Once Gone (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #1)

Chapter 21

Part of a lesson came back to her. She was taught to do anything, say anything, to keep the caller talking. It didn't matter how meaningless or irrelevant it might be. What mattered was that the caller kept hearing a concerned human voice.

"Marie, there's something you need to do for me," Riley said.

"What's that?"

Riley's brain was rushing frantically, making up what to say as she went along.

"I need for you to go to your kitchen," she said. "I want you to tell me exactly what herbs and spices you've got in your rack."

Marie didn't answer for a moment. Riley worried. Was Marie in the right state of mind to go along with such an irrelevant distraction?

"Okay," Marie said. "I'm going there now."

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this would buy her some time. She could hear the clinking of spice jars over the phone. Marie's voice sounded truly strange now—hysterical and robotic at the same time.

"I've got dried oregano. And crushed red pepper. And nutmeg."

"Excellent," Riley said. "What else?"

"Dried thyme. And ground ginger. And black peppercorns."

Marie paused. How could Riley keep this going?

"Have you got curry powder?" Riley asked.

After a clink of bottles, Marie said, "No."

Riley spoke slowly, as if giving life-and-death instructions—because really, she was doing exactly that.

"Well, get a pad of paper and a pencil," Riley said. "Write that down. You'll need to get it when you buy groceries."

Riley heard the sound of scribbling.

"What else have you got?" Riley asked.

Then came a deathly pause.

"This is no good, Riley," Marie said in a tone of numb despair.

Riley stammered helplessly. "Just—just humor me, okay?"

Another pause fell.

"He's here, Riley."

Riley felt a rock-hard knot in her throat.

"He's where?" she asked.

"He's in the house. I get it now. He's been here all along. There's nothing you can do."

Riley's thoughts churned as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Marie might be slipping into paranoid delusions. Riley understood this all too well from her own struggles with PTSD.

On the other hand, Marie might be telling the truth.

"How do you know that, Marie?" Riley asked, looking for an opportunity to pass a slow-moving truck.

"I hear him," Marie said. "I hear his footsteps. He's upstairs. No, he's in the front hallway. No, he's in the basement."

Is she hallucinating? Riley wondered.

It was entirely possible. Riley had heard more than her share of nonexistent noises in the days after her abduction. Even recently she sometimes couldn't trust her five senses. Trauma played awful tricks on the imagination.

"He's everywhere in the house," Marie said.

"No," Riley replied firmly. "He can't be everywhere."

Riley managed to pass a sluggish delivery truck. A sense of futility was rolling over her in what felt like tidal waves. It was a terrible feeling, almost like drowning.