Chapter 2: No One Knows Better Than the Dead

After days of enduring the pain, Emily Bennett was finally transferred out of the ICU. Her condition had improved enough to allow her to move around, albeit slowly. One evening, taking advantage of a rare moment when the nurses were occupied, Emily quietly slipped out of her hospital room.

She made her way down the corridor, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above her. The only person in sight was a slightly overweight night nurse, busy at the station. Gathering her courage, Emily approached the nurse and asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear, "Can you tell me what happened to Emma Pierce? Did she survive? Has she been discharged?"

The nurse, visibly annoyed by the sudden interruption, shot her a glance and responded with irritation, "What are you doing up at this hour? Get back to bed."

But Emily persisted, desperation creeping into her tone. "Please, just tell me—did Emma Pierce make it?"

The nurse, now more irritated, sighed and answered, "That woman died days ago. She's gone. Why are you asking about her?"

Emily's grip on the nurse's arm loosened as the reality of those words sank in. Her mind reeled as if the world had suddenly tilted off its axis. The nurse, sensing that Emily might collapse, gently guided her back to her room.

As the door closed behind her, Emily stood motionless for a moment, her mind numb. She was dead. The life she knew as Emma Pierce had ended.

It was as if all the memories she had tried so hard to suppress suddenly flooded back—the sharp pain of the knife slicing through her flesh, the warmth of her blood spilling out, the darkness closing in. It wasn't just a memory; it was a vivid, visceral experience.

A surge of rage and fear coursed through her, and before she knew it, a scream tore from her throat. The sound was raw and primal, echoing through the room, a manifestation of the horror that now consumed her.

Nurses rushed in, trying to calm her down, their voices a distant murmur. Someone administered a sedative, and the edges of her consciousness began to blur. Yet, even as her body succumbed to the medication, one thought remained clear and sharp: Who killed me? Why did they do this? She was determined to find out. She would have her revenge.

The next morning, Emily sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard, watching as the Bennetts—her new parents—hovered around her with concerned expressions. Mr. Bennett, with his overly affectionate demeanor, was particularly hard for Emily to handle. He fussed over her incessantly, calling her "my sweet Emily," a nickname that made her shudder each time she heard it. Mrs. Bennett, more reserved but no less concerned, bombarded her with questions about her condition, most of which Emily dodged or answered vaguely.

The most pressing question from Mrs. Bennett was how exactly Emily had fallen down the stairs during the operation. After all, she was only supposed to be playing a minor role, impersonating a hotel maid during a routine police bust—a role that carried little risk. Emily, not knowing the details of the incident, could only stammer that she didn't remember much, blaming her confusion on the head injury.

Mrs. Bennett, lightly tapping Emily's head with a smile, said, "You've always been such a scatterbrain, my dear. That fall must have shaken your memory even more."

As the days passed, Emily found herself comparing the Bennetts to her real parents. Her own mother and father had been strict, emotionally distant people who rarely showed affection. The thought of their reaction to her death sent a pang of sorrow through her, but she quickly pushed it away. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past—not when she had so much to figure out in the present.

When she was finally discharged from the hospital, the Bennetts carefully escorted her home. Once inside her room, Emily immediately locked the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before turning on the computer.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in her former name, "Emma Pierce," into the search engine. The results were what she expected—news articles about her business achievements, interviews, and a brief obituary. The obituary was particularly painful to read, as it reduced her entire existence to a few lines: "Emma Pierce, a prominent businesswoman, passed away on April 21, 2024, due to an accidental death."

The obituary was signed by her parents, her husband, and a few close friends. There was no mention of the violent circumstances of her death, no hint that something more sinister had occurred.

Emily's frustration grew as she scrolled through the results. How could her death be dismissed as an accident? She knew it was anything but.

She began trying different search terms—her home address, the date of her death, the words "murder" and "robbery." Finally, she found a few short news reports:

"In the early hours of April 21, 2024, a brutal robbery and murder took place in an upscale suburban neighborhood. The victim, Emma Pierce, a well-known business leader, was attacked in her garage and sustained multiple stab wounds. She was pronounced dead shortly after being taken to the hospital. The police are investigating the case, though no suspects have been named."

Emily read the article over and over, anger and disbelief warring within her. This was how her life had ended—summed up in a few short sentences.

Was it really just a robbery?

Her mind raced back to that night. The attacker had been methodical, moving with precision and purpose. He hadn't hesitated, hadn't given her a chance to defend herself. No, this wasn't some random crime.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the details that still haunted her. How did he get into the neighborhood? The security in her community was top-notch. How did he know whether I had money or valuables on me? She had always been cautious, never carrying large amounts of cash.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she became. This was no random act of violence. Someone had planned her death—had wanted her dead.

And now, she had to find out who—and why.