I owe her honesty. Especially when she gave me her truth, and I repaid it by making her relive some of the worst memories of her life.
Honesty, and an apology.
The one good thing left in my life, and I managed to hurt her too. I stare around at the apartment at the evidence of my own issues.
This isn’t normal.
I can admit that much. It feels easier in the daylight. Harder to hide from.
I need to talk to Em. Tell her… tell her about this. All of it. And then I need to make it better. Makemebetter.
Because if I can’t, it’s going to consume me.
The phone cuts out again, a robotic voicemail greeting kicking in.
“Em.” I run a hand over my face. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to speak to me. But I need to speak to you. And then I’ll go. I’m coming over, okay? I’ll be there soon.”
Please answer the door.
***
My feet pick up speed as I walk. My head jerks back and forth as I dive across the road, praying she’ll talk to me and waving a hand apologetically to the truck that slows.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck as her street comes into view. Slowing, I try to work out what I’m seeing.
Blue and red. The color sweeps over me, and I shield my eyes.
Two police vehicles. And an ambulance.
No—
“EMMY!”
I scream her name as I sprint up the street. A crowd is gathered behind the yellow line of tape, faces turning to me. Shoving past them, I jump over the line and run for the door. The broken keypad hangs off the wall.
An officer turns in the doorway, his face changing. “Stop—,”
I push past him too, taking the stairs three at a time as he tries to keep up behind me, shouting. Several people turn to look as I race past them, all of them staring as my heart beats violently in my chest.
This can’t be happening.
I just saw her.
But I didn’t walk her home.
I shout for her again, desperate. “Emmy!”
Feet pound up the stairs behind me as I reach the last set of stairs. And the body lying at the bottom. Two EMTs look up from the bag they’re zipping up, and my heart stops completely.
Please not her – not her—
And then I catch a glimpse of red. A tuft of hair. Staggering, I throw my hand out to balance against the railing. “Where is she?”
The older woman gets to her feet. “You shouldn’t be up here. Who let you in?”
I stare at her. “Where’s Emilia Marsters? Is she hurt?”
“Who?” She looks down at the bag. “Are you able to identify him?”
