The Perfect Death

Emmy Winslow looked at me without the slightest hint of panic. Instinctively, she shifted to the side, placing herself in front of a man who wore a loose jacket. When he lifted his head, my blood ran cold.

It was Corbin Ellery, my best friend.

The same Corbin who had clung to me at Emmy's funeral five years ago, sobbing until he passed out.

My breathing stalled. I gripped the doorframe so hard my nails dug into the wood.

"You're alive." Even I could hear the tremor in my voice.

Emmy looked at me with faint amusement. "You already heard everything, didn't you?"

I stared at her face.

Five years.

I'd spent five years looking at that face in photographs, in dreams, and in the hallucinations that came with crushing depression.

For five straight years, I hadn't slept through a single night because I missed her so much.

The guilt had destroyed my appetite. I'd wasted away until I was barely 110 pounds.

I truly believed I'd caused her death.

My hand shot up, and the slap echoed through the room.

Emmy's head snapped to the side.

"Feel better now?" she asked coldly.

"Why?" I stared at her.

Tears spilled down my face uncontrollably, splashing onto the carpet. "Why would you lie to me? For him, you were willing to throw away your identity and pretend to be dead for five years?"

"Because you're insane." Emmy took a step forward, closing the distance between us. "Five years ago, you knew Corbin was inside that synthetic shell, and you still insisted on sending him to the scrapyard. You were going to burn him alive."

I froze, and my mind went blank.

"I didn't know..." I shook my head frantically. "I thought it was a robot. How could I possibly know there was a real person inside?"

"You're lying." She cut me off immediately. "The staff at the scrapyard said you specifically instructed them to turn the temperature to the highest setting. Grayson, you've always been jealous of Corbin. You saw through the disguise long ago. You used the destruction of a machine as an excuse to kill him."

No, I hadn't.

Five years ago, I didn't even know Corbin had returned to the country.

All I knew was that my wife was getting aroused by a robotic butler with a silicone face.

It disgusted me, even terrified me. So I got rid of it.

I looked at Emmy and suddenly realized that I couldn't explain myself.

She didn't believe me. In her mind, I was already a murderer.

Corbin tugged lightly on Emmy's sleeve, his eyes reddening.

"Don't blame Grayson, Emmy. I was the one who insisted on wearing the synthetic skin so I could see you. I was the one who couldn't control my feelings. If he wanted to burn me alive, then maybe I deserved it."

Emmy immediately turned toward him and helped steady him. The concern in her movements was unmistakable.

"Go inside. There's a draft out here. You're sick. You can't catch a chill." Her voice softened instantly.

Five years ago, I'd called her in the middle of the night while coughing up blood from a stomach condition. She told me she was busy and said I could take a taxi to the hospital myself.

That same night, while I was being rushed through emergency treatment, she was at home watching movies with that so-called robot.

"Why did you lie to me? Every day, you watched me cry for you and for him. And the two of you hid in the shadows and laughed at me."

I looked at them and declared clearly, "You make me sick."

Emmy's expression darkened.

"If you're alive, then we'll call the police." I pulled out my phone. "Faking a death certificate is fraud."

Emmy didn't stop me. Instead, she smiled. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"Go ahead. Unless you're willing to watch your father die."