by Sara Shepard
She turned away, fearing that if she stared at him for much longer she’d blurt out everything—and not just what happened on the lift, either. The stuff about A, too. The stuff about Jamaica. The stuff Aria couldn’t block out on the lift today, the horrible thing she’d done. The horrible thing A knew about.
Then again, maybe what she did wasn’t as horrific as she’d thought all these months. If A was Ali—and who else could it be?—then Aria’s push hadn’t killed her.
The door to the treatment rooms opened, and a female doctor in a crisp white coat emerged. “Ms. Huusko is resting,” she said. “You can see her now.”
Everyone rose and followed her to the back. The doctor parted a pink-striped curtain, and there was Klaudia, lying on a cot with a bulky white cast on her ankle. Her blond hair spilled across the pillow. Her plain cotton gown gaped at the bosom. Her lips were pink and glossy as though she’d recently applied a fresh coat of lipstick. She’d managed to look ready for sex even in the hospital.
“Oh my God, Klaudia,” Aria said, feeling a rush of remorse despite Klaudia’s perky appearance. “Are you okay?”
“Does it hurt?” Noel and the other boys asked too, gathering around her bed.
“I fine.” Klaudia simpered at all of them, all traces of her excellent English enunciation gone. “Just a little owie.”
“She has a broken ankle.” A nurse bustled in and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Klaudia’s arm. “That’s pretty minor, considering the accident she had. Luckily, her fall was toward the top of the slope. If it had been in the middle, she would’ve been in real trouble.”
“Yes, is crazy!” Klaudia pretended to wipe sweat off her brow. “I never fall from lift before! Oof!”
“So what happened?” Noel perched on the edge of Klaudia’s bed.
Klaudia licked her lips and eyed Aria. The only sound in the room was the nurse pumping up the blood pressure cuff. Every muscle in Aria’s body tensed, waiting for the blow. Of course Klaudia was going to rat her out. She wanted to sleep with Noel—this would get Aria out of the way.
Finally, Klaudia shifted higher in her bed. “It is blur. I no remember.”
“Are you sure?” Noel curled his hands over his knees. “It just seems crazy to me that you’d slip off a lift. You’ve been skiing for years.”
Klaudia shrugged, looking faint. “I don’t know,” she said weakly, her eyelids fluttering closed.
Eric punched Noel’s arm. “Dude, don’t push her.”
“Maybe she has amnesia or something,” Christopher said.
Aria grabbed the bed for balance, her heart still racing. Could that be it? Had Klaudia lost her memory?
The doctor parted the curtain. “Don’t overwhelm her too much, guys. Because Ms. Huusko hit her head, we want to observe her for a while to make sure she isn’t showing any signs of a concussion. If she is, we’ll have to airlift her to a bigger facility. If not, we can probably discharge her tomorrow morning.”
Everyone nodded. “I’ll book the rooms for an extra night,” Noel said in a perfunctory voice, whipping out his iPhone.
“Oh.” Aria looked at him. “I can’t stay an extra night. I promised my dad I’d babysit Lola.”
“Fine.” Noel didn’t even look up from his Google search. “Do you mind taking the bus home?”
Aria opened her mouth, then shut it again. She’d hoped Noel would drive her back to Rosewood himself. Couldn’t the other brothers stay here with Klaudia? Couldn’t he come back tomorrow to retrieve them?
But Noel didn’t offer, and so Aria shrugged into her coat and dug out her phone to check Greyhound times. “What time do you think you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked Noel. “Maybe we can hang out in the evening.”
Noel’s head shot up. “We don’t even know if Klaudia’s going to be okay yet. I don’t think we should make plans until we do.”
“Oh.” Aria backed away from him. “Right. Sorry.”
“And anyway, I should probably hang out with Klaudia for the next few days.” Noel glanced at Klaudia’s sleeping shape. “It’s the least that I can do. She’s probably going to be in a lot of pain. She’ll need someone to help her get around.”
“O-of course.” Aria fought back tears.
The next Greyhound bus to Philly was in an hour. Aria could walk to the station from the clinic, and Noel could grab the rest of her things from the hotel and bring them home tomorrow. Just as Aria was backing out of the tiny curtained-off area, something made her turn. Klaudia’s eyes had opened, and she stared straight at Aria. There was a tiny, victorious smile on her face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her small, pale hand, and gave Aria the finger.
Aria gasped. The realization was like a rush of cold air. Klaudia didn’t have amnesia—she remembered everything on the ski lift with perfect clarity. And now she had exactly what she wanted. Now she had something to hold over Aria’s head. Now, Klaudia had Aria in her power.
Just like A did.
Chapter 31
Congratulations, now eff-off
Later that afternoon, Emily pulled into her driveway just as an ad blared over the radio. “The devastating deceit. The identity twists. The lives at stake. Get the whole story tonight on the anniversary of the Poconos fire and her death. Pretty Little Killer. Brought to you by . . .”
“Ugh,” Emily moaned, switching it off. She couldn’t wait until this day was over and the advertisements went away. She certainly didn’t want to relive the day of Ali’s death—any of them. Especially since she wasn’t even sure if Real Ali was truly dead.
She got out of the car, pulled her swim gear bag over her shoulder, and walked up the snowy front path. Before she opened the door, she tried texting Chloe one more time. I need to talk to you. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t know how to tell you. She’d texted Chloe five times since the swim meet, but Chloe hadn’t written back.
Sighing, she slipped her key in the door, but the knob turned easily already. That was strange—her parents usually kept the door locked tight, afraid of intruders. “Hello?” Emily called in the foyer. No answer. That was weird, too—her parents always at least mumbled some sign of their presence, even if they were beyond pissed at her. The house seemed occupied, though—there was an unfamiliar scent in the air and a nagging sense that someone had just walked down the hall.
The hairs on Emily’s arms stood on end. Various scenarios flipped through her head. What if A was here? What if A had hurt her family? Maybe A—Ali—was pulling out all the stops. Maybe this was the day everything was going down.
A horrible thought stopped her cold. Today was the day of reckoning, the anniversary of Ali’s death, the day she’d tried to kill them. Naturally this was the day she’d come back to finish them off.
“H-hello?” Emily called out again, creeping down the hall toward the kitchen. A sound made her stop and turn. Was that . . . a giggle? Her heart banged in her chest. It was coming from the living room, which was closed off to the hall by French doors. Those doors were never closed.
There was the giggle again. Emily’s hands started to shake. Her mouth went cottony-dry. Slowly, she pushed on the door. It gave way with a wailing creak. What was inside? Dead bodies? The police, here to arrest her for what she did in Jamaica? Ali?
“Surprise!”
Emily screamed and jumped back, bumping hard against the doorjamb. Tons of balloons were tied to the chairs, a wrapped present sat on the couch, and her mother had placed an enormous sheet cake that was in the shape of the University of North Carolina logo on the coffee table. Her parents rushed toward her, huge smiles on their faces.
“Congratulations on the scholarship!” Mr. and Mrs. Fields enveloped her in a hug, the first one they’d given her in months. “We’re so, so proud of you!”
There were more people behind Emily’s parents. She craned over their lumpy bodies and saw baby Grace, Mr. and Mrs. Roland . . . and Chloe. “Oh my God,” Emily whispered, letting her arms go limp.
Mrs. Fields turned
and gestured to them. “I invited the Rolands over for cake to help us celebrate! If it weren’t for them, this might not have happened!”
“Yes, thank you again,” Mr. Fields said, walking over to the family and pumping Mr. Roland’s hand up and down.
“It was no trouble,” Mr. Roland said in a stiff, fake-friendly voice. He avoided Emily’s gaze, which was fine with her.
“I’m so glad it worked out for you!” Mrs. Roland gave Emily a big hug. As Emily pressed up to her thin chest, Chloe made a small, choked noise. Emily glanced at her. Her eyes blazed with hatred. The corners of her mouth didn’t show a hint of a smile. To Chloe, Emily was the adulteress. The home wrecker.
Mrs. Fields cut the cake and served everyone a slice. Thankfully, the adults engaged in their own conversation, leaving Emily and Chloe alone. Emily caught Chloe’s eye. “I need to talk to you.”
Chloe turned away, pretending she didn’t hear her. But Emily couldn’t let Chloe go on believing something that wasn’t true. She grabbed Chloe’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen. Chloe went willingly, but she leaned against the island, crossed her arms over her chest, and pretended to be fascinated by the chicken cookie jar that sat on the counter. She wouldn’t look Emily in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered. “You have to believe me when I tell you I had no idea that was going to happen with your dad. And I didn’t want it to happen.”
“Yeah, right,” Chloe hissed, her head still turned toward the cookie jar. “Were you ever really my friend? Or were you just using me to ensure you got the scholarship?”
Emily’s mouth fell open. “Of course not! I would never do anything like that!”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I heard my dad in that room by the pool, you know. He said you were acting like you wanted it on Thursday night. When I went to bed, drunk, did something happen between you guys?”
Emily turned away, biting her bottom lip hard. “He was the one who kissed me, I swear. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Chloe winced, then finally stared Emily in the face. “You knew about this for three whole days and didn’t say anything to me?”
Emily ducked her head. “I didn’t know how to—”
“We were supposed to be friends.” Chloe placed her hands on her hips. “Friends tell friends things like that. And why should I believe that you’re totally innocent, anyway? I barely know you. All I know, really, is that you had a baby this summer and—”
“Shhh!” Emily shrieked, clapping a hand over Chloe’s mouth.
Chloe wrenched away, knocking against one of the kitchen chairs, which was decorated with a chicken-printed cushion. “I should tell your parents. Ruin your life like you’ve ruined mine.”
“Please don’t,” Emily begged. “They’ll kick me out. It will absolutely shatter them.”
“So?”
Emily grabbed her hands. “I told you that secret because I felt I could trust you. I felt like we were really becoming friends. And . . . and I haven’t had a real friend in so, so long, not since last year. It’s been so lonely.” She wiped away a tear. “I hate myself for screwing up and not telling you. I just wanted to protect you. I just wanted you to be happy. I hoped it wouldn’t happen again. That it was all just a horrible mistake.”
Chloe jutted her chin to the left, saying nothing. Was that good or bad? Emily couldn’t tell.
“Please, please don’t tell anyone what I told you,” Emily whispered. “I certainly won’t tell anyone about your dad. I’ll wipe it out of my mind completely, I promise. I wish it had never happened.”
Chloe’s head remained turned for a long while. The chicken-shaped clock over the stove ticked loudly. The adults murmured in the other room. Finally, she looked at Emily with cold, tired eyes and sighed. “I won’t tell your secret if you leave my dad alone.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “And of course I will.”
She moved toward Chloe for a hug, but Chloe pushed her away like Emily was a rude dog nosing for table food. “That doesn’t mean I want to be friends.”
“What?” Emily cried. “W-why?”
“I just can’t.” Chloe turned on her heel and walked toward the kitchen door. “Tell my parents I got a phone call and I’m in the car, okay?” she said over her shoulder. “No offense, but I don’t really want to do the ‘Yay, Emily’ cake thing right now.”
Emily watched as Chloe yanked on the kitchen door and then slammed it shut again. It felt like someone had just scooped out her heart and run it through a potato masher. Everything was ruined. Sure she had a scholarship, sure her future was set, but it felt like she’d won it at too great a cost.
Squeak.
Emily turned around, squinting in the blinding sunlight that poured through the windows. What was that? She scanned the cabinets and the floors, then noticed a thin sheet of paper at the foot of the door Chloe had just passed through. Her heart kicked in her chest. She ran to the window and stared outside, searching for whoever had put it there. Was that a shape disappearing through the trees? What was that movement in the cornfield?
She opened the back door, letting the cold air rush in. “Ali?” she screamed. “Ali!” But no one answered. “Chloe?” she called next, thinking Chloe might have seen something. But Chloe didn’t answer, either.
The adults laughed at something in the other room. Grace let out a happy cry. Trembling, Emily picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. Spiky handwriting blurred before her eyes.
She may not tell, but I can’t make the same promise—about
ANY of your secrets. Sorry! –A
Chapter 32
Ali, the cunning cat
“Um, excuse me?”
Hanna looked down from the elliptical trainer she was chugging away on and saw a petite girl with big doe eyes and a size 23 waist staring up at her. “There’s a thirty-minute limit on these machines,” the girl complained. “And, like, you’ve been on for sixty-three.”
“Too bad,” Hanna snapped back, wheeling faster. Let the gym police kick her off.
It was later that Saturday afternoon—the anniversary of Alison DiLaurentis’s death, all the news channels blared, not that Hanna could ever forget—and Hanna was at the Rosewood Country Club’s state-of-the-art gym. The room smelled like ylang-ylang candles, MTV appeared on every TV mounted over the machines, and a very hyper Zumba instructor was screaming so loudly in the fitness room that Hanna could hear her over the hip-hop music blaring on her iPod. She’d hoped the elliptical would exorcise the memories of Tabitha, Jamaica, the elevator incident, and especially A, but it wasn’t really working. She kept feeling Tabitha’s—Ali’s—hands on her shoulders, ready to push her off the roof. She kept hearing her friends’ screams. And then Aria had stepped in, and everything moved so fast . . .
At first, Hanna had been relieved that Aria pushed Ali over the side. She’d killed so many people, getting rid of her felt like a good deed for all humanity. But then she realized what they’d done. A life was still a life. They weren’t murderers.
Hanna and her friends ran down to the beach, taking the stairs two at a time. They banged out the back door onto the sand and looked around. The moon cast a silvery stripe down the beach. The ocean roared. Hanna stared at her pale feet below, hoping she wouldn’t bump into Ali’s limp, twisted body. Surely she’d died on impact, right?
“Do you see her?” Aria’s voice called from a distance.
“Not yet,” Spencer answered. “Keep looking!”
They ran up and down the shore, splashing through the warm water, searching the dunes, even looping around and checking out the coves and cliffs. But there was no body anywhere.
“What the hell?” Aria stopped, out of breath. “Where did she go?”
Hanna looked around frantically. It wasn’t possible. Ali couldn’t just disappear. Aria had pushed her. She had fallen hard. They’d heard her hit the sand. They’d looked over the rail and, in the fuzzy darkness, they’d sworn they’d seen a body. Hadn’t the
y?
“The tide must have picked her up.” Spencer gestured to the sea. “She’s probably washed away by now.”
“What happens if she washes back up?” Aria whispered.
“It’s not as if anyone can prove we did it.” Spencer looked around, checking the beach again. It was still empty. No one was watching. “And Aria, it—it was self-defense—Ali could have killed us.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” Aria’s eyes were wide and scared. “Maybe we misunderstood her up there. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“You should have,” Spencer said sharply. “If you wouldn’t have pushed her, we might not be standing here right now.”
Everyone was silent for a moment. Emily stared at the round moon above them. “What if Ali didn’t wash away?” she whispered. “What if she survived the fall and crawled away to find help?”
Hanna’s stomach swirled. She’d been thinking the same exact thing.
Spencer kicked at a clump of sand. “There’s no way. She couldn’t have survived that fall.”
“She survived a fire,” Emily reminded her. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with. She’s, like, bionic.”
Spencer’s eyes blazed. “Just let it go, okay? She washed out to sea. She’s dead.”
Now, Hanna noticed something across the gym. Jeremiah stood in the doorway near the check-in desk, glaring right at her.
Hanna jumped off the elliptical and toweled off her face. She could feel her racing pulse even in her lips. As Jeremiah approached, she gave him a big, innocent smile. “Uh, do you go to this gym?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jeremiah snapped. His face was purple with fury. “Or I should say I did. Your father got me a complimentary membership. But now that’s been revoked.”
“Oh,” Hanna said quietly.
“Oh? That’s all you can say? Oh?” Jeremiah was so angry he was shaking. “I hope you’re happy, Hanna. This is all because of you.”
A shockwave rippled through Hanna’s skin, but she stood her ground. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just told my dad that I saw you go upstairs.”
