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Emma Barnes woke up with a pounding headache. It felt a little like that one time she had gotten drunk at a Senior’s party, before Sophia had pointed out how dangerous it had been. Emma had sworn off alcohol after that, too aware of the weakness it caused. Even if she didn’t end up in a dangerous situation, it would wreak havoc on her image as someone cool and collected.
So why was her head pounding, if it wasn’t alcohol?
Emma raised her head slightly and tried to open her eyes. The light felt piercing to her, so she closed them again, wincing. More important, though, was the realization that she was sitting up. There was something around her waist keeping her from slumping forward completely, but her head had been tilted forward over her lap.
Emma forced her eyes open, eyes blinking rapidly against the pain. She was sitting in an old wooden chair, rope wrapped around her waist. Her hands were tied, too, behind her back and the chair-back. She was in a dark room with only one lightbulb, but that lightbulb was bright and practically pointed in front of her face. The shadows it cast partially hid the edges of the room and the storage shelves and boxes that ringed the room. A basement, she thought.
It was clear what had happened, even if the details were still hazy. Emma had been kidnapped. By who, she didn’t know, though the basement did seem vaguely familiar. Why, she had some guesses. Something to do with Shadow Stalkers enemies, since the grudges Sophia had gathered were from people dangerous enough to actually kidnap someone and lock them in a basement. Then again, she had angered plenty of losers from school, who might, with a lot of luck, get the jump on her. The thought stung and those losers were too weak to do much, so she disregarded the thought.
Her best bet, she thought, was to pretend to not know anything. She would just pretend to cry a bunch and promise to do whatever the kidnappers wanted if they let her go, and hope that Sophia would track them down and save her.
A door opened somewhere above her, and footsteps sounded on the stairs. Emma looked up and saw a pair of shoes appear as their owner walked down the stairs. Her eyes were a little blurry, but they were familiar. So familiar that she recognized the basement immediately. How had she even forgotten? This was the Heberts’ basement. She hadn’t spent long down here, of course, since it was unfinished, but Taylor had led her down here to grab tools and shovels for their messy playtimes in the dirt of the backyard above. Then again, it had been years ago, and her vision wasn’t as good as it should be.
Sure enough, Taylor appeared, her now-characteristic slump intact.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah, Taylor. I’m awake,” Emma sneered, her habitual cruelty rising at the sight of her favorite target. “What did you think was going to happen, genius? I’d sleep until you woke me up? If the world worked like that, you’d never wake up.”
On second thoughts, it may have been a bad idea to mock someone who had kidnapped her, but Emma wasn’t about to let any implied threats shut her up. Not when they came from Taylor, who was too weak to do anything.
“So, tell me your evil plan,” Emma continued. “You’ve apparently managed to kidnap me – the most impressive achievement of your pathetic life, no doubt – so what now? If you’re smart, you’ll let me go and beg me not to tell anyone what you’ve done.”
“I didn’t kidnap you,” Taylor insisted a little weakly.
That was to be expected, wasn’t it? Taylor wasn’t strong enough to kidnap Emma. That would be ridiculous. But someone had kidnapped Emma, and tied her up in Taylor’s basement. Presumably, Taylor had instigated the whole thing somehow. She didn’t have enough money to pay someone to do it, as far as Emma was aware. Even if she actually whored herself out like Emma had been suggesting, she wouldn’t be able to make enough money. But she could have spun some sob-story. She could have convinced someone to kidnap Emma for her. Emma didn’t know who, though.
“Of course, you didn’t kidnap me,” Emma said condescendingly. “You’re too pathetic to do it yourself. But the question stands. What are you going to do now? And don’t try to wiggle out of this like the worm you are.”
Taylor’s expression closed down. She looked at the floor and just stood there for a long moment, holding onto the wooden beam holding up the ceiling at the end of the stairs. She heaved a deep sigh and looked up, meeting Emma’s eyes.
“I think I should be the one asking questions,” Taylor said with a bit of bite in her voice. “So, why, Emma? Why are you so cruel to me?”
“Why? Because you’re a pathetic worm,” Emma snarled. “Now stop worming out of answering me!”
Laughter cut her off. Not from Taylor, standing before her, but from behind her. Chills raced down Emma’s spine as she realized there was a third person in the room.
“And this is why we leave the questions until after the show has started,” a voice eerily similar to Taylor’s said. “You remember everything I do, my Ring. You should know this.”
“I do,” Taylor muttered.
“Who is she?” Emma asked Taylor. “Your sugar mommy? Or your pimp?”
Taylor scowled at her.
“Give the word, and I shall cut out her tongue,” the voice from behind Emma said.
Emma’s breath froze as she parsed the words. Worse, Taylor didn’t look surprised or horrified. She was looking at whoever it was gently.
“I don’t want that,” Taylor insisted. “I don’t want this. You know I still…”
“Kill your affection for her,” the other ordered. “Let it die, and throw its corpse to the wolves like the offal it is.”
The words were disturbing, but not as disturbing as the idea that Taylor still liked Emma. She didn’t understand it. If Taylor had hurt her half as much as she had hurt Taylor, she would hate Taylor. Hell, she did hate Taylor even though Taylor had done nothing but be weak!
For Taylor to hang onto their old friendship like that was pathetic and sad. That was all. There was no reason for Emma to get all weird about the revelation.
“You think I haven’t tried?” Taylor exclaimed before Emma could say anything about how pathetic Taylor was.
“I know you haven’t,” the other said forcefully. Then, gently, “You haven’t had the chance.”
Emma didn’t understand why, but Taylor’s expression became horrified.
“No,” Taylor whispered.
“If you want to hate her, you need to act like it,” the other said authoritatively.
“I don’t want to hate her,” Taylor answered. “I don’t want to think about or care about her at all!”
The thought of Taylor not caring about Emma – not hating her, or anything – felt alien and wrong.
“You bitch,” Emma snapped.
“See?” the other asked, a smile in their voice. “Even Emma wants you to hurt her.”
Emma realized what had just been said with a sickening lurch.
“That is not what I said,” she said, trying to twist around and see who was behind her.
“But it is what you want,” the stranger said, certainty dripping from her voice.
“It is not,” Emma snapped. The chair’s high back was preventing her from looking behind her. She unfortunately did recognize the chair; it came from the dining table upstairs. “I meant that Taylor should think about me, and will never manage to not think about me. After all I’ve done, it’d be pretty stupid for her to do anything else.”
“Of course, of course,” the other cooed. “I never said anything differently. I know you want Taylor to think about you, and to think about hurting you. Why else did you hurt her so?”
“Because she’s weak, because I can!” Emma’s voice raised in emphasis. The sound of her voice made her winced. It was too loud, and hurt.
“I know that is not why,” the other crooned, the voice coming closer. “Taylor is stronger than she knows. And you know that. Because if she wasn’t, she would have killed herself and the authorities would look for someone to blame. And who else but you and your friend, Sophia? Would you endanger Sophia?”
“Winslow would shield Sophia,” Emma scoffed. “Sophia doesn’t need my protection. She’s not that weak. Unlike Taylor.”
“And it always comes back to Taylor,” the other laughed softly. The chair creaked as someone leaned against its back. “Taylor is still alive without your protection, Emma. Do you want to try again? Tell the truth, this time.”
“I am,” Emma insisted. She was having a hard time concentrating on her argument, so she just stuck to the most basic level. “Taylor is weak. That’s why I hurt her.”
“If you do not tell the truth, I will have to hurt you,” the stranger said. Most of her tone was warning, but there was the slightest sound of laughter in it.
“And that’s my cue to go,” Taylor said.
As Taylor turned around and started walking up the stairs, Emma’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
“What the hell, Taylor!” Emma shouted, pushing through the pain the sound caused. “Get back here!”
Taylor paused, looking back at Emma.
“Please, ash nazg?” the other said innocently.
“You promised,” Taylor said, looking past Emma. “Remember? Please stop pressuring me.”
“Fine,” the other said. “I’ll stop – for now. But you need to harden your heart in the coming days. Conquest is not for the faint of heart.”
“Fine,” Taylor said. She turned more fully to both Emma and the other, and looked down at them with a terrible determination. “Then kill her. I’m asking you to kill my first best friend. Is that hardened enough?”
Emma couldn’t say a word, too stunned to speak.
“Good for now, precious,” the other said. “Go on. Return to your room and put on some music. I’ll come to you when I’m ready for a break.”
Taylor threw herself into a run, dashing up the stairs with startling swiftness. Emma felt suddenly afraid. If Taylor, who claimed to still care about her, wanted her dead rather than whatever the other person was planning, Emma did not want to find out what it was. And Taylor was her only real hope of stopping it.
“Taylor, get back here!” Emma shouted. The bang of the basement door was her only answer. “Don’t leave me with this psycho!”
“I am not psychotic,” the other laughed. “You are not lucky enough for me to be so harmless.”
The other finally came into sight, stepping into the light from behind Emma. The sight didn’t make sense at first. Taylor had just left. But Taylor stood in front of Emma again, smiling and holding a kitchen knife. Emma looked towards where she was sure Taylor had gone and back at the Taylor in front of her.
“What the fuck!” Emma yelled as loudly as she could.
“You’re overreacting, Emma dear,” Taylor purred. “Isn’t this what you said you wanted? You want me to hurt you.”
“No,” Emma shook her head. She was pretty sure she hadn’t said that.
“Yes, you do,” Taylor chuckled.
She extended the hand holding the knife to Emma’s shoulder.
The first cut was like fire.