Page 4 of Safe
Liam and I used to be close, thick as thieves even. Growing up, I always knew he was the golden child, the favorite brother. He spent years cleaning up my messes to shield me from our dad's abusive punishments. When we got older, Dad blamed me for Liam’s drug dealing, as if he were incapable of making his own choices.
I never understood how Liam could walk away from it all, but I did know two things for certain as I left him in his driveway, a wad of cash in his hand, and drove off: I wasn't getting caught, and I had no intention of winning Danielle back. I was taking her back.
3. ALEX
I glanced at my watch, staring at the digital 7:05 plastered on it. Danielle was never late. Even if she was running behind, she always called. She knew better than to just leave me hanging. She knew how easily I panicked. Raising her hadn't been easy, considering she'd inherited our mother's stubborn streak. But she'd never missed a monthly dinner since she moved out two years ago.
I called her. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. Now I was worried.
My gut was telling me to go to her apartment, but I couldn't. I had to let her go. She wasn't a child anymore; she was in her mid-twenties. And she had Landon.
It was hard to accept that I no longer needed to protect her, but I had to trust that Landon would tell me if anything happened. I had to give her space and stop being so overbearing. I was trying,really trying, not to be that brother. I tried to contain my nerves as I finished my coffee, signaling for the check a few minutes later.
"Did your girlfriend stand you up this month?" the waitress asked, placing the bill upside down in front of me.
"Oh, she's my sister. And yeah, I guess she did." Her tone softened after hearing the worry in my voice. My mind began spiraling, and I didn’t even notice I made her feel bad.
"Oh… I'm so sorry. Maybe she just got stuck in traffic."
"Yeah, thanks," I said, handing her a five-dollar bill as I put on my jacket. But even as I continued telling myself to give her space, I knew Danielle wouldn't just vanish without a call. She knew better.
I walked to my car, started the engine, and headed to her apartment. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
"You're just paranoid, Alex," I tried to tell myself, but the ten-minute drive felt like it took hours. I finally pulled up to the complex and buzzed her apartment number. No answer. Both her car and Landon's were in the lot. I buzzed again—still nothing. Maybe the buzzer was broken. I took the stairs to the third floor, walking the long corridor to unit 370.
I reached for the doorknob, but then I saw the bloodied handprint on the knob, and my stomach plummeted. I recoiled, trying to convince myself it wasn't there, that I was imagining things. There’s no way this was real, but I couldn't deny what was right in front of me. Before I could think further, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
My throat tightened, making it almost impossible to speak. "This is Detective Traser, Fifth Precinct. I need a unit and an ambulance at 22 Market Street, immediately…it's…it’s my sister's apartment."
The words died in my throat. I put the phone on speakerphone and continued to answer the operator’s questions until they had all the information, but I couldn’t focus on anything but my heart hammering against my ribs.
I hung up and tossed my jacket onto the hallway carpet, drew my weapon, bracing myself for what I might find. I couldn't wait. If Danielle was hurt, every second mattered, and I needed to be the first to see her. With one forceful kick, the door splintered open.
Gun raised, finger resting on the trigger guard, I stepped in with caution. Instinct and training kicked in over the adrenaline. Move low, shoulders tight, back to the wall. One step at a time.
“Police,” I called out, voice stern, yet trembling. “Ifanyone’s inside, make yourself known.”
No answer. Just the clink of the AC turning on and the faint scent of something metallic—blood, maybe.
I swept left, checked behind the couch. Cleared the kitchen with a quick glance, gun leading the way. Faint sirens started blaring in the distance.
Each corner, each doorway, all clear.
Except the bedroom. The door was ajar.
I approached with caution, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I nudged it open with the barrel of my gun, body angled, breath held—
Danielle was there, instantly visible just inside the bedroom door, lying face up in a pool of blood. The sight of her so mangled, bloody, and almost unrecognizable, stopped me cold. I could feel the lump in my throat. Was it vomit? It was rising, and fast.
I dropped down next to Danielle as tears began to blur her body. I couldn't even begin to count the broken bones. I felt paralyzed, yet even though my hands trembled, I reached for her neck to check for a pulse.
Then, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, steadying my shaking arm and bringing me back to reality.
"It's okay, Trase… we'll do it."
I didn't need to look. Only one person called me Trase.
