Emma's POV
I snatch the drawing from Lily's hands.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at the paper. The picture is done in crayon messy clear enough. A woman stands across the street from a house. Our house. I recognize the blue mailbox Lily colored in. The oak tree in our front yard.
And the woman.
Dark hair flowing past her shoulders. A bright red jacket. She's just standing there, facing the house. Watching.
"When did you see her?" My voice comes out too sharp. Too scared.
Lily flinches. "I didn't mean to look out the window. I know you said stay in bed after bedtime. But I heard something outside. A car maybe. So I peeked through my curtains."
"What time was this?"
"I don't know." Lily's bottom lip trembles. "My clock says eight-one-five but I don't know if that's right because sometimes I read numbers backward."
Eight-fifteen. Just three hours ago. While I was downstairs, staring at text messages and trying to decide if my dead best friend was really alive, someone stood outside watching our house.
Watching my daughter's window.
"Did she see you?" I grip Lily's shoulders. Too tight. I force myself to loosen my hold. "Did the lady look at you?"
"I think so. She waved."
Ice floods my veins. "She waved at you?"
"Like this." Lily demonstrates a small, slow wave. "Then she walked away. I watched until she disappeared around the corner. That's when I started drawing her picture because I thought maybe she was lost and needed help. But then I got sleepy and fell asleep with my crayons."
I pull Lily into a hug. She's shaking. Or maybe I am. Hard to tell.
"You did good, baby. Really good. Thank you for telling me."
"Am I in trouble for looking out the window?"
"No. Never. You can always tell me if you see something that scares you." I kiss the top of her head. "Go back to bed now. Everything's okay."
But nothing is okay.
After Lily returns to her room, I stand at my own window and stare at the street below. Empty. Dark. Quiet. No woman in a red jacket. No cars. No movement.
But someone was there. Lily saw her. Drew her picture.
I check my security camera app again. Rewind to 8:15 PM. The street view is grainy in the darkness, but I can make out a figure on the sidewalk across from our house. Female. Average height. Something dark covering her hairmaybe a hood. The red jacket shows up clearly even in the poor lighting.
She stands completely still for two full minutes. Then she raises her hand and waves. Exactly like Lily described. After that, she turns and walks out of frame.
My finger hovers over the replay button. I watch it three more times. Trying to see her face. Trying to see something that proves who she is.
But the camera angle is wrong. The darkness is too thick. All I can confirm is that Lily told the truth. Someone was watching our house tonight.
Someone in a red jacket.
Kara always wore a red jacket. Her favorite one from the thrift store. She wore it constantly during our senior year of high school. She even wore it the night of the party. The night she died.
Or didn't die.
I close my eyes and suddenly I'm back at the funeral. Seven years ago. Standing in the cemetery under gray skies. Everyone dressed in black. Kara's mother sobbing so hard she could barely stand. Her father holding her up.
The casket was closed. I remember asking why. Someonemaybe Racheltold me Kara was too badly hurt in the accident. That it would be too traumatic for people to see.
I believed it. Never questioned it. Why would I?
But now the questions flood in. Who actually identified Kara's body? Did anyone see her face after the crash? Or did they just assume the person in the car was Kara because it was her car?
What if someone switched the bodies? What if the person they buried wasn't Kara at all?
I sound like Marcus. Paranoid. Conspiracy theories. Making up wild stories that don't make sense.
Except text messages claiming to be Kara knew about the fence climbing incident. Knew about the borrowed jacket. Knew about the scar.
And someone in a red jacket stood outside my house tonight.
I grab my phone and pull up those text messages. Read them again.
"The funeral was fake. I'm alive. I need your help."
What if it's true? What if my best friend has been alive this whole time? Hiding. Scared. Alone.
Why didn't she contact me before now? Why wait seven years?
The answer comes immediately: Because of Marcus.
If Marcus tried to kill Kara once, he'd try again if she resurfaced. And he'd hurt anyone who helped her. He'd hurt me. He'd hurt Lily.
So Kara stayed hidden. Stayed dead. Until now.
But why now? What changed?
I think about Marcus's phone calls today. His threats. His manipulation. He's back in my life after three years of silence. That can't be a coincidence.
Maybe Kara is trying to protect me. Maybe she knows Marcus is circling again and she's trying to warn me. Trying to help.
Or maybe this is exactly what Marcus wants me to think. Maybe he's behind everythingthe postcards, the texts, the woman outside. Maybe he's manipulating me again, making me see what he wants me to see.
I sink onto my bed. My head throbs. I can't think straight anymore.
Sleep. I need sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning.
I lie down without changing clothes. Close my eyes. But sleep won't come. Every time I start to drift off, I see Marcus's face. Hear his voice.
"You're imagining things again, Emma. You're sick."
The memories crowd in. Uninvited. Unwanted.
Marcus moving my keys and then acting confused when I couldn't find them. "You probably put them somewhere and forgot. You've been so forgetful lately."
Marcus telling me my mother called to cancel lunch plans. Later, my mother insisting she never called. Marcus showing me call logs that proved he was right. "See? She called. You're remembering wrong again."
Marcus taking away my phone "for a few days" because I was "too dependent on it." Then gradually taking away my car keys. My credit cards. My freedom.
Little by little, he made me doubt everything. Made me dependent. Made me believe I couldn't survive without him.
It took me five years to realize what he was doing. Another year to plan my escape. And even now, three years later, I still hear his voice in my head sometimes.
"You're too emotional. Too reactive. Too unstable."
I force my eyes open. Stare at the ceiling. I won't let him back into my head.
Tomorrow I'll figure this out. Tomorrow I'll decide what's real and what's manipulation.
Tomorrow.
The date on the postcard. Tomorrow someone expects me at Riverside Lake.
I can't go. It's obviously a trap. Marcus or someone working for him wants me isolated and vulnerable.
But what if it really is Kara? What if she needs my help and I don't show up?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Another text.
I grab it. The message is from the same number as before. The one claiming to be Kara.
"Please don't be scared. I know this is confusing. I know you don't know what to believe. But Emma, I've missed you so much. Tomorrow at sunset. The old dock. I'll explain everything. I promise."
Tears sting my eyes. I want to believe it so badly. Want my friend back.
Another text: "Marcus is dangerous. More dangerous than you remember. He has connections. Money. Power. I've been gathering evidence against him for seven years. Evidence that can put him away forever. But I need your help to use it. Please come tomorrow. For both of us."
Evidence against Marcus. That would end this nightmare. That would keep Lily safe.
Unless it's a lie. Unless Marcus wrote these texts himself to lure me out.
I type back: "How do I know you're real?"
The response comes fast: "Check your email. The one you never told Marcus about. The secret account you made in college. I just sent you something only I would have."
My breath catches. I do have a secret email. Made it freshman year for private conversations with Kara and Rachel. Marcus never knew about it. I barely remember the password.
I open my email app and log in. Takes three tries to get the password right.
There's one new message. From an address I don't recognize. Subject line: "Remember This?"
I click it.
The email has no words. Just an attachment. A photo.
My hands shake as I open it.
The image loads slowly. Then I see it and my heart stops.
It's a photo of me and Kara, taken on my phone seven years ago. We're at Riverside Lake, sitting on the dock, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. I remember that day. It was a week before the party. Before the fight. Before everything fell apart.
I never posted this photo anywhere. Never showed it to Marcus. It was just on my phone.
The phone I lost when Marcus threw it against the wall during one of our fights.
The only other person who had a copy was Kara. She made me text it to her that day because she loved it so much.
I stare at the photo until my vision blurs. This is real. This email came from Kara's old phone or her old accounts. No one else could have this picture.
Kara is alive.
Another text arrives: "Do you believe me now?"
I type: "Yes."
"Then you'll come tomorrow?"
I hesitate. My finger hovers over the keyboard. This could still be a trap. Marcus could have gotten into Kara's old accounts. Could have found this photo.
But what if it's not a trap? What if my best friend really needs me?
I think about Lily. About keeping her safe. About ending Marcus's threats forever.
I type: "I'll come."
The response is immediate: "Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. See you at sunset. Come alone. And Emma? Be careful. Marcus knows more than you think. He's been watching you for a long time. Don't trust anyone."
I set down my phone.
Tomorrow I'm going to Riverside Lake. Tomorrow I'm going to find out if my dead best friend is really alive. Tomorrow I'm going to get evidence to stop Marcus forever.
Or tomorrow I'm walking into a trap that might cost me everything.
But I can't run anymore. Can't hide. Can't live in fear.
I have to know the truth.
Even if it destroys me