Smoking Gun [Emily Prentiss]

Seven

PRESENT

I entered the house I'd only just started to call home about two months prior.

Making the move from Tennessee, where I'd spent the last ten years, back home to Quantico, Virginia after the divorce felt right.

Now, as I poured myself a glass of cheap Barefoot wine (Red Moscato, of course), I wondered if that was still the case. Was I better off not knowing that Emily was alive, like she and her friends (because they were definitely not mine) believed?

My chest felt tight, my mind still spinning. I was filled with so much relief that she wasn't dead, but I also felt betrayed and angry, because I'd spent so much time believing she was, and I felt so guilty, because... I'd moved on and created a future I'd ever only dreamed of having with her. Where would we have ended up if I'd known?

"It's kinda early for wine, isn't it?"

I looked at the girl who has just woken up, by the looks of it. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

Emelia, whose sixteenth birthday was only weeks away, had dark brown ringlets that corkscrewed in every which way and bright green eyes that stood out among her dark complexion.

She was tall with a long torso and longer, toned legs from years of ballet -a passion she had yet to grow out of. If ballet failed her, she was tall enough to join the NBA, though she despised competitive sports.

Emelia was a spitting imagine of her father, though I'd never personally met her mother. She'd died when the girl was just 2 months shy of her first birthday. She had no memory of the woman who gave birth to her, outside of what her father had told her.

Despite that, Emelia had grown into a confident young woman, who would Conquer the world, but first thing first was surviving those teen-agnst years, and they were definitely giving me a run for my money.

"So, why are we drinking wine on a Saturday morning?"

"We aren't." I teased, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. "Help yourself to some orange juice, baby. I left some Cinnabons in the oven for you; should still be warm."

She did poured herself a glass and grabbed "So, stop beating around the bush. You're not a pre-breakfast lush, so spill."

I sighed. I brought in myself, I figured, so might as well clue her in -vaguely. "I ran into an old friend at the market this morning."

"An... old friend or " She wiggled her brows, taking a drink from her cup. "An old friend?"

I deadpanned before rolling my eyes with a snort and taking a long gulp from my wine glass.

"Well, you must have expected it, moving back to your hometown?" Emelia replied, reaching into the fruit bowl on the counter and taking a bite of an apple. "Lots of history here, right?"

"Right." I cleared my throat. "I just didn't think I'd ever see her- uh, this friend -again. I never thought it would be possible."

"Anything is possible," Emelia took another bite of her apple, shrugging. "Unless their dead, which" She snorted, "you can't really come back from that."

"You'd think." I took another long swig as Emelia looked at me, skeptically, her head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Nevermind. What time is your dance rehearsal?"

How was I supposed to return to my life as though nothing had changed? When I knew, somewhere out there, Emily Prentiss was alive and well.

"Two, but do you think we can go a little early. Ms. Harlow said she'd help me break in my new pointes."

I was already pouring the rest of wine out before she finished her sentence. "Of course, my little Frogglefrump."