“I figured that out, yes.” As casually as I can, I move to the right to swing around her, knowing if I stand near that house for too long, I’ll lose my shit.
“Didn’t the boarded up windows and spray paint kind of give that away?” she asks, sidestepping and blocking my path.
Red flags pop up everywhere.
My eyelashes flutter against the rainstorm as I skim her over. She’s medium height, a little on the thin side, and is wearing black rain boots. Her hood is pulled so low I can hardly see her face, but her voice sounds gruff, like a heavy smoker.
Do I know that voice? Or am I just being paranoid?
Her hair isn’t red like blood, red like the woman who always wanted to touch me. That’s the only sense of comfort I have at the moment, but hair dye can easily fix that.
I duck my head to get a better look at her, but she steps back, stuffing her hands into her pockets.
“You better be careful. This place isn’t safe.” She spins on her heels and runs down the sidewalk away from me.
“Hey!” I call out, hurrying after her.
I don’t know why, but I have this crazy feeling that she might know something.
She picks up her speed as she nears the end of the block. I bring my pace from a jog to a sprint as she makes a left and disappears behind a fence. By the time I reach the corner, she’s gone.
“Shit!” I curse, kicking a street sign.
“Ayden.”
I freeze then turn around, shielding my eyes as I squint through the rain at Lila standing a few feet away from me, wearing her coat and carrying an umbrella.
“I . . . Why are you . . . ?” I look around the street and spot a maroon SUV parked at the entrance of the neighborhood, the same car I thought was following me. “What’s going on?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question?” She shakes her head with dismay. “Get in the car. We need to talk.”
I look back in the direction the woman vanished. “There was someone here, talking to me. She seemed like she was warning me about something.”
Lila leans forward and peers down the street while positioning the umbrella over both of our heads.
“They’re not there anymore,” I explain. “But it was a woman, and—I don’t know—I have a bad feeling about her.”
She frowns as she looks back at me. “This entire place is one bad feeling. Now get in the car so you can explain to me what the hell you were thinking coming here.”
The walk back to the car is painfully slow and quiet. By the time we climb inside, the SUV is pulling away, and the rain has slowed down.
“Who is that?” I ask, pointing at the vehicle.
“That was an undercover detective,” she says, slamming the car door.
“What?” Suddenly, their little not-being-alone speech makes much more sense. “Why is he following me?”
“Well, for starters, we want to make sure you’re safe. And secondly, because Dr. Gardingdale informed us that you’ve been late to the last eight sessions.”
“You could have just asked me what I was doing.”
She elevates her brows at me accusingly. “Every time we ask you about anything, you tell us you’re fine. Plus, you tracked down this place”—she nods her head at the house—“all by yourself. You searched for your sister’s address for months, and Lyric was the only one you ever told. So, how could I possibly know you’d tell us the truth if I asked?”
Okay, she has a point.
“We needed to find out where you were going since you won’t ever tell us anything.” She tosses the umbrella into the backseat, and then her eyes narrow at me. “I hate being this kind of mom—the one who gets angry at the children—but seriously, what the hell were you thinking, coming here by yourself?”
“The police investigated this place after Sadie was taken,” I remind her as I rev up the engine and flip on the wipers. “They didn’t find anything suspicious other than the paint on the outside and inside.”
“Other than the paint.” She gapes at me. “Ayden, that paint all over the house matches that mark on your side, the one put on you against your will. That’s not a little thing.”
“I know.” I lose my voice as guilt creeps up inside me for upsetting her. “But I just wanted to see for myself.”
Her expression slightly softens. “I understand that you want to know what’s going on—we all do—but you can’t go around looking for stuff on your own. Not after what’s been going on and that note . . .” She trails off, shaking her head.
I flop my head back against the headrest. “I get that I fucked up, but I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. Every day, I wake up, worried something’s going to happen to me. Or worse, the police will knock on our door again, only this time, they’ll be there to tell me my sister’s been found dead.”
She’s quiet for a while, probably trying to figure out what the hell to say to my out of the blue confession.
“I get that it’s hard.” She gently places a hand on my arm, and for once, I don’t flinch. “But wandering off by yourself isn’t going to help. You need to let the police do their job and focus on yourself and getting better. Talking like this—telling me how you feel—that’s a start. I’ve never heard you be so open.”
“I think I’m just getting tired of keeping everything locked in all the time.” I shut my eyes. “It’s hard just to focus on myself when it feels like anyone could be them. Like that woman I just saw.”
“What did she say to you exactly?” she asks, cranking up the heat. I recap the last five minutes to her, and she frowns when I’m finished.
“Honestly, I’m not that worried. This area is very sketchy, and it could have easily been a nervous drug dealer or something. But I’ll go let the detective know about her, and maybe they can track her down.”
I draw the seatbelt strap over my shoulder. “How long have I been followed?”
“Only since the note.”
“How long am I going to be followed?”
“Until we know you’re safe.” She nods as she sticks her hand into her coat pocket and retrieves her phone. “Besides, they’re hoping the next time they try to do something, they’ll catch them in the act.”