In the third photo, she was wearing a different outfit. It must have been taken after work since she was dressed in athletic clothes, with Riley on his leash next to her. I recognized the houses around her as part of my neighborhood. Her back was to the camera yet again.
The fourth and final photo was the worst. A familiar hand was holding a knife in the forefront of the photo, in the background, oblivious to someone lurking on the other side of my fence, wasmy sister sitting on my back patio, Riley lying at her feet. The threat was obvious.
I could feel my dinner threatening a return, along with the panic that was starting to set in. The hand in the last photograph was Craig’s, I was completely certain. He had a scar that ran along the base of his thumb that he got when he was working on his truck. I remembered because I had been there when it had happened. The idiot had refused to go to urgent care to get stitches and had been lucky the wound hadn’t gotten infected due to the lack of treatment.
Kendi was hovering over my shoulder, her presence helping calm my nerves a little but not completely. She gently took the photographs from my shaking hands, flipping through them while I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes.
“Rae, isn't this your sister?” She asked, sliding them back into the envelope with care.
“Yeah, that’s her at my house, with Riley.” She slipped her hand over mine, reducing the amount of shaking racking through my body.
“Should we call the police?” She whispered, not wanting the others in the group to hear, for which I was thankful. It was bad enough seeing what he had sent without an audience being present.
“The police didn’t believe me when I tried to tell them I didn’t try to kill myself, I doubt they’ll believe me now,” I argued, not trusting that suggestion after the events from the past week.
“We need to tell someone, though, that last photo is an obvious threat.”
Only one name came to my mind, the only person in the world who would believe me other than my sister. I needed to call her as well, but I wanted to make sure there was someone she could go to before I made her panic. With it being past eight in the evening, I doubted he was still on the hospital campus.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, handing Kendi the envelope and leaving the lounge quietly.
After my second individual session with Daxton, he had given me his card that had his private office’s information on it, including his personal cell phone number. He had told me he would rather be called at any time of the night if one of his clients needed him than read their obituary in the paper, because they felt like they had no one to turn to in their time of need.
It didn’t take me long to find it since it was right where I left it, tucked into the back of one of the books Michelle had brought me. I never thought I’d use it, but he insisted that he wanted to be there for me throughout this entire process. I was ready to put his claim to the test.
Before going back into the lounge, I stopped at one of the phones in the hallway that we were free to use at any time beforelights out. My fingers shook as I tried to hold the card steady enough to read the numbers as I dialed. If anything happened to my sister, I didn’t know what I would do. There was no time stamp on the photos that I saw, so I couldn’t even be sure when those photos were taken.
It took me two times to be able to dial the correct number given how badly my fingers trembled. Once I got the number right, he answered after the third ring.
“Bradshaw,” he said curtly in what I had to guess was his typical way of greeting.
“Daxton,” I whispered, trying to keep the fear from my voice. Twisting my hands in the sleeves of my sweater, I tried to focus on the facts and not let my imagination run away with what could be happening to my sister.
“Rae, what happened?” His voice changed from dull and professional to worried.
I swallowed around the thick lump forming in my throat, refusing to let my anxiety win as I explained the situation to the best of my ability, trying to trust that he wouldn’t blow up at me for showing my weaker emotions like I had been conditioned to expect in the past.
“I received mail tonight, they’re photos of Michelle at my house. I didn’t know who to call.” I felt pathetic. Most normal people wouldn’t have an issue calling the cops over something that wasso obviously a threat. Although most people didn’t have the cops thinking they were insane either.
“What do you mean by photos of Michelle at your house? Recent photos?” I heard a faint beep that sounded like the unlocking of a car before the faint hum of a starting engine sounded in the background.
“They would have to be recent, she’s been staying there with my dog.”
“Have you tried to call her?”
“Not yet, since I can’t exactly go and check on her.”
“Don’t worry about that right now, I’m on my way over to your house. What’s her phone number?”
I rattled off her number without thinking to ask how he knew where I lived. Daxton briefly put me on hold while he tried to call her. A few seconds later, he let me know she hadn’t answered.
“I’m a few minutes away, just stay on the phone with me, okay? Everything will be alright.” His voice was firm, commanding in a way that I wanted to believe every word he said.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I started, but he cut me off.
“Don’t. Don’t you ever be sorry for calling me. I should always be the first one you call.”
Choking down a sob, he didn’t leave me room to argue, and funny enough, I didn’t want to. No one had ever put in the effort to make me feel secure in reaching out before.
