Pretend She's Here(68)

My throat caught. I felt a wave of nausea, thinking of the nights she had hovered over me, watching me sleep. I knew I should hate her for everything, but in that moment, she was so calm, her voice so normal—erasing the evil Mrs. Porter and bringing back the old one I’d loved.

“I can sit with you, but I can’t be Lizzie again.” I eased down on the edge of the bed. Our elbows were lightly touching. She leaned against me, put her head on my shoulder. I felt physically sick.

“Your hair smells like her. It’s the same color. If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s her. Do you know what that’s meant to me? You’ve given me the greatest gift. I told myself you wouldn’t mind, that you’d come to accept being Lizzie.” She turned to me, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

“That’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. The point was, this was almost over. My heart galloped, wanting to get upstairs. But I told myself as long as she was right here, sitting still, she wasn’t on her way to my mom. Everything would be fine now.

“Will you say it one more time?” she asked. “I’ll close my eyes, and you say it, and I’ll hear it forever, wherever I go.”

Mom. She wanted me to call her that, but there was no way, never again. That request broke something inside me, whatever had been holding me in suspended animation, and I knew if I didn’t get out of there I’d throw up or scratch her face off.

“Let’s go now, Mrs. Porter,” I said.

“Please, say it just once more. Will you call me by the right name? It will make this so much easier …”

This? Going to jail? Suddenly the insanity in her expression was back, and I started to jump up. But she clawed my wrist, nails digging into my skin, pulling me back down.

“Lizzie,” she said. “Lizzie, we’re going together.”

“I’m going home,” I said, trying to yank myself free.

Then I saw her other hand.

Her fingers were closed around the knife with the silver blade, the one I’d seen in the video, and in her pocket, and so many times in my nightmares.

“I am doing this because I love you,” she said, her voice soothing, almost honey sweet. “This life is unbearable. The cruelty of losing the people you love, of having them die and being left here alone. But we won’t have to lose each other again. There’s eternal peace. That is what I am giving you.”

“No, you’re not!” I screamed.

I fought her. I hit her as hard as I could, heard my fist crack her cheekbone. I tried to kick her, but she’d leapt up from the bed, gripping my wrist, and my foot missed. She was waving the knife, stabbing the air, but I kept ducking, trying to pull away.

“You brought this on,” she said, her eyes red with tears. “You made me do this. We could have been happy, if only you’d tried harder. We could have been a family again. This is the only way.”

I put everything I had into it, and I tried to shove her again, but the knife got in the way. It felt like a punch in my chest, not sharp at all. But I heard my bones splitting, and I felt my insides melting. My heart sped up, and with every beat, I heard a gush of my blood, saw the bright red stream pulsing onto the floor.

Voices surrounded me. Chloe’s, Officer Clarke’s. Mrs. Porter’s. Mrs. Porter was crying, “Let me die with her; I want us to die together.”

My spirit started to rise. My body stayed crumpled on the floor. I could see it—my eyes open, glassy, staring at nothing. Blood so fresh with oxygen it was scarlet pouring out of my chest. My spirit felt light as air. It looked like gauze, a shapeless wisp spiraling toward the ceiling.

Casey practically dove at me. He cradled my head in one arm. Then he eased me down, flat on the floor, pressed his hands straight into the stab wound, trying to keep the blood inside my body. I heard blood gurgling through his fingers; I swear I felt him holding my heart. All of a sudden my spirit was back in my body. I looked into his eyes, the color of the sea. They were so bright.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “Emily, you’re here with me.”

EMTs rushed in. They pushed him aside. An oxygen mask was slapped onto my face. They cut off my jacket and sweater, applied intense pressure to my chest. Someone was saying my name really loud, “Emily, how you doing there? Emily, you’re going to be fine. Stay with us, Emily.”

And then another voice: “Virginia Porter, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Emily Lonergan. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right …”

Chloe was weeping as the handcuffs were clicked around Mrs. Porter’s wrists. Then they handcuffed Chloe.

“No, not Chloe!” I tried to say, but I was choking on blood as they led her away behind her mother.

My whole body had been numb, but now I could feel, and every nerve ending was a sharpened dagger stabbing me again and again. The pain was a wildfire raging through my entire body, taking over my mind, until nothing else existed. I was no longer a person; I was just pain.

“Emily,” came Casey’s voice. He held my hand, his fingers sticky with my blood, and in the quietest voice you can imagine, with his mouth against my ear, he whispered my name over and over.





They say your life passes before your eyes when you’re dying.

Mine did. I saw my parents, my brothers and sisters. Casey, Carole, their faces full of fear and sorrow and love. I hovered above them as they took turns sitting by my bedside in intensive care. Detectives in blue suits stood just outside the room, questioning Casey and Carole about the Porters, taking notes. They tried to talk to me, but Dr. Dean told them it wouldn’t be possible for a long time.