What Happened To Emily Prentiss Novels & Stories

I kept playing the message in my head, those last words, like she was whispering straight through time, through death, into my ear. “Don’t trust either of them.” How did she know? And why did it feel like I was already too late? By 8 a.m., I was parked outside a library. Not mine. Not local. A town over. Somewhere neutral. I signed onto a public computer with trembling fingers and searched for anything. Old records. Articles. Social media scraps. There was almost nothing about Emily after her death. Just sanitized obituaries and half-hearted blog posts about water safety. But I wasn’t looking for her anymore.

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.

"Good morning, my darling. Are you all ready for your departure?" My throat tightens with emotion as I go to embrace her. "I think so," I say, breathing in her comforting, familiar scent. "Alpha Roman's car will be here soon to collect my belongings." Mother squeezes me tightly, stroking my hair. "I can't believe my little girl is all grown up and leaving home. I'm going to miss you so much, Emily." Guilt twists inside me, knowing the sorrow I'll cause her today is false. In truth, the daughter she's bidding farewell is already gone, murdered by the wolves I called friend and lover.

I ask at this moment, wiping my face with my fingers and clearing my throat. “At the internet café, Ma,” Emily answers immediately. Then I say, “Good, go back there, do more research about the last events that happened, and why Tyler was thrown into prison. I mean the truth of this and not what the media says.” “I’ve already done that since he was sent to prison, Ma,” Emily says, and I realize she is even more prepared for this revenge even before the murder happened. With this, I say, “I see. You already had revenge at heart even before this murder took place.”

The sky darkened, and it began to rain. Emily was about to drive back to the hotel when she realized that she had a flat tire. She waited for a long time and still couldn't get a taxi and she was drenched in the rain. She kicked the tire angrily. Emily thought about Bennett's death, the night five years ago, and her dead babies. She broke down. She crouched in the rain and pressed her head against her arms. Her tears mingled with the rain and ran down her face.

I introduced myself and explained that I was trying to gather more information about Mel. Emily sighed. “What do you want to know?” “Is there anything unusual in her behavior before her death?” Emily took a deep breath. “She was paranoid and kept saying that she felt like she was being followed. She also mentioned receiving strange phone calls from unknown numbers, but she never told me what they were about.” Silence filled the room, and I lost all hope of finding a clear answer. “I’m sorry I can't provide any useful information,” Emily whispered as she got up from her chair.

The headline made the blood drain from Emily’s face. TRAGEDY AT EVANS TOWER: SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR MISSING EMPLOYEE. Emily Reed, 23, a junior archivist at Evans Enterprises, was reported missing late last night after failing to return home. Sources close to the family say Miss Reed had been struggling with mental health issues. Police discovered her coat and shoes near the waterfront, leading to fears she may have jumped during the storm. "He killed me," Emily whispered, reading the text through blurred vision. "He... he erased me."

She didn’t ask how I survived. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t look relieved to see me alive. She just walked beside me. But she wasn’t really with me anymore. And I could feel it. Every second of it. We were halfway through the cabin when a gunshot cracked through the air. Sharp. Precise. My instincts reacted instantly. I turned—too late. Declan Ricci stepped out from behind a steel support beam, with smoke still curling from his gun barrel. One clean shot. The bullet tore straight into Emily’s back.

He continued and I raised my eyebrows. “There was one time, when someone came to deliver information to me about Emily’s whereabouts. He was to take me to her the next morning, but he was found dead in the waters nearby. People around him said he was a delusional person who had constant hallucination spasms. I deemed his words then irrelevant, and since he had died and couldn’t prove himself, the case was closed.” He finished and my ears piqued at that. “The one time someone comes to you with information concerning Emily, he dies. Meanwhile, Emma continually refused to talk about Emily, despite knowing that Emily existed and that you were very much in love with her.” My theories were coming

Patel suggested, gesturing for me to follow. I held Ethan's hand for support as we walked to the doctor's office. His grip was reassuring, but my mind was racing with worst-case scenarios. Dr. Patel closed the door behind us and gestured for us to sit. "Please, have a seat," she said, her expression serious. I sat down, Ethan's hand still clasped in mine. "What's going on with Emily?" I asked, my voice shaking. Dr. Patel leaned forward. “Emily was involved in a hit and run. She was rushed here by a Good Samaritan at the scene”