“Apparently, after Rhys moved away to college Riley started dating a new guy. But after he broke up with her a few weeks into the relationship, he had to get a restraining order against her. Seems she doesn’t like being broken up with.”
“She stalked him?”
“Amongst other crazy shit.”
“Like?”
“He said she’d call him six or seven times in the middle of the night, heavy breathing for a minute and then hang up. Because he was on call at the hospital, he couldn’t turn off his phone. Then his tires were slashed. And someone posted intimate photos of him on Facebook via a fake account. He finally got a restraining order when she threw water on him when he left his home one morning. Said he thought it was acid or something because she’d threatened him that it was. Coupled with some of the crazy messages she’d sent him, the judge issued a restraining order immediately.”
My mind tries to rationalize the situation.
One episode in someone’s history doesn’t define them.
But too many dots are connecting for it to not somehow be related.
“But this is what really concerns me…” Paw brings up the article about Officer Johnson’s arrest, the same one Bronte had shown me. “The article mentions a complaint by a local female who wished to remain anonymous.” Foreboding tingles in my stomach, I can see where this is going. “I asked Pinkwater to call the sheriff’s department to see if he could get an idea on the complainant.”
“Let me guess, it was Riley.”
Paw nods. “Apparently, Johnson and Riley went on a couple of dates, and the next thing he realized, he was being done for stalking charges. Said she’d set him up.”
Looking at the image of Riley on the screen, I rub my chin.
If this is true, then she’s really messed up.
But why would she set up Officer Johnson?
I can finally breathe, Jack. I don’t have to be afraid anymore.
My head jerks up.
Bronte is at my house.
And Riley is on her way.
“Fuck.”
BRONTE
Turning my back on Riley, I rush over to Officer Johnson, but he’s dead.
The bullet got him in the heart.
I swing around to Riley. “You shot him!”
I stare at the gun in her hand.
Why does she even have a gun?
More questions spin in my head.
How does she even know how to use a gun?
What the hell just happened?
“He was going to hurt you,” she says flatly.
Her voice is monotone, and I wonder if she’s gone into shock.
“No… I don’t think he was here to…” My words fade when I notice how odd she’s behaving. She’s walking toward me with the gun still raised.
“Riley? What’s happening… put the gun down.”
But she doesn’t.
She keeps walking—her eyes are glazed, her face expressionless.
“What are you—”
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” She walks slowly toward me, her panther-like steps reminding me of a big cat stalking its prey. It’s an odd thought because my mind is still on the fact that she has just shot Officer Johnson dead and still has the fucking gun pointed at me. “Do you know how long I’ve ached to finally see this thing play out?”
Instinct tells me to move, so I take two steps back. “What are you talking about?”
As she comes closer, the smudge of mascara under her eyes and the disheveled tousle of her hair tell me she hasn’t slept in days.
“It’s been a long time coming, for sure. Not to mention exhausting with all the pretending and fake smiling, and all those evenings I had to listen to you drone on and on like some poor little princess.” She pulls a face as she lets out a deep breath. “But I knew it would be all worth it in the end.”
Still not sure what’s happening, my eyes go back to the gun in her hand. “Riley, you’re scaring the shit out of me. What’s going on? Why do you still have that gun pointed at me?”
She ignores the question. “You know, you really are the most self-absorbed person. Poor little Bronte, broken-hearted about her friend dying. I can’t cope with my loss, so I’m going to fuck and discard one poor boy after another. I’m sad, so I’m going to use men and just toss them aside.” Her face twists into a mean snarl as she mimics me.
I take another step back, my brain scrambling to work out why she is so angry at me. “I don’t know what’s going on—”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” She scoffs as if she should’ve known I would be too stupid to have worked it out by now. “I’m talking about Rhys, you dumb fucking bitch.”
The mention of my ex-boyfriend momentarily throws me.
What does he have to do with this?
“You knew Rhys?”
She stops walking.
“Know him? He was my boyfriend! But then, you wouldn’t know that, would you, because when you discarded him like he was nothing, you didn’t care what happened to him. You didn’t call to check up on him or to make sure he was okay. You were too cut up about your friend dying, so you just tossed him out like garbage and went on your merry way. You didn’t care that he was so twisted up with pain that the only way to escape how he felt about you was to fall into a deep well of darkness.” She slaps herself on the chest with her free hand, trying to make a point. “But I did care. I was the one who held him. I was the one who tried to kiss away his pain. I was the one who tried to make him forget you.”