Watching. Блейк Пирс

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Watching - Блейк Пирс The Making of Riley Paige

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thought that probably wasn’t a good idea, but she had no way to stop them. At least they were staying away from the door that she guarded.

      And now she was starting to feel her own share of horror.

      Images from her early childhood flooded Riley’s brain …

      Riley and Mommy were in a candy store—and how Mommy was spoiling Riley!

      She was buying her lots and lots of candy.

      They were both laughing and happy until …

      A man stepped toward them. He had a weird face, flat and featureless, like something out of one of Riley’s nightmares. It took Riley a second to realize that he was wearing a nylon stocking over his head—the kind that Mommy wore on her legs.

      And he was holding a gun.

      He started yelling at Mommy …

      “Your purse! Give me your purse!”

      His voice sounded as frightened as Riley felt.

      Riley looked up at Mommy, expecting her to do as the man said.

      But Mommy had turned pale and was shaking all over. She didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

      “Give me your purse!” the man yelled again.

      Mommy just stood there, clutching her purse.

      Riley wanted to tell Mommy …

      “Do as the man says, Mommy. Give him your purse.”

      But for some reason, no words came out of her mouth.

      Mommy staggered a little, as if she wanted to run but couldn’t make her legs move.

      Then there was a flash and a loud, terrible noise …

      … and Mommy fell to the floor, landing on her side.

      Her chest was spurting deep red, and the color soaked her blouse and was spreading out in a puddle on the floor …

      Riley was yanked back to the present by the sound of approaching sirens. The local cops were arriving.

      She felt relief that the authorities were here and could take over … whatever it was that had to be done.

      She saw that boys who lived on the second floor were coming down and asking the girls what was going on. They were also in various stages of dress—shirts and jeans, pajamas and robes.

      Harry Rampling, the football player who had approached Riley back at the bar, made his way toward where she was standing against the closed door. He pushed past the girls still hovering there and stared at her for a moment.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

      Riley said nothing. She saw no point in trying to explain—not with the police about to appear at any second.

      Harry smirked a little and took a menacing step toward Riley. He’d obviously been told about the dead girl inside.

      “Get out of the way,” he said. “I want to see.”

      Riley stood even more firmly than before.

      “You can’t go in there,” she said.

      Harry said, “Why not, little girl?”

      Riley stared daggers at him, but she was wondering …

      What the hell do I think I’m doing?

      Did she really think she could keep a male athlete from going in there if he decided to?

      Oddly enough, she had the feeling that she probably could.

      She’d certainly put up a fight, if it came to that.

      Fortunately, she heard the clatter of footsteps entering the hall, then a man’s voice calling out …

      “Break it up. Let us through.”

      The clump of students broke up.”

      Someone said, “Over there,” and three uniformed cops made their way toward Riley.

      She recognized all of them. They were familiar faces around Lanton. Two of them were men, Officers Steele and White. The other was a woman, Officer Frisbie. A couple of campus cops were also tagging along.

      Steele was overweight, and his reddish face made Riley suspect that he drank too much. White was a tall guy who walked with a constant slouch and whose mouth always seemed to be hanging open. Riley didn’t think he seemed especially bright. Officer Frisbie was a tall, sturdy woman who had always struck Riley as friendly and good-natured.

      “We got a call,” Officer Steele said. He huffed at Riley. “What the hell’s going on here?”

      Riley stepped away from the door and pointed to it.

      “It’s Rhea Thorson,” Riley said. “She’s—”

      Riley found that she couldn’t finish the sentence. She was still trying to get it through her head that Rhea was dead.

      She just stepped aside.

      Officer Steele opened the door and slouched past her into the room.

      Then came a loud gasp as he exclaimed …

      “Oh my God!”

      Officers Frisbie and White both hurried inside.

      Then Steele reappeared and called out to the onlookers, “I need to know what happened. Right now.”

      There was a general murmur of alarmed confusion.

      Then Steele fired a series of questions. “What do you know about this? Was this girl in her room all evening? Who else was here?”

      More confusion followed, with some girls saying that Rhea hadn’t left the dorm, others saying that she went to the library, others that she’d gone out on a date, and of course a few who said that she’d gone out drinking. Nobody had seen anybody else here. Not until they heard Heather screaming.

      Riley took a breath, getting ready to shout the others down and tell what she knew. But before she could speak, Harry Rampling pointed at Riley and said …

      “This girl’s been acting all weird. She was standing right there when I got here. Like maybe she’d just come out the door.”

      Steele stepped toward Riley and growled …

      “Is that right? You’ve got some explaining to do. Start talking.”

      He seemed to be reaching for his handcuffs. For the first time, Riley started to feel a trace of panic.

      Is this guy going to arrest me? she wondered.

      She had no idea what might happen if he did.

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