by Blake Pierce
*
Riley hurried to the nearest exit, into the open courtyard. It was a beautiful summer day. She took several long, slow breaths, calming herself a little. Then she sat down on a bench and buried her head in her hands.
At that moment her cell phone buzzed.
Marie.
Her gut told her right away that the call was urgent.
Riley answered and heard nothing but convulsive gasps.
“Marie,” Riley asked, concerned, “what is it?”
For a moment, Riley only heard sobs. Marie was obviously in an even worse state than she was.
“Riley,” Marie finally gasped, “have you found him? Have you been looking for him? Has anybody been looking for him?”
Riley’s spirits sank. Of course Marie was talking about Peterson. She wanted to assure her that he was really dead, killed in that explosion. But how could she say so positively when she harbored doubts herself? She remembered what forensics tech agent Betty Richter had told her a few days ago about the odds that Peterson was really dead.
I’d say ninety-nine percent.
That figure hadn’t given Riley any comfort. And it was the last thing Marie wanted or needed to hear right now.
“Marie,” Riley said miserably, “there’s nothing I can do.”
Marie let out a wail of despair that chilled Riley to the bone.
“Oh, God, then it is him!” she cried. “It can’t be anybody else.”
Riley’s nerves quickened. “What are you talking about, Marie? What’s happened?”
Marie’s words poured out in a frantic rush.
“I told you he’d been calling me. I cut off my landline, but somehow he’s got my cell phone number. He keeps calling all the time. He doesn’t say anything, he just calls and breathes, but I know it’s him. Who else can it be? And he’s been here, Riley. He’s been to my house.”
Riley’s alarm mounted by the second.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I hear noises at night. He throws things at the door and my bedroom window. Pebbles, I think.”
Riley’s heart jumped as she remembered the pebbles on her own front stoop. Was it possible that Peterson was really alive? Were both she and Marie in danger all over again?
She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Marie was clearly teetering on an extremely dangerous brink.
“I’m coming to you right now, Marie,” she said. “And I’ll get the Bureau to look into this.”
Marie let out a harsh, desperate, and bitter laugh.
“Look into it?” she echoed. “Forget it, Riley. You said it already. There’s nothing you can do. You’re not going to do anything. Nobody’s going to do anything. Nobody can do anything.”
Riley got in her car and put the phone on speaker so she could talk and drive.
“Stay on the phone,” she said, as she started her car and headed for Georgetown. “I’m coming for you.”
