Riley was a woman in her early forties, but her long, wavy, chestnut hair, face without a single wrinkle, and big innocent blue eyes made her look like she’s twenty-something. She looked like a university student in her black windbreaker.
“Hello”, I said, “Are you OK?”
She didn’t answer. I noticed she was holding something behind her back. I tried to see what it was but she anticipated that and in another moment I faced a gun with a silencer. She pointed it at me. I was shocked at first, but I wasn’t afraid. Rather, I was confused.
“What’s this?”, I asked her.
She was quiet. I saw she was terrified. Suddenly, a voice in my head ordered me to try to calm her and find out what’s going on. I was so calm and this calm confused me. That was the first time after the accident I asked myself if I was an agent or policeman. I decided to think about that later. The most important things at that moment were to save her from doing something reckless and to save my life.
“Riley”, I said and noticed a large tear going down her cheek.
“Put down the gun and we will talk.” I tried to calm her.
She didn’t listen. When she was about to pull the trigger, she collapsed. I tried to help her and stop the bleeding.
“Amanda”, she barely spoke. Then she died.
I tried to call somebody, and then I saw a woman coming from another alley. She approached very calmly. Everything about her, the perfect bun hairstyle, grey eyes without expression, camel trench coat and black high heels, revealed that I faced a very smart and organized person.
“Come with me, Mr. Holden.” She spoke with a strong foreign accent as I wondered if she had done that to poor Riley.