Trigger warning: the following chapter contains the mention of sexual abuse.
A rush of dizziness pummels into me. After a few focused breaths, I take another look at the image on my screen. Emma's friend, Stef Colin—whose actual name is Maribel Estefania Ruberia-Colin—stares back at me.
Every fiber in my body insists this isn't happening. That it can't be real.
But it is.
Slowly, my gaze connects with the same eyes in the photo. Pin-prick pupils surrounded by a stagnant brown. They're observing me from across the kitchen, studying my every movement. Watching for the slightest change in expression.
One Mississippi,
Two Mississippi,
Three Mississippi,
Four.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I stuff it back into my sweater.
"What's wrong, Hayes? You look like you've seen a ghost." Her brows arch—in amusement, or does she sense a challenge? An oncoming round of cat and mouse?
She's good at that game. Very, very good.
Five Mississippi,
Six Mississippi,
Seven Mississippi,
Eight.
My insides tremble. "Rowan?" I call behind me. She doesn't answer.
With a calmness I don't feel, I rise from my chair and step backward from the kitchen and into the adjoining great room, my eyes never leaving our guest. When Rowan is within reach, I clasp onto her shoulders, my fingers weaving in between her blonde waves.
I lower my voice and try to keep it steady. Not let my rising panic influence her emotions. I crouch down to her level. "Listen to me very carefully. I need you to go up to my room and lock the door, okay? Do not open it until I come to get you."
Rowan's hand finds my cheek, her tiny fingers inching along my clenched jawline. "I'm not leaving you alone with her." The words come out in a whisper, her strawberry banana breath agitating the hair around my face. "She's not Emma."
Wait. "How do you know that?"
A swallow works its way down her throat, the muscles moving in succession beneath her skin. "Everything about her is different. The way she talks. The way she smells. She's lying."
An icy fear clutches my spine. All this time, Rowan knew; that's why she's been afraid. Somehow, some way, my sister saw things we couldn't.
Or maybe we just didn't want to.
Goosebumps devour my flesh. "You're a very good girl, you know that?" The praise leaves my mouth in a nervous rush. "Now I need you to be extra good and go upstairs. Don't come down, no matter what. Do you hear me? When she's gone, I'll come and get you."
"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."
"Leave my sister out of this. I don't even want her name coming out of your mouth."
"What—Rowan?" She laughs. "You're such a fool. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"I know exactly what I'm getting into, Maribel Estefania Ruberia-Colin."
The color drains from her face.
"I know that you and Emma met on the priZm app and that she was planning to run away with you. But then six months later, you showed up in her place. So, what's the plan, huh? To rob her parents? Emma couldn't go through with it so she sent you instead?" I demand, my heart jumping out of my chest. "Because you're a more experienced criminal, same as your convict mother?"
With a guttural growl, Stef lunges across the island and grabs the back of my head. Before I can wrestle myself free, she slams my face into the polished stone with a deafening crack.
Fireworks explode behind my eyes, sending a fiery blast of pain across my forehead and scalp.
With my hair twisted in her fist, she slides around the island until she's standing in front of me, her face inches away from mine. "It's not a good idea to piss me off, Hayes. My temper's unstable at best."
When I open my mouth, a warm, metallic liquid oozes down the back of my throat.
Blood.
My nose is broken. I want to reach up and touch it, but a sudden blackness creeps along the fringes of my vision. The pain overwhelms me. I grasp the counter to keep my knees from buckling.
Stef grips my hair tighter, and with surprising force, pins me against the island, the edge digging into the space between my ribs. "Oh, no. You're not giving up on me now. We're just getting started." Her free hand swipes up the blender blade and she presses the pointed tip to my neck. "You want to play detective, let's play detective. What else do you know?" she demands, smashing her weight into mine.
Blood streams from my nose into a puddle atop the granite. "I don't know anything," I insist, a gag constricting my stomach.
"Bullshit. How do you know my name?"
There's so much pain, throbbing yet sharp at the same time. "I told you. I read the journal."
"You're lying. I never told Emma my full name."
"You told her enough," I choke out. Red-tinged saliva stretches from my lips to the blood-smeared counter-top. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out the rest. Turns out Facebook is so much more than a place to find friends."
The tip of the blade presses deeper into my neck. "I tried to play nice, Hayes. I did. But you wouldn't let me. You just had to keep poking around, didn't you? Sticking your nose where it didn't belong. This could have been so easy, but noooooo..."
"Just tell me where she is, that's all I want to know."
"She wouldn't stop talkin' about you," Stef continues. "All your stupid adventures together. Slumber parties, camping trips, babysittin' your little sister. How fucking her boyfriend made her cringe inside. No one understood the poor little rich girl," she says in a mocking voice. "My God, she would go on and on and on about the dumbest shit! I tried to be your friend—because, hell—I already knew your life story. How hard could it be to slide in and pick up where she left off? But you are so...fucking...nosey. She never warned me about that."
"Just tell me where Emma is, please!"
Stef yanks my head back and presses her mouth to my ear, her humid breath blazing against my skin. "She's gone, you stupid cunt. Don't you get it?"
I swallow back a mouthful of blood, my stomach recoiling in response. "What do you mean gone?"
"Seriously, do I have to spell it out for you?" Stef curses as she readjusts her grip. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. None of it. That girl was trouble from the start—I told him she would be—all prissy and bullheaded, like she shit roses or somethin'. Money makes people think they're better than everyone else," she says, her teeth grinding in my ear. "But Benicio insisted. Said upper class pussy would go for more. I should have listened to my gut and told him no, but then—I know what would have happened. Emma was supposed to be my meal ticket, but then she became my ticket outta there. And guess what? I'm not ever going back. I'm done with that life, and you're not gonna ruin it for me."
Even with the haze fighting for control of my head, I force myself to hold onto her words. To make sense of their meaning. "Who's Benicio? Did he work for your mother before she went to prison?"
"Work for my mother?" Stef releases an ill-humored laugh. "More like he owned her. She was thirteen when her parents sold her out. Benicio plucked her out of Puebla with nothing more than the clothes on her back, and the black eye he gave her for putting up a fight."
"Her—her parents sold her?" I ask in disbelief. I need to keep her talking. The more she talks, the more time it will buy me to save myself and my sister. "Why would anyone sell their own child?"
"Because, puta estúpida. With seven hungry mouths to feed, her parents needed that money. Since my mom was their oldest, they figured she had the best chance of keeping herself alive. But what would you know about sacrifice, huh? Livin' in this fancy house, drivin' your fancy car. I bet you've never gone a day in your life without getting every little thing your heart desires."
My jaw clenches as the tip of the blade drills into my skin. "You're right, you're right! I have it easier than most. But my parents have worked hard for what they, and we have our share of struggles, too."
"Ha—you don't know the first thing about struggles!" she shrieks, her body slamming into my back. A loud crack resonates through my chest as one of my ribs snap against the sharp edge of granite. "You think your pathetic anxiety makes you relatable to people who have to find ways to feed their families? To people who are forced to panhandle, or sell their bodies to keep a roof over their heads? You have no idea how easy you have it, and yet you think I'm gonna sympathize with your privileged ass?"
I try to scream, but there's no air. "No—no," I gasp, "that's not what I meant! I'm just saying that no one's life is perfect. We all have our demons."
Silence.
And then, "Don't talk to me about demons until you're forced to service up to thirty men every fucking day of the week," she says, her voice low and trembling. "I was four-years-old the first time one of those scum balls touched me, and it only grew worse from there. But I was one of the lucky ones."
It takes every ounce of control to keep the vomit from rising in my throat. "Your mom exploited you, and you call that lucky?"
"My mom didn't do it! She was a victim, too. Benicio was in charge of the operation. My mom was passed around for years until she got pregnant with me. Then Benicio used her to recruit the others."
It takes a beat for what she's saying to click. "Your mom supplied him with girls?"
"Girls. Guys. It didn't matter. Not as long as she kept them coming."
"How?" I demand, panting for air. Every ragged inhale sets my chest on fire. "How did she do it? Where did she find them?"
Stef shifts against my back. "On the streets mostly. The druggies and the runaways. The mentally ill. The easiest ones to lure are the ones desperate for a new start. The internet makes finding them much easier now—or so I've been told. You'd be surprised how many troubled and lonely kids there are online, all too eager to believe in promises of a better life."
My stomach drops out from underneath me. Emma was troubled and lonely, though I didn't realize it until I read her journal. She was desperate for a new life, one she believed would be better than what she already had. A life where she would be free to live and love the way she wanted, without the worry of being judged.
Emma was in love with Stef, but the feeling wasn't mutual. "You never intended to be with Emma, did you? You were grooming her for Benicio."
"You catch on quick. Much quicker than your friend. I wanted her to bring you along too—like a two for one. But Emma and her fucking plans," she mocks sarcastically.
Tears press against my eyes but I blink them back. "Just tell me where she is, and then you can disappear and start over somewhere else. I won't tell the police who you are, I swear!"
"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Hayes. You already know too much. And how am I supposed to trust you?"
My heart skips a beat as I realize what she's getting at, and my thoughts shift to Rowan waiting for me upstairs. If something happens to me, who will protect my sister?
I shift my weight, trying to create a wedge in between us. "What are you going to do?"
There's a sharp intake of air, and then a long drawn out breath. "I haven't decided yet." The blade digs deeper into my flesh, and a ribbon of warmth trails down the side of my neck.
I close my eyes, try to organize a plan of attack.
"Have I told you how adorable Rowan is?"
The words send a chill down my spine.
Fuck organizing a plan. With every ounce of strength I possess, I fold myself inward then blast my head back, the blade of the blender slicing into my neck. When my skull slams against her face, there's an ear-piercing wail. Stef stumbles back, leaving me just enough room to wiggle free.
I push myself toward the stairs, only one thought driving me forward: I need to get to my sister before Stef.