“And if people got to him, they had to have a reason,” Chase went on. “Maybe Barbara Rogers is Alison’s nurse.” He glanced up at the brownstone again. “Let’s wait for someone else to come out and catch the door before it shuts.”
“Good idea.” Spencer sat down on the first step and stared fixedly at the door, willing someone to appear. Cars honked on the main avenue. A couple of pigeons fought over a bread crust on the sidewalk. But no one emerged in the foyer. How long would they have to wait?
“So did you get your blog emergency sorted out the other day?” Spencer asked.
Chase looked at her blankly. “What?”
“You know, the reason you had to cut our first meeting so short,” Spencer prompted. “Was there breaking news about Benjamin Franklin secretly running a meth lab? Independence Hall once being a whorehouse?” In some of their chats, Chase had revealed some of the ridiculous myths that his readers debated.
“Oh.” Chase stared at his hands. “Actually, it wasn’t a blog emergency at all. It was more of a family thing. My brother needed my help.”
A trail of pale green leaves swirled down the street. One of them flew right into Chase’s cheek. Spencer resisted the urge to brush it away. “Is your brother older or younger?” she asked.
“A year younger,” Chase said. “We’re pretty close. We weren’t when we were little, but after the stalker thing . . .” He trailed off, his gaze suddenly distant.
Spencer rolled her jaw. “That must have been intense,” she said quietly. “What happened, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Chase’s gaze slid to the right. “At first, the guy and I were friends. But then, something changed. He threatened me. Tried to kill me. Messed me up pretty badly.”
“There’s not a mark on you.” Spencer allowed herself a few moments to stare.
Chase ducked his head. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Yeah, well. Most of the scars you can’t see.”
Spencer knew exactly what he meant. And she hated that she knew. She watched the pedestrians on the street, lost for a moment in memories of Ali. “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked after a while. “Did he go to jail?”
Chase looked pained. “He was under eighteen, so no. And like I said, his parents were loaded. They kept this out of the press, paid off the cops. He left school, but that’s all I know.”
Spencer shook her head. “That is so unfair. So he’s just walking the streets?”
Chase nodded. “I guess so.”
He turned his head away then and made a pained noise that broke Spencer’s heart. She touched his arm, all at once so sad and heartbroken, both for Chase’s experience and her own. How dare someone torment him? How dare someone torment her?
“I know what it’s like,” she whispered. “I’ve been stalked, too.”
Chase turned around, his brow furrowed. “You have?”
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Spencer removed the Britney wig and took off the sunglasses. “I’m Spencer Hastings,” she said. “One of the girls Ali tried to, uh, kill.”
Chase’s mouth made an O. All sorts of expressions crossed his face in a single second. “I wondered if it was you,” he said after a moment in a voice so tender it made Spencer’s heart break. “But I was afraid to ask. I was afraid to scare you away.”
Spencer pulled the wig back onto her head. “You can’t tell anyone, though, okay? I’m trusting you. If I see this show up on your blog . . .”
“That will never happen!” Chase said, urgently shaking his head. Then he leaned back and blinked at her. “Jesus. Spencer Hastings. Now I feel like an idiot telling you all that stalker stuff. It pales in comparison.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Spencer said firmly. “The same thing happened to both of us. Someone we trusted screwed us over in the worst way possible.” All of a sudden, she felt tears filling her eyes. She’d connected with other people about Ali, confessed what Ali had done to other boys she’d been interested in, but no one had gone through it, too. She’d always laughed at the expression kindred spirits, but now, with Chase, she understood what it meant. If only she could see Chase on occasions other than Ali stakeouts. She had a feeling they could talk all night without ever running out of things to say.
She swallowed hard. “Will you go to prom with me?”
Chase sat back and blinked. “Wait. What?”
“We both need something fun in our lives. Something to take our minds off what happened. We could go just as friends. As whatever. And you probably couldn’t tell my friends that you run an Ali blog, and you’d have to promise not to talk about any of us in it—”
“Spencer,” Chase interrupted. “I already told you, I’d never do that.”
Spencer nodded. “So what do you say?”
Her heart pounded as she watched Chase tilt his head back and peer down his nose at her, as if trying to see her from a different angle. The longer he didn’t say anything, the more ridiculous Spencer felt. It was a horrible idea. Chase was out of high school, too cool to go to proms.
Then Chase grabbed her hand. “I would be honored. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there with a tux on.”
“Really?” Spencer’s mouth wobbled into a smile.
Chase was about to say something else, but then the door behind them swung open. An old lady with a kerchief over her head and a bunch of bags in her arms struggled out the door. Chase stepped up and held it open for her. The old lady smiled at him. “That’s so sweet of you, dear!”
“No problem at all,” Chase said, giving her a small bow. He and Spencer scrambled through the door before it slammed closed.
The hall was dark and smelled like spicy curry. There were two apartment doors on the ground floor, then a set of stairs. Spencer could see another apartment door up the first flight. There had to be at least four or five more apartments in the building.
She looked at Chase. “So what do we do now?”
“Go to Four-B, I guess,” Chase said, peering up the stairs. Then he turned to the front door again. “You go up. I’ll be right behind you, keeping watch.”
Spencer nodded, then bolted up the stairs, passing three doors painted red, orange, and blue. Another blue door still had a Christmas wreath, despite the fact it was May. Another orange one had a pile of mail on the mat. The railing wobbled when she grabbed it for support. She could hear Chase’s footsteps on the stairs behind her.
On the top floor, light flickered behind 4B. Swallowing hard, Spencer exchanged a look with Chase, who was a few steps down, then crept up to it and pressed her ear to the door. Could Ali’s nurse really be inside? What if Ali was inside, too?
“What should I do?” she whispered to Chase.
He shrugged. Knock? he mouthed.
Trembling, Spencer rapped once, then twice. Then she listened. The television’s volume didn’t change, but she thought she heard a sigh and couch springs squeak. There was a click in the hall, and she whipped around, on alert. “What was that?” she whispered to Chase.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, eyes wide. Then he walked farther down the hall. He stopped at the second-to-last door on the right and stepped closer to it, inspecting the knob. He pressed his ear to the door, as if listening, but then he lost his balance, falling forward and softly slapping the door with his palm. Spencer covered her eyes. “Shhh!”
“Sorry!” Chase jumped away from the door as if anticipating a ghost was going to spring out.
For a moment, it was eerily silent. Then, a creak sounded above her, and she looked up. And all at once . . . boom. There was a crunch of metal, and a whoosh of air, and then more banging and clanging sounds. Spencer jumped back as an attic door in the ceiling opened and items tumbled down. First an unwieldy coatrack, then a mounted deer head, its antlers sharpened to knifepoints, and then a bowling ball. The ball crashed onto the floor next to her and careened down the steps.
“Spencer?” Chase called through the dust. “Jesus. Ar
e you okay?”
“I-I don’t know,” Spencer said, realizing she’d fallen to the ground. When she touched her face, it was slick. She brought her hand away—it was sweat or tears, not blood. More dust cascaded from the ceiling. The trapdoor hung precariously on one hinge, the screws dangerously loose.
“Come on,” Chase said, catapulting over the rubble, grabbing her hand, and dragging her down the steps. Heads poked out of apartment doors, mouths agape.
“That was weird,” Spencer said shakily as they barreled down more stairs.
“Weird doesn’t even begin to describe that,” Chase said. He glanced up the stairwell. Another loud thunk sounded. “It’s almost like it was planned.”
Spencer shivered. She’d been thinking the same thing. It was possible, perhaps, that Ali or her helper had planted this address online for Chase to find. And then snuck in here and filled the attic with dangerous things. Rigging the door to fall at just the right moment . . . on just the right person’s head . . .
A’s evil message swirled in her mind: I did it. And guess what? You’re next. Maybe this had all been a trap. And maybe A’s warning was coming true.
21
An Unexpected Guest
Hanna pulled into the Bill Beach parking lot, her burner phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Screw the no-technology rule. This was an emergency.
Mike’s voicemail beeped. “It’s me again,” Hanna pleaded. “I can explain. I want you back. I want to go to prom with you. I have a new cell phone—this is my number. Please, please, please call me!”
She hung up and eyed her prom queen crown and scepter—she carried them with her everywhere. Tears pricked her eyes. She was not going to ruin her makeup, though. A future prom queen needed to look good even when she was cleaning up pee.
When something in her bag bleated, she plunged her hand inside again, praying it was Mike. But it was her old phone. It had auto-logged onto the Bill Beach WiFi and downloaded a new e-mail from Agent Fuji. On instinct, Hanna deleted the message without even reading it.
She stomped through the double doors, threw on her scrubs, and kicked the mop bucket down the hall toward Graham’s partitioned-off area. She whipped back his curtains, not caring who saw her. Graham’s eyes were closed, but his mouth was working hard. Hanna pressed her ear close to his lips, but no sound came out.
“Just tell me who you saw,” Hanna growled, wanting to shake him. Couldn’t they, for once, get a freaking break? They could nail A and get Fuji off their backs. They could clear up this nonsense with the painting in Aria’s closet. She could make things right with Mike, too.
But Graham didn’t make a sound. Hanna was so annoyed she stomped her foot hard. Her sole clacked loudly on the linoleum.
“Hanna?” a voice called out. “Everything okay?”
Hanna turned around. Kyla sat up in bed, the bandages still covering her face. There was a pot of nail polish and an emery board in her lap.
“Actually, no,” Hanna admitted.
Kyla made an mm noise. “Guy trouble?”
Hanna walked closer. “How did you know?”
“I heard you on the phone the other day,” Kyla said with a shrug. “So what did he do?”
“He won’t go to prom with me,” Hanna said miserably. “It’s a huge misunderstanding, and he thinks I’m lying about something—but I’m not. He’s being an idiot.”
“So explain it to him,” Kyla said.
“It’s not that easy,” Hanna sighed. She opened her mouth to try to tell Kyla why, but then a wave of exhaustion washed over her.
“In that case, this will make you feel better.”
Kyla groped for something on the little tray next to her bed. She handed Hanna a small picture in a frame. It was a shot of the Hot Male Nurse in the changing room without a shirt on. Hanna snickered. “Where’d you get this?”
“One of the orderlies took it with my phone.” Kyla sounded proud of herself. “I uploaded it to the Kodak site and had it printed at the gift shop. But you should have it, Hanna. You need the pick-me-up more than I do.”
“Thanks, but that’s okay.” Hanna studied Kyla’s bandages and withered arms and legs. A ridiculous feeling washed over her. Here she was, making a burn victim cheer her up. Had she lost all perspective?
She leaned in closer, suddenly dying to know. “What happened to you?”
Kyla fiddled with the jar of nail polish. “My brother and I were messing around in the garage when a can of sulfuric acid fell off a shelf . . . and onto me. That stuff works just like flames—burns your skin right off.”
Hanna winced. “Is your whole face . . . ?” She trailed off, not knowing how to word it.
“Gone? Messed up?” Kyla finished. She shook her head. “My cheeks are a mess. My chin, too. I need a lot of skin grafts, but you can’t do them all at once. I wasn’t as pretty as you, but I was okay-looking. Popular, even. But not anymore, huh? When I bust out of here, it’s gonna be, Here comes freak show!”
She was trying to sound so brave and tough. Hanna’s heart clenched. How would she treat a girl like Kyla at Rosewood Day? The Old Hanna who’d been Ali’s and Mona’s friend would have been ruthless. But what about the girl she was today? Was this Hanna any better?
She touched a bare spot on Kyla’s arm. “Listen. When you get these bandages off, I want to give you a makeover. Hair, makeup, skin, jewelry, fashion, everything. I’m really good at that sort of stuff, I promise.”
Kyla made a strange noise at the back of her throat. “Why would you do that?”
Hanna leaned closer. “Because you’re the coolest girl I’ve met in a long time. People need to see that, you know? They need to look past some stupid scars and grafts. You’re Kyla, and you’re fabulous. Got it?”
Kyla laughed softly. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “You’re amazing, Hanna.”
“I know, I’m awesome,” Hanna said lightly. But she really did feel good. She couldn’t wait to pick out Kyla’s colors and do her hair. And who knew? Maybe Kyla’s scars wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe Sean’s dad could work some kind of miracle.
Her phone bleated, startling Hanna so that she almost dropped it on the floor. Mike’s number flashed on the screen. She stared at Kyla in amazement.
“Is it him?” Kyla whispered. Hanna nodded. “Well, answer it!” Kyla cried.
Hanna swallowed hard and turned away. “Thank you for calling me back,” Hanna said into the phone. She scurried to the break room, even though she wasn’t on break yet, and flopped down on one of the couches. “Like I said, I can explain. The truth is, I really have been volunteering at the burn clinic. I’m here right now.”
Mike sighed. “Hanna, at least tell me a better lie. You hate the burn clinic. You would never voluntarily work there again.”
“I’m telling the truth.” Hanna picked at a loose thread on the upholstery. “The guy who got hurt in the blast is here—Graham. There’s something you don’t know: Just before that explosion went off, he chased Aria into the boiler room. They were both there when the bomb went off—Aria’s lucky she got out safe. We wanted to ask him some questions about it when he wakes up.”
She held her breath, wondering if Mike would buy her half-true story . . . and hoping her friends didn’t kill her for spilling some of it. Mike breathed in. “Aria never told me she was down there.”
“I know. She was afraid you’d freak.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to talk to this guy? He set off the bomb, right? What if he’s dangerous?”
“Mike, he’s covered in bandages and tubes—he’s not going to do anything. As for the bomb—I don’t really know. There was another person down there, too, at the time—it could have been him instead. That’s what I want to ask Graham about—if he wakes up.” She paused, then decided to ask: “Actually, do you remember where Noel was when the bomb went off? It would have been right when the talent show was about to start.”
There was a long pause. “Are you suggesting
Noel bombed the boiler room?” Mike sounded horrified. “What drugs are you on, Hanna? He’s her boyfriend!”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking questions.”
Mike sighed. “Well, Noel and I were practicing our routine an hour before the talent show. But—okay. Right before the bomb, he said he had to go back to his room. So I don’t know where he was, technically.” There was a clunking sound on the other end. “Does Noel know you’re asking these questions?”
“No, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him,” Hanna said sharply, her heart pounding hard.
“I still don’t believe that’s why you’re at the burn clinic, though.”
Hanna stomped her foot. “Ask your sister, okay? But one thing’s for sure: I’m definitely, definitely not with Sean. I didn’t even know he’d be working here when I signed up. And he and my stepsister go to V Club together. Is that enough? Will you take me to prom?”
“Hmm,” Mike said, still sounding miffed. “I’ll have to check your sources.”
Hanna rolled her eyes. Why was he being such a hard-ass? “Who told you about me being here, anyway?”
Mike cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter. He was just trying to be a good buddy.”
The hairs on Hanna’s arms stood on end. He? “Just tell me who. I won’t be mad.”
“Hanna, drop it. We’ll go to the dance, okay? I have to get off. I’m getting in my car.” And then, with a click, Mike was gone.
Hanna stared at the flashing numbers on the phone, a strange taste in her mouth.
As if on cue, a movement outside the room caught her eye. A familiar figure walked out the double doors and headed toward the exit. His head was tilted toward his phone, and he was talking too quietly for Hanna to hear. He wore fitted, dark-wash jeans; Adidas sneakers; and a black T-shirt printed messily with words in another language.
Hanna’s heart started to pound. She knew exactly where that T-shirt had been purchased: the only cool boutique in Reykjavik. Mike had bought one in white.
It was Noel.
Pretty Little Liars #13: Crushed Page 16
