Emily Prentiss Dies Mga Nobela at Kwento

I opened my mouth to call out to her, but the words got stuck in my throat. Three years ago, Emily was driving back from out of town to celebrate my birthday when she got into an accident on the highway. By the time I got to the scene, it was completely swarmed with emergency vehicles. All they told me was that Emily was dead—her body too mangled to recognize. Her friend, a forensic pathologist, took me to the autopsy. My mother made me cremate her with my own hands. For a while after that, I wanted to kill myself just to be with her again. My mother kept trying to talk me down.

The only person who has the power to decide if our story continues is Emily/Jocasta. That brings me to my next point of contention—the fact that she might be dying. Dr. Santos’s words keep replaying in my head, warning me that there is no cure for Huntington’s disease. Emily has a terminal illness and no one knows about it except for me and her doctor. When Huntington’s disease was first mentioned, I recalled hearing about it a long time ago. It took me a good few months to remember it was Lucille Mellon who succumbed to the disease. She didn’t even make it to her seventieth birthday.

Luther asked, surprised. “Emily is dead father.” Star replied as she cried uncontrollably. “How do you know she’s dead? Hazel asked inquisitively. “I saw her, she came to my chamber, she’s gone mother.” Star said aloud as she hugged her mother tightly in tears. Hazel’s grip on her tightened while she patted her back to keep her calm. “Are you sure about this?” Luther asked, concerned. “Yes father, she died in my arms and that is her ashes on the floor. She’s gone father, she’s gone, Emily is gone” She cried out in pain and Hazel hugged her tightly in her arms.

She spun around, freezing in spot as her gaze hit her mother. Emily, so put together and always flawless, was sprawled out, the delicate gown she’d chosen for the evening ripped in several places. I could count multiple puncture wounds, but it was the deep gash across her abdomen that was going to be the end of her. Through the thick, crimson blood, I could see broken intestines, which Emily was desperately trying to shove back within her stomach cavity. “Mom,” Zelda whispered, covering her mouth with her hand a moment later. Emily’s face was drained of color and I could see the flicker going out of her eyes. She was moments from dying and I knew there was nothing I could do about it, even i

Nothing but the cold, hard truth of what Emily had just said. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, that's not possible. She was fine, she was just… she was just here… She shook her head as tears welled into her eyes. "I am so sorry, Miss Christie, it was a car accident… They said he died right away, didn't suffer…

Emily finally announced her presence, rolling her eyes. “Emily… It's been a while,” She had a smile on her face as she reached her hand out in a bid to find Emily and hug her, but she froze when Emily's voice came on again. “Why didn't you just die, Mrs. Russell?” “Huh?” Her jaw dropped to the ground, her lips parted, and she blinked her eyes. “Don't you feel miserable living like this? Don't you think it's better to be dead than live the rest of your life in darkness?”

She leaned against the door, crossed her arms, and stared at me. I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? I wasn’t in the mood to listen to any of her games. She was probably here to spy on me or check if I had anything to spill for Matteo. But after a while, she spoke. “Emily is dead.” Her voice was cold, like she didn’t care what effect those words would have on me. My head shot up, and my eyes met hers. My heart stopped for a second, then started beating so loud in my ears that I could barely hear my own thoughts.

“I can’t reach her.” There was another pause, much longer this time. My grip tightened around the phone. “Clarisse,” I said again, slower now. “Where is Emily?” Her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “She’s dead.”

After all, if the truth came out, Wyatt would lose his shot at becoming the heir of the Mercer family. The messenger, panting and wiping the sweat from his forehead, stammered, "I-It's true! I saw it with my own eyes! Emilia dug Mr. Elliot right out of the ground, and the body was already decomposing. You should go take a look for yourself!" A flicker of panic crossed Celia's face. "That's impossible," she muttered under her breath. "I made sure to…" Celia caught herself before she could finish her thought. Just as she pulled herself together and was about to leave, Emilia strode into the venue with my corpse in her arms.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie