Page 26 of Her Last Warning
She pulled her phone from her pocket for the third time in as many minutes, Dr.Walsh's number already highlighted on the screen.The call went straight to voicemail again—the third time now—and Rachel felt her jaw tighten with frustration before forcing herself to relax.She's a doctor, not your personal assistant, she reminded herself, watching as Novak carefully maneuvered around a delivery truck partially blocking their path.She has a career and patients to contend with; you aren’t her first priority.Chill.
She knew this was right…that she could not place her own sense of urgency on everyone else they met along the way.So she decided to leave a message this time, as much as she hated to do it.
"Dr.Walsh," Rachel said into the phone, keeping her voice steady despite her urgency."This is Agent Gift.I was wondering if you might have the full names of three individuals you mentioned in your notes.One of them was referred to by initials, and two others by only a first name.Please call me back when you can.It’s urgent."She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket, her attention returning to the passing scenery.
The cobblestone sections of the street caused the car to vibrate beneath them, the irregular surface a preservation choice that Rachel usually appreciated but today found maddening.They passed block after block of older homes, their ornate facades a mix of brick and stone, many sporting the neighborhood's signature bay windows and detailed cornices.
"Every time I drive through here, I think about how much I'd hate to parallel park," Novak said, breaking the tension.He gestured at a car wedged into a tight spot between two SUVs."Especially with these cobblestones.One wrong move, and you're scraping your bumper.Though I suppose itissort of cool to be living in a day and age where some neighborhoods present you with both cobblestone streets and cyber trucks."
Rachel managed a small smile."That's why the locals know to grab the first spot they see, even if it means walking a few blocks."She checked her phone again – still no response from Dr.Walsh."When I first moved to Richmond, I thought the Fan was just showing off with all this preserved historical stuff.Now I get it, though.There's something about these old houses that feels...substantial.Like they've seen everything, and they're still standing."
"There," Novak said, nodding toward a three-story row house with dark green shutters."2218 Park Avenue.Shook’s address."
David Shook's home sat midblock, distinguished from its neighbors by a small but meticulously maintained front garden.Even in winter, the space showed signs of careful attention – ceramic planters stood ready for spring, and a well-swept brick pathway led to a solid wooden door painted the same deep green as the shutters.A brass mail slot gleamed in the winter light, and Rachel noticed small stained glass panels flanking the entrance, their jewel tones catching the sun.
The muffled thrum of grunge music leaked through the door as they approached – Alice in Chains, Rachel realized with a flash of nostalgia.Novak pressed the doorbell, and the sound cut clearly through the grunge track playing inside.
The door was answered several moments later.Just before it was opened, the volume of the music faded to little more than a whisper.David Shook stood just over six feet tall, with the kind of frame that suggested he'd recently regained weight after losing it.His dark hair was styled casually, and laugh lines around his eyes hinted at someone who'd maintained his sense of humor even through illness.He wore comfortable clothes that suggested a work-from-home lifestyle: dark jeans and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a fitness tracker on his wrist.
"Can I help you?"he asked, his expression open and curious.
Rachel and Novak presented their credentials in practiced synchronization."Mr.Shook, I'm Special Agent Rachel Gift, and this is Special Agent Novak.We're with the FBI.Could we speak with you for a few minutes?"
The curious expression deepened, but he hesitated for only a second—perhaps simply trying to process the fact that two federal agents were currently standing on his porch."Of course, come in," he said without hesitation, stepping back to welcome them into his home.
The interior matched the promise of the exterior – modest but well-maintained.The living room where he led them was painted a warm gray, with original hardwood floors partially covered by a contemporary area rug in muted blues and greens.A comfortable-looking sectional faced a window that flooded the room with natural light, and floating shelves displayed a collection of vinyl records and vintage concert posters that spoke to David's musical tastes: Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Chris Cornell.In one corner, a compact home office setup spoke of adaptation to modern work life: a standing desk, ergonomic chair, and dual monitors suggested someone who spent significant time in front of screens.
"Please, have a seat," David offered, lowering the music's volume via a phone app before settling into an armchair across from them."What can I help you with?"
Rachel leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees."Mr.Shook, we're working a case that..."she began, but his slight nod made her pause.
"The murders," he said quietly."I saw about Robert Hayes on Facebook.And Michelle Lester – I didn't know her well, but we'd met at support group a couple times.A friend texted me about what happened to her."
Rachel exchanged a quick glance with Novak."You knew Michelle Lester personally?"
'Knew' might be too strong a word," David replied, shifting in his chair."We talked briefly at two different meetings.Different conditions, but similar experiences with unexpected recovery.We never really connected beyond that.It was…sort of weird, if I’m being honest."
“At the risk of sounding too blunt,” Rachel said, “there’s been another.A third.”
"There's been another victim," Novak said carefully."A woman named Marcy Connors.Does that name mean anything to you?"
David shook his head."No, I don't think I've heard of her."
Rachel leaned forward."Would you mind telling us about your own recovery?Anything you can remember about the doctors, support staff, anyone who seemed particularly interested in your case?"
David ran a hand through his hair."It's still kind of surreal, to be honest.The doctors had basically told me to get my affairs in order.End-stage pulmonary fibrosis – my lungs were just...giving up.Then, this experimental treatment became available.Nobody expected it to work as well as it did.Within months, my lung function had improved so much that my doctor actually cried when she saw the test results."
"Have you noticed anyone paying unusual attention to your story?"Rachel asked."Maybe someone at support groups who asked a lot of questions?"
"I've been pretty much hibernating," David admitted."Working from home, getting groceries delivered.I should probably get out more, but after being sick for so long..."He gestured at his home office setup."I do technical writing and editing.It's easy enough to do everything virtually."
Rachel studied his face as she spoke her next words."Mr.Shook, we're working on a theory that the killer might be identifying victims through support groups – specifically targeting people who've experienced unexpected recoveries or medical breakthroughs."She paused, letting that sink in."Given your own recent recovery, we're concerned you might be at risk."
Shook nodded but did not look surprised.It was almost as if he had expected this much—as if he had already considered it himself.“So what can I do?”
"I’d like to place you under surveillance for your protection.You'd continue your normal routine, but either Agent Novak and I or local police would maintain a presence within a block of your location at all times.I’m just coming to you to let you know…just in case you notice strange activity around your block."
She watched as David processed this information, his fingers drumming lightly on the arm of his chair.The music had shifted to something slower but equally nostalgic, creating an oddly domestic backdrop to their grave conversation.
