Watching - Блейк Пирс The Making of Riley Paige

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her.

      Riley turned, and there in the doorway stood Gina Formaro. She’d also been partying at the Centaur’s Den that night. Now her eyes were bulging and she was trembling all over, pale with shock.

      Riley realized that she herself felt remarkably calm, not scared at all. She also knew that she was probably the only student on the whole floor who wasn’t already in a state of panic.

      It was up to her to make sure things didn’t get even worse.

      Riley gently took Gina by the arm and led her out of the doorway. Heather was still there on the floor where she had vomited, still sobbing. And other wandering students were beginning to make their way toward the room.

      Riley pulled the room door closed and stood in front of it.

      “Stay back!” she yelled at the approaching girls. “Stay away!”

      Riley was surprised at the force and authority in her own voice.

      The girls obeyed, forming a crowded semicircle around the dorm room.

      Riley yelled again, “Somebody call nine-one-one!”

      “Why?” one of the girls asked.

      Still crouched on the floor with a pool of vomit in front of her, Heather Glover managed to croak out …

      “It’s Rhea. She’s been murdered.”

      Suddenly a wild mix of girls’ voices exploded in the hallway—some screaming, some gasping, some sobbing. A few of the girls pushed toward the room again.

      “Stay back!” Riley said again, still blocking the doorway. “Call nine-one-one!”

      One of the girls who owned a little cell phone was carrying it in her hand. She made the call.

      Riley stood there wondering …

      What do I do now?

      She only knew one thing for certain—she couldn’t let any of the girls into the room with the body. There was enough panic on the floor already. It would only get worse if more people saw what was in that room.

      She also felt sure that no one was supposed to walk around in …

      In what?

      A crime scene, she realized. That room was a crime scene.

      She remembered—she was sure it must be from movies or TV shows—that the police would want the crime scene to be as untouched as possible.

      All she could do was wait—and keep everybody out.

      And so far she was being successful. The semicircle of students began to break up, and girls wandered off into smaller groups, disappearing into rooms or forming little clusters in the hallway to share their horror. There was a lot of crying now, and some low, animal-like wailing. A few more cell phones were appearing, those who owned them calling parents or friends to report their versions of the disaster.

      Riley thought that probably wasn’t a good idea, but she had no way to stop them. At least they were staying away from the door that she guarded.

      And now she was starting to feel her own share of horror.

      Images from her early childhood flooded Riley’s brain …

      Riley and Mommy were in a candy store—and how Mommy was spoiling Riley!

      She was buying her lots and lots of candy.

      They were both laughing and happy until …

      A man stepped toward them. He had a weird face, flat and featureless, like something out of one of Riley’s nightmares. It took Riley a second to realize that he was wearing a nylon stocking over his head—the kind that Mommy wore on her legs.

      And he was holding a gun.

      He started yelling at Mommy …

      “Your purse! Give me your purse!”

      His voice sounded as frightened as Riley felt.

      Riley looked up at Mommy, expecting her to do as the man said.

      But Mommy had turned pale and was shaking all over. She didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

      “Give me your purse!” the man yelled again.

      Mommy just stood there, clutching her purse.

      Riley wanted to tell Mommy …

      “Do as the man says, Mommy. Give him your purse.”

      But for some reason, no words came out of her mouth.

      Mommy staggered a little, as if she wanted to run but couldn’t make her legs move.

      Then there was a flash and a loud, terrible noise …

      … and Mommy fell to the floor, landing on her side.

      Her chest was spurting deep red, and the color soaked her blouse and was spreading out in a puddle on the floor …

      Riley was yanked back to the present by the sound of approaching sirens. The local cops were arriving.

      She felt relief that the authorities were here and could take over … whatever it was that had to be done.

      She saw that boys who lived on the second floor were coming down and asking the girls what was going on. They were also in various stages of dress—shirts and jeans, pajamas and robes.

      Harry Rampling, the football player who had approached Riley back at the bar, made his way toward where she was standing against the closed door. He pushed past the girls still hovering there and stared at her for a moment.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

      Riley said nothing. She saw no point in trying to explain—not with the police about to appear at any second.

      Harry smirked a little and took a menacing step toward Riley. He’d obviously been told about the dead girl inside.

      “Get out of the way,” he said. “I want to see.”

      Riley stood even more firmly than before.

      “You can’t go in there,” she said.

      Harry said, “Why not, little girl?”

      Riley stared daggers at him, but she was wondering …

      What the hell do I think I’m doing?

      Did she really think she could keep a male athlete from going in there if he decided to?

      Oddly enough, she had the feeling that she probably could.

      She’d certainly put up a fight, if it came to that.

      Fortunately, she heard the clatter of footsteps entering the hall, then a man’s voice calling out …

      “Break it up. Let us through.”

      The clump of students broke up.”

      Someone said, “Over there,” and three uniformed cops made their way toward Riley.

      She recognized all of them. They were familiar faces around Lanton. Two of them were men, Officers Steele and White. The other was a woman, Officer Frisbie. A couple of campus cops were also tagging along.

      Steele was overweight, and his reddish face made Riley suspect that he drank too much. White was a tall guy who walked with a constant slouch and whose mouth always seemed to be hanging open. Riley didn’t think he seemed especially bright. Officer Frisbie was a tall, sturdy woman who had always struck Riley as friendly and good-natured.

      “We got a call,” Officer Steele said. He huffed at Riley. “What the hell’s going on here?”

      Riley stepped away from the door and pointed to it.

      “It’s Rhea Thorson,” Riley said. “She’s—”

      Riley found that she couldn’t finish the sentence. She was still trying to get it through her head that Rhea was dead.

      She

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