Page 47 of Catching Fire

So Seline sat by herself and listened to the scrape of the spoon on the ceramic bowl as she stirred the oatmeal. Did it matter if she waited for the oatmeal to steep fully? She wasn't going to taste it anyway.

Quietly, she seated herself at the table, looking through the archway into the living area, hopeful she would spot anyone who got up. She was grateful to be alone for a moment. Her home and her life had not been her own for far too long. Maybe at least her friends were getting some sleep. Maybe she could avoid the awful embarrassment for a little while longer.

Probably Kalan would pretend it had never happened.

Probably he and Sebastian had slept like babies, having learned to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, regardless of what they'd seen. It was a skill Seline did not possess. Certainly not last night when she relived her horrible day and mortifying night.

She ate her food carefully, as though formality needed to be observed, and she managed to choke down half the bowl. When this was over, she might never eat oatmeal again.

“When this was over” was a glorious thought. She clung to the idea that it would, in fact, one day be over and that she would be here to enjoy it. That she wouldn’t have to endure with “fake boyfriend Kalan” anymore. She wondered if she could ask the FBI to assign her a new fake boyfriend?

She forced one more bite, knowing that she wasn't eating enough. She was running on shock and terror and that wasn’t good. Placing her hands flat on the table on either side of the bowl, Seline closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the way she had always done before a test. She tried for a second inhale but became terrified that William Sanders was standing behind her.

Jolting around, she found only the empty room, glad that none of her friends had seen her making an idiot out of herself. But just as she settled back into the seat, a knock at the door made her jolt again.

She was on her feet and heading toward the front of the house before realizing she was barely passable in her pajama pants and camisole with a robe wrapped around her. Given the circumstances, “barely passable” was more than acceptable. So she padded barefoot to the front door and checked her camera, thinking about how William Sanders must have seen her looking directly into his.

When she spotted Verner and Rossi on the steps she threw the door wide and waved her hand in a sweeping gesture. “Come in, Agents.”

As though etiquette had any place here, the agents came in and settled themselves on the couch. It was impossible to not notice the grim look on their faces.

Seline couldn’t breathe. Earlier thoughts of her mortification slid easily away as the truth gripped her in a tight fist. “You found her.”

“We did.”

That was enough to know that Marina Balero was not alive.

“Tell me,” she whispered, but it was a demand. She needed to know.

“She was in the water. Near the dock.” Rossi pointed toward the back of the house. “There's a trail that runs behind this street, connecting all of the houses.”

Seline nodded because she couldn’t speak. They had believed Merrit Geller was accessing Maggie's house from the back via the trail.

Rossi continued, “About a mile down to the west, it connects to another trail that leads to a dock. Her body was found floating face down, anchored at the edge of the water.”

Just like the others.

Shockingly, she had no emotional reaction. She just felt cold. Maybe she'd used up all her emotion in the past several days. Her brain took over as though it wasn't her friend who’d been found in the water, as though it were a random case, or a chemical equation to balance. She sank into the chair as her knees gave way.

“She…” Verner started but didn’t finish. There was something about the way she said it …

“She had something carved into her,” Seline commented, the realization stunning and meaning that there was almost definitely another note somewhere that had been missed.

“Yes.”

Seline glared at Verner. That was not a sufficient answer. She waited, now leaning forward, hands on her knees, ankles pressed together, toes pushing into the floor, as she waited for Verner to supply more.

At last, the agent complied. “It said‘closer’.”

The chill drove from her head down through her spine like an ice spike.

Closerhad so many meanings, and so few, and none of them good.

She was running on such low fuel that she could almost feel the gears clicking in her head. “But I didn't get a note with that word.”

“Actually, you did,” Rossi said. “It was in your mailbox yesterday.”

“No one told me!” Seline protested immediately, as though her knowledge of the note was the most important thing. When no one replied. She asked the obvious question. “Well, who put it there?”

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