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

Chapter 27

Riley tried to speak but found that she couldn't.

"Talk to somebody, Mom," April said, beginning to sob. "If not to me, to somebody. There must be somebody you can trust."

April fled into her room and slammed the door behind her.

Riley buried her face in her hands. Why did she keep failing so badly with April? Why couldn't she keep the ugly parts of her life separate from her daughter?

Her whole body heaved with sobs. Her world had spun completely out of control and she couldn't form a single coherent thought.

She sat there until the tears stopped flowing.

Taking the bottle and the glass with her, she went into the living room and sat on the couch. She clicked on the TV and watched the first channel that came up. She had no idea what movie or TV show she'd happened upon, and she didn't care. She just sat there staring blankly at the pictures and letting the meaningless voices wash over her.

But she couldn't stop the images flooding through her mind. She saw the faces of the women who had been killed. She saw the blinding flame of Peterson's torch moving toward her. And she saw Marie's dead face—both when Riley had found her hanging and when she'd been so artfully displayed in the coffin.

A new emotion started to crawl along her nerves—an emotion that she dreaded above all others. It was fear.

She was terrified of Peterson, and she could feel his vengeful presence all around her. It didn't much matter whether he was alive or dead. He'd taken Marie's life, and Riley couldn't shake the conviction that she was his next target.

She also feared, perhaps even more, the abyss that she was falling into now. Were the two really separate? Hadn't Peterson caused this abyss? This was not the Riley she knew. Did PTSD ever have an end?

Riley lost track of time. Her whole body buzzed and ached with her multifaceted fear. She drank steadily, but the vodka wasn't numbing her at all.

She finally went to the bathroom and combed the medicine cabinet and found what she was looking for. Finally, with shaking hands, she found it: her prescription tranquilizers. She was supposed to take one at bedtime, and to never mix it with alcohol.

With shaking hands, she took two.

Riley went back to the living room couch and stared at the TV again, waiting for the medication to take effect. But it wasn't working.

Panic seized her in an icy grip.

The room seemed to be spinning now, making her feel nauseous. She closed her eyes and stretched out on the couch. Some of the dizziness went away, but the darkness behind her eyelids was impenetrable.

How much worse can things get? she asked herself.

She knew right away that it was a stupid question. Things were going to get worse and worse and worse for her. Things would never ever get better. The abyss was bottomless. All she could do was surrender to the fall and give herself over to cold despair.

The pitch-blackness of intoxication folded itself around her. She lost consciousness and soon began to dream.

Once again, the white flame of the propane torch cut through the darkness. She heard someone's voice.

"Come on. Follow me."

It wasn't Peterson's voice. It was familiar, though—extremely familiar. Had somebody come to her rescue? She rose to her feet and began to follow whoever was carrying the torch.