Page 19 of Once Vanished
After thirty compressions, Riley tilted Pope’s head back, pinched his nose, and delivered two rescue breaths.The man’s chest rose and fell with her effort, but his eyes remained closed, his skin ashen in the cabin’s dim light.Something about his face tugged at her memory—the strong line of his jaw, the small scar above his right eyebrow.She had seen him before, somewhere in the maze of her past cases.
Another set of compressions, another two breaths.Time stretched and contracted around her, the dusty cabin fading to the edges of her awareness as she focused solely on the effort of keeping this man alive.
On the third round, Pope’s body suddenly convulsed.He coughed—a harsh, ragged sound that echoed through the abandoned cabin—and his eyelids fluttered.Riley turned him onto his side, supporting his head as he gasped and sputtered, drawing precious oxygen into his starved lungs.
“That’s it,” she murmured.“Just breathe.”
Pope’s eyes finally opened, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening as they settled on Riley’s face.Recognition dawned in his gaze, followed immediately by disbelief.
“Agent Riley Paige,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
The sound of her name on his lips sent a jolt through Riley.In that instant, the half-formed memory crystallized into terrible clarity.
Stanley Pope.Fort Nash Mowat.
Eight years ago, near San Diego.A sprawling army base where a sniper had been picking off soldiers during training exercises.She and Bill had been called in, along with Lucy Vargas—bright, fierce Lucy, who had become like family to Riley over their years working together.
Riley’s throat tightened as the memories rushed back, sharp as broken glass.The frantic search for the shooter.The tense stakeout.And then—chaos.A Private named Titus Mulligan with a high-powered rifle, opening fire on Lucy.The gunshot that echoed across the training grounds as Lucy fell.
And there had been Stanley Pope—then just a young army private himself—rushing to Lucy’s side despite the danger.Bill, operating on instinct and adrenaline in the confusion, had seen only a figure bending over Lucy’s fallen body.He’d fired, striking Pope in the shoulder, before anyone realized the terrible mistake.
Lucy had managed to return fire before she died, killing Mulligan with her final act of courage.But nothing could undo what had happened.Lucy was gone.Pope was wounded by friendly fire.And Bill—Bill had been shattered with guilt, both for shooting an innocent man and for failing to save Lucy.
Riley remembered those dark weeks afterward with painful clarity.Bill, drowning in guilt over both Lucy’s death and Pope’s injury.The text message that had stopped her heart: “Sitting here with a gun in my mouth.”
She had driven to his apartment with lights flashing, kicking in his door to find him exactly as he’d described—service weapon pressed between his lips, tears streaming down his face.
PTSD was a problem that Riley and Bill had both dealt with in their long crime-fighting careers.She’d understood that his personal problems with his family at that time, the aftereffects of hard cases, and his mistake over Pope had overwhelmed him.She had talked him down, stayed with him through that long night and many nights after.Convinced him to see psychiatrist Mike Nevins for therapy.Watched him slowly rebuild himself, brick by painful brick, until he could function again.Until he could return to work beside her.In recent years, their newfound closeness had made life happier for both of them.
And now, Leo had pulled that old trauma back into the present.He had found Pope—now wearing a different uniform but carrying the same history—and used him as a living reminder of one of the worst periods in both her and Bill’s lives.
It was cruel … and brilliant.Precision-targeted psychological warfare.
“Officer Pope,” Riley said, her professional mask slipping into place.“Do you know who took you?”
Pope shook his head weakly.“Someone...called himself Dr.Abel Keen.”
Riley helped Pope sit up, supporting his back against the side of the pine box.His uniform was sweat-soaked, his breathing still labored but steadier now.She reached for her phone.
“I need to call an ambulance,” she said, dialing 911.When the dispatcher answered, Riley identified herself and gave their location, describing Pope’s condition as stable but requiring immediate medical attention.
“They’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” she told Pope after ending the call.“This is remote territory.Can you tell me what happened?How did this ‘Dr.Keen’ get to you?”
Pope nodded, running a trembling hand over his face.“I was heading out for my lunch break.Got a call on my personal cell—that’s what was weird.Not through dispatch.”He paused, coughing again.“This guy, real professional-sounding, says he’s a therapist named Dr.Abel Keen.Says he’s working with Bill Jeffreys.”
Riley’s jaw tightened at the mention of Bill’s name.
“He told me Agent Jeffreys was having a relapse of his PTSD,” Pope continued.“Said it was related to...what happened at Fort Nash Mowat.When he shot me.”Pope’s hand moved unconsciously to his left shoulder, where Riley knew a scar would be hidden beneath his uniform.“Dr.Keen said Agent Jeffreys had been making progress, but that he thought a face-to-face meeting might help with his recovery.Asked if I could come by his office right then.”
Riley nodded, her mind racing ahead.“And you agreed.”
“Yeah.”Pope looked down, embarrassed.“I went through a rough time about it myself.But I never blamed Agent Jeffreys for what happened, you know?It was a chaotic situation.He thought he was protecting Agent Vargas.”He swallowed hard.“I always wished I could tell him that.So when this doctor called, I thought...maybe this was my chance to help him find some peace.”
The sentiment was so genuine, so decent, that Riley felt a renewed surge of rage toward Leo.He had expertly manipulated Pope’s goodwill, using the man’s own compassion against him.
“What happened when you arrived at his office?”she asked.
“It was in one of those new office parks off Westlake Drive.Small building, not many tenants yet.The door to his suite was open, but when I walked in, the place was empty—no furniture, nothing.Before I could even turn around, someone hit me with a taser.”Pope’s eyes clouded with the memory.“I went down hard.Then there was something over my face—smelled sweet, chemical.Next thing I knew, I was waking up in that box, couldn’t breathe...”