Once Forsaken (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 7)

by Blake Pierce

  He was shaking now.

  “Yeah, Dr. Nevins and the other doctors said that it would. But they also said—I might remember things. Bad things.”

  Riley studied his face closely.

  “Are you—remembering things?” she asked. “Things you didn’t remember before?”

  “Sometimes. Almost. It comes in flashes. But I don’t know. Dr. Nevins warned me that I might remember things that didn’t happen at all.”

  “It’s called ‘confabulation,’” Riley said.

  “Yeah, that’s what he called it. But there’s one thing …”

  He swallowed hard.

  “I think—when we were still at the frat house at the party—he didn’t want to come to my house right away. He wanted to go someplace else.”

  Riley felt a tingle of expectation.

  “Where?”

  “That’s what I can’t remember. I think maybe he wanted to go to another party and I didn’t want to go there for some reason, and that’s why we decided to come here.”

  Riley stepped closer to the bed and looked closely at him. She knew better than to push him too hard. If she stressed him, his mind might shut down on the memory forever.

  “Try to relax,” she said. “Close your eyes and breathe deep. See if it comes back to you.”

  Murray shut his eyes for a moment. Then they snapped open.

  “I can’t shut my eyes,” he said. “That’s when the flashbacks get really bad.”

  Riley fought down a sigh. She really didn’t have the expertise to handle a situation like this.

  She said, “Maybe you’ll remember, sometime when you’re not trying to remember. If you do, please call me, OK?”

  Murray’s eyes widened with alarm.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked.

  Riley felt more and more uneasy.

  “I’ve got to go, Murray. I’ve got to find the person who did this to you. And when I do … things will be better. I promise.”

  She could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her.

  “I can’t stay here,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to station an FBI agent here to help keep you safe.”

  Murray turned away from her and pulled the covers tightly around him.

  “Go,” he said in a muffled voice.

  Riley wished she could make him understand.

  “Murray—”

  “Just go.”

  He still made no reply. Riley hesitated for a moment, then left the room. Both the butler and the nurse were standing outside.

  The expression on the butler’s face was softer now, and full of concern.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  Riley didn’t know what to say. She shook her head silently. She looked at the nurse, remembering what Murray had said about her.

  “I don’t like her. There’s something not right about her.”

  But Riley didn’t see anything sinister about the nurse. She just looked like a professional who wanted to do her job. Instead, she’d been exiled to this hallway. And soon she wouldn’t be here at all.

  There was just one more thing Riley wanted to do before she rejoined Bill and Lucy on campus.

  She turned to the butler and said, “Could you show me around the house?”

  “Certainly,” the woman said.

  One by one, the butler showed Riley the spacious upstairs rooms, including two bathrooms that were larger than Riley’s own bedroom. Riley detected a pervasive feeling of loneliness.

  So much space, and only Murray here, she thought.

  Small wonder, she thought, that he considered bringing a total stranger here. Surely it hadn’t been just about sex. Murray must have been positively desperate for companionship—any kind of human contact at all.

  She remembered Mike Nevins telling her that Murray’s father was in Germany right now. How constantly did the man travel? Riley also knew that the Rossums had homes all over the world. Did the father ever spend time here?

  And what about Murray’s mother? Riley didn’t know anything about her, except that she had little or no contact with her son.

  Riley worried more and more about Murray. She found it hard to believe that coming home from the hospital had been a good idea.

  Riley followed the butler back downstairs. Riley looked all around. Again, she was struck by the white, elegant barrenness of the place. It didn’t look lived in at all—as if it had been set up for a photo shoot and nothing more.

  Finally Riley and the butler got to the back of the house. Through large glass doors, Riley saw a glass-sheltered patio with a lengthy swimming pool. The patio was walled all around, and it seemed secure enough against intruders. Riley couldn’t imagine how anyone could get in.

  Riley couldn’t see the garage, which she knew was beyond the patio. When she’d seen it, the garage itself had seemed secure enough. It was only courtesy of Murray’s trust and debilitation that the attacker had been able to get in at all.

  As they made their way back through the house, Riley again saw efficient-looking security guards moving about.

  She asked the butler, “Aside from these guards, how is the security here?”

  The butler pointed to cameras above them.

  “Every square inch of this place is covered. And you can’t see it, but there’s a wall with razor wire all around the house. This place is practically a fortress.”

  Riley thanked the butler for her help.

  She added, “I told Murray that I would add an FBI agent to your staff. I will have Special Agent Craig Huang report to you.”

  The woman smiled stiffly and nodded.

  Riley simply turned and left. Everything about her visit had left her feeling deeply uneasy. It didn’t feel right to leave Murray in such isolation. But there was nothing she could do about it.

  *

  That evening after dinner, Riley went to her bedroom office and sat at her computer, poring yet again over what they knew about this case. Her mind kept coming up blank.

  She got up and paced back and forth, still getting nowhere.

  I need more room to think, she thought.

  She left the bedroom and headed downstairs. She could hear the television in the family room in the back of the house. She figured that both Jilly and April were there, and possibly Ryan as well. Gabriela had probably gone downstairs for the night.

  She muttered aloud to herself.

  “Why can’t I do it? Why aren’t I getting it?”

  Normally this far into a case, she’d have gotten a strong feeling for the killer himself—a moment of insight when she sensed his thoughts and obsessions. Those moments were always terrifying. But she needed them, depended on them. Without them she’d get nowhere.

  Still pacing, she tried to put herself in the mind of the killer.

  “Who are you?” she asked herself aloud. “Where are you?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say aloud the most important question:

  When are you going to kill next?

  The only images that came to mind were the victims.

  She could vividly picture all the girls—Deanna Webber, Cory Linz, Constance Yoh, Lois Pennington. She could imagine their drugged horror as a killer placed nooses around their necks.

  And then there was Murray …

  She could feel what he felt, just as she had when she’d been in the Rossums’ garage. She was able to experience every moment of Murray’s terror and confusion—the shocking realization that he could die, his frantic efforts to free himself from the noose, and finally his escape down the driveway.

  What she couldn’t get was any sense at all of the killer’s feelings.

  Only the terror of the victim.

  “Why?” she murmured aloud. “Why? Why?”

  The sound of Ryan’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Riley, what are you doing?”

  Riley turned and saw that Ryan had come into the living room.

  She sighed miserably.


  “Ryan, I’m stuck. I’m getting nowhere on this case.”

  Ryan stepped toward her and took her hand.

  “You need to take a step back from it,” he said. “You need to relax. Come on back to the family room. The girls and I are watching a funny movie.”

  Riley let go of his hand.

  “I can’t, Ryan. I’ve got to find this killer.”

  She resumed her pacing, aware that Ryan was still standing there silently.

  She had to focus.

  Then she heard the front door open. She saw that Ryan had put on his coat.

  “Where are you going?” Riley asked.

  “Back to my place. There’s no point in my staying here. Even when you’re home, you’re really somewhere else. Just like it was before.”

  Riley stared at him. Ryan had spent whole nights away lately. How could he accuse her of not really being here?

  “What about the girls?” Riley asked.

  Ryan was going out the door.

  “Go spend some time with them,” he said in a tight, angry voice. “They miss you—even more than I do.”

  Ryan closed the door behind him and was gone.

  Riley was stunned.

  Was Ryan right? Was she shutting out everyone who cared about her? If so, what could she possibly do about it?

  Nothing, she thought. It’s my job.

  She stood there in her living room alone, feeling helpless. Was she letting her job ruin her personal life? She’d faced problems juggling her responsibilities many times before.

  She walked through the dining room to the doorway of the family room. The girls were watching TV and giggling. April looked around and saw her.

  “Hey, Mom, she called, “come watch this with us.”

  Riley wanted to rush in and sit with them. She would love to giggle over something.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  Surely she was flawed in some deep, terrible way.

  Whatever was wrong, she couldn’t let it get the best of her and her relationships.

  She was determined to do better. After this case was over, she would spend more time with her girls. Maybe she would even patch things up with Ryan.

  But for now a single thought sent her back to work.

  How much time do I have before someone else gets killed?

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  When she decided to take a morning walk, Patience did think about Monday’s encounter with the three FBI agents. How silly it all seemed now! The weather hadn’t been this nice in a long time, and she wouldn’t let their warning stop her from doing as she pleased.

  She smiled and thought, Nobody’s going to get murdered on a day like this.

  She took a long, deep breath of the clean, brisk morning air. True, it was a bit chilly outside—chillier than she’d been used to back in Mexico. But it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been lately. Tomorrow it was likely to get colder again.

  So after her morning literature class, she’d bundled herself up and gone out for a walk. She headed off campus toward her favorite cafe. When she got there and peeked through the front door, she saw that there was a long line of customers. She knew it would be less busy shortly. She’d come back later.

  Meanwhile, she strolled on to a little nearby park. She was pleased to see no one around. She’d gotten here at a good time. Local office workers would surely come around later to have lunch under the trees, taking advantage of the change in the weather.

  She went straight to her favorite spot in the park—a white metal arbor arch with facing benches. She wiped off a spot on a bench with a tissue and sat down, smoothing her coat.

  As she looked around, she remembered how the place had looked when she’d first come to Byars last August. Flowering vines had decorated the trellis arching overhead. It had reminded her of an arbor back in her family’s hacienda outside of Mexico City. That one was covered with flowers all the time, while today this one was tangled with dried-up vines.

  She wished Papá had sent her to a school where it was warmer. Someplace with a beach would have been much nicer. But Papá’s heart had been set on sending her to Byars. He’d said she’d meet the right sort of people there. It would be good for her future.

  In fact, she had met some students from good families. She’d also had too many encounters with poorer sorts of people. For example, on Monday there had been those FBI agents.

  What business did they have asking her all those questions, anyway?

  Especially that ill-bred Mexican girl—Agent Vargas, her name was.

  The girl had obviously thought she was superior because she was a real FBI agent. And the older agents, the man and the woman, had made no effort to put her in her place. They ought to know better.

  But they’d probably never heard that old Mexican saying:

  “No tiene la culpa el indio sino el que lo hace compadre.” It’s not the fault of the indio, but of the one who makes him a compadre.

  That girl—Agent Vargas—simply didn’t know how she should behave.

  Patience closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was home. But the images just wouldn’t come, not with this chill in the air.

  Then she heard a voice.

  “I’ve brought you your favorite.”

  She smiled. She knew right away who it was. She opened her eyes and saw him standing in front of her—that boy she had talked with before. He was holding two steaming cups from the café.

  “Mapache!” she said.

  It was a name she’d made up for him. She still had no idea what his real name was. That seemed odd, especially since he’d asked her on a date the last time she’d seen him. She’d politely refused. He was an odd boy, after all, not really her type. And what if he didn’t come from a suitable family?

  He’d seemed hurt when she turned him down. Patience was glad to see that he still wanted to be friends.

  He handed her one of the cups. He didn’t need to tell her what he’d bought her. She knew that it was delicious hot chocolate with a sprinkle of cinnamon. She patted the bench next to her, and he sat down.

  “Are you going to tell me what your name is today?” she asked.

  “I think I like having you call me Mapache,” he said.

  Patience giggled a little. Little did he know that mapache meant raccoon. Patience called him that because his big dark eyes reminded her of a raccoon. It certainly wasn’t very flattering. She hoped he never found out what it meant.

  “So what’s on your mind today?” the boy asked.

  His voice made her feel a little warmer. Not many people took much interest in what she thought or felt these days. And the hot chocolate was delicious.

  “Have you heard about the so-called murders?” she asked.

  “Murders? I’d heard about some suicides.”

  “Yes, suicides—that’s probably what they really are. A lot of panic over nothing. Some of the kids here can’t handle the pressure. My papá would be furious if I ever tried to commit suicide.”

  The boy looked surprised.

  “Furious?” he asked. “Wouldn’t he be sad?”

  The question took Patience slightly aback. She didn’t know what to say. Sadness was in short supply in her family. For that matter, so was happiness. Papá wasn’t exactly a warm man. Would he be sad if she died?

  No, he’d probably just be offended, she thought.

  Papá angered quite easily, and she did her best to keep from angering him. It was hard work keeping him happy. He expected a lot from her.

  “Well, there’s a big fuss about it on campus these days,” she said. “Everybody’s all scared and everything. Is this really the first you’ve heard of it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, you haven’t been around much lately,” she said.

  “I’ve been away for a couple of days.”

  Patience wondered yet again whether he was a student or not. She’d asked him a couple of times, and he’d only smiled. He seemed to en
joy being a man of mystery. The truth was, she also found it to be kind of fun.

  “The FBI even came around and talked to me,” she said. “They were really rude. Have you seen the flyer around campus, the face of the man they think is a killer?”

  The boy shook his head.

  She drank a bit more of the hot chocolate, then said, “Well, they say he’s a big guy, and I think he’s rather ugly, at least from looking at his picture. But the agents had some kind of idea that I’d been dating him! And he drives a pickup truck! Can you imagine?”

  She tossed her head indignantly.

  “I called Papá and told him—”

  She paused. Had she already told this boy how important Papá was? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to say so again.

  “Papá is a very high-ranking official at the Mexican embassy. He’s got a lot of influence. And he was simply furious that the agents would bother me like that. He got in touch with Dean Autrey, who called me into his office just to apologize. It would never happen again, he said.”

  She took another sip of the hot chocolate.

  “What do you miss most about Mexico?” the boy asked.

  Patience thought for a moment.

  “I suppose it’s Rosa, my niñera—that means nanny. She’s taken care of me for as long as I can remember.”

  She looked at her hot chocolate. It reminded her of how Rosa served her delicious hot atole whenever she felt down. That whole world seemed far away.

  Patience said, “Really, Rosa has been more of a mother to me than my mamá …”

  She felt like she was babbling now, hardly paying attention to what she was saying. After a while, she noticed that she was feeling oddly lightheaded. She didn’t know why. But it wasn’t a bad feeling.

  She went on and on about what a shock it was to live in the United States, how wonderful Mexico was, how beautiful the family’s hacienda was, and how much she missed Rosa and her delicious atole.

  It felt good to let all these feelings out.

  It also felt a little weird. She didn’t usually go on and on like this.

  Before too long, her dizziness was really bothering her.

  The cup fell from her hand, spilling the last drops of the hot chocolate.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she said. “Could you please help me get back to the school?”