Double Deception

Chapter 11: Shadows of the Truth

 

The message from Emma hadn't stopped replaying in my head.

I'm the one you really loved.

It was the first thing I thought of when I woke and the last thing I saw when I blinked. Sometimes I swore I could still hear the faint ping of that text, even when my phone was silent.

I'd tried to convince myself it was a dream, a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and paranoia. But when I checked my phone the next morning, the message was still there — unsent, timestamped at 2:13 a.m., from an unknown number that matched none in my contacts.

I hadn't replied. I couldn't.

Instead, I called Marcus.

The Meeting

We met that evening at our usual spot — the corner table of a half-forgotten pub, tucked behind a neon sign that flickered like it couldn't make up its mind to stay alive. The amber light cast his face in alternating patches of shadow and glare, like a man caught between two worlds.

He eyed me across the table as I nursed my untouched beer. "You look worse than the last time I saw you," he said.

"Didn't think that was possible," I muttered.

Marcus leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "Start from the beginning. Everything since the park."

So I told him — about Emily's breakdown, the confession, the voice shift, and the message that came afterward. I even told him about the reflection in the pond.

He listened, his expression unreadable. When I finished, he sat back slowly.

"She said she created Emma because of pressure," I murmured. "Because she couldn't handle being perfect anymore."

Marcus snorted softly. "You're asking me to feel bad for her?"

"I'm not asking you for anything," I said, sharper than I intended.

He studied me for a moment, then exhaled. "Look, man, I know you want to make sense of this. You think if you can explain it, you can fix it. But some things aren't meant to be fixed. Sometimes, people just break."

I swallowed hard. "She's not just 'people,' Marcus. Something's happening to her. Or through her."

He tilted his head. "You mean Emma."

I hesitated. "I mean... whatever Emma is."

The air between us hung heavy. For once, Marcus didn't try to fill it with sarcasm.

"Alex," he said quietly, "if you're even thinking about giving her another chance, you need the full picture. No more guesswork. No more blind spots. If Emma's real, prove it. If she's not, then prove that too."

He was right. Belief wasn't enough anymore. I needed proof — of who Emily was, of what Emma wanted, and whether they were even separate.

The Search

That night, I sat in my apartment with the lights off, the blue glow of my laptop screen painting my face in cold light.

My cursor hovered over the folder where I'd saved Emma's old messages — the ones that started everything. I opened them, scrolling slowly. Some were harmless flirtations, others chillingly intimate. But one thing stood out now that I hadn't noticed before: names.

One name in particular.

Logan.

She mentioned him three times — once in a teasing tone ("Logan says you're too serious"), once casually ("Logan always gets me into trouble"), and once with unmistakable longing ("Logan understands me better than anyone").