Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Eight

"Thanks." I bite the inside of my cheek, not sure where to go next. So I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. "You look—different."

Different is an understatement. Though much about her hasn't changed. The long, dark hair. Brown eyes, though slightly larger than I remember. The tattoo on the inside of her wrist, her sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the black ink underneath. There's so much more that's unfamiliar.

Her once full cheeks are now sunken and pale. Thin lines surround her eyes, and her nose sits slightly off center from where it'd been. Her clothes hang from her body, making her appear somewhat shorter, and for the first time in my life, I feel taller than her. We'd always been so close in stature. How can that be?

Emma from before had been athletic and healthy. This one's a thinner, fragile-looking version I don't understand. Even her voice is peculiar. Her vowels are sharper, not as lazy, with a nasal quality that's new.

Maybe my memory has shifted, somehow grinding her edges. Making her different than before. Or maybe it's a trick of the light.

But I don't think so.

I can't imagine what she must have gone through to end up this way.

"For starters, the bastard broke my nose. My parents said the doctors can fix it, but ..." she doesn't finish, and moves on as though she'd never said it at all. "And I've lost about forty pounds. Nothing fits anymore, even my stupid shoes are too big. I'm going to need new everything."

I glance down at her feet. Sure enough, her checkered Vans are gapped at the heel and look like they'll slide off as soon as she takes a step. It's a wonder she made it through my window in one piece.

But that's not all I notice. White, gauze bandages peek up from the canvas rims and snake around both ankles, disappearing beneath her jeans.

She catches me staring. "I lost my shoes and had to walk miles through those god-awful woods barefoot. My feet are gouged to hell. There were times it was so painful, I had to crawl."

That's right. One of her tennis shoes was found outside of her truck. The other went missing, along with its owner.

My mouth is dry, my heart pounding too fast in my ears. There's a stranger in my room. One I don't know how to talk to. My hands are shaking, and my voice comes out the same way. "What happened to you?"

I don't want to know, but I do. Where she's been all this time. Who she's been with. How she got there in the first place.

My senses overwhelm me as I wait for her response.
The scent of charred wood from a nearby bonfire drifts through the open window and threatens to choke me. Even the sound of Cooper breathing has me on edge.

Is she ever going to answer?

Finally, Emma exhales, kneading the muscles in the back of her neck. "Do we have to talk about this right now? It's all I've been doing since I returned to the land of the living."

The comment makes me flinch.

Emma knows everyone thought she was dead. That we were waiting for a body to turn up, not a living, breathing girl.

A wave of guilt crashes into me. I should have known better. Wouldn't I have felt it if she were truly gone?

"I'll tell you what," she says, cutting into my thoughts. "Tomorrow morning, after I've finally slept in my own bed, I'll come back and visit with you and your mom. That is, if I can convince my parents to let me come over. I swear, it's like they think I'm going to disappear into thin air or something."

"Do you blame them? They've been worried sick for months. Everyone has been."

"Even Smith?"

My breath catches in my throat. Why would she ask me that? I have to swallow before I can answer. "Of course."

Emma rakes a hand through her hair and twines a dark lock around her fingers. "I haven't contacted him yet. I've been too afraid." She dips her head and stares at the toe of her shoe before sweeping it back and forth along the carpet. To the left, the beige fibers darken; to the right, they lighten. Over and over like a pale brown rainbow.

"Afraid of what?" My voice is low, almost a whisper.

When our eyes meet again, there's an intensity that wasn't there before. "I don't know how he's going to feel once he finds out what happened. What if it changes things between us?"

Something clenches in my chest. Now, she looks every bit the broken girl I'd imagined she'd be. And I feel every bit the traitor I am.

Yet I can't stop myself from asking. "How would you feel if it did?"

Emma doesn't answer. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hayes. Sweet dreams."

Then she slinks out the window and doesn't look back.