She hovered outside the door before her hand felt up the wall and she flicked on the lights. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and all she saw were paintings.

Violet furrowed her eyebrows in confusion–paintings?

She stepped inside and observed what she had been waiting for and trying to figure out for months. To her left was a rather huge painting of John. It wasn't just a normal painting, it was rather...creepy. The brush strokes were uneven, giving off a 3D look. He was smiling in the picture, but his eyes weren't green, but red. The other pictures were of forests with eerie lights in the distance, a cave with a hidden monster's face, a group of people burning someone at the stake. One of them was even a girl holding a single rose, drooping down and losing all of it's petals.

"Violet?"

She couldn't move. Even though she was sure than John was going to be furious that she was in the room, she was too mesmerized by the paintings. What did they even mean and why did John keep them hidden?

"Violet..." John appeared in the doorway. He didn't sound angry at her–he sounded nervous.

"Paintings," Violet spoke. "That's what you have hidden in this room all this time. Paintings."

"I can explain," John said, his voice right behind her now. Violet's eyes continued to travel around the room. They all had that creepy feel to it–like they all had a certain theme. There were probably hundreds of paintings in there. They lined up to the ceiling and it was almost impossible to move around the room itself.

One painting that caught her eye was at the very top of the pile, at the other end of the room. She stepped closer to it and she saw a girl, laughing and holding a knife in her hands. A boy was standing beside her, eyes red, looking down at her and blood was gushing out of his stomach.

It was her and John. It looked exactly like the picture of her, Garrett, and John from Prescott, standing in front of the white truck and being silly. Garrett was taken out of the picture, but it was exactly the same facial expressions and movements that John and Violet made.

"Violet, I can explain everything..." John said, following her gaze. He stepped in front of her, cutting off her gaze. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

"Why am I killing you?" she asked.

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he ushered her out of the room and closed the door, locking it. Violet looked up at him, confused beyond words.

"Sophie," John said. "Sophie was a painter. Or, at least it was her hobby. She also claimed to be 'psychic'. She painted what she 'saw'."

Violet furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't get it. She 'saw' all of that? She 'saw' me killing you?"

"It's–it's complicated, Violet," John said, a little harshly in defending his deceased cousin. "She wasn't exactly the most normal person out there. She was constantly made fun of because of the fact that she proudly announced to the world that she could see. She died because I was one of those people who made fun of her."

She stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. The suspense was killing her.

"She painted a lot of those in there while we were visiting, especially the ones with you and me. i saw a few of them and I got angry and I told her how annoyed I was and that she needed to get rid of them or I would destroy every single painting I could find. I was–I was mad, you know? I was mad because of the band, I was mad because I was forced to go to a family reunion when I was needed elsewhere...I was mad. I didn't expect her to take me so seriously and she went out in the middle of the night, with her paintings, and she didn't see the driver at all, apparently. It was a head on collision that killed her instantly. I'm the one who made her do that. I–I killed her."

John looked at Violet, waiting for her reaction. She didn't know what to even think. She didn't know what she was expecting, but John really did set off the domino effect to her death.

"Violet," John sighed.

"I just–I don't think–" she sighed, unable to form proper sentences. "I don't really know what to think right now, John. I'm just so confused and I don't know what to do except go home. Yeah," she nodded. "I'm gonna go home."

"No, Violet–" John started, reaching out to grab her, but she slipped right through his fingers. She grabbed her shoes and left his house, hopping into her car.

Flashes of the paintings were going through her mind as she drove. She didn't understand why John had them hidden for so long. Was it because they were of her? Did they mean something to him? She didn't get it and nor did she feel like finding out at that moment. Too much happened that day for her to even comprehend.

She was exhausted.

Violet pulled up into the driveway of a house she hadn't visited in a long time and she slipped her heels on before walking up the path and ringing the doorbell.

"Violet!" Trey exclaimed when he opened the door, stunned.

"Hi, Trey," Violet smiled. "Is, uh, Garrett here?"

Trey nodded his head and said, "Yes. Um, but can I ask why you're here?"

Violet was silent for a second before she said, "I just...miss him. That's all."

Trey gave her a little smile and invited her in. He told her that Garrett was in his bedroom and so she set off in that direction. She missed walking up those stairs, the familiar path to Garrett's nerdy bedroom. She missed lying in bed with him while he read Harry Potter out loud just as she fell asleep. She missed him. She just wanted to have some peace and not think about all that she discovered in a span of less than twelve hours.

"Garrett?" Violet asked, knocking on the closed door. She heard shuffling and then Garrett opened the door, staring at her.

"Violet?" he sounded just as shocked as Trey, if not more.

"Hi," she said, softly. "Can I come in?"

Garrett hesitated for a split second, but he let her inside and closed the door.

"What are you doing here? And where did you come from?" he asked, glancing at her outfit.

"I'm just really exhausted and I miss you, Gare," Violet said, sitting down on the bed. "I miss you so much."

Garrett stared at her. His hair was disheveled and he was wearing pajamas, like he hadn't left his house in forever. He was taking in her words, but he already looked sold. He strode over to her and pulled her into a kiss. Violet kissed him back, but it didn't have the same effect as it used to–like a spark.

She gave him a smile when they let go. He laid down next to her and she rested her head against his chest, hoping to feel that same comfort she always felt with Garrett–like a peace of mind.

All she could think about was Sophie O'Callaghan, the paintings, and most specifically, John O'Callaghan.