I told her about the six women, the successful dates, and how each of them disappeared overnight.
Rachel was silent for several moments.
“So you want me to investigate him?”
“I want you to tell me what’s happening.”
“And what exactly should I say when he recognizes me?”
“Tell him you met through the app. He might remember your face, but not your name.”
Rachel moaned.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
“It could ruin our friendship.”
“It won’t happen.”
“It could ruin your relationship with your father.”
The thought terrified me, but I kept my voice steady.
“I need to know.”
Although reluctantly, he agreed.
The appointment went even better than I expected.
Rachel called right after.
“Your father is wonderful,” she said.
“I can’t believe no one gave him a chance.”
A sense of relief washed over me.
“So nothing strange happened?”
“Nothing special. He was kind, friendly, and respectful. We talked for almost three hours.”
“Did he mention another date?”
“He asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him again next Friday.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
For the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully.
The next morning, Rachel also disappeared.
I called before I went to work.
No response.
I tried again at lunch.
Straight to voicemail.
I sent her several messages asking if she was okay.
None were delivered.
Towards evening, a message finally arrived.
“Don’t contact me. Please.”
I immediately understood that it wasn’t Rachele.
Even during our most heated arguments, she always called instead of disappearing.
I went straight to his apartment.
His car was parked outside.
The lights were on.
But no one answered the door.
I knocked until my knuckles hurt, called her name through the door, and tried calling her phone again.
Nothing.
A neighbor came out into the hallway.
“Everything is fine?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
I waited in my car outside his building for almost an hour, watching his windows for any sign of movement.
Nothing happened.
The next afternoon, he finally called.
His voice was shaking.
“I can’t explain it over the phone.”
“When can we meet?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
I slept very little that night.
The next morning, I met her outside her office before she came in.
She looked exhausted.
His face was pale and he kept glancing towards the entrance, as if he wanted to run away.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did my father do?”
Without saying a word, he gave me his phone.
His hands were shaking so badly I had to take it from him.
A message from an unknown number filled the screen.
“Stay away from him. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Below was a photograph of Rachel leaving the restaurant with my father.
It was clearly taken from across the street.
I felt a knot in my stomach.
“When did you get it?” I asked.
About 20 minutes after arriving home.
I zoomed up.
There were other messages.
Whoever sent them knew Rachel’s address.
They knew where he worked.
They even knew the name of his younger brother, Graham.
The last message was the worst.
“If you contact him or Lola again, Graham will find out what happened in Philadelphia.”
I looked at Rachel.
“What happened in Philadelphia?”
Shame flashed in her eyes.
“Nothing criminal. Graham was struggling with drug addiction three years ago. He disappeared for two days. I found him in a motel and brought him home. No one knows except my family.”
“How could this person know?”
“I do not know.”
“Why did you tell me not to contact you?”
Rachel wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
“Because the message arrived seconds after your call. Whoever sent it knew you were trying to contact me.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
Someone was watching us both.
I asked Rachel to forward every message and photograph.
He hesitated before agreeing.
“Be careful, Lola,” he told her. “This isn’t a rejected woman or an envious stranger.”
“Do you think my father is involved?”
“I think someone close to him is.”
I wanted to defend him.
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