It could make sense. Even Jamaica fit. Aria hadn’t been with Noel every second of that trip—he could have snuck off and coached Tabitha about what she needed to do to freak out Aria and the others. Get them all riled up, he might have said. Get them on the roof, and push Hanna over.
Only it hadn’t gone that way—they’d pushed Tabitha instead. But did Noel have it in him to kill Tabitha? Was it the same reason why he’d killed Gayle—because he worried she might tell on him? And was he really doing this all for Ali? Did he really love her that much?
Aria shut her eyes. No. Noel didn’t love Ali. Noel was a good person, innocent. The pieces fit because she wanted them to fit, because A was forcing them that way, because even her friends had twisted and knotted and spun things into something that wasn’t true. She had to believe that. She had to give Noel one last chance to explain all of this.
Ryan checked her Chanel watch, then slung her arm around their shoulders. “Stay close, you two. It’s almost time for the photo session of the king and queen in the cemetery.”
Aria looked around. “Where’s Hanna?” She’d hardly seen any of her friends all night.
Noel peered around. “I just saw Hanna and Mike leave a few minutes ago. But I’m sure they didn’t go far.”
“I’ll find them,” Ryan said, heading off into the crowd.
When she flitted away, Noel turned to Aria. “What do you say we get a drink in the bar across the lobby while we wait? No one will tell on a prom king.” He winked.
Aria licked her lips. Your boyfriend wants to get a drink with you, she told herself. He wants time alone with you. Because he loves you.
Suddenly, a figure appeared in her peripheral vision. A woman in a gray suit slunk into the room, speaking quietly into a cell phone. Agent Fuji. What was she doing here?
She looked at Noel, more determined than ever. “Let’s go.”
They crossed the lobby and entered a dark bar. A bartender wiping down the surface with a cloth looked up. “What can I get you?”
Noel asked for a whiskey, and Aria ordered a gimlet. Then he turned his sweet, caring green eyes on her. “Are you really okay?”
Aria swallowed hard. Thankfully, the bartender chose that exact moment to deliver their drinks. At least she had something to do with her hands.
“If you think I’m freaked about the Olaf thing, I’ve put it behind me. I even get it, Aria. I really do.”
“I still feel terrible about it,” Aria said into her chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay,” Noel said emphatically, touching her wrist. “It doesn’t change what I told you, though. About Ali, I mean.”
Aria flinched at the sound of her name. “Really?”
“She kissed me.” He gave her wrist an emphatic squeeze. “I wanted nothing to do with her. I hope you understand that—for real.” He scooted the chair closer. “You mean so much to me, Aria. I can’t even explain how in love with you I am. And if something happened to us—if we broke up again—I would be devastated.” His chin started to wobble. “I might even die. No one else has ever made me feel that way. You have to believe me.”
Tears pricked Aria’s eyes. Noel’s voice was thick with tears. He was telling the truth. She was sure of it.
Noel started digging through his pocket. “And actually, I have something I want to give to you.” Something shiny caught the light, and before Aria knew it he was fastening a gold chain-link bracelet around her wrist. A tiny TIFFANY & CO. label was embossed on the link closest to the clasp. “I felt so bad about that other necklace I found for you on the cruise going missing, so I wanted to give you something special at prom.” Noel touched one of the links. “You asked me why I was late to class the day they announced you were decor chairwoman—I was picking this up. I had my dad’s art dealer find this for me in New York, and he was only in Philly for a few hours. It’s vintage,” he explained.
“Oh my God,” Aria said, holding it up to the light. “You shouldn’t have gotten this for me.”
“Of course I should have.” Noel snaked his arms around her and pulled her close. “You’re everything to me, Aria.”
Aria rested her head on his shoulder. It was all she wanted to hear. Noel hadn’t snuck into her bedroom that day to plant the painting in her closet; he’d been with a jewelry dealer buying her an amazing gift. Suddenly, she knew that everything else she’d discovered could be explained, too—it was just a matter of sorting it out. Even what Noel had told Agent Fuji. Even that he’d known Tabitha. It was a misunderstanding that A had twisted into something terrible. Noel wasn’t out to get her.
She shot forward and kissed Noel hard on the lips. He kissed like he always did, softly and sweetly and with abandon, as though Aria was the only girl he’d ever kissed in his life. She shut her eyes and let herself sink into the moment, never loving Noel so much as right then.
She pulled back and sniffed hard. “Hey . . .” Noel wiped a tear off her cheek. “Why are you crying?”
Aria fumbled for a napkin to wipe her eyes. “I’m really happy.” She lifted her wrist. “And this is so beautiful.” And just like that, a weight was lifted off her shoulders.
“You’re welcome.” Noel squeezed her waist and lowered his voice. “What do you say we get some real alone time now? No bars, no people, no crying—just you and me, happy?”
Aria smiled slowly. “That sounds wonderful,” she said in almost a whisper.
But she knew it would be difficult, too. She would tell Noel everything tonight, she decided. About A. About Real Ali. About the painting. Even about Tabitha. No more sneaking around. She needed him as an ally, not someone she feared. All of this would be out in the open, and they’d fight A together.
The volume in the bar rose. More people filled the seats next to them. It was far too noisy in here—and too public in the ballroom. Aria drained her glass and stood, suddenly hitting on the very place where they could talk about everything without anyone hearing. “Come on,” she said, offering her hand to pull Noel off the stool. “Let’s go to the graveyard.”
27
The Most Important Syllable
Mike pulled the Montgomerys’ old Subaru into the parking lot at the Bill Beach. Hanna had told him to drive fast, and they’d gotten here from Philly in nine minutes and forty-three seconds, which was probably some kind of record. Hanna was pretty sure he’d done a hundred miles per hour up the expressway.
Mike circled the lot once, then again. Every space was full. “Something will open up,” Hanna said, gripping the door handle. “Let me off at the front door and meet me inside.”
Mike twisted his mouth like he didn’t like that idea much, but Hanna was already out the door before he could protest.
As she crossed the parking lot, her phone beeped a few times, but she ignored it. She couldn’t waste any time right now. She had to get to Graham.
The receptionists beamed at her gown, heels, and makeup, but Hanna swished past them without a word. After scribbling her name at the front desk, she took a sharp left and took off down Graham’s hallway. TVs flickered in the overstuffed rooms. Visitors sat placidly on couches. But at the end of the hall, where Graham was, nurses flooded his space.
Kyla was sitting up in bed just outside Graham’s partitioned-off space. She waved when she saw Hanna. “What’s going on?”
Hanna shrugged, then ducked inside Graham’s area. She gasped. Graham’s breathing tube was gone. He writhed back and forth, his eyelids fluttering. His dry lips mouthed a word. “Graham?” a nurse shouted into his face.
“Graham?” Hanna leaned over the bed, too. “Are you awake?”
A nurse glared at her. “Who are you?”
Hanna blinked.
“It’s okay,” Kelly said behind them, trundling into the curtained-off space with a tray of needles and medication. “Hanna’s a volunteer.” She looked at the other nurses. “I can handle this for a minute. You guys check on his parents. They said they were on their way.”
The nurses disappeared. Kelly touched Graham’s forehead, then looked at his monitors. “He woke up about a half hour ago,” she told Hanna. “We lowered his dose of pain meds to see if he’d talk, but he still seems out of it.”
“Kelly?” someone shouted behind the curtain. “Mrs. Johnson in one-seventeen is having a seizure. We need you on it.”
Kelly’s eyes darted back and forth. “What a night,” she muttered. She placed a hand on Hanna’s shoulder. “Watch him for a sec, okay?”
Hanna blinked. “And do what?”
“Just don’t touch him. I’ll be right back.” Then Kelly vanished down the hall. Hanna turned back to Graham, who was still writhing. His fingers curled and uncurled. He pawed at the IV tubes in his hands and made unidentifiable grunting sounds.
“Graham?” she said softly. “Can you hear me?”
Graham’s eyelids fluttered. A scratchy whisper of a word came out. “Y-y-y . . . ,” he struggled to say.
Hanna’s heart thudded fast, then she picked up one of his hands. “Squeeze one for yes, two for no, okay? You were in an explosion on a cruise. Do you remember that?”
Graham squeezed once.
A bell pinged in the hallway. Hanna froze, watching white nurse shoes pass under the curtain. “It was in the boiler room of the ship,” she goaded. “You were talking to Aria. Do you remember Aria?”
Again, Graham squeezed once.
“Good. You were trying to tell her something. Was it that someone was watching her?”
Graham’s lips pressed together. He closed his eyes tight and winced in pain. “Y-y-y . . .”
Hanna’s heart pounded. “Did you see her face?”
Graham struggled with a syllable, his lips gummy. “N . . .”
“No? You didn’t?”
He shook his head, as if this wasn’t right. Suddenly, Hanna hit on something. “Was it a him, not a her?”
Graham squeezed her hand once.
Hanna felt light-headed. She took a deep breath and continued. “Do you know his name?”
Graham opened one eye all the way. His iris was bloodshot. His teeth pressed together, his tongue wedged between them. He tried for a syllable, and then collapsed, exhausted, on the pillow.
“Please,” Hanna pressed. “Please, tell me his name.”
Graham tried again. “N-n . . .” He scrunched his eyes shut, looking frustrated. “N-n-n!”
Hanna leaned closer. “N . . . what? Noel?”
A woozy look crossed Graham’s face. He made the N sound again. His jaw started to tremble. “N-n-n,” he kept saying. “N-n-n!”
“Squeeze if it’s Noel, Graham! Squeeze once if it’s Noel!” Hannah urged.
But suddenly, his neck arched back unnaturally. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. His limbs started to tremble, his feet kicking wildly. The machines started to wail.
Hanna backed up, terrified. Had she done this? Had she pushed too hard?
The beeping continued. Graham’s body shook with spasms. “Oh my God,” Hanna whispered. She stepped out from behind the curtain and looked down the hall. It was empty, not a nurse to be seen. “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. Now Graham’s machines were making horrible buzzing sounds.
“I just saw someone go that way,” Kyla’s voice called behind Hanna. She shakily pointed to the left. Hanna nodded at her, then dashed down the hall. But that nurse’s station was empty, too. After checking three more corridors, she finally spotted a woman in pink scrubs tending to a patient near an exit door. “Help!” she shouted. “A patient’s machines are freaking out!”
The nurse came running. Hanna led the way, her high heels clacking awkwardly on the slippery floor. She rounded the corner to Graham’s room. The sounds of the machines carried all the way down the hall.
The nurse pushed past her and yanked open the partition. Her mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “He’s coding.” She spun around and yelled for more help.
Hanna poked her head inside, expecting Graham’s spasms to be even bigger and scarier than when she’d left. But his body lay limp on the bed. His head was twisted strangely to the right, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. The bandage over his eye had fallen, revealing blistered, pink skin. All of the IV tubes were out of his hands, and blood spurted everywhere. And on the machines was a single flat line. There were question marks where the blood pressure and pulse levels should have been.
More nurses appeared. Instantly, they began CPR and stopped the bleeding. A second team appeared with a crash cart, and a doctor ripped Graham’s gown off to expose his bare, blistered chest. Voltage snapped through the paddles, and when they shocked him, his body arched off the bed. Hanna screamed. Graham slumped back onto the mattress, but the monitors remained unchanged.
The doctors and nurses shocked him three times. Someone gently pushed Hanna out of his curtained-off area. She stood uselessly in the hallway. There was a sound behind her, and Kyla was sitting up in bed, her eyes black under the gauze. She looked as shocked as Hanna felt.
The defibrillator stopped. Someone called out a time, and several nurses pushed back the curtain and walked down the hall. Hanna covered her mouth with her hand, fearful she might throw up. She looked at Kelly, who had just emerged from the curtain, too. Her scrubs were spattered with Graham’s blood.
“Is he . . . ?” Hanna couldn’t even say the word out loud.
Kelly lowered her eyes. It was clear she couldn’t say the word out loud, either—but she didn’t have to. Her drawn, pale, astonished expression, however, said it all. Graham, who had just been communicating with Hanna, who had seen A, who could have known everything, was dead.
28
Seek, and Ye Shall Find
At the same time, Emily, dressed in a blue strapless dress she’d bought at the King James, swung her arms and twisted her waist in the middle of the Four Seasons dance floor. Swirl-painted silk banners surrounded her. Asterisk-shaped stars loomed above. Even the dance music seemed energized and psychedelic. It was like being in the belly of a Van Gogh painting.
Iris, who was wearing Emily’s pale pink gown from last year’s Foxy benefit, scampered over from the buffet. “Look!” She held up a silver crown. PROM QUEEN, it read across the front in sparkly letters.
Emily frowned. “Did you get this from Hanna?” She’d only seen Hanna for a second, and then she’d lost her. But she was probably having alone time with Mike.
“It was from that girl over there.” Iris pointed to Chassey Bledsoe.
Emily blinked hard. “Maybe you should give that back to her. Or find Hanna.”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Please. Everyone deserves a chance to be queen. Didn’t we all dream of this when we were little?” Then she positioned the crown on her head and skipped onto the dance floor again. She even grabbed the royal scepter and waved it in front of her face like an oversized glow stick. A couple of kids stopped and grinned at her. Iris did a twirling dance around Dominique Helprin and Max McGarry, one of those couples who would probably never break up. Then, when the song ended, she removed the crown from her head and placed it on Emily’s head.
“Now you’re queen for a song!” she proclaimed.
The crown’s teeth dug into Emily’s scalp. Iris handed her the scepter. “Come on, girl! Work it!”
At first, Emily refused, but then the beat infected her body. She moved one foot, then the other. She wiggled her fingers. After a moment, she waved the specter around like it was a baton at a parade. Dancers followed behind her around the floor. Halfway through the song, Emily broke into a line dance the whole school had learned in seventh grade—and everyone still remembered.
“Go, Emily! Go, Emily!” Iris chanted.
Emily grinned. She’d never dreamed of being prom queen, but it was fun for a song.
When a new song came on, Emily removed the crown from her head and passed it to Kirsten Cullen. A cheer went up, and a couple of boys on the soccer team tossed Kirsten into the air, crown, scepter,
and all.
Emily grinned at Iris. “That was a good idea to share the crown with everyone.”
Iris shrugged. “Just trying to make prom fun.”
“I’m glad you came,” Emily said, really meaning it.
“Me, too, you crazy bitch.” Iris threw her head back to laugh, but suddenly she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and gazed out the window. “My last hurrah in Rosewood, right?”
Emily touched her arm. “Are you okay about going back?” Iris had scheduled for a cab to pick her up at the Four Seasons and transport her back to The Preserve. She wanted to show up looking fabulous in a prom dress, she said, to prove to the other patients that she’d had a blast on the outside. This time, she was going to work hard to actually get better . . . so they’d release her for real.
Iris made a brave face. “Who knows? But I guess I have to try.” She peeked at Emily. “You’ll really visit me?”
“Of course,” Emily said, then nudged her. “I’ll even take you shopping, as long as you promise not to steal anything.”
“Deal.” Then Iris glanced at the clock over the grand, scalloped doors that led to the lobby. “Hey, it’s almost ten.”
“Oh, is it?” Emily said nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t been obsessively watching the clock all night.
Iris frowned. “How are you going to know what your surprise from Jordan will be? It could be anything . . . anywhere.”
“I’ll just know,” Emily said as they walked off the dance floor. Only . . . would she? Jordan could have hidden a secret message in one of the four Van Gogh–decorated cakes around the room. She could have stitched it into a hand towel in the bathrooms. She could have subliminally recorded something on one of the DJ’s tracks. It was like looking for a needle in one of Van Gogh’s Haystacks.
Pretty Little Liars #13: Crushed Page 20
