~ Sorry for the delay, I started a new job, and that has been taking up a lot of my time. Anyway, I started writing my book based on my TikTok series, and it is called Cold Comfort. The first chapter is published if you want to check it out, and hopefully that second will be up tomorrow! xoxo ~
"Emily?"
"Hey, (Y/N)," the voice on the other end says softly.
"Who is this?" you question. The logical part of your brain kicks in as you realize that this isn't really Emily. It can't be. Emily is dead.
"It's me."
"No," you say more to yourself than to the phone, "Em...Emily is dead. We buried her."
"(Y/N),"
"No," you say one more time before taking the phone from your ear and hanging up. Still shaking and reeling with adrenaline, you stand there staring at the phone in your hand.
Emily is gone, this is all in my head. You think to yourself. You screw your eyes shut tight, trying to wake up from whatever sick dream you've gotten yourself into. Emily is gone, and I need to move on.
Suddenly the phone starts ringing again and you jump, throwing your phone onto the bed in fear. Slowly you move over and stare at the screen, repeating the phone number over and over in your head. There is no denying that it's Emily's number, but who would go to the lengths of making it seem like Emily's number just to prank you.
You keep staring, eyes locked on the phone before it eventually stops ringing. A few moments later a notification pops up. You have one new voicemail.
Cautiously you reach out and pick up the phone, before going to your voicemail and pressing play on the latest one.
"I'm sorry (Y/N), I know I shouldn't have called. But after I heard your last voicemail I was so scared and you hadn't called back, I just had to make sure you were alright. You can call me back if you want, just please don't tell the team. I really miss you. Bye."
When it finishes, you replay it and replay it and replay it, listening to every single detail. You analyze it the same way you would if you were listening to a message sent by an unsub.
Every breath, every syllable, everything about the way she talked, you take it and compare it to the memory of Emily you've kept in your mind. But those memories are starting to fade and you aren't sure if what's in your head is accurate or not.
A part of you wishes she would call back, dying to hear more of the voice you so desperately wished were hers. But she doesn't. The phone stays silent, with no noise except for the replaying voicemail.
The next morning you push yourself out of bed and wipe your eyes. The previous night feels so far away, you almost convince yourself that it was a dream. Until you open your phone and staring back at you is the voicemail. Hard physical evidence that the night wasn't entirely in your head.
You quickly turn your phone off and continue with your day.
The whole time you were in the office, you were running on autopilot. Your body was doing everything that you needed to be doing, but your mind was miles away.
The day passes uneventfully, and you find yourself back at home staring at your phone once more. That voicemail haunted you, and no matter how much you wanted to forget it, you needed to know the truth.
You redial the number, against your better judgment, and sit on your bed as you listen to it ring. Your heart jumps when you hear somebody pick up on the other side of the line.
