Halfway across, something caught her eye—a white rectangle affixed to the base of a streetlamp.As she drew closer, she saw that it was an envelope, standard letter size, attached with clear tape.Even from several feet away, she could see the neat, precise handwriting on its face:
Agent Riley Paige
Not Jilly.Her own name.
Riley glanced around once more, confirming she was alone on the bridge, before approaching the envelope.She studied it without touching it, looking for any signs of tampering, any indication it might contain more than paper.Satisfied it posed no immediate physical threat, she holstered her weapon and pulled on a pair of gloves, then peeled away the tape using the edge of her car key and caught the envelope as it came free.
The paper was good quality, heavy stock.No return address, no postmark, nothing but her name written in blue ink with a steady hand.Riley opened it, extracting a single folded sheet that matched the envelope’s quality.She unfolded it beneath the streetlamp’s glow and saw a handwritten message.
Dear Riley,
By now, you’ve pieced everything together, haven’t you?Let me confirm your suspicions:
Yes, I texted your daughter this afternoon.Jilly is impressively perceptive—she recognized me almost immediately, though she tried to hide it.Such a bright girl.She reminds me of you in that way.
Yes, I knew she would tell you about our conversation and the proposed meeting at this bridge.I counted on it, in fact.Jilly is too smart to walk into what might be a trap without consulting you first—a trait you’ve cultivated in her, no doubt.
And yes, I knew you would forbid her from coming herself.You’re protective of those you love.It’s one of your most admirable qualities, and also one of your most predictable.
So here you are, alone on Echo Bridge at 9:00 p.m., while I am elsewhere.Did you bring your gun?I’d wager you did.Did you call for backup?Probably not—there wasn’t much time, and you weren’t certain what you’d find here.Or may you just think you have nothing to fear from me.I won’t comment on that.
I want you to understand, Riley, that I know you.I understand how you think, how you act, how you prioritize.This little exercise was merely to demonstrate that fact.
Until next time,
Leo
Riley’s hand tightened around the paper, crumpling its edge.She scanned the bridge and surrounding area once more, this time with the knowledge that she was alone—that she had been meant and expected to be alone all along.This wasn’t an attempted meeting.It was a demonstration of power, of knowledge, of control.
Leo was playing with her, showing off his ability to predict her actions and manipulate her family.And he’d succeeded.Every step she’d taken since walking through her front door had been anticipated and accounted for.
She folded the letter and slipped it into an evidence bag from her pocket.Forensics would process it, but Riley harbored no illusions about finding useful fingerprints or DNA.Leo was too careful for such elementary mistakes.
The bridge suddenly felt exposed in a different way—not as a potential ambush site, but as a stage where she had unwittingly performed exactly the role Leo had scripted for her.The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She walked back to her car, refusing to give in to the urge to hurry, to flee.If Leo was watching, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.
Once inside her vehicle, however, Riley allowed herself a moment of raw honesty.Two killers now occupied her thoughts.The origami murderer, methodical and elusive, targeting patients with impulse control issues for reasons she had yet to uncover.And Leo Dillard, brilliant and obsessed, focused not on random victims but on Riley herself—and by extension, her family.
The origami killer was a professional challenge, a case to be solved.
Leo was a personal threat, a predator circling what he perceived as his prey.
As Riley started her car and pulled away from Echo Bridge, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being watched—not just by cameras or from a distance, but by eyes that saw through her, understood her, anticipated her.And she knew that somewhere in the darkness beyond the bridge, Leo Dillard was smiling.
*
Leo Dillard sat alone in the half-light of his apartment.She would have found it by now.Riley would have come alone.He knew her well enough to be certain of that.
His modest one-bedroom apartment existed in a perpetual state of order.Nothing out of place, nothing without purpose.The walls were bare except for a single framed print of Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory,” hanging precisely centered over the sofa.The melting clocks had always spoken to him—time as something malleable, something that could be manipulated, just like people.
Leo rose, his movements fluid as he crossed to the kitchen.The refrigerator hummed—the only sound breaking the silence.Inside: protein shakes, precisely arranged produce, nothing expired, nothing excessive.He wasn’t hungry, but routine demanded adherence.He poured himself a glass of filtered water, the clear liquid catching the dim light from the single lamp he’d left on.
An hour had passed since Echo Bridge.By now, Riley would be home, the contents of his message turning over in her mind.He smiled at the thought.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered to the empty room.
The night had gone exactly as planned.He’d chosen Echo Bridge carefully—a location significant enough to register in her consciousness but not so well-used that others might intercept his message.The bridge connected two halves of Lanton Park, where Riley occasionally jogged when work allowed.He’d observed her there five times over the past weeks, always noting her route, her pace, the way she seemed to withdraw into her thoughts as she ran.
