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They say that when we are born, there is already one person, somewhere in this world, waiting for you. A soul mate. You could live in the North Pole, or the South, it doesn’t matter. Wherever you go, for however long you’re far apart, you will always find a way back to each other. We are, in some absolute way, connected to that person like strings to a puppet. No matter how much we change or how many people we meet along the way, we will always be connected to that one person. Maybe it's fate doing its work, or it really is just some divine miracle, but life has a way of giving us what we want, in the most unexpected way possible.

I never used to believe in fairy tales. That is, until I met Emily Taylor.


Prison was the last place I expected to find myself when I woke up. My eyes were heavy, and my body felt like it had been hit by a freight train. I lifted my head and groaned loudly as sharp pain seared the back of my neck, trailing all the way up to my temples. Did they drug me? There was also a burning sensation on my chest. My hands rubbed against my collar bone as realization slowly dawned on me. The surgery. My eyes burned and my chest suddenly hurt, but for an entirely different reason.

 "Oh God..." 

And then the door opened. A short, stout man walks in, holding a thick folder of papers securely in his arms. He flips a switch by the door, ignoring my quiet protests as I lift a hand to shield my sensitive eyes. He takes a seat across me, where a long table and chair had been placed. Where had those come from?

The short man clears his throat as he looks me over. His eyes linger over my chest, and I flush. "Uh, please take a seat, Ms. Watters. I have lot of important matters to discuss with you."

"Why am I here?" I croak. "How--" A painful cough seizes me. The man moves to a bedside table and brings me a glass of water. I take a long gulp before continuing. "Thank you. How did I get here?"

"We found you in your house. You were passed out on the floor. When we brought you to the hospital, the doctors told us you were suffering from temporary anemia. That, and a recent surgical operation that caused you to lose quite a lot of blood. Something serious happen that I should know about?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I--uh, fell. Down the stairs."

He raised a brow but seemed to let it go. "Right. Well, what you're really here for is we thought you might be able to answer a few questions regarding some recent events."

I groaned inwardly.  "I think I know where this is going. Um, Mr...?"

"Coleson. Ryan Coleson," he said.

"Mr. Coleson, three weeks ago I watched my best friend die. I didn't know her long enough to tell you anything you might want to know, but I do know that she didn't involve me with anything. And that's that." I said it with all the confidence I could muster, but seeing the look on Mr. Coleson's face, I knew immediately that he wasn't at the least convinced.

He stared at me for the longest moment, eyes boring into mine as though they were searching for something behind my facade. As if he could clearly smell the lie. "Now Ms. Watters, I'm not a very patient man.

"I've been following this story for three years, and quite frankly I'm tired of cleaning up after your friend's messy love life." I open my mouth but he raises a hand to stop me. "If you tell me what I need to know, you may leave this room and I will never have to bother you ever again. But, if you don't comply, we'll just see how long you really knew her."

He pauses, rubbing his temples with his large, wrinkled hands. I took the opportunity to study his features, which I just noticed could have been pretty handsome if they weren't so marred with age. His hair was pine brown, matted on the sides with gray and white. He had long dark lashes which complimented his green eyes, but otherwise his face was wrinkled; telltale signs of many sleepless nights.

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