Chapter 3
"I've told you before. Emily has histrionic personality disorder. This is a therapy script I designed for her to help her stop lying," Mom said.
"Script? What script are you talking about?" Ashley asked.
She was freaking out.
"Professor Clarke, this doesn't look like acting. Emily's face is turning blue, and her lips are going black. You need to come back right now," Ashley cried out.
Mom said confidently, "She put that paint on herself.
"She's pulled this kind of stunt before. Once she smeared ketchup on her face to fake coughing up blood to make me worry about her.
"Don't let her fool you. She's an expert at manipulating people's sympathy."
"No, this time it doesn't look like paint," Ashley's voice was trembling, almost pleading.
"I've known Emily her whole life. I can tell when she's faking it.
"Trust me. Please call an ambulance."
"Enough!" Mom's voice shot up, sharp with impatience and anger at being questioned.
"Ashley, I'm the psychology expert here. I know my daughter better than you ever could.
"I'm in the middle of a crucial intervention. Your panicking is going to mess up everything I've been working on.
"You need to leave right now and stop getting in our way."
Beep. The call was suddenly disconnected.
Refusing to give up, Ashley dialed again, but this time, an icy automated message came through the receiver.
[Sorry. The number you have dialed is currently busy.]
She'd been blocked.
Ashley let her hand fall helplessly, giving my body one last look through the glass.
In the end, she could only leave the neighborhood, constantly glancing back as she walked away.
I watched as the only person outside the door who might have saved me left.
The last flicker of hope inside me died out.
In the dining room, Elaine was licking the ice cream off her spoon, her eyes full of curiosity.
"Mom, was that Ashley on the phone just now?" she asked. "What did she say?"
Mom wiped her mouth with a touch of elegance, her gentle smile slipping back onto her face.
"Don't worry about it. She's a sucker who fell for Emily's drama," Mom replied.
"Huh, why is the door locked from the inside?" Dad said to himself.
He stood at the front door, dragging his suitcase, and kept pressing the doorbell, looking puzzled.
He'd returned from a business trip. His flight landed early, and he wanted to surprise Mom and us.
The doorbell was dead, so he tried pressing the red emergency call button.
But the button was barely hanging on, its wires exposed and dangling.
His heart clenched with a sudden, ominous feeling.
He dug out the spare key from his wallet, his hands trembling as he slid it into the lock.
With a click, he turned the key and pushed the door open.
A wave of stench, part bodily waste, part suffocating stillness, hit him the moment the door swung wide.
He froze in the doorway, his eyes locked on the center of the living room.
And then his gaze found me.
He saw my body lying there on the floor, rigid as a corpse, my skin mottled with the unmistakable discoloration of death.
"Emily..." His lips quivered, unable to form a single word.
With a loud thud, his suitcase hit the floor, and he stumbled and crawled desperately toward me.
"Emily, what's wrong?" he shouted.
His hands trembled as he tried to pull me into his arms, but my body was rigid, unyielding like a block of wood.
When his fingers brushed against my icy, lifeless skin and hovered desperately over my nose, finding no breath, he let out a raw, anguished scream.
My soul hovered up near the ceiling.
I watched as the man who had always been so strong was crying like a child.
He clung to my lifeless body, calling my name again and again.
The veins on his forehead stood out, his face smeared with tears and snot.
"Daniela, Daniela!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.
He jerked his head up, eyes nearly bursting with rage and grief, desperately dialing Mom's number.
Meanwhile, Mom was at the most upscale mall downtown, helping Elaine try on a princess dress covered in lace.
"Mom, this dress is so pretty. I feel like Elsa," Elaine exclaimed.
Elaine twirled in front of the mirror, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"If you like it, we'll get it," Mom said, her eyes full of affection as she pulled out her phone to pay.
On the screen, Dad's name was flashing like crazy.
She glanced at it, her brows knitting in annoyance, and hit decline.
"Your dad is unbelievable. He never calls me when he's on a business trip, but now he's blowing up my phone like it's a matter of life and death," Mom muttered.