Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mom's voice ricochets back. "If you send a text to remind me."

I swallow down the pills with a glass of water and hug Mom goodnight before heading upstairs. But while I'm changing into my pajamas, I can't stop thinking about what I found.

An uneasy sensation needles the back of my neck. If Jordan were awake, I'd be able to tell her about the drugs and driver's license in Emma's bedroom. Instead, the information gnaws at me, the pressure of it all building inside my head.

We finally have the proof we need to prove Emma's lying. When we take what we have to the authorities, they'll figure out the truth, and then maybe they'll force her parents to get her the help she needs.

Something is seriously wrong with her. Emma may not need counseling for her alleged kidnapping, but she certainly needs it for taking drugs and being a pathological liar—among other things.

She tried to kill Jordan. No matter what she's trying to hide, it doesn't justify ending someone's life. That's psychotic.

Now that I know what kind of person she is, it's hard to believe I considered her my best friend. How could I have misinterpreted her so terribly?

As I brush my hair in the bathroom, my arms grow heavy, my thoughts sluggish as if they're trudging through mud. When my reflection doubles in the mirror, I know it's time for bed. I'm more exhausted than I realized.

By the time I crawl under the blankets, I can feel the blood flowing through my veins, and there's an odd pulsing near my temple that won't go away. I massage it with my fingers until the steady rhythm of rain against the rooftop lulls me to sleep.

But I don't stay asleep. I'm not sure how long I'm lying there before a chill crawls over my skin and a frigid gust squeals around the window pane. I turn away from the draft and bring the covers to my chin, try to sink back into the dreamless haze, but something makes my muscles tense.

I open my eyes, rub them. Sit up in bed. Slivers of moonlight throw shadows across the walls, and the air is charged with a peculiar electricity. As I peer into the dark, the tiny hairs along my arms stand at attention. Nothing but blackness stares back at me.

This is ridiculous. I'm letting my imagination get the best of me. But when I try to lay back down, a sudden movement across the room hitches my breath.

"Is someone there?" The words are muddled in my ears, as if my tongue is swollen and they have to squeeze around it.

Silence.

Something's not right. The warning thrums through every fiber in my body and flits up to my brain, but my limbs are too slow to respond. Emma's face suddenly emerges from the shadows, her hollow eyes and cunning smirk consuming my field of vision.

The room takes a spin as I fight to stay focused. I sway in bed, catch myself before falling backward. Fixate on the unsteady monster in front of me. "What are you doing—?"

Emma stops me, holds a finger to my lips, her disembodied head surrounded by an inky black fog.

The mattress dips under an invisible weight. "Long time no see, Hayes. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but you did it to yourself. And I'm not letting you ruin things for me."

Her voice is as gentle as a mother lulling her baby to sleep and my eyes grow heavier. Emma's smile catches in a fragment of  moonlight. Her finger trails from my lips, down my chin, and to my chest, before curling in a lock of my hair. When she gives it a tug, my head plunges forward then bucks back.

An amused chuckle fills the space between us. "This could have turned out so differently. But you haven't made things easy for me, have you?"

When I try to ask what she means, a strangled noise is all that escapes my lips.