The Swiss Murder | Completed

8. A Toast

Scarlett, Emma, and Anthony returned hours later, exhausted from their skiing adventure and shopping excursion. Nothing a little shopping therapy can fix, Emma thought as she deposited all of her shopping bags in her room.

She sighed and flopped on the bed, closing her eyes. As soon as she did, she saw Eric shoving Carter against the wall by his neck. Her eyes flew open. Not again, she groaned. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the event from her brain. Her heart started beating faster again, as it had been doing the whole day just by remembering the exact damn thing.

Something had to be done. Emma knew she had to talk to Eric, but deep down she was scared, although she failed to acknowledge it and passed off the emotion as just being nervous.

Emma never thought there would be a day in her life where she would be scared or nervous to talk to Eric, her childhood friend!

She got up from the bed and marched towards Eric's room. She raised her hand to knock, however it just hovered there, inches from the door. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the thumping of her heart, she knocked. But she might as well have just brushed her knuckles across the wooden door, for even she didn't hear the knock and wondered if she had imagined it.

Emma's hand hovered near the door again, she shuffled her feet and then dejectedly dropped her hand by her side.

What was she supposed to say to him? Why did you almost kill Carter? How would that conversation go? No, she thought. She couldn't do it, couldn't find the strength to face Eric like this.

Things needed to calm down first and then she would talk to Eric and Carter. She remembered something that Scarlett had said to her when they were shopping earlier and knew just the way to put things back on track. Smiling, Emma felt a little better about herself and walked back to her room with purposeful steps. I can do this.

***

Eric was lying on the bed, aimlessly staring at the chandelier hanging from the roof. He watched it glitter and wink at him as it caught the light whenever he tilted his head. How long had he be lying there, doing this mundane thing over and over again? He had shut himself off completely from his thoughts.

Even just a sliver of remembrance gripped his heart in a vice grip, making it hard for him to breathe. All the events in the past few months rushed back to him like a huge tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of emotions, ripping him apart in every direction.

Eric heard footsteps outside his room and immediately sat up, he could hear the blood rushing from his head and felt a little dizzy. When was the last time he ate? Not important, he decided as he saw the shadow of the footsteps halting in front of his door.

His breath hitched in his throat, eyes glued to the door as he waited with anticipation. He knew it was Emma, could feel it in his bones.

Had he heard a knock? Did he need Emma so much that he was imagining things now?

I should go...

But what would he say to her? How will he meet her disappointing eyes? Eric broke out in a sweat and started to hyperventilate.

No, no, no... not again.

He wished to talk to Emma but didn't at the same time. His eyes dropped down to the shadow of her footsteps, and when Emma shifted her weight from one foot to another, his heart palpitated and his breaths became short and shallow. Eric wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and just waited. That was all he could do, right?

He let out the breath he was holding and felt the crushing weight of disappointment as he watched the footsteps retreat. Couldn't Emma even bear to look at him now?