Chapter 7
The river kept moving.
That was the first thing Emma noticed.
Harry lay motionless at her feet, blood soaking into the dirt, his warmth already fading beneath her hands—but the river flowed on, whispering softly, indifferent. The night insects continued their song. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, oblivious.
Emma slowly lifted her hands from Harry’s chest.
They were slick with blood.
Madeline stood a few steps away, shaking violently now, the knife still clenched in her fist. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, darting between Harry’s body and Emma’s face.
“I didn’t mean to,” Madeline sobbed. “I didn’t—this wasn’t—”
Emma stood.
She rose calmly, deliberately, as if nothing inside her was screaming.
“You brought the knife,” Emma said.
Madeline flinched. “I was scared.”
“You followed him,” Emma continued. “You ran him off the road.”
Madeline shook her head. “I just wanted to scare him. I wanted him to stop.”
Emma took a step closer.
“And when you saw me?” she asked softly.
Madeline’s mouth opened. Closed. “You shouldn’t have been there.”
Emma nodded slowly. “No. I shouldn’t have.”
The knife trembled in Madeline’s grip. “This is your fault,” she said suddenly, desperation sharpening her voice. “If you hadn’t come back—if you hadn’t—”
Emma moved faster than Madeline expected.
She grabbed Madeline’s wrist, twisting hard. The knife clattered to the ground. Madeline cried out, stumbling back, fear finally overtaking fury.
“Don’t touch me!” Madeline screamed.
Emma didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.
“You remember high school,” Emma said. “Don’t you?”
Madeline froze.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
“You remember the lockers,” Emma continued. “The notes. The way you laughed when I cried in the bathroom.”
Madeline’s face drained of color.
“That was years ago,” she whispered. “We were kids.”
“You were cruel,” Emma said evenly. “And you never stopped.”
Madeline backed away until her heel caught on a rock. She fell hard, gasping.
“You planned this,” Madeline said suddenly, eyes wide with realization. “Didn’t you?”
Emma tilted her head.
“I didn’t plan this,” she said, glancing briefly at Harry’s body. “But I knew you would come.”
Madeline scrambled backward on her hands. “You’re sick.”
Emma smiled.
It was small. Almost gentle.
“You should have stayed quiet,” Emma said.
Madeline screamed and lunged for the knife.
The blade flashed.
There was a struggle—brief, frantic, ugly. Madeline was stronger than Emma expected, fueled by panic and terror. They crashed to the ground near the river’s edge, mud soaking into their clothes.
Madeline clawed at Emma’s face. “Help me,” she sobbed. “Please.”
Emma pinned her wrist, pressing down until Madeline cried out in pain.
“No one helped me,” Emma said.
Madeline’s eyes flicked past her.
Headlights.
A car approaching on the road above.
Emma followed Madeline’s gaze.
And in that instant—just one heartbeat—Emma made a decision.
She released Madeline.
Madeline didn’t hesitate.
She grabbed the knife and, sobbing hysterically, stumbled backward—too fast, too close to the edge. Her foot slipped on wet stone.
She fell.
The sound was brief. A sharp crack. Then silence.
Emma crawled to the edge and looked down.
Madeline lay twisted at the riverbank below, unmoving, the knife half-submerged in the dark water.
The headlights grew closer.
Emma stood, wiped her hands on her dress, and walked back to Harry.
She knelt beside him one last time.
“I did love you,” she whispered. “In my way.”
Then she rose and walked into the trees as the car pulled onto the road above.
The knock came just before dawn.
Emma’s father opened the door to find her standing on the porch, barefoot, clothes stained dark, eyes eerily calm.
“Dad,” she said softly. “I need your help.”
He stared at her, then pulled her inside without a word.
Hours later, as the sun climbed over Briarwood, two graves were dug deep in the woods behind an abandoned quarry—places no one visited anymore. Places people had forgotten.
Emma watched as her father filled the last one in, his face gray, his hands shaking.
“We don’t talk about this,” he said hoarsely. “Ever.”
Emma nodded. “Of course.”
As they walked back toward the house, her father finally turned to her.
“Emma,” he said quietly. “What really happened out there?”
She met his eyes.
And for the first time, she told the truth.
