Chapter 196

Chapter 196
Emily's POV

I woke up shivering on a hard wooden floor, my head pounding. Cold, damp air filled my lungs as I struggled to focus. Where the hell was I?

Memories flickered through my mind—my aunt's phone call about seeing Sophia, getting into a cab, then... nothing. Now I was in what looked like an old attic, with slanted ceilings and a single dim bulb hanging overhead.

"She's finally awake," said a familiar voice.

I turned my head to see Megan Weber and Simon Wallace standing in front of me.

"Welcome home, Emily," Simon said with an empty smile.

I tried to sit up but found my limbs heavy, uncooperative. "Where am I? Why did you bring me here?"

My eyes darted around the space. There was something eerily familiar about this attic, something that made my skin crawl. Had I been here before?

"Why are you helping her frame me, Simon?" I demanded. "Why did you lie to me?"

Simon's face hardened. "Because you're a thief. You stole most of her time."

He turned to Megan with a puzzled expression. "Why is she still Emily Grey?"

Megan placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Don't worry. She'll be our Amy again soon."

"Amy?" I repeated, confusion washing over me. "Who is Amy?"

Megan knelt beside me, her eyes gleaming with disturbing enthusiasm. "It's you. Or rather, it's your other personality."

I laughed despite my fear. "You think I have dissociative identity disorder? That's ridiculous."

"The you that exists now is just a personality Caitlin fabricated," Megan continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Our goal is to destroy you and give control back to Amy."

I felt my pupils dilate with panic. "This is insane. I don't have DID!"

"The human mind is incredibly complex," she said softly.

I struggled again to move. "I'm perfectly aware of my condition. I don't have multiple personalities, there's only one me. No one can have multiple consciousnesses!"

Megan smiled. "You're living proof that it exists."

She leaned closer. "Tell me, Emily, why don't you remember anything before age six?"

I froze. How did she know about my memory gaps?

"Those memories belong to Amy, not you," she whispered. "Otherwise, you'd remember how you switched your mother's sleeping pills and murdered her."

I looked to Simon pleadingly, "Is what she's saying true?"

Simon's expression shifted, his fingers tightening at her words.

"My mother committed suicide!" I shouted.

"You have no memories of your real childhood," Megan continued relentlessly. "You were locked in this attic, in the dark and damp."

"That's a lie!" I felt tears threatening to fall.

"Your mother had severe paranoid delusions. To protect you, she always kept you locked in here, never letting you out. She didn't like you coming near her either. Whenever you did, she'd beat you."

Something flashed through my mind – a memory? – of something wrapped in layers of spider webs.

"But my memories aren't like that. My mother may have been insane, but she loved me. I remember how it felt when she held me."

"You made all that up. Because you don't have those memories, to rationalize this phenomenon, you fabricated that memory and beautified it."

My breathing quickened.

"You've never experienced real love," Megan said. "That's why you can't form real attachments. You're just mimicking normal people's emotions."

"You're not talking about me. You're describing yourself," I forced strength into my voice. "You're the one with severe emotional problems."

"Why else would you design a plan to modify children? You wanted to modify not just bad children, but all psychologically abnormal people, including yourself. You live in childhood fear, you have serious emotional problems, and you're also a serial killer targeting people with mental illness," I continued.

"You're wrong. I don't want to make them normal. I want society to see the suffering of mental illness patients," Megan responded.

"Those normal people out there bully us with their happy lives and torment us with their ignorance. They occasionally show us sympathy, but they cannot comprehend our pain; they only condescendingly offer pity." Her expression became manic. "Only by causing them substantial pain will we, the mentally ill, be seen, valued, and respected. Not just pitiful creatures hidden from sight."

"Bullshit," I spat. "That's just your excuse for murder."

Megan grabbed my collar, yanking me closer. "Not me. Us. These were Amy's ideas too. She's our leader."

"I didn't kill anyone!"

"That bottle of sleeping pills was stolen by Simon and me for you. You didn't want to be locked up by them forever, so you chose to kill your mother," Megan insisted, her voice rising with excitement.

"I didn't!"

Who are "they"? Simon's mother? Or... Caitlin?

"In a sense, you didn't. But Amy did."

"She doesn't exist! There's only one consciousness in this body – mine," I insisted.

I tried to calm myself, realizing her intention was to brainwash me into admitting I was a criminal.

Simon stepped forward impatiently. "Enough talking. She'll be gone soon anyway."

I turned to him desperately: "Simon, please. I'm the one who's been your friend all these years! Megan is manipulating you!"

I saw doubt flicker in his eyes, but he pushed it away.

"Our next step is killing Michael," Megan announced casually. "We're going to make it slow."

Terror seized me. "No! You can't hurt him!"

Simon studied my face. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," I admitted, my voice breaking.

His expression hardened. "Then he must die."

They switched off the light and left, locking the door behind them. In the sudden darkness, fear engulfed me completely. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

I focused on controlling my panic. I knew I wasn't a killer. I knew I didn't have another personality. But why couldn't I remember that period of my life?

"Remember," I whispered to myself in the darkness. "You have to remember!"