beyond the pages

chapter 4

                       Emily Williams

"Emmy!" My father's familiar voice halted my ascent up the stairs, freshly returned from college.

I hesitated, wanting to ignore him, but filial respect wouldn't let me.

"Yes, Dad?" I asked cautiously.

"Let's have coffee together?" he suggested.

I nodded, seeking a brief reprieve. "I'll join you after freshening up."

Without waiting for his response, I continued upstairs, my mind racing with anticipation

As I stepped into my room, a sudden numbness washed over me, as if a cold breeze had swept through my ears. The familiar space felt eerie, shrouded in darkness except for the faint glow of the sunset seeping through the curtains.

A shiver ran down my spine. My room, once a sanctuary of warmth and comfort, now seemed unsettling.

Shaking off the unwelcome feeling, I pushed aside the curtains, flooding the room with golden light. The soft glow reassured me, and I reached for the switch, banishing the remaining shadows.

A warm bath was just what I needed after a chaotic day.

Fresh from my warm bath, I descended the stairs in comfy clothes, my hair tied in a neat bun. Mom greeted me with a smile. "Your dad's waiting outside."

I smiled back and headed out. Dad sat in his car, patiently waiting. "Hey, Princess," he said, as Eric opened the door for me before dad could.

"Eric, this is my and Emmy's date. No interruptions, please," Dad joked, grinning.

I rolled my eyes, while Eric's face fell. "I won't interrupt, Dad," he promised.

"Eric! Come here, I need your help!" Mom yelled from the house.

Eric sighed, casting me a sympathetic glance before leaving. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Take care, sis."

"Let's go, shall we?" Dad asked, breaking the silence.

I nodded, and he leaned forward to fasten my seatbelt. Oops, forgot again?

"You should know how to take precautions, Princess," he said, a hint of familiarity in his tone.

I chuckled. Maybe I should've taken precautions before sharing my book obsession with you.

The car hummed along, its gentle purr vibrating through my seat as we glided down the smooth asphalt. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the air vents, mingling with the faint hint of Dad's cologne. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun-kissed leather envelop me, and dreading the impending conversation.

"Emma." A soft whisper broke the silence, like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

My eyes snapped open, searching for the source. Who called me that? And why did the voice feel familiar, like a forgotten melody?

The sound was crisp, with a subtle hint of sweetness, like honey dripping on warm toast. It wasn't Dad's voice; he always called me Emmy, with a deep, raspy tone.

I glanced at Dad, but he seemed lost in thought, eyes fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched.

"Dad," I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine. "Hmm?"

"Did someone call me Emma?" I pressed, the doubt swirling inside my head like a whirlpool.

Dad's expression changed in an instant. He slammed on the brakes, jerking us forward. Our seatbelts strained against the sudden stop.

"W-what did you say?" he stammered, his voice laced with shock.