Chapter 3: I Want to Be a Detective

Emily jolted awake, gasping for breath, her heart pounding wildly. The darkness around her was suffocating, and for a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. Her mind raced, replaying the terrifying dream she'd just escaped—a dark figure with a knife, the cold blade flashing as it came closer and closer. She tried to scream, but her voice was trapped in her throat.

The door creaked open, and a sliver of light spilled into the room. A familiar voice called out softly, "Emily, sweetheart, are you alright?"

It was Mrs. Bennett, her face etched with concern as she hurried to Emily's side. Mr. Bennett followed close behind, his expression a mix of worry and tenderness.

"It's okay, honey, it's just a nightmare," Mrs. Bennett said, gently wiping the sweat from Emily's forehead. "You're safe now. We're here with you."

Emily took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She hadn't had a nightmare this vivid in years, and the fear it left behind was almost as real as the memory of her murder. But she forced herself to smile weakly at Mrs. Bennett, nodding as if she believed the reassurance.

Mr. Bennett crouched beside the bed, his eyes full of fatherly concern. "You've been through so much, Emily. We're just glad you're still here with us. If there's anything you need, anything at all, you let us know, okay?"

Emily murmured a thank you, her heart heavy with guilt. She wasn't their real daughter, and the affection they showered her with only reminded her of the life she had lost—the life she was still desperate to avenge.

After her parents left the room, Emily knew she wouldn't be able to sleep again that night. She quietly got out of bed and locked the door before turning on the small desk lamp. The dim light cast long shadows across the room as she began to search through the belongings of the real Emily Bennett, trying to learn more about the life she had inherited.

She found photo albums, notebooks, and even a few diaries. Most of it confirmed what she already knew—Emily Bennett had been an ordinary young woman, with a simple life that was worlds apart from the one Emma Pierce had led. It was going to be a challenge to adapt to this new identity, but she was determined to make it work.

Finally, Emily sat down at the small vanity table in the corner of the room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at her was still unfamiliar—rounder cheeks, softer features, and big, innocent eyes. The kind of face that could easily be overlooked, but now, it was the only one she had.

Emily pulled off the loose cotton pajamas Mrs. Bennett had given her and examined her new body critically in the mirror. She poked at the soft flesh on her stomach and sighed. The body wasn't in bad shape, but it was a far cry from the toned, athletic figure Emma Pierce had worked so hard to maintain.

This is who I am now, she thought, staring into the mirror. No more boardrooms, no more high-stakes deals. Just a simple girl with a new life.

But as she gazed at her reflection, a steely resolve hardened in her chest. I may be in a new body, but I'm still me. And I'm going to get justice, no matter what.

The next morning, during breakfast, Emily sat at the table with the Bennetts, picking at the large plate of food in front of her. It was a typical American breakfast—pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns—but the sight of so much rich food made her stomach turn. She had never been much of a breakfast person, and now, with so much on her mind, she had even less of an appetite.

Mr. Bennett watched her with concern, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Emily, you've barely touched your food. Are you feeling alright? You need to eat something to regain your strength."

Emily forced a smile and took a small bite of the scrambled eggs. "I'm fine, Dad," she said, using the term with a bit of hesitation. "I'm just not very hungry."

Mrs. Bennett, always the more practical of the two, reached over and placed a hand on her daughter's arm. "Sweetheart, I know you've been through a lot, but you need to take care of yourself. We want to see you get better and stronger."

Emily nodded, though she knew that no amount of breakfast food was going to help her with the real problem she was facing. After a few more obligatory bites, she excused herself from the table and went to get ready for the day.

When she arrived at the police station later that morning, Emily was greeted by her colleagues with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. Everyone had heard about her accident, and while they were glad to see her back on her feet, there was an unspoken awkwardness in the air. The old Emily Bennett had been a desk officer, mostly handling paperwork and minor administrative tasks. But the new Emily, who was really Emma Pierce, had a different plan.

As she settled into her desk, she noticed her supervisor, Sergeant Collins, approaching. He was a gruff, middle-aged man with a no-nonsense attitude, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Emily, good to have you back," he said, though his tone was more measured than usual. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing better, thank you," Emily replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Good, good," he nodded. "Listen, I know you've been through a rough time, so I don't want to push you too hard. If you need more time to recover, just say the word."

Emily shook her head, her resolve firm. "Actually, Sergeant, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Collins raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"I was wondering if it would be possible for me to transfer to the detective division," she said, the words coming out more confidently than she felt. "I know it's a big step, but I think I'm ready for it. I want to do more than just desk work. I want to make a difference."

Collins stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "Emily, becoming a detective is no small thing. It's a tough job, and you'll be dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes," Emily replied without hesitation. "I'm sure."

Collins studied her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. But no promises, okay? It might take some time."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Emily said, relief flooding through her. This was the first step toward getting the answers she needed.

As the day went on, Emily tried to focus on her work, but her thoughts kept drifting back to her request. Would they really let her transfer? Could she handle the challenges of being a detective in this new life? The doubts crept in, but she pushed them aside. She had to do this. It was the only way to uncover the truth.

That evening, back at home, the Bennetts were waiting for her with the same concerned expressions they'd worn all week. Emily could see the worry in their eyes, the fear that their daughter might never fully recover from her trauma. But she wasn't their daughter—not really.

As they sat down for dinner, Emily braced herself for the inevitable questions about her day. Mr. Bennett was the first to speak, his voice tentative. "How was work today, Emily?"

"It was fine," she replied, trying to sound casual. "I spoke with Sergeant Collins about possibly transferring to the detective division."

Mrs. Bennett's eyes widened in surprise. "Detective? But, honey, that's such a dangerous job. Are you sure you're ready for something like that?"

Emily nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I'm sure. I need to do this, Mom. It's something I feel I have to do."

The Bennetts exchanged a worried glance, but they didn't argue further. They could see that Emily's mind was made up, and they knew better than to try and change it.

As Emily lay in bed that night, she replayed the events of the day in her mind. It had been a long time since she had felt this kind of determination, this sense of purpose. She might be living a new life, in a new body, but she was still Emma Pierce at her core. And she was going to get to the bottom of what had happened to her, no matter what it took.