Page 13

As she stood there at the motel door with her go-bag in her hand, Ann Marie realized that her arrival was a surprise to Agent Paige. Then, mercifully, the senior agent said, “Come in,” and moved aside so she could enter.

“Agent Paige, I’m here to assist in any way I can,” Ann Marie said as she stepped through the door. “I understand this partnership is just for the current situation. Agent Meredith informed me that you’ve stepped away from teaching briefly to focus on this case and … needed a partner.”

After another slightly awkward moment, Riley added, “Let’s sit down and talk.”

Ann Marie plopped on the corner of one of the beds.

She was a bit nervous about this assignment, even though she had worked with Riley Paige once before.

On her very first case, Ann Marie had been sent to help chase down a killer who took on the persona of a murderous urban legend called Goatman.

But when Agent Paige had switched to teaching, and Ann Marie had started working with her former partner, Bill Jeffreys.

When Riley took a seat on the other bed and nodded, Ann-Marie continued.

“Agent Meredith also mentioned that Bill Jeffreys is transitioning to training duties before his retirement, working with newbies. So it seems I’ll soon be paired with someone new permanently.

After this, I mean. Until then, I’m fully committed to this investigation.

I’m so excited about working with you again!

That other time was a blast, a really great experience for me! ”

Then Ann Marie felt a familiar twinge of self-doubt. She was all too aware of her tendency to bubble over with cheer, to fill silences with chatter and optimism.

“Okay Agent Esmer,” Riley responded. “But we’re past formalities, remember? It’s Riley and Ann Marie.”

Ann-Marie felt herself relax.

“Right, Riley,” she replied, tasting the freedom of informality. She hoped this small gesture would pave the way for a smoother partnership, one where she could learn and grow under the guidance of someone she deeply respected.

“We’ve had two recent murders,” Riley started. “One in Roanoke, another in Slippery Rock. I’m sure you’ve seen the preliminary report. Both victims were found with algebra quiz sheets pinned to their backs—distinctive ones.”

She pulled out a file, laying it open like a map.

“And today,” Riely continued, pointing to a photograph marked with coordinates, “a body was discovered at the exact location these quiz sheets pointed to.”

As Riley continued, Ann Marie leaned forward, her elbows on her knees as anticipation prickled her skin. She felt a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of tomorrow’s work. How could she possibly rest when the dawn promised the next step in their search for a killer?

“Sheriff Hagen will be expecting us in his office tomorrow morning,” Riley said, her voice weary.

“Maybe by then we’ll have an ID on the body,” Ann Marie suggested.

She pictured the dense Virginia woods of Blue Ridge Wilderness Park, the soil disturbed to reveal secrets long buried.

“You know,” she added, “this could mean we’re looking for more than one killer, considering the time span these murders cover. And there’s no doubt about their obsession with math—with mathematicians even. It’s peculiar, could definitely help us narrow down the suspect base.”

Riley’s gaze was distant, the toll of the day etched in the lines around her eyes.

“Um, Riley,” Ann Marie said cautiously. “I get the feeling that this is no ordinary case for you.”

Riley looked at her with slight surprise.

“That’s very astute of you, Ann Marie,” she said, obviously meaning it.

“As a matter of fact, it’s highly personal.

You see, Margaret Whitfield was my favorite teacher in high school.

She molded me in more ways than I can count.

That’s why I insisted on getting assigned to this case. I just couldn’t stay out of it.”

Riley squinted, and her face tightened with suppressed anger.

“We’ve got to find Mrs. Whitfield’s killer, Ann Marie,” she said. “We’ve just got to.”

Ann Marie felt deeply touched at Riley’s show of personal vulnerability.

“And we will, Riley,” she said. “I promise to help you make that happen.”

Riley looked at her again, and this time she smiled.

“Meanwhile, let’s not forget to look after ourselves,” Riley said, the softness in her tone belying the steel within. “We need to eat, regroup. I don’t know about you, but a shower and some sleep wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“Of course, I should go check in to a room,” Ann Marie said.

“You might as well take the extra bed. We can sort that out with the office in the morning.”

“Food then. What are you in the mood for? Pizza, Chinese?”

“Anything’s fine,” Riley replied, standing up and stretching the weariness from her limbs. “A hamburger will do.”

“Got it. Burger it is,” Ann Marie affirmed with a brisk nod, already reaching for her phone to order. She watched as Riley retreated towards the bathroom, an embodiment of strength and investigative brilliance moving to wash away the grime of the day’s work.

As the call connected and Ann Marie placed the order, she felt something akin to camaraderie.

Riley Paige, with her personal battles and relentless pursuits, was both enigma and mentor to her.

Despite the grim nature of their task, there was comfort in shared purpose.

Tonight, they were two agents seeking sustenance, readying themselves for tomorrow.

She selected a local diner with an online reputation for its juicy burgers and efficient delivery—simple and straightforward, just like Riley wanted.

With the order confirmed, Ann Marie set the phone down and allowed herself a moment to absorb the silence of the room, punctuated only by the faint hum of the motel’s aging air conditioner.

A night charged with the energy of an impending storm lay ahead, and Ann Marie felt its electricity in the air. There was no denying the rush that came with the chase, the puzzle pieces fitting together one by one, leading them deeper into the mind of a killer obsessed with mathematical precision.

*

Robert Nash leaned back in his chair. The cone of light from the desk lamp cast a warm halo over his work area, illuminating the papers strewn across the desk, each one scrawled with equations and theorem proofs.

This room was his haven, a place of ordered thought where the chaos of the outside world couldn’t reach.

The walls, lined with shelves heavy with academic journals, seemed to nod in silent approval of his lifelong dedication.

Here, among these quiet companions, Robert felt content.

It was an unspoken conversation between him and the great mathematical minds that had come before, their theories and conjectures living on in the musty scent of aged paper.

Reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, he reached for the next stack of assignments.

They were not the work of his own students, but rather those of Cliff Baird, a neighbor and protégé, now a high school teacher who still looked to him for guidance.

Robert’s red pen moved across the pages, noting critique and approval in equal measure.

To Robert, grading these papers was not simply a favor for a former student; it was a reaffirmation of his identity. Mathematics had been his first true love, and even now, it bound him to the world. The rhythm of his pen was a heartbeat, steady and reassuring in its consistency.

The gentle hum of the television filtered into Robert’s awareness, punctuated by bursts of laughter from Louella. She was watching one of those new comedies—the kind that seemed to bridge generational gaps with ease.

“Robert,” her voice called out, tinged with a warmth that could melt the chill of any evening, “why don’t you join me? This show is hilarious!”

“I’ll be just a little longer, dear,” he replied.

The laughter from the other room was a reminder of the world outside his calculations, the everyday joys he too often set aside for numbers and theories.

He looked forward to turning his attention to her in a little while, maintaining a balance between his lifelong passion and the presence of the woman who shared his life—and his heart.

A deep sense of fulfillment settled in his chest, knowing that each red mark on these papers would be guiding Cliff, and all those who had sat in his classroom, toward their own eureka moments.

This was his legacy—not in the books that lined his shelves, but in the wisdom imparted to eager learners whose faces now flickered across his memory.

He missed the classroom, the direct impact of shaping keen minds ready to explore the vast landscapes of mathematics.

Glancing down at his watch, he saw that the time was much later than he had intended.

With an affectionate shake of his head, he thought of Cliff, likely eager for the feedback on his work.

The crisp rustle of graded assignments accompanied Robert as he placed them into a neat folder.

He shrugged on his jacket, the fabric familiar and comforting against his skin.

“Going out for a bit, Lou!” he called towards the TV room, where the sounds of the latest comedy mingled with the muffled din of canned laughter. Louella, immersed in her show, didn’t respond.

As he passed by the warm glow of the TV room, he noted her silhouette, comfortably ensconced in their well-worn sofa. He smiled, unseen, and went on his way, certain in his heart that he’d be back before she even realized he was gone.

He stepped outside, locking the door behind him with a soft click that seemed to resonate in the quiet neighborhood. The street was peaceful, blanketed in the hush of late hours, with only the occasional flicker of a television screen visible through nearby windows.

The papers tucked under his arm felt like a tangible connection to his past, an echo of the mentorship he once provided within the walls of Hindemith College. As he walked, the familiar path ahead was illuminated by sparse streetlights casting their glow on the pavement.

Robert’s steady pace brought him alongside the ancient oaks that marked the boundary between his world and Cliff’s.

But as the shadows writhed beneath the oaks, a sudden chill crept down his spine.

He halted, his instincts prickling as he strained to see through the darkness that played tricks on the eye.

“Probably nothing,” he muttered to himself, though the unease refused to ebb away. It wasn’t like him to entertain such imaginative fears; he was a man of logic, numbers, and probabilities. Yet, something about this evening didn’t add up.

A glint caught his attention—perhaps just a reflection off some nocturnal creature’s eyes or maybe a trick of his own mind.

Nonetheless, it was enough to stir his heartbeat into a quicker tempo.

There was a sense of being watched, of not being alone.

With a shake of his head, Robert dismissed the eerie feeling as best he could and hastened his steps, his focus now on reaching the safety and familiarity of Cliff’s front porch.

Then panic surged as an unexpected force collided with him from behind.

The stack of papers, once meticulously ordered and graded, took flight, scattering across the pavement.

Robert’s body lurched forward, his hands groping the air for balance.

A lifetime spent in pursuit of knowledge had not prepared him for this primal struggle.

The attacker was relentless, a silent predator overpowering Robert’s feeble resistance.

He felt the strength in his legs wane as he tried to right himself, but the force was too strong, too insistent.

His mind screamed for logic to solve this, but there was no rational answer to the chaos that enveloped him.

A cord snapped tight around Robert’s neck, severing the sound that had risen in his throat—a startled cry cut short by the brutal grip of his unseen assailant.

Reflexively, he clawed at the unyielding fibers digging into his skin.

His pulse throbbed against the constricting loop, each heartbeat a drumbeat of terror.

Silence was the most chilling aspect of it all—the quiet efficiency with which his life was being squeezed away. There was no gloating, no final words exchanged, just the methodical tightening of the cord and the stark realization of his helplessness.

As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, Robert’s world began to spin, a carousel of black spots and blurred streetlights.

Desperately, he gasped for air that wouldn’t come, his lungs burning with the need to survive.

This was not how he’d imagined his last moments: not in violence, but in peace, surrounded by his beloved books and the soft laughter of Louella.

With his senses dimming, Robert’s thoughts fractured like light through a prism.

The image of Louella, absorbed in her television program, flickered in his mind.

Her laughter, usually a beacon of warmth in his life, now seemed distant, an echo from another lifetime.

It was a cruel twist of fate that she sat just a stone’s throw away, blissfully unaware of the brutal theft of time taking place.

He thought of the students he had mentored over the years, the young minds he’d kindled with the love for numbers, the challenges they’d overcome together, all the potential futures that would unfold without his guidance.

There were so many lessons left untaught, so many equations unfinished.

In those fleeting moments, Robert mourned not for himself but for the stolen opportunities to make even the smallest difference in another’s life—a final lament of a teacher to the very end.

The world around Robert Nash narrowed, his existence, reduced to the primal fight for air. As his body slumped, defeated by the silent predator that lurked in the shadows, he slipped into the void. There was no more resistance, no more pain—only resignation. And then, quiet.