Deadly Little Voices by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online

voices.”

    “Do you think she did it recently?” Kimmie runs her finger over the marks, trying to rub off some of the ink.

    “Like, maybe somehow she knew you were hearing voices, too?” Wes says, all but frothing at the mouth at his theory. “And this doll is part of some weird and twisted voodoo spell to make those voices go away? You know Van Gogh cut his ear off, right?”

    “For the record, it was just his earlobe,” I say.

    “And is there a point to this random piece of trivia?” Kimmie asks.

    “Are you kidding? There’s nothing random about it,” Wes says. “An artist, rumored to have suffered from major mental illness, cuts off his ear…”

    “Meaning you think Van Gogh was hearing voices, too?” I ask.

    “It’s possible,” he says, giving a happy tug to his earlobe.

    “Just curious, but were you dropped on your head at birth?” Kimmie asks him.

    “Anyway,” I say, getting us back on track, “it must’ve been pretty important to Aunt Alexia that I got the doll back. I mean, she hardly even comes out of the guest room.”

    “That you know of,” Wes says, correcting me. “Maybe she merely dropped it while stalking around in your room while you slept.”

    “But then why tuck me in with it?” I ask, noticing how the doll’s eyelids (the kind that open and close) are much droopier than I remember, and how it appears as if the lashes have all been plucked out. I glance in my dresser mirror, picturing the word BITCH scribbled over my reflection—when my ex-boyfriend Matt broke into my room several months ago and wrote it across the surface in bloodred lipstick. Is it a coincidence that the words DIE ALREADY, WILL
    YOU?! were scribbled across the locker-room mirror in my hallucination?

    “Well, I still think we need to figure out a way to stop all of this touch stuff.” Kimmie wraps her arm around my shoulder. “But don’t even think I’m going to let you sleep alone tonight.”

    “Planning a sleepover?” Wes perks up.

    “I’ll tell my mom we’re working on a research thing,” Kimmie tells me.

    “I, on the other hand, will need no excuse,” Wes says. “Dad will be as giddy as a zitless schoolgirl to hear about our threesome. What time shall I bring my pj’s? They’re Iron Man–themed, by the way, which is totally appropriate, when you think about it.” He winks.

    “You’re so mentally disturbed,” Kimmie tells him.

    “And speaking of…Camelia, what’s it going to take for you to get some mental help?”
    Wes asks. “No offense.”

    “None taken,” I say, pulling Ms. Beady’s sticky note from my pocket. “I need to call this doctor. Apparently, she works at Hayden and knows a thing or two about all things psychic.”

    “Hayden as in, where Adam goes to school?” Kimmie asks.

    “Nothing like multitasking,” Wes says. “A little psychic talk on the shrink’s couch, followed by pillow talk on Adam’s.”

    “And what do you think our favorite touch boy would have to say about all this?”
    Kimmie asks.

    “Do you really think Benny Boy needs to know about Camelia’s occupancy on Adam’s love couch?” Wes asks.

    “I was actually referring to Camelia’s recent bout of hearing-voices syndrome,” Kimmie says. “Don’t you think he ought to know about it?”

    “Wasn’t it you who said I should be mourning?” I ask her.

    “Okay, so I didn’t want to bring this up,” she says, “but since we’re sort of talking about him anyway—”

    “Rumor has it that Ben’s seeing someone else,” Wes blurts.

    “But it’s totally false,” Kimmie says, flicking a Starburst at his head. “I mean, let’s not

    forget that he could barely even lay a finger on Camelia without going into a touch-induced tizzy.”

    “Unless, of course, he only tizzies with Chameleon,” Wes ponders aloud.

    “We all know that isn’t true,” I say, thinking about Ben’s past with his girlfriend Julie—when he touched her on the cliff that day. “Do