Page 47 of Once Marked
Riley approached, her pulse throbbing in her ears, and there lay the figure of Rachel Brennan—motionless in the bathtub, the water still draining out around her.
“I’ve found her!”Riley’s voice shattered the silence.“Call paramedics and backup!And keep looking for Grace Mitchell!”The urgency in her yell descended the staircase, seeking out Beeler and Ann Marie.
But is Rachel alive?she wondered.
*
Sheriff Smitty Beeler wasted no time obeying Agent Paige’s order.His hand hovered over his holster as the dispatcher’s voice crackled in his ear.
“Police and paramedics to Grace Mitchell's residence, stat,” he ordered, his tone clipped, adding the street address.
As Agent Paige’s footsteps echoed from upstairs, Beeler took a steadying breath and advanced through the living room.
The space was dimly lit, darkness pooling in the corners like secrets.Each step felt weighted, every sense strained for the telltale signs of danger.His eyes skimmed the surroundings – the mundane clutter of domestic life was now a potential hiding place for the unpredictable.And then, there it was: a flicker at the edge of his vision, subtle yet unmistakable.
Beeler turned towards the movement, but it was already too late.Grace Mitchell exploded from behind the plush fabric of a heavy curtain, her movements feral and charged with raw panic.With a swiftness that belied her elegantly disheveled appearance, she snatched Beeler’s weapon from its leather home.
“Grace!”Beeler’s voice was a calm command, even as his heart hammered against his ribs.“Think about what you’re doing.”
Her wild, desperate eyes locked onto his, holding him in a moment suspended between reason and disaster.
*
Riley saw that clothes clung to Rachel’s skin, soaked as if she’d been dragged through a storm.But she could see no rise and fall in the chest.A wet gag still covered the victim’s mouth, a blindfold hid her eyes.When Riley pulled off the gag, her breath caught at the sight of the blue tinge marring Rachel’s lips, the stillness that seemed to have claimed her.
Training kicked in.Her service weapon clicked back into its holster as she called on her strength to lift the woman from the tub and roll her face down onto the floor.Water ran out of Rachel’s open mouth, but there was no other motion.
Riley fell to her knees beside Rachel Brennan’s inert form and turned her over to face upward.
Riley’s fingers sought the pulse that should have been throbbing under Rachel’s jaw, but there was nothing.Leaning down, she listened for the breath that didn’t come, watched for motion in the chest that still lay distressingly still.
“It can’t be too late,” she muttered.
Interlacing her fingers, she positioned them over Rachel’s sternum and began compressions.Each push was a silent count, each count a hope that this would not be the end.
The cold bathroom tiles were hard, but Riley barely registered the discomfort.As she administered each life-giving press, a part of her mind darted to questions.
Where is Grace?
Is she watching from some dark corner?
Or has she gotten away from us?
Riley’s hands moved with a steadiness born from years of training, from too many scenes like this one.Each compression was a defiance, a refusal to let death claim another victim without a fight.
*
“Don’t move!”The command was sharp, slicing through the stillness of the living room.Sheriff Beeler saw the barrel of his own gun pointed at his chest.Grace Mitchell’s hand trembled visibly as she held the weapon, her eyes darting with the frenzied light of a cornered animal.He thought she might fire the gun whether she intended to or not.
“Grace,” Beeler said, his voice calm in the storm of her panic.“Put the gun down.We can talk about this.”
He raised his hands slowly, showing her the palms.This wasn’t how he wanted it to go down – not with Grace Mitchell, not with anyone.Years on the job had taught him the value of words over weapons, and he clung to that value now as he faced the barrel of his own service pistol.
“You don’t understand,” Grace cried out, her voice quavering with an edge of hysteria.“None of you do!”
Beeler could see that Grace Mitchell was beyond reach, the name an ill-fitting mask for the woman who had been Diana Winters in another life.The gun still in her hand, she edged away from him, backward toward the front door.He could see in her posture, hear in her voice – she was a tempest of fear and accusation, a soul lost in the eye of her own storm.
Stay calm, keep talking.He knew the stakes.
