"Quigley?" Violet asked.

After a moment, she reached out and touched his shoulder, fearing he hadn't heard her.

He was sitting in a rocking chair in what would have been the baby's room. He was staring off into space, as had been his habit for the past few weeks.

He turned around. "Hi, Violet. Are you ready to go home?" He'd been worrying about Vi a lot lately. Try as she might to hide them, he'd seen the thin red lines on her left arm. Two of them. They were a few inches away from her wrists, thank God. But she was still...

He couldn't say it, couldn't even think the words. It was so unlike Violet. He tried to believe the story he'd concocted in his head. She'd fallen, acquiring some scraps, a few bruises, and a cut or two along the way. That was what happened.

But then again, there was a "lie" in believe.

He didn't know why she did this. He thought about it day in and day out. He decided, right then and there, to ask her when they got home. He had to know. It was slowly killing him.

She saw his expression and asked him if everything was okay.

How can it be, he thought, when you're... cutting yourself? His neck muscles, however, seemed to act on their own, moving his head up and down rather than side to side.

"What's up?" he asked. He tried to hold her hand. It was a test of sorts, to see if she was ashamed of her sliced forearm. She gently pulled away from him. Instead, she walked in front of him and sat on his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. His arms automatically went around her.

"I have to talk to you."

"What about?" He noticed she was running her fingers over the marks. Maybe she would confess of her own accord.

"I… um, I was talking with one of my friends the other day." Oh, Lord, Quigley groaned internally. She's using the "friend" line. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Almost.

"Yes?" he encouraged. The wings of a hummingbird would have a hard time keeping up with his pulse. Could she feel it?

"She—um—she told me that… she was really depressed. She also showed me some cuts on her arm." Yes, she was telling him! He wouldn't have to ask her himself! He kissed Violet's forehead softly, but didn't otherwise nudge her to go on. He hoped his silence would encourage her to continue.

He belatedly realized she was now looking at her arm.

"Well, she really likes this guy and he likes her back, but she told me that love might not be enough. She said that sometimes she wants to overdose. She wanted me to tell this guy, but I just don't know how. Then, if she does overdose, she wants be to be there with her when she… does it. I don't know what to do." This last Quigley barely heard.

"Did your friend tell you why?"

A long silence followed. The apartment was quiet for what might have been hours. Finally, Vi sighed and replied, "Her childhood. Her parents died when she was a teenager. Then she was kidnapped. Her life has never really been 'normal'. There are a lot more reasons, but I… I wouldn't feel right talking to her again if I told you."

"Violet, I think you should tell the boyfriend. This is… suicide. It's kind of important. I mean, how would you like it if I up and killed myself and you had no clue why?" He felt a tear drop on his neck.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

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Obituaries:
Isadora Marie Quagmire.
She was born on May 2 and was found dead in her apartment on Sept. 27. She was only 19 years of age. The family has not released the cause of death. The funeral will be this Thursday at 6:00 PM at the Vicci, Fitch, and Dark Funeral Home.