Waiting (The Making of Riley Paige—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  Riley carefully removed her hand from John’s.

  Ryan glared at John and said, “Who the hell are you? What did you have to do with this? And what is this anyhow?”

  Trying to pull herself together, Riley said in shaky voice …

  “This is John, Ryan. He’s my friend. He came here to help.”

  Ryan squinted at John angrily and silently. Looking shocked by his hostility, John simply turned and walked quietly away.

  “Come on,” Ryan said to Riley, helping her up from the bench. “Let’s go home.”

  As he helped her walk to the car, Riley could feel that his whole body was tight with anger.

  She knew that an already awful evening was about to get much, much worse.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Riley climbed into the car with Ryan. He was silent as he pulled out of the parking lot and started driving them out of the park.

  Riley said timidly, “Ryan—”

  Ryan interrupted in a tight voice. “Not now. When we get home.”

  Riley wished she could tell him everything right now and get it over with. But if Ryan wasn’t ready to listen, there was nothing she could do about it.

  The ride home seemed endless to Riley, and the night rapidly grew darker around them. She felt as though some terrible darkness was falling over her life as well.

  After Ryan parked in front of their building, he got out of the car and headed on inside as if she weren’t even there. Riley followed him into the apartment, feeling an awful, anxious numbness all through her body.

  Ryan headed straight toward a kitchen cabinet and pulled down a bottle of bourbon. She knew he kept it there, but he hadn’t touched it since they’d moved to this place. She’d guessed that he was trying to be sensitive to the fact that she couldn’t drink hard liquor as long as she was pregnant.

  But now, of course, it didn’t matter—to either of them.

  Ryan took down a couple of glasses and set them on the kitchen table. They both sat down, and Ryan poured himself a large drink and silently offered to do the same for Riley. She shook her head no.

  Ryan took a large gulp of whiskey and grimaced as he swallowed it.

  In a small, frightened voice, Riley said …

  “Ryan, I know I’ve got a lot to explain and—”

  Ryan interrupted again.

  “Who was that guy, Riley?”

  Riley was startled. For a moment she wondered …

  What guy?

  Did he mean Jake Crivaro? Surely Ryan remembered Crivaro from back at Lanton.

  Then she realized who he meant.

  “I told you, his name is John,” she said. “He’s a friend.”

  Ryan sneered and said, “A friend. Just a friend. I saw you together, holding hands. Do you expect me to believe that?”

  Riley was dumbstruck. She’d been preparing herself to explain all sorts of things to Ryan, but she hadn’t really considered that she was going to have to explain about John.

  Ryan said, “How long have you been involved with him? Ever since the program started?”

  Riley said, “I’m not involved with him. I’m really not. He’s a friend. He’s …”

  She paused and added, “He’s a really good friend.”

  It was the truth, of course. So why did Riley feel as though she were lying?

  The answer came to her quickly. She’d been more open and honest and communicative with John lately than she’d been with Ryan.

  Maybe he’s got a right to be jealous, she thought.

  Still, she couldn’t allow Ryan to think her involvement with John was romantic or sexual.

  “Ryan, I promise you. There’s nothing between John and me—nothing like you’re thinking, anyway. I’ve done a lot of stupid things during the last few days, but not that.”

  Ryan held his glass tightly, then took another swallow.

  Riley sensed that he was at least making an effort to believe her.

  Riley said, “At least let me try to explain to you what happened at the park. You see, I …”

  But her voice faded.

  How could she explain what had happened this evening without explaining about a thousand other things first?

  She needed to start from the beginning, so that was what she tried to do.

  She began with her first day in the intern program, telling how she’d been assigned to shadow Agent Crivaro, and how she’d gone with him and his partner to a drug house, where she’d helped find a stash of money.

  Ryan glared at her in disbelief and interrupted again …

  “You were working on an actual case?” he said. “Riley, this is just supposed to be an intern program. You’re just supposed to be taking classes and going to lectures and stuff. But you were working on a case?”

  Riley was startled by the fierceness in his voice.

  She couldn’t talk around the truth anymore.

  I’ve really got to tell him flat-out.

  She said, “Have you heard of the Clown Killer case?”

  Ryan said, “The serial killer who dresses his victims up like clowns? Yeah, what about it?”

  Riley swallowed hard and said …

  “I’ve been working with Crivaro on that case too.”

  Ryan set his glass down so hard that bourbon splashed out of it onto the table.

  “You’ve been working on a murder case?” he said.

  Riley nodded. “That’s what I was doing at the park this evening. I went hoping to get a good look at the killer. But then he attacked me and that’s how I got these injuries, and if John hadn’t shown up …”

  Ryan was starting to look hurt as well as angry.

  He said, “Riley this is insane. I don’t guess it’s a secret that I’ve been against your doing this summer program from a start. But I respected your wishes and I decided to let you do it.”

  Riley felt a tiny flash of anger herself now.

  He let me do it?

  Had Ryan’s permission been necessary?

  Ryan said, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  Surprised by the bitter tone in her own voice, Riley said …

  “When did you ever ask me?”

  Ryan shook his head and squinted a few times, as if he were trying to hold back tears.

  He said in a choked voice …

  “Riley I can’t do this anymore. It’s all too much. How can I possibly start a career with all this going on? How can I make a good life for both of us? I thought losing our baby was the worst of it, but now …”

  He paused for a moment, then said …

  “I can’t trust you anymore, and I can’t … I can’t stay here if I can’t trust you.”

  Riley almost fell out of her chair at the enormity of what he was saying.

  Without another word, Ryan got up and rushed into the bedroom. Riley went to the bedroom door and watched helplessly as he got out a suitcase and started packing some necessary things. He didn’t say another word while he was doing that. Finally he closed the suitcase, picked it up, stormed right past her, and headed out the front door.

  Calling his name weakly, Riley followed him into the hall and up the stairs toward the building entrance. She stood watching helplessly as he went out to his car and slammed the suitcase in the trunk. The tires skidded as Ryan drove angrily away.

  Riley stood in the apartment doorway in a complete state of shock, shaking from head to foot. Then she made her way numbly back into the apartment and sat down at the kitchen table.

  There was still some bourbon in Ryan’s glass. Riley filled it up some more and took a long swallow. The burning in her throat felt comforting. Then she went over to the sofa and lay down with her head propped up on a pillow.

  Noticing the engagement ring on her finger, she took it off and looked at it sadly.

  I guess I’ll have to give this back, she thought, setting it on the coffee table.

  As she continued to drink, she turned things over in her mind.

  I barely told him any
thing at all, she thought.

  She’d said nothing about the murdered girl’s body, or about her encounters with the grieving parents and husband, or about writing the poem to draw out the killer, and certainly nothing at all about her terrifying feelings of connection with the killer.

  How would Ryan have reacted if he’d known everything?

  He already hates me, she thought. If he knew, he’d hate me worse than either one of us can imagine.

  She got up and added more whiskey to the glass, then returned to the couch.

  It had been quite some time since she’d had anything to drink at all, so her resistance to alcohol was low. She quickly started to feel the welcome effects of the whiskey. The muscles throughout her body went slack, like rubber bands that had been suddenly untightened, and she breathed more slowly and easily.

  Soon she was fast asleep.

  It was morning, and Riley was standing in a litter-strewn field where a carnival had left the night before.

  Riley was all alone in the field except for one other person.

  That was Janet Davis, and she was dead.

  The murdered woman lay at Riley’s feet, grotesquely costumed and made up, her dull, lusterless eyes wide open and staring at the morning sky.

  Riley knelt down beside the corpse and whispered …

  “I wish you could talk. I wish you could tell me.”

  To Riley’s horrified astonishment, the corpse’s lips began to move, as if trying to shape words.

  A hideous groaning sound came out of her lungs.

  Then came four croaking, ghastly words …

  “It’s an awful thing …”

  The mouth grew still again, and Riley was afraid she’d say nothing else.

  Riley said to her …

  “What’s an awful thing? Please tell me. I need to know.”

  The mouth moved again and the woman said …

  “It’s an awful thing … to be left behind … to be forgotten … to be utterly lost.”

  Riley was about to beg the woman to tell her more.

  But suddenly, the corpse collapsed and turned to into a dusty skeleton before Riley’s very eyes.

  The morning light suddenly began to fade, and soon Riley was surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

  Riley’s eyes snapped open. She was still lying on the couch, and morning light was streaming in through a window.

  I slept here all night, she realized.

  She tried to remember how much she’d had to drink last night.

  It hadn’t been a whole lot—the glass on the coffee table still had a fair amount of bourbon in it.

  She felt physical aches throughout her body, but she was sure that was mostly because of yesterday’s struggle with the killer. It wasn’t exactly a hangover. But she’d had more than enough whiskey to put her fast asleep for a long time.

  Thank God for small mercies, she thought.

  Much worse was the emotional pain of remembering how Ryan had left last night.

  She tried to put thoughts of their ugly scene aside as she went to the kitchen area. She started the coffeemaker, put some bread in the toaster, and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  She sat down and the table and thought …

  I had a nightmare.

  For a few moments, she had trouble remembering what it had been about.

  But then the images came back to her—the murdered woman lying in the field in the morning light, her mouth moving as she’d said …

  “It’s an awful thing … to be left behind … to be forgotten … to be utterly lost.”

  Riley shivered deeply.

  How familiar those words seemed!

  Where had she heard them? She was sure it had been even before that dream.

  Just then some other words rattled through her mind …

  “Our ghosts deserve better.”

  Had those words even been spoken in last night’s dream?

  No, she’d heard them somewhere else.

  Someone had said them to her just yesterday.

  She felt a tingle all over as she remembered who had said them and where.

  She also remembered Crivaro saying yesterday …

  “You’re off the case. You’re out of the intern program. I don’t want to see you around the Hoover Building ever again. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

  Riley suddenly felt wide awake.

  It doesn’t matter if I’m off the case, she thought.

  There’s something I’ve got to do.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  As Riley got off the metro at the same stop where she and Ryan had gotten off on Sunday, she wondered …

  What do I think I’m doing?

  Her life was a shambles, and here she was following up on some vague hunch she’d gotten from a nightmare. Riley sighed as she began walking along the route she and Ryan had taken on that happier day.

  Well, at least this isn’t a waste of time, she thought.

  After all, she had nothing else to do right now.

  For that matter, she could think of nothing meaningful she had to do for the rest of her life. Everything important had come to an end yesterday.

  Riley continued on past the National Air and Space Museum until she arrived at her destination—the little brick building with the sign that said …

  FORGOTTEN D.C.

  She again remembered what the woman who worked there had said to her on Sunday …

  “It’s an awful thing, to be left behind, to be forgotten—to be utterly lost.”

  And of course, Riley had heard the same words spoken by the dead woman in the dream. Maybe those words meant nothing at all. But Riley couldn’t help remembering what the killer had shouted at her yesterday …

  “They’ll forget you. They’ll abandon you. Everyone in your world. You’ll be lost.”

  Her every instinct was telling her …

  It has to mean something.

  Riley walked on inside, where the same woman with gray, unruly puffs of hair was sitting at a table ready to sell tickets.

  The woman smiled when she saw Riley. “Oh, how nice to see you again! We seldom get return visitors—especially not young ones. People today live purely for the moment. I know that’s supposed to be a good way to live, everybody says so, but …”

  She shrugged and chuckled.

  “But I can’t help but believe that the past deserves our attention too—and our respect, and our consideration, and maybe even a little love. So I’m very glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad too,” Riley said.

  But instead of going on inside, Riley just stood there, wondering how to begin.

  The woman squinted at her curiously and said …

  “But it seems to me that you’re not here solely for nostalgia’s sake. What can I do for you today?”

  Riley hesitated, then showed the woman her internship ID.

  “I’m Riley Sweeney,” she said, “I’m studying in the FBI’s Honors Internship Summer Program …”

  The words were out before Riley realized they weren’t true—at least not anymore.

  She didn’t like lying to this kindly woman, but she continued …

  “I’m hoping to pursue a career in law enforcement. I want to become an FBI agent someday. And I’m here as part of … well, a project.”

  “How exciting for you!” the woman said. “My name is Anita Lockwood, and I’ve been working here since this place opened.”

  “Ms. Lockwood—”

  “Please, call me Anita.”

  Riley fell silent. Just what did she want to ask this woman, anyway?

  Riley simply couldn’t imagine saying that she was investigating a murder. For one thing, she knew it would sound unlikely coming from a summer intern. But more importantly, this woman seemed too sensitive and delicate for any conversation about murder.

  She glanced around the exhibit room and saw that the adjoining gift shop was open today. She said, “I’d love to see your shop. Maybe s
omething there would fit into my project.”

  “Oh, good,” Anita said.

  Riley walked on inside the shop. As she’d expected, the merchandise was made up of all kinds of items from abandoned places and bygone days—badges and belt buckles once worn by fire fighters, hats and canes and stage props from the demolished Gayety Theater, and chains and shackles from the Washington Penitentiary.

  The prices on these and other objects were a lot higher than one might expect in a typical gift shop. But after all, Riley thought, these were no ordinary trinkets. They were rare and unique antique keepsakes.

  A group of little toys caught her attention—plastic fish, a couple of swans, and a bright yellow rubber duck.

  Riley asked herself …

  Where have I seen a duck like this before?

  An image came back to her—a collection of toys that included plush bunnies, sheep, giraffes, tigers, and teddy bears, and …

  A duck exactly like this one.

  Riley had seen it in Margo Birch’s cozy bedroom.

  Riley pointed to the group of aquatic toys and asked …

  “Where did these come from?”

  Anita said, “From Whopping Escapades, the old amusement park.”

  Riley remembered seeing photos of the place during her last visit.

  Fingering the toys, Anita explained, “These were part of a carnival-style game where children try to pick up floating toys out of a running stream.”

  Anita picked up the duck and turned it upside down. On its bottom was written the number 251.

  Anita explained, “You see, each of these toys has a number on the bottom. Contestants got prizes that corresponded to those numbers.”

  As Riley’s breath quickened with excitement, Anita added in a wistful voice …

  “Whopping Escapades was a wonderful place, just outside of town in Virginia. It closed down more than a decade ago. Oh, I know that doesn’t sound like a long time, but these days people forget so quickly. So when I started working here, I insisted that it get an exhibit. The grounds have been in limbo for years, while owners and politicians fight over what can be done with the property. All the rides are gone. The whole park is locked up.”

  Riley said, “You sound very familiar with the place.”