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“I’ll Uber to your house and get your things,” I said. “What’s your address?”
* * *
The Uber driverdropped me off outside Emma’s house. There were no cars parked in the street, and I wondered where the intruder might be now. There was no way he’d given up — I was willing to bet that he was already plotting his next move.
I’d brought my lock-picking kit just in case, but when I tried the front door, I found that the intruder had left it unlatched. Inside the house, there was no damage and nothing obviously missing. The television was on a low cupboard between two bookshelves and there was a silver laptop on the couch. I didn’t think it was Emma’s — she’d told me her laptop was in her room — so I left it where it was. I picked up Emma’s car keys and collected her shoes from the floor, then moved down the hallway to the door she’d told me was her bedroom.
Emma obviously hadn’t lived here long. Most of her things were still in removalist boxes that were stacked in one corner. She’d unpacked her clothes, and I pulled a few outfits from her closet, putting them in a duffel bag I’d brought with me for this purpose.
I hesitated when I reached her dresser, and considered the things on it: a book, teddy bear, framed photograph of a woman with the same electric-blue eyes as Emma, and a glass bottle full of perfume. There wasn’t much room in my bag, but this girl was going to be in an unfamiliar environment with three strange men. The more familiar things I could bring with me, the better.
I tucked them among her clothes and moved to the bed, where her pajamas had been tossed, ready to wear again the next night, and froze. On her duvet was a series of polaroid photographs fanned out like a hand of cards. I picked up the first one: it was a photo of Emma asleep, with a tiny bit of drool on the corner of her mouth. The bedroom was this one. And Jackson’s new work was clearly visible on her chest.
This photograph was taken recently, I realized as my stomach sank.Veryrecently.
I flipped it over. On the back, the wordsYou’re dead, slutscrawled in red pen made me want to vomit.
There was no way I could tell Emma about this: she needed our protection, not more fear. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called the one number I never thought I’d use again.
The police.
The operator answered and I couldn’t stop my voice from wavering as I spoke.
“My friend’s being stalked. Her ex-boyfriend broke into her house and threatened to kill her.”
I heard the sound of typing in the background.
“Thank you, Sir. Is she in immediate danger?”
“No,” I said, glad that she was with Xavier and Jackson. Even if Nathan found her, he’d never get into the apartment.
“There’s a patrol vehicle in your area,” the woman said. “I’ll send it out to take a look.”
Anxiety squeezed my stomach as I sat on the front steps and watched the street for the police.
A red hatchback pulled up in the driveway behind Emma’s car and a twenty-something year-old woman with blonde hair climbed out, looking confused and wary.
I was used to that. I’d never hurt a fly, but I knew that my appearance gave strangers the impression I was dangerous. I’d always been tall and when I turned twenty-five, my chest broadened, giving me a hulking, intimidating look. The bald head and tattoos didn’t help; especially the tattoos I’d received in jail.
“Who are you?” she asked.
She was about the same age as Emma, I noticed, but less attractive — her features were more angular and she had a no-nonsense aura that made me think she’d be a tough person to be friends with.
“Adrian,” I said, and realized I recognized her. “You’re Emma’s friend. You were at the tattoo parlor.”
The woman became even more confused. She looked from me to the front door of the house, which I’d left open.
“What’s going on?”
“Your friend’s ex broke into the house and left threatening photos. I’m waiting for the police.”
The woman went inside the house for a few minutes, and her face was white when she returned.
“Oh God, what if I’d been at home?”
“You need to get your landlord to improve the security of this house,” I said. It was even worse than I’d expected: The front door had a deadbolt, but two of the hinges were loose. The window frames were wooden, and most of them were rotting. It wouldn’t take much effort to pull them off and rip a hole in the wall. There were no cameras, no alarms… not even a German Shepherd pacing behind the side gate.
“Shit,” the woman said. “I know. I’ve been meaning to do it. I’ve just been so busy at work, and I didn’t think he knew where we lived.”
