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"Nat?"Sheila called.There was no response, only the distant hum of the refrigerator in the background.She stepped deeper into the house, her worry intensifying as she maneuvered around the clutter.
"Where are you, Natalie?"she whispered, unable to shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
Sheila frantically searched the entire house, from the kitchen to the bedrooms to the bathrooms.Everywhere she looked, she found more evidence that something was off—food left half-eaten in the fridge, Natalie's favorite dress thrown haphazardly on a chair, the bed unmade.But try as she might, Sheila couldn't find Natalie anywhere in the house.
Time seemed to stand still as Sheila searched frantically for her sister.This isn't like her at all, she kept thinking over and over, as if it were some new idea.If she was going to go somewhere, she'd tell someone—and she wouldn't leave her house like this.It's like...like she just abandoned the place.
"Come on, Natalie," she muttered, searching the bedroom for the third or fourth time.She was in denial, not wanting to face the troubling reality that her sister had disappeared without a trace.There had to be some logical explanation, some clue that would lead her to Natalie.
But as she searched, each room feeling emptier than the last, her hopes began to fade.The evidence all pointed to one conclusion: Natalie was gone.
Just as this realization was settling in, her phone rang.She pulled it out, feeling a spark of hope.
"Natalie?"she asked hurriedly."Is that you?"
"No," her father said slowly, "it's me."
Sheila's heart sank.
"I wanted to ask if you got a chance to go to Blackridge Penitentiary like we talked about," her father continued."To visit Rayland Bax, I mean."
Sheila's grip on her phone tightened."Yes, I did.But the warden wouldn't let me speak with him.Listen—"
"Really?"Gabriel sounded as surprised as she had been."Did he say why?"
"No," she admitted, anxious to wrap up the subject so they could talk about Natalie."He didn't give me a reason."
"Strange," her father mused, the concern evident in his rough voice."There has to be a reason."
"Dad, I actually didn't call to talk about that.I wanted to ask about Natalie.Have you seen or spoken with her lately?"
"No, not recently.Why?What's going on?"
She hesitated, unsure where to begin."She didn't come into work today, and she hasn't been answering my calls."
"She's probably under the weather.Maybe he has that stomach bug that's going around."
"That's just it," Sheila said, growing more animated."I'm at her house, and she's not here.I have no idea where she is, Dad."
As she spoke, she could hear her father's breathing grow heavier over the line, a sure sign that he was just as worried as she was.
"Listen," he said finally, "I'm on my way to Star's house right now—her father's been drinking and she needs somewhere to stay."
Star—Sheila felt a pang of worry at the mention of the name.Star was a fourteen-year-old girl Sheila's father had taken under his wing, often driving her to his gym so she could escape the chaos of her home life.Sheila didn't know Star well, but she cared about her nonetheless and didn't want to ask for anything that could jeopardize the girl's safety.
"But if you think it's an emergency," Gabriel added, the words hanging in the air.
Sheila hesitated, weighing her options.She glanced around the unkempt living room once more, trying to imagine what might have caused Natalie to leave it in such disarray.It was true—keeping a tidy home must be difficult when confined to a wheelchair.
Was it possible Sheila was making a mountain out of a molehill?
"Go take care of Star, Dad," she said, her voice softer."I'll keep looking for Natalie.I'm probably just worrying too much."She didn't really believe this, but she wanted to ease her dad's mind.
"Alright," her father said, though the concern hadn't left his voice."But call me if you find her, okay?"
"Will do," Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady."Take care of Star.She needs someone to look out for her right now."
"We all do, from time to time.Talk to you later, sweetheart."
