Free Double Vision by Colby Marshall Page A

blocks . . .” She held up the cube to show Jenna the colors were sufficiently scrambled, then began to work the tiers of the toy, turning them row by row into place. “I can do it, see?”
    She held the cube back up, two neat rows of green already aligned so quickly that Jenna could tell the six-year-old would have all the colors back into place within minutes. “That’s awesome, Molly.”
    â€œThanks. I thought it was pretty cool.”
    Liam put his hands on Molly’s shoulders in front of him. “Anything else we can help you with today, Dr. Ramey?”
    The Last Supper
painting drifted through her mind, the talk about numbers and gods and divinity still fresh. There was something to be tapped there. She just didn’t know what yet.
    â€œNo, thank you,” Jenna replied. “That’s all for now.”

9
    T he man who called himself Justice had followed the brunette with the swishy ponytail ever since the basketball game last night. Now he walked about ten feet behind her, toward the Student Life Center at Woodsbridge Community College. Her gray sweatshirt bearing a blue cougar seemed heavy for the springtime air, the girl’s waif-like frame lost in its billows. She went to the high school, the one with the blue cougar. It was where he’d seen her play basketball. Maybe she was taking an advanced course here. That would mean she was smart. Maybe he was following her for no reason.
    But the threes.
    Itching. Always the itching.
    She trotted up the short flight of stairs to the pavilion in front of the Student Life Center, cut down its middle toward the set of four stairs on the other side that led inside. He wouldn’t be able to follow her much farther without an ID. He’d have to sit here, wait until she came out.
    He reached the end of the pavilion as she scanned her access card against the rubber mat beside the door. In she went, away from his sight.
    His feet slowed of their own accord, and for a moment, he stared at the closed glass door where she’d stood only moments before, her long, swishy ponytail whipping behind her as she stepped inside. Then, suddenly, his neck burned. He glanced around, sure people had noticed him, were watching him.
    Other students walked in twos and threes around the pavilion and the grassy knoll nearby, laughing, chatting. Some hurried with armfuls of books, eyes only on destinations. On the grounds to the left, a girl and a boy lay together on an orange-striped beach towel, the boy on his stomach reading a campus newspaper, the girl on her back, eyes closed and using his back as a pillow.
    No one had noticed him. They wouldn’t. It was
them
he had to worry about. Not these people.
    He glanced around, saw an empty spot at one of the umbrella tables to the right of the pavilion. Settling down in the chair and angling it for a good view of the Student Life Center’s glass door, he couldn’t help but wish he’d thought to bring a book, a newspaper, a crossword puzzle. Anything to look a little more like he belonged here.
    But she’s done nothing wrong.
    The man who called himself Justice exhaled the deep breath he’d been holding. It probably wouldn’t matter if anyone saw him here or not, because so far, he’d followed the numbers and cleared them. They did not ring true. A little longer to watch, of course. To be sure. But at the moment, it looked like he would get to go home tonight without worrying.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another man, the only other on the pavilion rooted to a spot. The white-bearded fellow with waxy, wrinkled skin leaned next to the low wall that set the pavilion’s border. He, too, wore clothing uncharacteristically warm for the season in the form of an old, tattered green army jacket. His hands were neatly folded over his stomach, a lidless shoe box at his side.
    The man who called himself Justice pulled the ball cap’s visor lower over his