Haunted Rayne

18 - Similarities (part 1)

A breeze lifted a swarm of fallen leaves. They swirled in wispy loops along the grassland. Dorian Matthews eyed his leather wristwatch, then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his beige, canvas hooded-jacket. It had been a long time since he last donned casual attire. The faded jeans around his hips felt heavy and foreign. As he paced the desolate park, he wondered why he had agreed to meet Officer Emma Scott in the first place.

After all, the policewoman sounded somewhat hysterical over the phone. "Rayne's in trouble," she had said, "and your brother knows why."

Dorian rubbed his neck. "Ugh, this is insane," he muttered to himself. What could that have meant anyway? 

His brother? 

It was nonsense.

Gazing over the grassy hills, Dorian walked along the trail and ambled deeper into the woodland. Up ahead, a blue park bench sat littered with dead, crisp leaves. He dusted them aside and took a seat. 

She's late, he thought. 

But not for long. 

Within seconds, the cold barrel of a pistol touched the back of his neck. Dorian swiftly surrendered his hands to the air.

"Don't move," the policewoman cautioned from behind.

Dorian obliged.

She stepped carefully around the bench, her Glock trained on him with every step. Last time Dorian saw her, the policewoman had twisted her hair into an orderly French braid for Parents Day, but right now, it was loose. Her auburn hair fell in textured waves around her narrow face, somewhat knotted and wild. She was wearing the same clothes, however—paint-sullied jeans and a fitted red flannel. "You came all the way out here for Rayne," Emma said slowly. "Why?"

They were alone. No one could see them. There wasn't a single soul in the park, and even if there were, Dorian and the officer were tucked behind several tall pines that concealed them perfectly. No one would ever know.

What the hell was I thinking? he thought. Answering the hysteric call of some random woman he'd only met once . . .

Emma jutted the gun forward. "I said, 'why'? Answer the question."

"I'm unarmed," Dorian declared, keeping his hands raised. "Having a badge doesn't give you the right to shoot an unarmed civilian."

"Not on duty, kid. This is personal." Anger propelled Dorian to his feet, and the action startled Emma. She took several steps backward and trained her arms in a steady shooting-stance. "I mean it, kid. You better start talking."

"Lady, you're the one who lured me here. If anyone should 'start talking', maybe it should be you."

Emma smirked, but she also tightened her grip on the firearm. "Pretty ballsy for a school teacher."

He was in no mood for games. "What do you know about my brother?"

"Why? Got something to hide?"

"You're the one who brought him up."

"Because it's important."

As cryptic as she was being, Dorian couldn't help but feel as though the woman was testing him, almost like she was purposefully withholding information. Not professionally, as one would during an official police interrogation, but more like the behavior of his young students, trying to gauge his trust before letting him in.

Emma Scott, however, was not a troubled adolescent. She was a grown woman. During their first meeting, Dorian had presumed the woman didn't like him based on her demeanor alone, but she had never appeared unstable.