Deep Trauma

Thirty minutes later, Riley was sitting on the couch in her living room, trying not to spill the cup of hot tea she held between trembling hands.

“As my partner said, Dr. Brighton, we just happened to be in the area. This is our usual beat—”

“It’s Riley, Officer Garcia. Just plain Riley, please,” she interrupted, doing her best to keep the sharpness out of her voice this time. “I’m telling you, there was a man sitting in a parked truck across the street, just two doors down, watching my house. I don’t care if there’s no one there now. He was there, and I feel certain it was the man I described to you and Detective Roberts. The same man I saw at the accident scene yesterday.”

“Very well, ma’am . . . Riley,” Garcia said. “There is no one there now. That’s the good news.” He paused, offering her the flashlight Officer Hahn had retrieved for her from the pepper tree half a block away. “As I was saying, we were just on our routine beat when dispatch received an anonymous call that there was a disturbance at this address. And, of course, since we had been here only last night, we recognized the house number immediately.”

Riley sat there silently, not really hearing his words. Who could have called the LAPD? And why? What for? What had the disturbance been? The officers had already checked the house thoroughly. Nothing was out of place; there were no signs of a break-in. And  Artemis seemed unfazed. That alone was proof that nothing untoward had occurred in the house in Riley’s absence. None of it made sense.

“Detective Roberts informed us that she’d asked you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious—” Garcia started, but Riley cut him off mid-sentence.

“You mean like a giant psychopath stalking me?”

“Of course,” he continued, casting his partner a look Riley couldn’t quite interpret. “We’ll keep watch on your place tonight, don’t worry. The word is already out for the midnight shift to maintain a presence in the neighborhood. Unless you would feel more comfortable staying with a friend tonight,” he added. “Any family in the area?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Riley sipped her tea, settling herself. “I have Indy with me, and besides, I wouldn’t want to alarm anyone,” she said, processing how she might explain the current situation to her mother. “I’ll call if there are any problems.” She glanced at her watch, realizing how late it was already.

After the police left, Riley sat on her bed, surfing the internet for news on the freeway incident again, Indy at her side and Artemis curled up on one of her pillows. There was nothing posted that she hadn’t already seen. No new insights to be gained.

She typed a second search into her browser—blindfolded woman, fatality, 101 Freeway, September 2023—hoping to find news on the other case that purportedly had similarities to the incident she had been involved in. In a few minutes, she hit pay dirt with a banner dated September 6, 2023.

Transgender Woman Brutally Murdered on 101 Freeway

Post–Labor Day traffic was severely affected Tuesday after a pedestrian was struck and killed on the 101 in the predawn hours just north of Van Nuys Boulevard. The victim, identified as Lexi Drake of Santa Monica, is described as a twenty-four-year-old transgender woman, reported missing by her work colleagues a day earlier. Witnesses allege two men fled the scene in a pickup truck after the blindfolded victim was pushed into traffic lanes. Detectives from the West Valley division of the LAPD are investigating the incident as a potential hate crime. Anyone with information regarding this case is urged to contact the LAPD.

The story ended there. A growing sense of unease shadowed Riley as she sat in the soft orange glow of her bedside lamp listening to Indio’s snoring. She couldn’t determine if she was more upset about the horrific details of the incident or the cold, indifferent reporting that seemed to give equal weight to a brutal murder and the morning traffic report. She read the news clip again, this time trying to dispel the sense of injustice she’d felt bubbling up in her chest over the victim’s outing. Perhaps that had been necessary to peg the incident for what it appeared to be. A hate crime.

Riley scrolled through the online posts of news stories from that week in September until all she could find was duplicate information. It was time to shift gears. She then checked the usual social media platforms using the same search terms. She followed each post down the ensuing rabbit holes until she had thoroughly exhausted all avenues without learning anything of substance. She’d have to get to sleep soon. The morning required the customary predawn start to her workday, and her commute always took a little longer when she wasn’t on her motorcycle.

Just as she was about to give up, she came across the website of a citizen sleuth group with a rainbow trademark calling themselves the Avenging Allies. The post was made by the group’s leader, identified simply as Themis. The organization specialized in solving hate crimes against the LGBTQ community and was pursuing information from the public on the Lexi Drake murder.

Riley clicked on the Contact Us link and put in her personal email address and a brief message asking to be contacted about a “possibly related matter.”

Then she pulled the covers up, turned off her bedside lamp, and curled up next to Artemis with her hand wrapped tightly around the only weapon she had in the house: her weighty new flashlight.