by A J Rivers
That wasn't the case with Feathered Nest. There was something different about that investigation and the people involved in it from the very beginning. As soon as I arrived at the tiny, isolated cabin tucked in the woods on the outskirts of town, I knew it wasn't going to be like any other case I ever worked. The more I immersed myself among the people in the town, sharing their lives and laughter, the more things blurred between who I was pretending to be and who I actually was.
Creagan had created a backstory for me to explain why I was there. I was looking for a new beginning and considering moving into Feathered Nest. All things considered, it wasn’t inaccurate. I really did need a new beginning after having lost my judgment on a previous case. The people of Feathered Nest were lovely. They were kind and friendly, welcoming me, thinking I was going to be one of them. A neighbor. They wanted to bring me into their fold and make me feel comfortable in what might become my home.
When it was all over, and I left town not as Emma Monroe a potential new resident, but as Emma Griffin, FBI agent, I felt like I had betrayed many of them. I did what I was sent there to do. Perhaps not in the way the team would have wanted me to, but I got the job done. I put away a monstrous serial killer who had been terrorizing the town for a long, long time. A man so twisted he manipulated me into a relationship with him so I could be his next victim. He was a perfect young man, handsome and kind and helpful, and everyone in town loved him. But when I showed up, I exposed the shadows underneath.
It wasn’t just Jake. I made false connections with people who’d done nothing wrong and yet got swept up in all of it. They were frightened, confused, fearful of what was happening to their tranquil little town, never knowing who to trust. In a way, I both restored their sense of calm and further damaged their ability to trust others. I can't help but think I left Feathered Nest somewhat more closed than when I found it.
Not that it was entirely sunny and welcoming. There were bitter, brutal secrets in that town, and many of the names on this list knew about them. For every person who welcomed me, there were just as many who would just as soon kick me out. They made no secret that I was unwelcome. A stranger meddling where she shouldn’t.
"She's not listed," I tell Sam when I get to the bottom of the directory. "I guess I don't really have much of a choice."
I exit out of the browser and bring up my contacts list. Sam looks at me questioningly.
"Who are you calling?"
"Chief LaRoche," I say, not even bothering to try to keep the distaste out of my voice.
"Why are you calling the police chief?" Sam asks.
Before I can say anything to him, the receptionist at the police station answers.
"Chief LaRoche, please," I say.
"Who's speaking?" she asks.
"Emma Griffin."
The beat of silence isn't flattering, but it's not long enough to go all the way to offensive.
"Just a moment," she says.
It takes a few seconds before the phone picks up again.
"Emma Griffin," LaRoche answers. "This is a surprise."
"Hello, Chief. How are things?" I ask.
I hope he doesn't take the question and run with it, but a little bit of common courtesy feels appropriate in the situation.
"Doing well. But I'm assuming that's going to change in the next few moments, considering you are on the phone."
I don't give him the satisfaction of an exasperated sigh.
"All I want is a phone number," I tell him.
"A phone number?" he asks.
"Yes. I need to get in touch with Marren Purcell, but she isn't listed in the directory."
LaRoche is the one who gets to give the sigh.
"I'm not running a phone company here, Griffin. This is a police station. Now, I know your ideas about what police are supposed to do are a little shaky, but I can promise you, helping you chat away on the phone with someone isn't on the list."
"Seriously, LaRoche, I just need to talk to her. I got a letter from her asking me to come back to town, and I want to make sure everything's alright with her," I tell him.
"She wrote you a letter? But you don't have her phone number?" he asks.
"Perhaps you're beginning to see the issue."
"Not particularly, and it's not my place to give out private contact information for one of my citizens. Especially someone who chose not to be included in the town directory. Unless you are on official business. I'm assuming you're not on official business."
"No," I tell him through gritted teeth.
"Well, I do have some things to take care of, so I'll tell Marren you were asking after her next time I see her."
"Can you make that sooner rather than later?" I ask.
"Excuse me?"
"Just go over to her house. Check and make sure she's alright," I sigh, irritated. I’d forgotten how much LaRoche gets on my nerves.
Sam looks at me strangely, and I close my eyes, shaking my head.
"You might not realize this, Griffin, but I actually have a job to do. I'm not just getting kittens out of trees and closing down moonshine stills out here."
"I'm not asking you to spend the afternoon riding a tandem bicycle with her, LaRoche. I just want you to do a welfare check. Tell her I got her letter, and I'm coming. It's not that difficult."
“Goodbye, Miss Griffin.” The click on the other end of the line told me he had decided our conversation was over.
"Chief might not have been the best choice," Sam says, getting to his feet and reaching down to help me up.
"He's the Chief of Police, Sam. He's the one who checks on people. What did you want me to do? Give Jake a call?"
"He probably wouldn't be terribly much help either."
I let out a sigh and shake my head. I reach over for the envelope again, turning it over and over in my hands. I stare at it for a long moment, contemplating what in the world is going on. But then I notice something. The odd reality of the letter creeps up the back of my neck, sending stinging pricks along my skin. It isn’t just the strange appearance of it and the question of how Marren got my address. It’s the name jotted in the opposite corner in tight, slanted writing embedded deep in the envelope.
Marren Purcell. MP. The same initials as Mary Preston.
And Mariya Presnyakov.
Chapter Fifteen
Lamb
Four months ago…
Maybe he could have run. That could have been his chance. He knew that’s what people would think if they knew what happened. There was no one walking beside him. There were no chains to hold him down; no weapons held to his spine to keep him compliant. He didn’t have to follow the path laid out for him. At any second, he could have taken off, escaped through the back, told someone what was happening. He could have deviated from what he was supposed to do and chosen his own way. Saved his own life.
He did. They didn’t realize that. They didn’t understand the significance of every choice he made when he went inside. The significance of every moment that passed. His steps might not have been far from the path chosen for him, but they carried him further than anyone realized.
He didn’t know what was about to happen. He had to keep up the appearance of doing as he was instructed.
Do you understand me, Lamb? Do you know what you are to do?
Walk in. Go to the back. Use the key. Walk out.
Don’t call attention to yourself. Don’t speak to anyone.
But he did. He spoke just five words. Five words, in case she followed.
“Give this to Emma Griffin.”
Those five words were all he could do in that moment. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t escape. There might not have been anyone beside him, but he wasn’t alone. There were eyes on the building, eyes on the doors. They were counting seconds, counting heartbeats. At the designated time, he was supposed to walk back out, straight through the door he entered, and cross the parking lot. They wouldn’t speak to him. He wouldn’t even know where they were. But they would
be waiting.
They could be anyone, anywhere. Lotan didn’t tell him who would be watching or give him instructions to check in with anyone when he left. That would have been too easy. It would have given too much away. Instead, he told him what to do and warned him he would know if it wasn’t done.
No door was safe. No escape was realistic. At least, he didn’t think so then. He carried the heaviness of the lives around him as he walked and drew the key from his pocket. He did everything with a tremendous awareness of every person there. Most didn’t even know he was there. They didn’t notice him as they scrambled around, handling last-minute details or sank into the boredom of waiting. That was a different kind of waiting. It wasn’t the vigilance of the people outside. There was no tension in their waiting. They had no reason to think they didn’t know what was coming.
If he didn’t walk back through that door when it was expected of him, he would never forgive himself the blood on his hands.
He didn’t know the blood would be spilled anyway.
The heat on his back sank through his clothes, and bits of debris blasted through the air cut into his skin. He didn’t know what happened. It wasn’t until later—when hands grabbed him and dragged him away from the chaos—that he found out.
It wasn’t a game. That hit him quickly. For a brief moment, he thought this was just another taunt from Lotan, a reminder of his power. He could dangle him into danger and yank him out just before disaster. He could force him to face the sheer enormity of his influence and cruelty, to make him feel helpless because he didn’t know what was going to happen and could do nothing to change it.
“What did you see, Lamb? Who was there?”
“No one. I didn’t see anything.”
“Nothing?”
“I did what I was told.”
“And nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
But not this time. Lotan didn’t know what Lamb did. Lamb carried the responsibility of those people for nothing. He offered himself back to Leviathan for no gain. If he had run, they might have shot him. They might have captured him. But maybe not. In the end, the others would face the same fate. He didn’t protect anyone.
That one day threw everything off. There was hope, even in the anxiety and bitterness of that day. Those five words. They were his hope. If she heard them, maybe everything would change.
Now he didn’t know his next move.
And now he could do nothing but wait for Finn. He didn’t know if Finn did everything he was supposed to, but he had to believe he did. That was the only thing keeping him going. It cost a high price for Lamb to get the information he did, and for Finn to share it. Each of those choices, each of those risks, was like a glass capsule of poison. The danger was there but suspended. It could stay harmless, or a single mishap could lead to disaster.
All Lamb cared about now was finding the last piece of the puzzle. He knew so much, but it wasn’t enough. Every time he uncovered something else, it only revealed more. But he took those risks, collected the glass capsules. He only needed to figure out one more detail.
Now it was a race.
Who would be found first?
Chapter Sixteen
Now
I set the envelope down on the table beside the paper where I wrote the first two names. Sam stares down at them, his eyes slightly narrowed, and his lips twisted like thoughts are churning through his mind.
"I know it's kind of a stretch," I admit. "Her name isn't as close as the others, but it's enough to stand out. Mariya, Mary, and now Marren. The last names are less exact, but they all start with P, and you have to admit the first names are close.”
“They are,” Sam nods. “It's strange. I'll give you that. What do you know about Marren? You said you didn't really know her very well and didn't spend much time with her. Why would she be reaching out to you now?”
“I don't know. You're right, I didn't spend much time with her, and I don't know her well. I spoke to her a few times, but it wasn't anything deep and meaningful. Just casual conversations. She told me about the town and a little bit about her family. She's a widow and never had any children. The only relative she still had in town was her sister, but she died a few years ago. So, it was just her. I think that's why she wanted to talk to me. Even when other people were starting to get suspicious and not really wanting anything to do with me, she was still willing to have a few words if I wanted to. But, like I said, it didn't amount to much. I honestly don't know why she would want to see me,” I tell him.
“Unless it has something to do with the murders,” Sam points out.
“Like what? Jake has been in custody for almost a year, and with the exception of having to be relocated, his trial has been seamless." I look down at the papers again. "I just keep coming back to the names. If they do have something to do with each other, Marren writing to me wouldn't have anything to do with the murders from a year ago. But I don't understand what type of link she could have with the bombing or with Mary Preston."
"So, what's that mean?" Sam asks.
"That means I hope I hear from her soon and she has some sort of explanation for why she would reach out to me and how this letter got here."
By the time we get back from game night, I still haven't heard anything from Feathered Nest. I can't even enjoy my well-earned victory, but instead go right back into my house and open my computer. Sam sits beside me, chewing on the last of the cinnamon rolls.
“Anything?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I offer. “I remembered something while we were playing, and I wanted to check on it. There are a few different types of comments that keep showing up on all of the Mary Preston videos. There are the ones that are about that particular video, the ones that try to create a conversation, and the ones that are more about the person commenting than about Mary. Like this one. This girl, Bella, tries to be the first one to comment on every video." I cringe slightly. "Or I guess, tried. She won't be commenting on any more. But if you look at most of the videos Mary posted, you see Bella is the first one to comment."
I open video after video and point out the comment at the top of each list.
"First," Sam reads, and I nod.
"Yep. That's it. Just 'first'. Apparently, there’s some sort of pride in being the first one to comment, even if you're not actually contributing anything to the conversation. She was the first person to comment on every video right up until about eight months ago. Then that switched for a bit."
I pull up the video and show him the first comment. It isn't by Bella, but a profile called SeeAtSea-He-Me. But it's the same message. First.
"There's Bella, right after. 'Second'. She's really serious about making herself known," Sam points out.
"Yes, she is. This profile was first for about three videos; then it went back to Bella. I've looked into Bella some. Fairly predictable. Late teens, really enjoys taking pictures of herself. Sometimes her pictures or videos she made seem to correspond with what Mary had done just before that.”
"Like she was trying to get Mary's attention with them?" Sam asks.
I shrug. "Maybe, but, again, Mary was trying to make herself into an influencer. Her entire purpose was convincing her followers to think the way she did and try the things she told them to try. Bella was just following along. I've gone through a few of the other videos she liked and commented on. She has a tendency to become attached. Mary seems to be her favorite, but there are a few other people she comments on regularly and subscribes to. That's not unusual for her age range. This is how young people socialize and engage with the world around them."
"You make it sound like we’re ancient," he chuckles. “I’m barely in my thirties.”
"In some ways, I feel like we're a world away from these kids. It's totally different for them than it was for us. We got together and went to football games or movies. We wandered around town. We hung out in basements. These kids think of people on the other side of the planet as their friends because the
y can pull up a video of them at any time. It can be a really wonderful thing, don't get me wrong. Being able to reach out to people all around the world is an incredible opportunity. People are able to help each other and learn about each other in a way they never have before. But it also opens up people who are desperate for attention or who want to take advantage of other people.”
“Do you think that might be what Mary was doing?” Sam asks.
“I think it's a possibility. She wanted attention. She wanted people to look at her and watch her. Care about what she was saying and what she thought. If you watch the way she speaks and carries herself in her videos, it seems less about truly wanting to teach or introduce things to her viewers, and more like she wanted validation. I have no doubt that she was confident and happy. According to everything I've heard about her, she thought very highly of herself and was determined she was going to make her own way with these videos. But she still had that need for people to admire her and appreciate her. She wanted them to tell her she was beautiful and smart and lucky, to care about what she said.”
“These comments definitely look like she was getting what she wanted,” he points out.
“Some of them more than others,” I nod. “And the ones she responded to the most are the ones that really paid attention to her. Not just the one-off statements of saying she was beautiful or that they loved her outfit. The ones who could pull out specific details or would give a recommendation with a sly compliment she would appreciate because of her taste or that they heard it was fabulous, so she should try it. Almost like they weren't worthy of it, but she was. Those are the ones she picked up on. So, what were they getting out of it? Feeling like they were friends? Feeling special because she responded directly to them? Or something else?” I ask.
“What else do you think it could be?”
"At first, I was intrigued by Bella simply because she kept showing up, but then I realized her interactions with Mary were pretty superficial, and nothing stood out about her profile. Whoever accessed Mary's cloud to send that clip to me was more intense than that. They wouldn't just have a casual connection. So, that's what made me think of this." I point to the 'first' comment by the other profile. "This person is making a point. It's not just about being the first one to comment. It's about being before Bella. The fun thing about the internet is you never know who people actually are. It can be anybody behind a name. Bella could be a spectacular catfish, but I doubt it. She seems pretty transparent. This one, though. SeeatSea-He-Me. There are some question marks."