Free Dark Prophecy by Anthony E. Zuiker

had assumed a mentor role with her.
    Well, okay. Constance had kind of pushed Dark into that role.
    With Jeb, though, it had become welcome. It meant, in some strange way, that she’d graduated. She’d lasted longer than almost anybody at Special Circs—the burnout rate was unreal—and now she was second only to Riggins. And now Jeb was gone.
    It didn’t make any sense. Just like it didn’t make sense when Steve’s family had been attacked at random.
    Constance wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. It was too late to save Jeb. But it wasn’t too late to stop the monster. Her foot stomped down on the accelerator.

chapter 16
    Falls Church, Virginia
     
     
    Auniformed officer escorted Riggins and Constance to the scene, which had been quickly obscured from the street with yellow tape and tarps. On his cell phone on the way there, Riggins had laid down the law: total media blackout. Nobody sees shit. And no cops say shit , Riggins warned, or I’ll have them fucking killed .
    Targeting a Special Circs team member meant the killer wanted attention. Well, fuck you, Riggins thought. You’re not going to see shit about this in the papers.
    Paulson’s body was past the apartment complex’s front lawn resting on concrete. Riggins and Constance looked down at their fallen colleague. His limbs were twisted in unnatural angles. In his right hand was a white rose. There was also, strangely, a feather tucked in his brown hair. “Fuck,” Riggins muttered. He had sent the boy down to Chapel Hill to that murder scene. God help me if the killer saw him and followed him back here, he thought.
    “Do you think it’s him?” Constance said, seeming to read his mind.
    “Who?”
    “Whoever killed Green. The body was staged, just like Chapel Hill. Jeb was there on Saturday.”
    Riggins looked at Paulson’s broken body. “I don’t know.”
    But deep down he did. There was really no other explanation for it. Riggins had sent yet another young man racing off to his doom. What if he’d listened to Wycoff and traveled down to Chapel Hill? Would that be him on the ground, bones shattered and lifeless eyes staring at absolutely nothing? That would have been so much better. Riggins had nothing keeping him in this world. Jeb Paulson, on the other hand, had everything. Unlimited potential, snuffed out in a matter of seconds.
    There was commotion a few flights up—panicked cries for a medic. Riggins and Constance looked at each other, then rushed into the building.
     
     
    One of the Falls Church cops was down in the middle of the hallway—moaning, half-conscious. His body trembled slightly. It was strange to see such a stocky guy down on the ground, curled up like a baby. A medic rushed to his side, lifted his head slightly to place a towel beneath, turned him on his side and lifted his chin slightly so his airway would be clear. Two other medics quickly joined him and grabbed his arms and legs to keep him stable enough to be moved to an ambulance.
    “Where was he?” barked Riggins. “What happened?”
    The nearest cop told him: “Right here next to me. We were coming out of the apartment and bam , he just went down.”
    “Something airborne?” Constance asked. “Something he touched?”
    “No idea,” Riggins said. “Nobody move. Don’t touch a damn thing.”
    It occurred to Riggins that maybe this killer wasn’t just targeting Paulson. Maybe the idea was to take out a young member of Special Circs—knowing that senior members would rush to the scene, eager to avenge their own. And then, you spring the trap . . .
    “You,” Riggins said, pointing at the cop who’d watched his partner fall. “Tell me exactly what happened.
    The cop retraced his every step out loud, from arriving at the scene to checking the Paulson apartment, room by room, closet by closet, to stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.
    “. . . and then Jon pushed the door open a little, and the next thing I know, he’s down.”
    “The door,”