He saw her eyes widen as she pored over the pictures. A long silence fell as she studied the files intensely, and he wondered if this might be what she needed to come back – or if it would set her back.
“So what do you think?” he finally asked.
Another silence. She still did not look up from the file.
Finally, she looked up, and when she did, he was shocked to see tears well up in her eyes. He had never seen her cry before, not even on the worst cases, up close to a corpse. This was definitely not the Riley he knew. That killer had done something to her, more than he knew.
She choked back a sob.
“I’m scared, Bill,” she said. “I’m so scared. All the time. Of everything.”
Bill felt his heart drop seeing her like this. He wondered where the old Riley had gone, the one person he could always rely on to be tougher than him, the rock he could always turn to in times of trouble. He missed her more than he could say.
“He’s dead, Riley,” he said, in the most confident tone he could muster. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do,” he answered. “They found his body after the explosion.”
“They couldn’t identify it,” she said.
“You know it was him.”
Her face fell forward and she covered it with one hand as she wept. He held her other hand across the table.
“This is a new case,” he said. “It’s got nothing to do with what happened to you.”
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Slowly, as she wept, she reached up and handed him the file, looking away.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down, holding it out with a trembling hand. “I think you should go,” she added.
Bill, shocked, saddened, reached out and took the file back. Never in a million years would he have expected this outcome.
Bill sat there for a moment, struggling against his own tears. Finally, he gently patted her hand, got up from the table, and made his way back through the house. April was still sitting in the living room, her eyes closed, nodding her head to her music.
* * *
Riley sat crying alone at the picnic table after Bill left.
I thought I was okay, she thought.
She’d really wanted to be okay, for Bill. And she’d thought she could actually carry it off. Sitting in the kitchen talking about trivialities had been all right. Then they had gone outside and when she had seen the file, she’d thought she’d be okay, too. Better than okay, really. She was getting caught up in it. Her old lust for the job was rekindled, she wanted to get back in the field. She was compartmentalizing, of course, thinking of those nearly identical murders as a puzzle to solve, almost in the abstract, an intellectual game. That too was fine. Her therapist had told her she would have to do that if she ever hoped to go back to work.
But then for some reason, the intellectual puzzle became what it really and truly was – a monstrous human tragedy in which two innocent women had died in the throes of immeasurable pain and terror. And she’d suddenly wondered: Was it as bad for them as it was for me?
Her body was now flooded with panic and fear. And embarrassment, shame. Bill was her partner and her best friend. She owed him so much. He’d stood by her during the last weeks when nobody else would. She couldn’t have survived her time in the hospital without him. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her reduced to a state of helplessness.
She heard April yell from the back screen door.
“Mom, we gotta eat now or I’ll be late.”
She felt an urge to yell back, “Fix your own breakfast!”
But she didn’t. She was long since exhausted from her battles with April. She’d given up fighting.
She got up from the table and walked back to the kitchen. She pulled a paper towel off the roll and used it to wipe her tears and blow her nose, then braced herself to cook. She tried to recall her therapist’s words: Even routine tasks will take a lot of conscious effort, at least for a while. She had to settle for doing things one baby step at a time.
First came taking things out of the refrigerator – the carton of eggs, the package of bacon, the butter dish, the jar of jam, because April liked jam even if she didn’t. And so it went until she laid six strips of bacon in a pan on the stovetop, and she turned on the gas range under the pan.
She staggered backward at the sight of the yellow-blue flame. She shut her eyes, and it all came flooding back to her.
Riley lay in a tight crawlspace, under a house, in a little makeshift cage. The propane torch was the only light she ever saw. The rest of the time was spent in complete darkness. The floor of the crawlspace was dirt. The floorboards above her were so low that she could barely even crouch.
The darkness was total, even when he opened a small door and crept into the crawlspace with her. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him breathing and grunting. He’d unlock the cage and snap it open and climb inside.
And then he’d light that torch. She could see his cruel and ugly face by its light. He’d taunt her with a plate of wretched food. If she reached for it, he’d thrust the flame at her. She couldn’t eat without getting burned…
She opened her eyes. The images were less vivid with her eyes open, but she couldn’t shake the stream of memories. She continued to make breakfast robotically, her whole body surging with adrenaline. She was just setting the table when her daughter’s voice yelled out again.
“Mom, how long’s it going to be?”
She jumped, and her plate slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor and shattered.
“What happened?” April yelled, appearing beside her.
“Nothing,” Riley said.
She cleaned up the mess, and as she and April sat eating together, the silent hostility was palpable as usual. Riley wanted to end the cycle, to break through to April, to say, April, it’s me, your mom, and I love you. But she had tried so many times, and it only made it worse. Her daughter hated her, and she couldn’t understand why – or how to end it.
“What are you going to do today?” she asked April.
“What do you think?” April snapped. “Go to class.”
“I mean after that,” Riley said, keeping her voice calm, compassionate. “I’m your mother. I want to know. It’s normal.”
“Nothing about our lives is normal.”
They ate silently for a few moments.
“You never tell me anything,” Riley said.
“Neither do you.”
That stopped any hope for conversation once and for all.
That’s fair, Riley thought bitterly. It was truer than April even knew. Riley had never told her about her job, her cases; she had never told her about her captivity, or her time in the hospital, or why she was “on vacation” now. All April knew was that she’d had to live with her father during much of that time, and she hated him even more than she hated Riley. But as much as she wanted to tell her, Riley thought it best that April have no idea what her mother had been through.
Riley got dressed and drove April to school, and they didn’t say a word to each other during the drive. When she let April out of the car, she called after her, “I’ll see you at ten.”
April gave her a careless wave as she walked away.
Riley drove to a nearby coffee shop. It had become a routine for her. It was hard for her to spend any time in a public place, and she knew that was exactly why she had to do it. The coffee shop was small and never busy, even in the mornings like this, so she found it relatively unthreatening.
As she sat there, sipping on a cappuccino, she remembered again Bill’s entreaty. It had been six weeks, damn it. This had to change. She had to change. She didn’t know how she was going to do that.
But an idea was forming. She knew exactly what she needed to do first.
Chapter 4
The white flame of the propane torch waved in front of Riley. She had to dodge back and forth to escape being burned. The brightness blinded her to everything else and she couldn’t even see her captor’s face anymore. As the torch swirled about, it seemed to leave lingering traces hanging in the air.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop it!”
Her voice was raw and hoarse from shouting. She wondered why she was wasting her breath. She knew he wouldn’t stop tormenting her until she was dead.
Just then, he raised an air horn and blew it in her ear.
A car horn blared. Riley snapped back to the present, and looked out to see the light at the intersection had just turned green. A line of drivers waited behind her vehicle, and she stepped on the gas.
Riley, palms sweating, forced the memory away and reminded herself of where she was. She was going to visit Marie Sayles, the only other survivor of her near-killer’s unspeakable sadism. She berated herself for letting the flashback overwhelm her. She had managed to keep her mind on her driving for an hour and a half now, and she had thought she was doing fine.
Riley drove into Georgetown, passing upscale Victorian homes, and parked at the address Marie had given her over the phone – a red brick townhouse with a handsome bay window. She sat in the car for a moment, debating whether to go in, and trying to summon the courage.
Finally, she exited. As she climbed the steps, she was pleased to see Marie meet her at the door. Somberly but elegantly dressed, Marie smiled somewhat wanly. Her face looked tired and drawn. From the circles under her eyes, Riley was pretty sure that she’d been crying. That came as no surprise. She and Marie had seen each other a lot during their weeks of video chats, and there was little they could hide from one another.
When they hugged, Riley was immediately aware that Marie was not as tall and robust as she’d expected her to be. Even in heels Marie was shorter than Riley, her frame small and delicate. That surprised Riley. She and Marie had talked a lot, but this was the first time they had met in person. Marie’s slightness made her seem all the more courageous to have survived what she’d been through.
Riley took in her surroundings as she and Marie walked for the dining room. The place was immaculately clean and tastefully furnished. It would normally be a cheery home for a successful single woman. But Marie kept all the curtains closed and the lights low. The atmosphere was strangely oppressive. Riley didn’t want to admit it, but it made her think of her own home.
Marie had a light lunch ready on the dining room table, and she and Riley sat down to eat. They sat there in an awkward silence, Riley sweating but unsure why. Seeing Marie was brining it all back.
“So… how did it feel?” Marie asked tentatively. “Coming out into the world?”
Riley smiled. Marie knew better than anyone what today’s drive took.
“Pretty well,” Riley said. “Actually, quite well. I only had one bad moment, really.”
Marie nodded, clearly understanding.
“Well, you did it,” Marie said. “And that was brave.”
Brave, Riley thought. That was not how she would have described herself. Once, maybe, when she was an active agent. Would she ever describe herself that way again?
“How about you?” Riley asked. “How much do you get out?”
Marie fell silent.
“You don’t leave the house at all, do you?” Riley asked.
Marie shook her head.
Riley reached forward and held her wrist in a grip of compassion.
“Marie, you’ve got to try,” she urged. “If you let yourself stay stuck inside like this, it’s like he’s still holding you prisoner.”
A choked sob forced its way out of Marie’s throat.
“I’m sorry,” Riley said.
“That’s all right. You’re right.”
Riley watched Marie as they both ate for a moment and a long silence descended. She wanted to think that Marie was doing well, but she had to admit that she seemed alarmingly frail to her. It made her fear for herself, too. Did she look that bad, too?
Riley wondered silently whether it was good for Marie to be living alone. Might she be better with a husband or boyfriend? she wondered. Then she wondered the same thing about herself. Yet she knew the answer for both of them was probably not. Neither of them was in any emotional frame of mind for a sustained relationship. It would just be a crutch.
“Did I ever thank you?” Marie asked after a while, breaking the silence.
Riley smiled. She knew perfectly well that Marie meant for having rescued her.
“Lots of times,” Riley said. “And you don’t need to. Really.”
Marie poked at her food with a fork.
“Did I ever say I’m sorry?”
Riley was surprised. “Sorry? What for?”
Marie spoke with difficulty.
“If you hadn’t gotten me out of there, you wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
Riley squeezed Marie’s hand gently.
“Marie, I was just doing my job. You can’t go feeling guilty about something that wasn’t your fault. You’ve got too much to deal with as it is.”
Marie nodded, acknowledging her.
“Just getting out of bed every day is a challenge,” she admitted. “I guess you noticed how dark I keep everything. Any bright light reminds me of that torch of his. I can’t even watch television, or listen to music. I’m scared that someone might sneak up on me and I’ll not hear it. Any noise at all puts me in a panic.”
Marie began to weep quietly.
I’ll never look at the world in the same way. Never. There’s evil out there, all around us. I had no idea. People are capable of such horrible things. I don’t know how I’ll ever trust people again.”
As Marie cried, Riley wanted to reassure her, to tell her she was wrong. But a part of Riley was not so sure she was.
Finally, Marie looked at her.
“Why did you come here today?” she asked, point-blank.
Riley was caught off guard by Marie’s directness – and by the fact that she didn’t really know herself.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just wanted to visit you. See how you are doing.”
“There’s something else,” Marie said, narrowing her eyes with an uncanny perception.
Maybe she was right, Riley thought. Riley thought of Bill’s visit, and she realized she had, indeed, come here because of the new case. What was it she wanted from Marie? Advice? Permission? Encouragement? Reassurance? A part of her wanted Marie to tell her she was crazy, so she could rest easy and forget about Bill. But maybe another part wanted Marie to urge her to do it.
Finally, Riley sighed.
“There’s a new case,” she said. “Well, not a new case. But an old case that never went away.”
Marie’s expression grew taut and severe.
Riley gulped.
“And you’ve come to ask if you should do it?” Marie asked.
Riley shrugged. But she also looked up and searched Marie’s eyes for reassurance, encouragement. And in that moment she realized that was exactly what she had come here hoping to find.
But to her disappointment, Marie lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head. Riley kept waiting for an answer, but instead there followed an endless silence. Riley sensed that some special fear was working its way inside Marie.
In the silence, Riley looked around the apartment, and her eyes fell upon Marie’s landline phone. She was surprised to see it was disconnected from the wall.
“What’s the matter with your phone?” Riley asked.
Marie looked positively stricken, and Riley realized she had hit a real nerve.
“He keeps calling me,” Marie said, in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Who?”
“Peterson.”
Riley’s heart jumped up into her throat.
“Peterson is dead,” Riley replied, her voice shaky. “I torched the place. They found his body.”
Marie shook her head.
“It could have been anyone they found. It wasn’t him.”
Riley felt a flush of panic. Her own worst fears were being brought back.
“Everybody says it was,” Riley said.
“And you really believe that?”
Riley didn’t know what to say. Now was no time to confide her own fears. After all, Marie was probably being delusional. But how could Riley convince her of something that she didn’t altogether believe herself?
“He keeps calling,” Marie said again. “He calls and breathes and hangs up. I know it’s him. He’s alive. He’s still stalking me.”
Riley felt a cold, creeping dread.