What was she going to say? You’re being stalked by someone other than her? Before she could form the words, the redhead’s eyes widened in alarm. She took Becca by the arm and pulled her inside, slamming the door and locking it.
“You’re Becca Thatcher.”
“How do you know me?” Becca asked as she reached behind her back for the gun.
“I’m Sylvia Cross, Michael Thompson’s therapist.”
Her words made Becca pause. She moved her hand away from the gun. “He told you about me?”
She nodded, moved to the window, and peered outside before pulling the curtains all the way closed. “He was obsessed with you. So all these years, I’ve been watching you to make sure the two ofyou didn’t cross paths. If you were okay, then I knew he was okay.”
Sylvia let out a long breath and gestured toward the kitchen. “Please, let’s have some tea.”
Tea? Becca hadn’t risked her life to drink tea. She’d come to save a life. Sylvia’s life.
Becca followed behind her into the kitchen. “You’re in danger. If Michael has told you about me, then you know about my abilities and someone has been watching you.”
“You must be mistaken.” Sylvia paused, holding the teakettle. “It’s not me in danger, dear. It’s you.”
“I had a premonition; someone was watching your door.”
Sylvia poured two china cups full of tea and handed Becca one. “The door you just came through?”
Becca slipped into the kitchen chair. Her legs were almost ready to give out as her heart fell into her stomach. How could she not have seen that maybe she’d been the one the killer was watching at the door? Becca’s stomach churned. Sylvia must be mistaken. “You said Michael was obsessed with me?”
Sylvia set her cup down. “Obsessed is a light way of say it. Wait here, and I’ll show you.”
She disappeared, returning only moments later with a file in her hand. “I could lose my license for discussing a client, but I don’t see the harm in showing you his artwork. He did give them to me.”
Becca flipped the file open. There were detailed drawings of her as a young girl with her sisters. One of her alone looking into the wishing well in the woods behind her parents’ house. One of her looking up while bent down petting the dog before he died. One of her in her bedroom window looking out into the night sky. All of them were from when she was younger; none were of her as an adult.
Becca flipped to another one to find a picture of the dead dog. Michael standing over it, looking down at the red resembling blood on his hands. Her heart clenched. The next one was of Michael standing in a wooded area behind his house and the house she’d grown up in, looking down at a fresh mound beneath his feet. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. How was it that Michael and she were connected? Michael had to be three years older than Quinn, which would have made him eight years older than Becca. There was no reason why she’d be connected to him. None of this made sense.
Becca flipped to a new picture.
“I know this picture.” One of her at her fifth birthday party, only this one was different. A woman standing at the table was scribbled over with black marker. Who was she? Becca tried to recall who it might have been and came up blank.
“This is a lot of anger,” Becca said, glancing up at the woman. “Did he tell you who this was and why he scribbled her out?”
“Michael drew those years ago when I first started seeing him. When he first came to me, he was filled with anger, but he’d never tell me who it was pointed toward. He was filled with sadness too. He never told me the person’s name or why he was mad. We would have warned that person.”
“But you didn’t see fit to warn me that Michael was drawing pictures of me?”
“There wasn’t any hostility in the pictures. There was nothing to indicate that you were more than just a fascination to him.”
Becca rose from her seat and picked up the picture. “Can I borrow this?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Becca swallowed around the lump in her throat as she headed toward the front door.
“Ms. Thatcher, Michael has stabilized over the years. He quit drawing those pictures several years back when he wasready to get better, and he has showed tremendous improvement on his medication. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have released him back to his family.”
Becca opened the door and turned back to her. “If you weren’t concerned, then why would you pull me into your house and out of sight?”
“Michael was gifted. He’d often go into a trance-like state and wake with premonitions. Most of which came true. He warned me that he had one the night before leaving the facility. He said if you ever came to see me, then we’d both be in danger.”
“He’s had premonitions?”
