Page 50 of Little Did You Know

Sarah’s beat-up black car disappeared around the corner, leaving behind only exhaust fumes and questions. I studied the house again, its windows like dead eyes staring back at us. Somewhere inside, Emmett was waiting—or hiding.

"Emmett's alone now." Walker’s hand moved instinctively to his holster. "Since we don't know what to expect, I'll be going in with you."

My pride wanted to refuse, but the memory of Olivia's fear stopped me. "I'm pretty sure I can handle this."

"Yes, I'm sure you can, but I'm not willing to take the chance." The steel in his voice left no room for argument. "Nick." Walker's voice stopped me mid-stride. I turned, catching something in his tone I'd never heard before—uncertainty. He took a half-step closer, lowering his voice though no one else was near.

"What is it?"

His eyes met mine. "We've been watching him for days now." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The Emmett you knew? The one Olivia remembers?" Another pause. "Prepare yourself."

Each step toward Emmett's door felt heavier than the last. Walker's presence behind me, his men positioned around the house, should have been reassuring. Instead, the military precision of it all only confirmed what my gut had been screaming: this was no simple visit.

I raised my fist to knock, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then rapped twice. The sound echoed hollow in the stillness. No footsteps. No voice. Nothing but the weight of silence pressing against my eardrums. I knocked again, harder this time, my knuckles stinging against the wood. Still nothing.

"Are you sure he's here?" My hand hovered over the door.

Walker touched the gun at his hip. He gestured to the fresh cigarette butts scattered by the steps.

I pounded my knuckles against the wood again. Something rustled inside. "Emmett, open the door." My palm flattened against the door frame, feeling the vibration of movement inside.

Each unanswered knock coiled my tension higher. Rustling sounds behind the door confirmed what we already knew—Emmett was there, watching, choosing silence.

"Emmett, open the door." My voice scraped against the quiet afternoon. Nothing. Raw heat flooded my veins, and my fist connected with the wood before I could stop myself. "Open the damn door!"

Walker's tap on my shoulder was gentle but firm. I stepped aside, recognizing the cold efficiency in his stance. One precise kick, and the door gave way with a groan that seemed to echo through the darkness. The smell hit first—a toxic cocktail of mold, stale beer, and something deeper, something rotting. My eyes struggled to adjust as we stepped inside, feet crunching on clutter.

Gradually, shapes emerged from the gloom. Take-out containers formed precarious towers. Clothing draped like dead things across overturned furniture. Empty bottles caught what little light filtered through the blackout curtains, their labels facing different directions like lost compasses.

"What are you doing here?" Emmett hunched deeper into his couch, one hand curled protectively around his beer bottle. Light from the doorway caught half his face, turning the hollow of his cheek into a dark crater.

The room was dark, with only the open front door's light illuminating a portion of the room. Walker moved to the windows and pulled open the blackout drapes, and there he was, sitting on the couch, leaning back with a beer in his hand.

My eyes adjusted to the dark, and reality hit like a physical blow. "What the fuck is going on, Emmett?"

The man in front of me was a ghost of the Emmett I knew. His t-shirt hung from his shoulders like it was on a wire hanger, the neckline revealing collarbones that jutted like knives. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his cheeks, and his eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into their sockets, fever-bright in the dim light. When he moved, his joints carved sharp angles through his skin.

"I've been busy." His laugh came out like broken glass, sharp and dangerous.

Something caught my eye through the gloom—the soft blue pulse of LED lights. Computers. Computers everywhere. He had several set up on the kitchen table and three laptops sitting in front of him on the coffee table.

Why would someone need so many computers?

"Emmett, what's going on?" My boot crunched through a layer of takeout containers, sending roaches scurrying for cover.

"Nick, go home." Emmett pushed himself up from the couch, his keyboard clattering to the floor. One hand braced against the wall for balance, leaving a greasy smear.

Something inside me snapped. The room narrowed to a tunnel, with Emmett's thin face at the end of it. My hands were moving before my brain could catch up, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. The impact when I slammed him into the wall sent a picture frame crashing to the floor.

His eyes went wide—not with fear, but with something worse: recognition. He'd been waiting for this. My forearm found his throat, pressing just hard enough to make each breath a struggle. The pulse in his neck hammered against my skin, each beat a reminder of how easy it would be to press harder.

He struggled to grab at my arm and gasped for air.

The floorboards creaked behind me—Walker, close enough that his presence pressed against my awareness. My fingers trembled against Emmett's throat as the past few days crashed through my mind: Olivia's tear-stained face, her trembling hands, the fear that never quite left her eyes. The pressure built in my chest like a kettle about to blow.

"Nick," Walker snapped.

"I'm going to let you go," I growled through gritted teeth. "And when I do, you're going to sit the fuck down and answer my questions, or I'm going to kill you." Emmett nodded, and I released him, tossing him away from me and back toward the couch.

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