3. ALEX
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. “If anyone’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.
"Okay, Chief." I just stayed there, remaining knelt beside her, whispering a plea that she was alive.
"She's got a pulse!" the chief yelled toward the hallway. "Get the med unit here now!"
The next few minutes were a chaotic blur. I couldn't focus, couldn't process anything. A whirlwind of people, medical equipment, and flashing lights surrounded me as I stayed by Danielle's side.
How could this have happened? How had I let this happen? And where was Landon?
I swear to God if he did this…
Once again, a hand settled on my shoulder. "You go with her, Trase. We'll handle this."
I looked up, tears filling my eyes, and took the chief's offered hand as he helped me to my feet. I followed Danielle's limp, almost lifeless body on the stretcher, climbing into the back of the ambulance.
The entire ride was a silent agony. I did the only thing I could do, and held her hand. The EMTs fought to save her life as the sirens played the soundtrack to her desperate race against time.
The EMTs pulled the stretcher out of the ambulance and rushed Danielle into the hospital. I followed close beside her, trying to talk to her, unsure if she could even hear me. At the entrance, a doctor intercepted me, taking my hand to halt my progress.
"We need you to wait here."
Are you serious?
I thought for a second, momentarily forgetting my usual aversion to using my badge. I flashed it in her face while I pushed past her to follow the stretcher.
"I'm going where she goes."
The doctor looked at the badge I held up and stepped aside. I joined the medical team, helping guide the stretcher down the long hallway.
"What happened? The police… did they find anyone at the scene?" the doctor asked as she took a mental inventory of Danielle's injuries.
"I don't know. Police are on the scene. We'll find him," I choked out.
Once Danielle reached the operating room, I had to let go and trust others to save her life after I'd failed to protect her. As they wheeled her inside, I released her hand, and as they pushed her through the double doors, I yelled, "I'll be right here."
The waiting room was bleak and sterile. A small TV droned in the corner, showing the nightly news, and the buzz of a vending machine was the lone, jarring counterpoint to the silence.
Minutes stretched into hours, and soon the hours felt like days as I paced, desperate for any news: a call from the chief, a doctor, anything.
Two hours crawled by before my phone rang.
"Traser," I damn near shouted into the receiver. I was full of anxiety and, worse, fear.
"Hey man, it's Warren."
"Where is that son of a bitch?" I didn't know for certain it was Landon, but in my gut, I also knew it was. Something had always felt off about him; his personality always felt like a meticulous facade, showing me exactly what he wanted me to see, and nothing more.
"Slow down, okay? I know this is hard, but we have to do this right. You can’t just fly off the handle and do something stupid just because it’s Danielle. Promise me that, okay?"
I thought long and hard for a minute. I could end this with a location and a bullet, and God, did I want to, but he was right. I had to be smart about this if we were going to pin Landon for this. I needed a conviction.
"I promise. What did you find out?" I almost didn’t want to know.
"It was definitely Fletcher. His stuff is gone, and whatever he used to beat the hell out of her is gone too."
"That's impossible. His car's still there. There’s no way he got far."
"Look, Alex… this isn’t going to be easy. Just stay calm, okay?" He waited for my affirmation, but I couldn't promise that. "We can't find him. No trace. No phone activity, no footprints, no credit card use, no emails, Nothing. He's vanished."
Once again, he waited for a response I couldn’t give. Words failed to come out because nothing felt adequate. How had I been so blind? How had I let any of this happen? And worst of all, how had I let him slip through my fingers?
“We found out something else. Landon Fletcher isn’t who we thought.
His fingerprints matched a different name—Landon Rider.
He’s been running drugs for the Juarez Cartel since he was sixteen.
Alex, the guy has deep connections. Money.
Influence. Resources. If he wants to disappear, he can.
My guess is, Danielle stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have. ”
His voice softened. “Alex, are you listening? We’ll find him. I swear. Listen, Danielle… is she—?”
“I don’t know. She’s in surgery. I have to go.” I hung up before he could say more.
What began as a dull ache of grief turned into something darker. Rage. I needed a plan. As long as Danielle was under hospital care, I could keep her safe. Landon might be reckless, but even he wouldn’t dare show his face here. Not if he knows we found her.
I went back to waiting, pacing back and forth, my steps quickening as I tried to piece together options, desperate to find a way forward before I finally gave in and allowed myself to rest in one of the chairs.
Five agonizing hours crept by before a surgeon emerged from the operating room. I shot to my feet as a sick feeling rose from my stomach, the same sickness I felt at Danielle’s apartment. I braced myself for whatever news would come next.
“Doctor, how is she?”