Chương 8
He carried it to the kitchen and placed it beside the first one.
The two pieces of paper sat there like they belonged together.
Daniel hated that they did.
His phone was still open to Michael's old case file.
Not because he had searched for it.
Because he had never deleted it.
The contact information had changed years ago.
Some numbers no longer existed.
Some people involved had moved away.
Some had stopped answering.
But Daniel kept the file because deleting it felt like admitting there was nothing left.
He picked up the second envelope.
There was no signature.
No number.
No explanation.
Just the warning.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
For several seconds, he did not understand what he was seeing.
The image was old.
A little faded.
A gas station parking lot.
A blue pickup truck.
A man standing beside it.
Daniel moved closer to the kitchen light.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
The man was Michael.
Older than the last time Daniel had seen him.
Different haircut.
Different jacket.
But Michael.
Alive.
The world became strangely quiet.
The refrigerator hummed.
A car horn sounded outside.
Someone above him dropped something heavy on the floor.
Daniel barely heard any of it.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
Three months after Michael was officially declared missing.
Daniel sat down.
The chair made a small scraping sound against the floor.
He looked at the picture again.
Then at the date.
Then back at Michael's face.
His brother had not disappeared before the photograph was taken.
Someone had seen him.
Someone had known.
Someone had hidden it.
The anger arrived slowly.
Not like an explosion.
More like a door opening.
He grabbed his phone and called the number from the first envelope.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
A man answered.
“Hello?”
Daniel froze.
The voice was unfamiliar.
That should have made him feel better.
It did not.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
A long one.
“Daniel?”
Hearing his own name from a stranger made his stomach tighten.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
The person on the other end breathed out.
“You got the letter.”
“You sent it.”
“No.”
Daniel stood.
The chair moved behind him.
“No?”
“No, I wrote one of them.”
The answer bothered him.
Not because it was confusing.
Because it sounded honest.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Thomas Vale.”
The name meant nothing.
That bothered Daniel too.
“Do I know you?”
“You don’t think you do.”
Daniel walked toward the window.
“Then explain why you sent me something about my brother.”
“I didn’t send the warning.”
The room felt smaller.
“What warning?”
Silence.
Daniel looked at the second envelope.
Thomas spoke carefully.
“The one telling you not to call.”
A cold feeling moved through Daniel's chest.
“How do you know about that?”
“Because whoever left it knows you have my number.”
“Who is whoever?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the answer sounded impossible.
“People usually know who is threatening them.”
“This is not a threat.”
“Then what is it?”
Thomas did not answer immediately.
Daniel could hear faint background noise through the phone.
A television.
Traffic.
Someone talking nearby.
A normal life happening somewhere else.
“I spent twelve years trying to find Michael Mercer,” Thomas finally said.
Daniel stopped moving.
“Why?”
“Because he saved my life.”
The sentence landed harder than Daniel expected.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the last time I saw your brother, he was trying to stop someone from making a mistake.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
He hated how familiar that sounded.
Michael had always been like that.
Always stepping into situations that were not his responsibility.
When they were teenagers, Michael once followed a stranger's dog for twenty minutes because he thought it looked lost.
The dog belonged to a neighbor.
The neighbor had been searching for it from their front porch.
Michael had been embarrassed for days.
Daniel had laughed at him.
Michael had said, “At least I tried.”
Daniel had replied, “You try first and think later.”
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.
Thomas was still speaking.
“I know this is difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
“You’re right.”
The answer surprised him.
Most people said they understood.
Thomas did not.
“I don’t know what it feels like to lose your brother,” Thomas said.
“But I know what it feels like to owe someone you can never repay.”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“Where was this taken?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“The photograph was sent to me years ago.”
“By who?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Michael.”
Daniel sat back down.
“No.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know because I spent years telling myself the same thing.”
Daniel pressed the phone tighter against his ear.
“What happened?”
Thomas went quiet.
The kind of quiet that meant someone was deciding how much damage a truth could cause.
“Michael was involved in something.”
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then stop wasting my time.”
“I’m not.”
Daniel stood again.
His frustration needed somewhere to go.
He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
The water ran.
He did not put anything under it.
“Everyone keeps saying they know something,” he said.
“Everyone has pieces.”
“And you have what?”
“A reason he disappeared.”
The faucet continued running.
Daniel turned it off.
“What reason?”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“Because he found out someone close to him was lying.”
Daniel looked at the first envelope.
The handwriting.
The warning.
The photograph.
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who is listening.”
Daniel almost ended the call.
The sentence sounded like something from a bad movie.
But then he looked at the picture again.
A photograph that should not exist.
A brother who should have been gone.
A stranger who knew too much.
“Where are you?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Daniel.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the city.”
May you like
“Which city?”
“Your city.”
