Keeping It Fluid -17

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Chapter Seventeen

The door closed behind the officers, and just like that, it was quiet again.

Too quiet.

Dad had left an hour ago to take a few business calls down in the hotel's business center—some private room with too many chairs and bad coffee, probably. He said he needed to "keep things moving" at work, but I knew the real reason. He didn't want us to see the stress in his eyes every time the phone buzzed. He didn't want us to hear the way his voice cracked when someone mentioned my name.

I couldn't blame him.

We were all coping in different ways.

Mom paced the room like a caged animal, folding and refolding clothes that didn't need folding, smoothing out already-made beds. Every time the ice machine down the hall made a noise, she flinched.

Sam stayed on the couch, eyes glued to a tablet, but I wasn't sure he was really watching anything. He hadn't said a word since breakfast.

Lily had taken over the bed by the window. She'd been staring out between the blinds for twenty minutes straight now, her phone forgotten in her lap.

And me?

I was curled up in the corner with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, watching the muted TV screen flash with images of a world that had kept spinning while mine had stopped.

A news anchor's face moved across the screen. A headline at the bottom read: School Shooting Investigation Continues—Suspect in Custody, Accomplice Still Unknown.

I wanted to throw something at the screen.

Instead, I just turned it off.

"Can we at least try to act like things are normal?" Lily asked suddenly, not looking away from the window.

Sam scoffed. "What's normal about hiding in a hotel room because some psycho's stalking our sister?"

"Sam," Mom said sharply.

He shrugged, but he didn't take it back.

"I didn't mean it like that," Lily said, quieter now. "I just... I don't want to feel like we're waiting for something bad to happen. Again."

"We're not waiting," Uncle David said. He was seated by the desk again, drinking what had to be his fourth cup of coffee. "We're preparing."

The way he said it made my skin crawl.

"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" I asked.

"No," he said simply. "But it's the truth."

We fell back into silence, the weight of it pressing against our chests like gravity had doubled. I hated this. Hated being stuck in a box with nothing but my thoughts and the fear crawling just beneath my skin.

"I wish we were home," Sam muttered.

"I don't," I said. "She was watching me through the window."

That shut everyone up.

Even Lily.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself and looked toward the window. Snow was starting to fall again—light, soft, and almost peaceful.

But peace didn't live here anymore.

Not in the house.

Not in the school.

Not even in this hotel room.

The snow had picked up again. Thick, heavy flakes now, clinging to the windows like frostbitten fingers. I'd lost track of time—hours blurred together inside the hotel room like a fog. Mom was sitting with Lily and Sam at the table, trying to distract them with a card game, but no one was really paying attention.

I was back on the bed, staring at the muted TV screen again, not watching it.

When the knock came this time, it was softer.

But somehow it still made my blood run cold.

Uncle David was at the door before anyone could move. He checked the peephole first, always cautious. Then he cracked the door open.

It was the same two officers from before.

Only this time, they weren't alone.

Two men in dark coats stood just behind them. One of them was tall and built like a statue, with ice-blue eyes and a hard expression. The other looked younger, his face serious but kind in a way that made me nervous—like he felt sorry for us before he even said a word.

FBI.

I knew it before they said anything.

"We need to speak with you," the taller man said. "Now."

Uncle David stepped aside, letting them in. Mom stood up, her face going pale, the cards in her hands forgotten. Sam and Lily exchanged looks and backed up instinctively.

The shorter agent glanced at me, then back at Uncle David. "We found something."

My stomach twisted.

"There's a house about six blocks from yours," the agent began, pulling out a folder from inside his coat. "Vacant. Listed for sale. We got a call from the realtor this morning—they went to check on it and found signs of forced entry."

"She's been squatting there," the officer added grimly. "Probably for weeks."

The folder opened. Inside were photos.

My face stared back at me.

Photo after photo—some printed, some polaroids. All of me.

Some of them were in school.

Getting into our car.

Looking out my bedroom window.

One photo had me brushing my hair in front of the mirror, blinds barely open—taken from a distance, but unmistakably me. My breath caught in my throat.

"We also found this," the FBI agent said, pulling out another picture. It showed a table with three computer monitors lit up in the dark. All three displayed different angles of our house. "She hacked into the exterior cameras. Wired into the feed. She's been watching you. Live."

My mouth went dry.

"She was in that house?" Mom asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"She lived there," the taller agent said. "There were food wrappers, clothes, a mattress on the floor. But no sign of her now. She's gone."

"She knew you'd come," Uncle David said quietly. "She's already one step ahead."

The agent nodded. "We're sweeping the property for prints and DNA. But this wasn't just random surveillance. This was targeted. She had files on Emily. School records. Social media screenshots. Photos that go back months."

Sam let out a strangled sound and sat down hard on the couch. Lily turned to the wall, wiping her eyes.

I couldn't breathe.

"Why me?" I whispered. "Why is she doing this?"

No one had an answer.

Instead, the younger agent crouched beside the bed, his voice low and careful.

"She's obsessed with you, Emily. She sees you as the loose end. Something personal."

"Do you think she's planning something?" Uncle David asked.

The agent hesitated. Then he nodded.

"Yes."

Silence settled over the room like a death sentence.

"She's not going to stop," the agent continued. "Not unless we stop her first."

After the agents left, the room felt like it was holding its breath.

Mom sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like she was trying to disappear into the carpet. Lily had crawled under the blanket and pulled it over her head, whispering something to herself I couldn't hear. Sam was still glued to the couch, pale and silent, his game abandoned on the table.

Uncle David hadn't said a word since the door closed. He stood by the window now, watching the snow fall with clenched fists and a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.

I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

For a minute, I just stood there, the hum of the fan buzzing low and hollow in my ears. Then I sat down on the edge of the tub, phone in my lap, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out.

I opened my messages.

Jasmine (Frog Emoji)
Mia (Heart Emoji)

They were still there. Waiting. They had no idea what was happening. What was still happening. I hadn't messaged either of them since before the photo. Before the knock at the window. Before the empty house filled with pictures of me.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Me: Hey.

I stared at the blinking cursor.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Me: Something bad happened.

Deleted that too.

What was I even supposed to say? That the girl who helped try to kill me at school was living six blocks away in a vacant house watching me sleep? That she was still out there—and maybe getting closer?

No.

I couldn't send that.

Instead, I just stared at the chat, trying to feel like the world I used to live in was still real. That somewhere, things were still normal. Somewhere, people weren't afraid to close their eyes at night.

Then the hotel phone rang.

The shrill, sudden sound shattered the silence like a scream.

I froze.

I wasn't even sure who moved first—but the door swung open behind me. Uncle David rushed into the room, eyes hard. Mom was right behind him.

The phone rang again.

He grabbed it, pressing the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

His back straightened.

Then—his voice dropped. Tense. Controlled. "Who is this?"

I stood up slowly, my blood turning to ice.

Uncle David didn't say anything else. He just listened.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then he slammed the phone down.

"What did they say?" Mom asked.

His face was blank.

His voice was not.

"They asked... if Emily liked the hotel bed more than her one at home."

I felt my knees buckle. Mom caught me before I hit the floor.

"David," she whispered, voice shaking, "how the hell did they get this number?"

But he already knew.

We all did.

She wasn't just watching.

She was listening.

After the call, Uncle David yanked the phone cord from the wall and threw it across the room. No one stopped him.

We didn't ask questions.

We didn't need to.

Eventually, the room went quiet again. Mom pulled the curtains tight. Lily sat with her knees hugged to her chest, eyes locked on the door. Sam laid back down but didn't fall asleep—he just stared up at the ceiling like it might crack open any second.

I curled up in the corner of the bed, wrapped in a scratchy hotel blanket. It wasn't warm, but it was heavy, and I needed the weight. I buried my face into the folds of it, letting the quiet press down over everything.

Even with everyone in the room, I felt alone.

The fear didn't shout anymore—it whispered. It crept in like smoke under a door. It hid in the shadows, in the silence, in the blinking light of my phone charging on the nightstand.

That was when it buzzed.

I jumped, heart in my throat—but this time it wasn't an email.

It was a call.

Jasmine (Frog Emoji) was lighting up the screen.

I didn't even think. I answered on the first ring and pressed the phone to my ear like it might melt into my skin.

"Hello?" My voice cracked.

"Emily?" Jasmine sounded surprised. "You picked up."

I blinked back sudden tears.

"I didn't think you'd answer," she said, her voice soft. "I've been trying since yesterday."

"I—I couldn't. It wasn't safe."

There was a pause.

"I heard something happened," she said carefully. "At the house. Someone said your street had police everywhere. Then the school sent that weird message this morning saying 'No updates at this time.' I've been freaking out."

I swallowed hard. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I want to worry about you."

That did it.

The tears slipped free.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Jaz," I whispered. "She's everywhere. Every time I think I'm safe, she's closer. She got into a house down the street and set up cameras. She knew where I was sleeping. She called the hotel phone."

"Oh my God," Jasmine whispered. "Emily..."

"I don't even know if I'm going back to school. If I can. Every time I close my eyes, I think she's going to be there. Behind the door. Outside the window. Inside the wall."

"You're not alone," she said fiercely. "You hear me? Even if you're hiding in a hotel room, even if everything feels like it's falling apart—you've still got me. And Mia. And your whole family. That girl may know where you live, but she doesn't know you. Not like I do."

A quiet laugh escaped me—half-broken, but real.

"I miss you," I said.

"I miss you too. So bad. When you're ready to talk more, or if you just wanna hear someone breathe on the other end of the phone, call me. I don't care what time it is."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"...Remember that time we tried to make brownies and forgot the eggs?" Jasmine was saying after a minute of silence. "You were so sure it'd still work."

I smiled into the phone, the blanket pulled up around my chin. "They turned into chocolate gravel."

"Yeah, but you still made me eat them."

"You liked them."

"You're a liar."

I laughed softly, and for a moment, things felt almost normal. Like we were back in her kitchen, socks sliding on tile, sugar dusting the counter, the smell of burnt chocolate filling the air.

It was easy to forget the hotel walls. The flashing lights. The FBI.

The fear.

"Thanks for calling," I said after a while, my voice barely a whisper. "It helped."

"I'm always here," she said. "And hey—if you ever wanna sneak out and egg someone's house, I'm just sayin', I know a girl."

"Jasmine..."

"I know, I know. Bad timing. I'm just trying to make you laugh."

I smiled again, a small, tired smile. "It worked."

I heard her breathe out, then the soft rustle of her blankets. "Okay. Try to sleep, Em. I'll keep my phone on, promise."

"Night."

"Night."

I ended the call but didn't move. I stayed curled up in the corner, staring at the dark TV screen, clutching the phone like it could still carry Jasmine's voice. Just holding it made me feel tethered to something real.

Then I heard the soft creak of the hotel carpet.

Uncle David.

He walked over slowly, crouching beside the bed, his voice low.

"You okay?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He hesitated. Then he asked, "Do you know someone named Lexi?"

I blinked.

"Lexi?" I repeated. "Yeah, I mean... I used to. She was—she was one of the girls who used to hang out with Tasha. At school. Why?"

Uncle David's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

"She showed up at the house."

My blood ran cold.

"At our house?"

He nodded.

"Police were still on the scene. Said she walked right up the driveway and asked for you by name. Wouldn't say why. Said she didn't know anything about what happened with the break-in, just that she 'needed to talk to Emily.'"

"That doesn't make any sense," I whispered. "Lexi and I aren't even friends. Not really."

Uncle David stood slowly, arms crossed.

"She's not under arrest," he said. "But we're watching her now."

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself.

Because someone had told her where to find me.

And maybe, just maybe...

It hadn't been random at all.