Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Forty-Six

"But—"

"No buts. Everything will be fine, I promise." I steer Rowan around and give her a gentle shove toward the stairs, her cane sliding across the hardwood as she finds her way. When I'm confident she's out of earshot, I turn back to the kitchen.

The brown eyes are still watching me, only now they're narrowed. "What was that all about?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Rowan's just going up to my room. I told her she might feel better if she laid down for a while."

"Good idea." She grabs a hand towel from the oven door and swipes it along the blade of the blender, a sudden smile tugging at her lips. "Your sister is adorable. Remember when we both spent the night here and she ate so many cookies she got sick? I didn't think she'd ever stop throwing up!"

My chest constricts as she recites a memory she couldn't possibly have. A memory that never belonged to her. And it brings about a question...

Why is Stef Colin in my kitchen, pretending to be my best friend?

As she drones on and on, I make my way to the table and reach for the closest chair, my fingers sinking into the upholstered back.

If it's Stef who's been here this entire time, then where is Emma? Why is this imposter in her place? Doesn't Emma know how worried we've been? Doesn't she realize we looked for her day and night until the police finally told us not to expect her—

"And then your mom had to spend the rest of the night cleaning up—"

"I found the journal," I interrupt.

That wipes the smile from her face. She sets the blade on the island and the towel along with it. "What are you talking about?"

I take another step closer. "The journal from last year's psych class."

The briefest hint of uncertainty flickers across her face. "And?"

I continue forward until the only thing separating us is the kitchen island. "I know who you are."

Stef cuts me a look, her eyes flashing. "Of course you know who I am. I'm your best friend. We have matching tattoos to prove it, see?" she says, holding up her wrist. Black ink blinks at me from the delicate stretch of skin.

My own wrist tingles in response. "Where's Emma?"

A beat passes before a coy smirk creeps across her lips. "I'm right here, silly. Standing in front of you."

"Where's the real Emma?"

She doesn't answer, she just stares, her eyes flat and cold.

My nails dig into my palms and I don't try to stop the irritation from edging into my voice. "Why have you been lying to us this entire time?"

When she grips the island, the veins in her hands are blue and pushing up against the skin. "There are all kinds of lies, Hayes. You'll have to be more specific."

"Where is Emma?" I say again, each word more enunciated than the last.

She drags out a tired sigh. "Your appointment with Dr. Wilder can't get here soon enough. I hope he doesn't admit you to the hospital like last time. Then again, maybe you need—"

"Where the fuck is my best friend?" I scream, my hands slamming against the speckled granite. Pins and needles sting my palms and race up the insides of both arms.

Stef appraises me, her gaze sweeping over my face. Like if she studies me hard enough, she'll see the thoughts in my head. "You don't want to do this. Not with Rowan here."