The door opens, the familiar rooms waiting beyond. But Emilia can’t move. She is stuck at the threshold, staring into her house which now feels like a place of danger instead of safety. This isn’t her home any more. It is just the place where she was taken; where the back door was unlocked, and the Confession Room seeped in. How is she meant to just return to normal life? How is it that she can simply be discharged from the hospital, with the police telling her that the victim liaison will be in touch very soon? What is she supposed to do now?
‘Are you okay, love?’ Her mum grips her shoulder, frowning with concern.
Emilia nods quickly, desperately wanting to shrug her away. Don’t touch me, she wants to cry. They want to help her, she knows that. But she just wants to be alone. She can’t stand the feeling of guilt that is carving away at her from the inside out. She killed a man. A person who was out in the world, living his life just a couple of days ago, is now gone. So being alone would be easier. And she isn’t scared … not for herself, not any more. After all, what can they do? Choose her again? As long as she keeps her mouth shut, her family won’t come to any harm.
She stares down at her feet, takes a sharp breath and steps through the door. Exhaling slowly, she glances around. There’s nothing to be afraid of, as long as she sticks to their rules. She repeats this over and over in her mind as she shuffles towards the living room, wincing at the pain that is thrumming through her entire body, her bones aching.
She turns on to her side, her tired eyes gazing at her parents as they move about the kitchen, trying to busy themselves with something, anything. Her dad is making her a sandwich, focusing intently on spreading butter evenly across the bread, as if perfecting that will make all of her horror disappear. And her mum is staring down at the mug on the counter, her eyes empty as she stirs slowly, the steam rising up towards her face.
They place the sandwich and tea on the table in front of her, both watching as she sits up slowly.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
They sit down awkwardly either side of her, silence consuming the three of them. Emilia chokes down each mouthful – anything to keep them happy. Anything to prevent them asking any questions. With just a couple of mouthfuls left, she puts the plate down on the coffee table, the china ringing on the wood, the only sound in the whole house.
‘Thank you,’ she says again, smiling gratefully at both of them in turn even though she is having to make every effort not to be sick.
‘Whatever you need,’ her dad says. ‘Anything. Anything at all.’
Emilia nods. ‘Well … I think what I really need is to rest.’
‘Of course,’ her mum says. Her comfort phrase. ‘You go and rest and we’ll wait here.’
‘I … I really did mean it when I said I’m fine on my own.’
‘Emi darling, we wanted you to stay with us and we understand you don’t want that, but we really aren’t comfortable leaving you completely on your own –’
‘I know you aren’t. But there’s no point in you being here. I’m going to go into my room and sleep for the next two days. I’m not in any danger –’
‘How can you say that?’ her mum cries. ‘After what they did to you!’
‘They let me go,’ Emilia says simply. ‘And nothing has happened to Isabella or Joseph. I’m safer than most other people now. I’ve already survived it. And Ciaran will be here really soon, he’s coming this morning –’
‘Emilia –’
‘Dad, please.’ She meets his gaze, firmly. Pleadingly. ‘I know it must be difficult for you to understand, but I … I really just want to be alone.’
He sighs and stands. ‘Okay –’
‘David!’ Her mum follows him, wringing her hands. ‘We can’t just leave her –’
‘If it’s what she wants, we will, Marie.’ He cups her chin gently, his finger stroking her jaw. ‘We can check on her all the time. Okay?’
Marie swallows, her eyes filling with tears. ‘You call us the second you wake up, Emilia. Understand?’
‘I understand, Mum. And you’re sure you’re okay to keep Mimi for a while? I just don’t think I can take care of her at the moment –’
‘Of course, love,’ her mum says. ‘Don’t even think on it. We love having her. Now, come here.’
Emilia slowly rises to her feet and allows herself to be pulled into her mother’s arms. ‘I love you,’ she whispers.
‘We love you so much, Emi,’ her dad says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
‘Call us,’ her mum says. ‘We’re just around the corner. Okay?’
‘I’m going straight to sleep and when I wake up, I’ll call you. I promise.’
The door clicks shut.
But Emilia does not act as promised. She does not go to her bedroom and collapse on to the bed. She does not drink her calming tea and lie down on the sofa, allowing her sleep-deprived eyes to finally give in and close. All that she will see if she closes her eyes is Ryan’s face, that final moment when the realization that she was going to pull the trigger hit him.
Instead, she heads straight for her computer. Straight for the Confession Room.
She types her name into the search engine. If she had searched her name before, it only would have brought up her sister. But now those results have disappeared, replaced instead by countless articles tying her to the Confession Room forever.
THE NEXT SURVIVOR FOUND – BUT WHEN WILL THE CONFESSIONS END?
THE THIRD VICTIM OF THE CONFESSION ROOM FOUND – BUT NO PROGRESS MADE TO CAPTURE THE PERPETRATORS
EMILIA HAINES FOUND ALIVE, AND RYAN KIRKLAND: ANOTHER INNOCENT VICTIM OF THE CONFESSION ROOM
Emilia clicks on the last one, her eyes drawn to the word innocent. If only the world knew what he had done.
She scrolls down, wincing at the sight of their photos: both of them smiling at the camera, the pictures chosen by the media to show them at their happiest.
Hundreds of flowers have been placed outside Ryan Kirkland’s home where he lived with his mother, Pippa Kirkland.
‘My son didn’t deserve this,’ said Pippa, clutching a photograph of Ryan. ‘He was a good man who was just trying to live his life. He had so many friends and people who loved him. And they’ve taken him away. Whoever did this has to be caught. They need to pay.’
Emilia forces her eyes closed as guilt shudders through her. But along with the guilt there is a low hum of rage. Nobody knows what he is. Nobody knows what he’s done. She can’t even tell her parents. And no one will ever know. He has died a victim and the truth has died with him.
She clicks away from the article and slowly types out the address, tears blurring her vision as the forum loads.
Her phone rings and Jenny’s name flashes across the screen. But Emilia ignores it, her eyes dancing instead over the page, taking in all the confessions, all the possible victims. And possible killers.
Who will be chosen next?