Watching

Ryan handed the book back to her, as if he understood. Then he tore a small piece of paper out of a notebook and jotted something down.

A bit shyly, he said, “Look, I hope this doesn’t seem to be out of line, but … I just thought I’d give you my phone number. Maybe you’d just like to talk sometime. Or not. It’s up to you.”

He handed her the bit of paper and added, “I wrote my name down too—in case you’d forgotten.”

“Ryan Paige,” Riley said. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

She recited her own phone number for him. She worried that it must seem brusque of her to tell him her number instead of writing it down for him. The truth was, she was glad to think she might see him again. She was just having trouble acting all friendly to anybody new right now.

“Thanks,” she said, putting the paper in her pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

Riley brushed right past Ryan and headed toward her class.

She heard Ryan call out behind her, “I hope so.”

*

As the rest of the school day passed, Riley read snatches of Zimmerman’s book whenever she got a chance. All day long she couldn’t help wondering—might Rhea’s killer be like Ted Bundy, a charming man who had managed to engage Rhea’s trust?

She remembered what Dr. Zimmerman had said in class that morning …

“The killer knew Rhea and wanted her dead.”

And unlike Bundy, Rhea’s killer was finished. He would seek no other victims.

At least according to Dr. Zimmerman.

He seemed so positive, Riley thought.

She wondered how he could be so certain.

Later that evening, Riley and Trudy were in their dorm room studying quietly together. Little by little, Riley started feeling restless and impatient. She wasn’t sure why.

Finally she got up from her desk, put on her jacket, and headed for the door.

Trudy looked up from her homework and asked, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Riley said. “Just out for a little while.”

“Alone?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah.”

Trudy shut her book and looked at Riley anxiously.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “Maybe I should come along. Or maybe you should call the campus escort service.”

Riley felt a surprising burst of impatience.

“Trudy, that’s ridiculous,” she said. “All I want to do is take a little walk. We can’t live like this—always afraid something awful might happen. Life has to go on.”

Riley was startled by the sharpness of her own words. And she could see by Trudy’s expression that her feelings were hurt.

Trying to speak more gently, Riley said, “Anyway, it’s not very late. And I won’t stay out long. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Trudy didn’t reply. She silently opened her book and started reading again.

Riley sighed and walked out into the hallway. She stood there for a few moments wondering …

Where do I want to go?

What do I want to do?

Slowly came a vague realization …

I want to go back.

She wanted to know how Rhea’s death had happened.

CHAPTER EIGHT

With relentless questions about Rhea’s death dogging her mind, Riley stood still and looked up and down the dorm hallway.

This was where it started, she thought.

She found herself picturing the place on Thursday night, the moment after she reluctantly agreed to go to the Centaur’s Den with her friends.

She had just put on her denim jacket over a flattering crop top and stepped out into the hallway. Trudy and Rhea had been rounding up the other girls for their outing—Cassie, Gina, and Heather.

Riley remembered the bustle of immature excitement in the air—the promise of drinking, dancing, and maybe some guys.

She also remembered how disconnected she’d felt from all that.

She retraced the group’s steps down the hall and continued on outside.

It was already dark out—not as dark as it had been that night, but the lamps along the pathways were on, so it was easy for Riley to visualize how things had looked at the time.

As she walked the way they had all taken, Riley remembered lagging behind the others, tempted to head back to her room to resume her studies. Cassie, Gina, and Heather had clustered together, chattering and giggling. Rhea and Trudy had walked side by side, playfully punching each other in the arm over some joke that Riley hadn’t been able to hear.

Riley kept visualizing all that had happened as she followed their route off campus and into the surrounding streets. Soon she arrived at the entrance to the Centaur’s Den, as they had that night. She remembered being pushed ahead into the smoky, noisy bar.

As she walked on inside now, the place was markedly less crowded than it had been that night. It was also quieter. Alanis Morissette’s “Uninvited” was playing on the jukebox, softly enough for Riley to be able to hear the nearby cracking of billiard balls. And there were no moving light beams or sparkles flashing over the empty dance floor.

But Riley could vividly remember the din and chaos of that night—how “Whiskey in the Jar” had blared so loudly that the whole place vibrated, and how Heather, Cassie, and Gina had headed straight toward the bar, and how Trudy had grabbed both Riley and Rhea by the hands and yelled over the music …

“Come on, let’s dance, the three of us!”

As she stood looking at the now-empty dance floor, Riley remembered shaking her head and pulling her hand away, and how Trudy had looked hurt and then stuck out her tongue at her and then went right on dancing with Rhea.