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The storm had arrived, and there was no turning back now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A heavy rain began to fall on the streets of Portland, making Fiona's bone chill, even though it was summer. She and Jake approached Owen Peterson, who appeared completely unaware of their presence looming behind him. They had to make themselves known, somehow, without scaring him. The last thing she wanted was a chase through this budding storm.
She glanced at Jake, who nodded at her. Fiona took his silent signal as permission to move forward with her own plan of action.
"Owen Peterson?" Fiona gently called out, her voice quiet against the storm but loud enough for Owen to hear. The man's head snapped up, his eyes wide with fear. He looked like a wounded animal caught in headlights, desperate for an escape route.
"Easy there," Jake said, his tone gentle as he stepped closer, holding out his FBI badge for Owen to see. "We're not here to hurt you. We just need to talk."
At the sight of the badge, Owen's demeanor shifted from panic to something more primal—pure, unadulterated terror. His breathing became shallow and erratic as he backed away from them, each step a battle between flight and collapse.
"Stay back!" he screamed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "You can't take me back! I didn't do anything!"
"Owen, listen to us. We just want to ask you some questions," Fiona implored, her heart aching for the tortured man before her. She had seen enough perps by now to know some people could fake even the most complex of emotions, but watching Owen's mental health unravel in real-time made her feel guilty for pursuing him. Something deep inside her doubted that this broken man could ever commit murder.
Then again, maybe this was all an elaborate ruse, and she was just buying into it.
"Please, just leave me alone!" Owen cried, tears streaming down his face as his body trembled uncontrollably.
Fiona glanced at Jake, whose expression matched her own unease. As much as they wanted answers, it was painfully clear that Owen wasn't in any state to provide them. His fragile mental state teetered on the edge of a full-blown breakdown, and the last thing they wanted was to push him over. While Fiona knew some people were capable of faking many things, something in Owen's eyes was honest. Vulnerable. And most of all, scared.
Still, they needed to speak to him.
"Owen," Fiona said softly, her voice barely audible above the storm. "We're not here to take you back to jail. We just want to know if you've seen or heard anything that could help us with our investigation."
"Nothing!" The word came out as a choked sob, and Owen's eyes darted between them, his body swaying slightly as if he might lose balance at any moment.
"Okay, okay," Jake said, taking a step back. "Let's all just calm down for a minute."
Fiona couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Owen. She knew he had been through hell in prison and that his mental health had suffered as a result. Watching him fall apart before her very eyes, she found herself questioning their approach. Was this really the way to find the truth?
"Owen," she tried again, her voice soft and steady. "We're here to help. Can you let us do that?"
But her words seemed to have no effect. Owen's gaze remained distant, and his breathing grew more and more labored. It was as if the mere mention of their investigation had caused him to retreat even further within himself, leaving Fiona and Jake standing helplessly in the pouring rain. They had to decide. Fiona turned to Jake because she didn't know what to do. He was the agent--he had to make the call.
Jake took one last look at Owen and then met Fiona's gaze. He sighed as if he had reached an internal conclusion.
"Let's get him out of here," Jake said firmly. "We can talk to him somewhere else." Jake held out his hand towards Owen, who looked up at him warily.
"Come on," Jake said softly, his voice coaxing yet gentle. "It'll be alright."
"No!" Owen shouted, staggering back, just as a crack of thunder boomed over their heads.
Fiona and Jake exchanged a look of concern. They couldn't force him to do anything, and the storm was only going to make things worse. They needed to find another way to get through to him.
"Owen," Fiona called out, her voice just above a whisper. "We're not here to hurt you. We just want to help. Can you tell us what's going on?"
Owen's eyes flicked back and forth between Fiona and Jake, his body tense with fear. His hands shook uncontrollably, and Fiona could see the whites of his knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
"I...I can't," he stammered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. "You don't understand. They're...they're watching me."
"Who's watching you?" Jake asked, his tone gentle. "Who do you think is after you?"
"I can't say," Owen replied, his voice trembling. "I can't...they'll know. They'll find me."
Fiona's heart sank. It was obvious that Owen was suffering from severe paranoia, and there was no way they were going to be able to get any useful information out of him in this state. They had to get him somewhere safe, where they could talk to him properly. As much as she felt for the man, she also knew that it was entirely possible the murders were a side-effect of his condition.
