It's not that I mind them looking at me. Trying to beat the hell out of a drug dealer and suspected child sex ring monster while in a moving vehicle wasn't the first time I've drifted over to the side of going rogue. Frankly, it probably won't be my last. I'm used to the looks and the whispers. It's just that now is not the time to play catchup. I need to get to Eric and bantering with colleagues I barely know who will pry into my life under the guise of checking in on me is a speed bump I'm not interested in dealing with.
Walking through the building is a homecoming of sorts. These last two months in Sherwood have been the longest I've been away from the headquarters since I became an agent. It feels good to be back, even if it's in circumstances I could never have imagined.
Eric gets up from his chair and gathers me in a hug as soon as he sees me.
"I can't believe you got here so fast," he says.
"Of course I did." I nod at the two other agents sitting at the table in front of a bank of television screens. "Hey, guys."
"Good to see you back," Smith says.
"It hasn't been the same around here without you pushing Creagan toward early retirement," Maloney laughs.
"Don't get too attached to her," Eric warns. "Remember, she's only here as a consultant. According to Creagan, she is still on leave and will be sent right back to bucolic Sherwood when she's done here."
"Just be sure to ship me overnight express," I tell him sarcastically. "You don't want me in that crate for too long."
"Oh, don't worry. The weather's getting cooler. You'll be just fine," he responds.
I make a face at him, but the humor doesn't last long. The reality of why I'm here settles back in.
"Tell me about the rest of the footage," I say.
"We're sifting through all of the different cameras to see how many instances of Greg showing up we can isolate. The clip I sent you is from when he first walked into the bus station. Here's the rest of it."
Eric pulls up the same footage as he sent me, and I watch it through again. Only this time, it continues on past the thirty-five seconds he sent.
"Whatever he's doing, he seems determined to do it," I note.
"We noticed that, too. He's not just wandering around. He doesn't look confused or anxious. He goes into the station, walks right through, and heads toward the back. This is about forty minutes before the bomb went off. Now, look at this. It's from another camera. Watch right in this upper corner."
The footage starts again, and I notice it's a camera pointed at the bank of lockers toward the back of the station. I focus on the area Eric pointed out to me, and several seconds into the feed notice Greg appear from around a corner at the top of the screen. Now he's holding a large dark green duffel bag.
"That bag," I frown, pointing to it. "He didn't have that when he came in."
"I know. So, the question is, what's in it and where did he get it?" Eric asks.
"What's around that corner? Where did he come from?" I ask.
"Nothing. There's some bathrooms, a storage area only the maintenance people have access to, and an emergency exit."
I watch Greg move through the crowd and stop in front of the lockers. He crouches down and is temporarily out of sight as people stand in front of him. A few seconds later, he stands back up and folds the now-empty duffel bag.
"He put something in the locker," I say. "But we don't know which one."
"Right. Now watch what he does."
Without looking around him or even seeming to notice there are other people near him, he walks back around the corner and down the hallway.
"When was this?"
"About half an hour before the explosion," Eric says.
"So, wherever he was, he was back there for around ten minutes."
"Right. And he does it again. This time, it's fifteen."
"What could he be doing back there?" I ask.
Eric shrugs. "Now, this is from another camera. It's not much, so you have to watch closely."
Greg's form appears again, standing at the back of the station and staring out over the people there. He seems to be waiting for something. A few moments later, he walks out of the frame.
"Where did he go?" I ask.
"That's the thing. We're not sure. The next footage we have is about fifteen minutes later."
"At the time of the explosion," I say quietly.
Eric pulls up the footage. It seems to be the same camera from the first clip of him or one close to it. He's walking back toward the front of the station, staying close to the side nearest the buses. He's almost at the door when the camera catches the sound of the explosion, the flash of red light, then shuts off.
"That's it?" I ask, pointing at the screen and looking at Eric in shock. "There's nothing else?"
"No. A couple of the cameras survived the blast enough to keep recording, but it's just chaos. He doesn't show up in any of them."
"How about the cameras in front of the bus station or in the parking lot?" I ask. "Did any of them get him coming out?"
"The only cameras focused on the front door are the ones inside. The cameras outside cover some of the parking lot. Not the whole thing but a good portion of it. He doesn't show up in any of them," Eric tells me.
I sag in my seat, trying to let it all roll through my mind and sink in. After a few seconds, I look back over at Eric.
"Did Greg do this?" I ask.
"We don't know, Emma."
"Do you think he did?"
"We don't know what happened. That's what we're trying to figure out," he tells me.
It's not really an answer to my question, but it's all I'm going to get. I sit back up.
"Show it all to me again."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Four years ago
She couldn't eat the apples anymore. Not since she saw the man tied to the tree. She wasn't supposed to see him. Looking out the window meant she was distracted, that she wasn't putting all of herself into what she was meant to be doing. That night it was stitching her blanket. Each woman created one, a unique piece designed by her and stitched by hand. She'd been working on hers for almost a month, and it was nearly done. Her stitches were tiny and even, the pattern flowing and smooth to remind her of air. But the long hours spent hunched over in the glow of the oil lamps, the only light they were allowed, made her back ache and her mind fog.
She didn't want it to. She fought for her mind to stay clear and maintain the absolute focus she was meant to. Thinking of anything else was weakness, a flaw that could make her deemed unworthy. That couldn't happen. Not now. But that night she couldn't help but take a moment to herself. She pulled her thoughts and concentration away from the blanket forming under her hands and glanced through the window to her side. She was surprised at how late it was. The hours went by without anyone coming to stop her, to offer food, to speak a single word to her. The only passage of time was the darkness of the room deepening and her eyes becoming more dependent on the light of the lamp. She was accustomed to that now. Light barely touched her anymore.
She was to become the light. She didn't need it given to her. Even the lamp was a luxury granted with the reminder it could be taken away just as easily. She was to create the light within herself. It was her role, her place. She was called to be the light for others, for Lucas.
Outside, the only light came from the moon. Even the stars were hidden behind clouds stretched like dyed wool across the sky. She almost didn't notice him. She almost turned back to the breath of air across the blue fabric draped on her lap. If he hadn't lifted his head, she would have. It was only a slight movement. His chin rose up from where it rested on his chest just enough that his eyes would be able to see above the ground. An instant later, it fell back. His body sagged against the ropes lashed around him. In seconds it was obvious the tension of the rough cords was the only thing holding him up.