Page 23 of Her Last Warning
“I am,” she said, giving the badge a worrying look.“Madeline Hudson.”
“Mrs.Hudson, I'm Agent Novak, and this is Special Agent Gift.We're hoping you might be able to help us with something."
Madeline looked up, her eyes sharpening with understanding behind her reading glasses.When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of too many stories like this one."I heard about Michelle this morning."She removed her glasses, letting them settle against her sweater."Michelle Lester.So awful.So unfair.Is that what this is about?"
Rachel nodded, settling into a chair beside her while Novak remained standing."We're just here to observe if that's alright.To see if anything or anyone stands out."
"Of course."Madeline's hands worried at the paper in her lap."Though I find it hard to imagine...The people who come here, they're carrying so much pain already.To think one of them could..."She trailed off, then squared her shoulders."But I suppose pain makes people do unthinkable things sometimes."
Rachel watched as Madeline's gaze drifted to the group by the snack table."Michelle was making such progress.She…I think she felt guilty for still showing up even after her good news.I think she felt like she was rubbing people’s faces in it."
"How long had she been coming to the meetings?"Rachel asked gently.
Madeline consulted her papers."Just over four months.But she took a break for a few weeks and then joined us right after her final test results came back clear.Said she needed help processing the good news, if you can believe that."A sad smile crossed her face."Sometimes survival comes with its own kind of survivor's guilt."
With a few minutes remaining before the meeting's start, Rachel and Novak thanked her and made their way to the back of the room.The windows here were smaller, and the morning light didn't quite reach.A man stood alone at the edge of the snack table, stirring his coffee with mechanical precision.He looked up as they approached, offering a smile that looked more like a restrained grimace.
"Haven't seen you here before," he said, his voice barely above a whisper."I'm Michael...or Mike.Mike Reynolds."
Rachel manufactured a smile, guilt twisting in her stomach when she knew she was going to have to lie to this man.No one would want to know FBI agents were in the room; it would almost certainly put a damper on anything they shared and would cause many to not share at all or to put up walls.So she delivered a cover story she’d used several times before when she’d needed to discreetly survey a space.She was from city council, surveying support groups to see which kinds might benefit from financial grants from the city.Mike seemed to buy it, not really even caring.She knew how these groups worked.He was likely just excited to see new faces.
"How long have you been attending?"Novak asked, his tone casual but alert.
Michael's stirring slowed, then stopped.He stared into his coffee as if reading tea leaves."Three months, two weeks, and four days."The precision of his count hung in the air between them."We lost our Emma.She was eighteen."His voice cracked on the number."Truncus arteriosus—a congenital heart defect where the pulmonary artery and aorta are fused into a single vessel.We thought...we really thought we were past the worst of it.The doctors said the surgery had worked, that her heart was finally strong enough."
He set his coffee down, untasted."My wife Linda usually comes too, but today's...today's not a good day.Some days, the grief is a weight you can carry, you know?Other days, it's a riptide."His fingers drummed against the table's edge, a nervous rhythm that seemed unconscious.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Rachel said.
“Thanks.We’re doing better, I suppose.The hardest part was how sudden it was.One minute we're celebrating her recovery, planning her college visits, and the next..."He swallowed hard."Sorry, that's probably more than you needed for your survey."
"Not at all," Rachel said softly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his arm."We're here to listen."
A movement caught Michael’s attention—the meeting was about to begin.As people moved toward the circle of chairs, Rachel found herself studying their faces, looking for signs of the particular kind of damage that might turn grief into violence.But all she saw was pain—pain and the fierce determination to survive it.The young woman with the red scarf took a seat directly across from them, her eyes still red-rimmed.The two women by the window separated reluctantly, as if their conversation had been a lifeline.
Madeline Hudson cleared her throat gently, and the room settled into attention.Rachel watched as Michael Reynolds took his seat, noting how he left the chair beside him empty—waiting, perhaps, for a wife who couldn't face the world today.Or wouldn't.The thought nagged at her as Madeline began to speak, welcoming them all to another morning of sharing, of remembering, of trying to find their way forward through the dark.
As Madeline started the meeting, another brief movement caught Rachel’s eye on the left side of the room, all the way to the back.She turned to see this late attendee and was momentarily shocked.It was a woman…slipping in as quietly as possible.Notebook in hand, she took a seat in the corner.Her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, revealing the fullness of her face.Even if Rachel hadn't been expecting to see her, she would have noticed the careful way the woman observed the room, her pen poised over her paper.
She nudged Novak and tilted her head in the woman's direction.Novak looked to the woman, and a curious, concerned look came across his face."I'll be damned," he whispered as they both watched Dr.Katherine Walsh take her notes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rachel shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to check her watch again.The support group meeting was winding down, conversations fragmenting into smaller clusters as people gathered their belongings.Styrofoam with lukewarm coffee or juice dotted the folding tables, and the sounds of scraping chairs against the carpet filled the air.She caught Novak's eye beside her and he looked just as restless as she felt.Eyes locked, they both gave a shake of their head.Nothing suspicious had emerged during the meeting, no red flags or unusual behavior that might point toward their killer.Rachel had even scrutinized a few people down to small movements and mannerisms, but there was nothing at all to warrant further conversation with them.
After another few moments, Madeline Hudson’s voice cut through the quiet murmur of conversation."So next Wednesday, same time?"She smiled warmly at the circle of chairs, now breaking apart as people stood and stretched."And remember, Martha's bringing those amazing lemon squares she promised."
A few gentle laughs rippled through the room.These people had formed bonds, Rachel realized – real connections forged in the horror and tension of their conditions.The thought that someone might be using these meetings to select victims made her stomach turn.
She then looked away from the group, redirecting her gaze to Dr.Walsh, whose presence at this meeting had been completely unexpected and, quite frankly, a bit suspicious.She was still seated in her corner chair, though she was also wrapping things up.Walsh hadn't looked up once during the entire meeting, her pen moving steadily across the pages of her notebook and only pausing to check her phone every now and then.The woman had been in a world of her very own.Even now, as laughter rippled through the room and goodbyes were exchanged, Walsh looked to be completely detached from the room around her—much less the people—as she closed up her notebook.
Rachel watched as Walsh tucked the notebook into a worn leather messenger bag before rising from her chair.The doctor moved with precise efficiency, heading toward the same door she'd entered through earlier.She was doing her best to go unseen…but was it out of respect or out of wanting to be unnoticed?Rachel caught Novak's attention with a subtle nod, and they followed, maintaining enough distance to avoid disrupting the remaining group members.
The hallway outside stretched long and institutional, painted in that particular shade of off-white unique to public buildings.Framed motivational posters hung at regular intervals, their generic messages about perseverance and teamwork casting slight shadows in the overhead lighting.Another corkboard held signs and posters about local community events.Their footsteps echoed against the tile floor, impossible to completely muffle despite their attempts at discretion.
"Dr.Walsh?"Rachel called out, her voice carrying in the empty corridor.
Walsh turned, and Rachel caught the flash of surprise that crossed her face before she could mask it.The doctor's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the strap of her messenger bag.After taking a moment to process her absolute befuddlement, she said: "Agents…?”
