Crushed pll-13

by Sara Shepard

  15

  Up the Creek Without a Paddle

  The next afternoon, Emily pulled into the main drive of the King James Mall, her heart thundering. When she first scanned the impressive entrance doors, she didn’t see Iris waiting inside, like they’d planned.

  She dug her fingernails into the steering wheel. Of course Iris wasn’t there. What idiot would leave a mental patient at the mall all day? But because Emily didn’t want to miss any more school, she’d struck a deal with Iris that morning: She’d drop her off at the King James before first period, Iris would spend the day doing whatever she pleased, and Emily would pick her up after the last bell. Then they’d knock a few more items off Iris’s bucket list, and Iris would give Emily an Ali tidbit at the end of the day. Hopefully.

  It took Iris no time to agree. After Emily dropped her off, she realized why: The Greyhound bus station was right down the street. Iris had probably planned to take off the second Emily pulled away. Emily had been her way out of The Preserve, but Iris didn’t need her anymore.

  She idled at the curb, her stomach in knots. No one was sitting on the benches outside the entrance. No one lurked near the metallic ashtrays. But then the double doors opened, and someone stepped onto the pavement. After the sun glare subsided, Iris shimmered into view. Emily rolled down the window. “You’re here!”

  Iris gave her a strange look. “Where else would I be?”

  Emily unlocked the car doors, and Iris climbed inside. Once they were on their way, Emily glanced at the Bloomingdale’s carrier bag in Iris’s arms. “You went shopping?”

  “Sort of,” Iris sang. She tossed something in Emily’s face. “For you.”

  Emily stared at the plaid scarf in her lap. It had a Burberry label. “Is this real?”

  “I hope so,” Iris said. “I got your mom one, too.”

  “Iris . . .” Emily trailed off. She’d always wanted a Burberry scarf . . . but not a stolen one. Still, she was oddly touched that Iris had thought of her. And her mom.

  “The light’s green,” Iris said loudly. “Turn left here.”

  Emily turned on her signal. They were driving in the direction of Delaware. She glanced sidelong at Iris. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “To Keppler Creek,” Iris answered. “I want to take out a paddleboat.”

  Emily rolled to a stop at another light. “I don’t think the boats are open for the season yet.”

  Iris scoffed. “So we steal one.”

  Emily looked at her hard. “I’m not stealing a paddleboat.”

  Iris gave her a warning stare. “Come on. And besides, we’re not stealing it—just borrowing it for a little bit.”

  Emily felt a pang of longing. She and Jordan had borrowed a beautiful glass-bottomed boat in Puerto Rico—and it had been easy, for Jordan at least. They’d had their first kiss out on the water. It was the most public kiss Emily had ever had with a girl—there were tons of other sailboats, Jet Skis, and party ships nearby, with many people on board—and yet she hadn’t felt uncomfortable in the slightest. She missed Jordan so much she’d taken to sleeping in one of the T-shirts that she’d let her borrow for the cruise. If Emily breathed in hard enough, she could still smell Jordan’s jasmine perfume.

  She must have sighed dreamily, because Iris giggled. “Who are you thinking about? A girl?”

  “No,” Emily said quickly.

  Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “You can tell me. I’m not gonna judge you.”

  Emily felt her cheeks flush. “Fine. I was thinking about this girl I met a few weeks ago.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Jordan.”

  Iris crossed and uncrossed her legs. “What’s she like?”

  Emily smiled, trying to think of a simple way to sum up Jordan. “She’s funny. And brave. And beautiful.”

  “Is she the first girl you’ve liked since Ali?”

  Emily slowed down to take a turn. “I had a girlfriend for a little while last year. Her name was Maya. She was cool, but she was also a little pushy.”

  Iris twisted a silver ring around her finger. “Sounds like you fell for Ali all over again.”

  Emily laughed uneasily, then glanced at Iris. “Was Ali pushy with you?”

  Iris wrapped a tendril of hair around her finger. “I guess. She was always manipulating me into doing things I didn’t want to do.”

  “That sounds like her,” Emily said. Until she remembered: They were talking about two different Alis.

  They came to a T in the road, and Iris told her to turn right. “So will you tell me about your crush?” Emily asked, remembering what Iris had said the other day.

  Iris twisted her mouth. “It’s boring.”

  “Come on. I told you.”

  Several houses flew past the window before Iris spoke again. “His name is Tripp,” she said softly.

  Emily nodded, suddenly remembering Iris’s list. Find Tripp, it had said.

  “He was a patient at The Preserve, too,” Iris went on. “We were really great friends, and things were definitely going in a romantic direction. Until they let him out. He promised to visit me every Saturday, but he never did. And we can’t make calls or send e-mails at The Preserve, so I had no idea where he was. I never heard from him again.” She sniffed loudly. “Then again, who wants a girlfriend in the loony bin?”

  “So you have no idea what happened to him?”

  “Nope.” Iris tied the Burberry scarf she’d stolen for Emily’s mom into a messy knot. “Which is why I want to find him. He owes me an explanation.”

  Emily paused at a stop sign, waiting for two girls walking a standard poodle to pass. “Why were you at The Preserve in the first place?” she asked, choosing her words delicately.

  Iris snickered. “Isn’t it obvious?” She waved her hands up and down her frail, skinny body. “Anorexia nervosa. Sometimes, I choose not to eat. For days.”

  Emily blinked hard. “Has being there . . . helped?”

  Iris’s shoulders rose and fell. “Some days yes, some days no. My therapist insists that I do the eating thing for attention. My dad left when I was really little. My mom had to work a bunch of jobs to support us, and then she started dating all these guys, each one worse than the last. She had no time for me anymore. Getting skinnier and skinnier got her to sit up and notice. But then I got dehydrated and ended up in the hospital for malnourishment. The doctor had this whole medical plan for me, and my mom tried to be there for a while, but she just couldn’t do it. So off to The Preserve I went.” She sucked in her teeth. “My home away from home.”

  “Is she paying for you to be at The Preserve?” Emily asked.

  Iris smiled crookedly. “Her new boyfriend is. He’s rolling in cash—lucky me!”

  Emily knew Iris wanted her to laugh, but it really wasn’t funny. Thinking of Iris’s mom, she felt a renewed sense of gratitude for her own family. Imagine if, instead of caring for Emily with ice cream and storybooks when she’d had her appendix out in sixth grade, her mother had declared Emily a burden and sent her off to a facility. Even Emily’s banishment to Iowa after she’d been outed by A had been short-lived: Her parents came to their senses quickly and begged for Emily’s forgiveness.

  Up ahead on the road was a wooden sign that read KEPPLER CREEK STATE PARK. Emily pulled into a space in the parking lot and shut off the engine. A lake shimmered in the distance, but there was no one in the water; it was still too cold. The rental booth was shuttered, and there wasn’t a single paddleboat anywhere. Only a few fishermen in Woolrich plaid jackets sat on the other side of the pond, staring at their fishing poles.

  Iris got out of the car and surveyed the scene. “Well, this sucks,” she grumbled. “Now what are we going to do?”

  Emily wandered over to a shed where the boats probably were kept, but when she tried the lock, it was bolted tight. “Is there something else you want to do instead?”

  Iris didn’t answer. When Emily turned around, Iris was standing next to a tall
oak tree, its branches still bare. There was a strange, faraway look on her face.

  “What is it?” Emily asked, walking over to her.

  Iris turned. “I used to come here when I was a lot younger with school friends. When Ali and I were at The Preserve together, we found out that she used to come here, too.”

  “She did?” Emily asked, cocking her head. That didn’t make sense—the DiLaurentises had a bunch of kayaks, but they took them to Pecks Pond, which was much closer to Rosewood.

  Iris nodded. “She said she loved it here. She said she couldn’t wait to come back when she got out of the hospital.”

  Emily shoved the toe of her sneaker into a tuft of dried grass. “Do you think she came here after she was released?”

  “Definitely.” Iris leaned against the tree trunk. “She even made plans. We weren’t allowed to watch TV at The Preserve, but we heard things. Even the nurses wanted to know what happened to poor Courtney DiLaurentis’s murdered sister. One had a portable radio, and we gathered near her office when the report came in that Ian Thomas had been arrested. Ali got this excited look on her face, and she kept glancing at her watch. My parents are coming, she kept saying. I just know it. They’re coming today. And then I’m going to Keppler Creek Park. We had no idea how she knew for sure that she was getting out.”

  “I know how she knew,” Emily interjected. “Ali’s parents hid her away at The Preserve because they feared she had killed her sister—which, of course, she did. But when Ian was arrested, they thought they’d made a horrible mistake and immediately had her released.”

  “That makes sense,” Iris said. “She seemed thrilled that Ian was arrested, too. At the time, I thought it was because she was glad someone had gotten caught, but maybe she was just glad that someone else had been pegged for something she did.”

  “Wait a minute.” A brisk wind kicked up, blowing hair into Emily’s face. “You didn’t know Ali killed Courtney?”

  Iris looked at her crazily. “No way.” She turned back to the tree, chipping away a piece of bark with her nail. “Anyway, her parents did show up that day, just like she predicted. As they were signing paperwork to check her out, Ali was packing up her stuff in our room. And she mentioned Keppler Creek again. She was like, This is awesome. I’m going to Keppler Creek as soon as I’m free. I’m going to see my best friend in the world. I can’t wait to see him.”

  A chill whizzed up Emily’s spine. Him. “She was coming to meet a guy. Her boyfriend?”

  “I think so.”

  “So her boyfriend wasn’t a patient. He was on the outside.”

  The corners of Iris’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Aren’t you clever? You’re right. It was someone on the outside. He used to visit her all the time. And I bet he carved this.”

  She stepped away from the tree and pointed at something in the bark. There, etched into the wood, were the words I love Ali D in a heart. At the bottom was the date. It was November of last year, a few days after Ian had been arrested.

  Emily’s breath caught, thinking of the time she’d carved Ali’s initials into a tree. If only whoever had cut this heart into the bark had added his initials, too, like Emily had. She touched the letters, then looked around for any video cameras on the nearby snack bar and bathroom structures. Unfortunately, there were none. Nothing had recorded Ali and whoever this person was meeting . . . but it had happened. I’m going to see my best friend in the world. Who? Had this guy transformed into Ali’s helper, the new A?

  She grabbed Iris’s hand. “Please tell me his name.”

  A torn look crossed Iris’s face. For a moment, she looked like she was going to tell, but then she yanked her arm away and started running toward the beach. “Hey, I know what we can do instead of take a boat out!” she called over her shoulder. “Skinny-dip!”

  And at that, she started peeling off her clothes, first her T-shirt, then her shoes and socks, then her jeans, which were Emily’s. Her legs and arms looked so pale. The knobs of her spine stuck out prominently.

  “Iris!” Emily protested, running after her toward the water, dodging the pile of clothes she’d left in her wake. “You’ll freeze!”

  But Iris had already plunged into the lake. She surfaced and shrieked at the cold, then laughed. “C’mon, Emily!” she called out. “It’s a rush!”

  Emily stared at Iris, then turned back and looked at the carving on the tree. It was a rush, finding out something new about Ali. And Iris’s admission suddenly made her feel charitable. Daring and invincible, too. She pulled her sweater over her head, kicked off her jeans, and waded into the frigid water after Iris, not caring that the fishermen were staring. There was a flicker in the trees, and Emily stopped, goose bumps rising on her bare stomach. Ali? The word froze solid as it left her lips.

  But when she looked again, the forest was still. Whoever had been watching had vanished.

  16

  Meeting of the Minds

  On Tuesday night, Spencer sat at the kitchen table with Amelia, their schoolbooks spread in front of them and the classical station on at low volume. Spencer liked doing her homework at the kitchen table. As it turned out, so did Amelia, meaning the kitchen had turned into a turf war.

  An IM popped up on Spencer’s laptop. It was Chase. Hey there, Britney.

  Spencer smiled. Chase’s nickname had grown on her. But she hesitated before replying. It was one thing to break the Internet rule on a super-safe connection, but A probably had been bugging her laptop for months.

  She jumped up from the table and ran into her mother’s office, a carved-out nook behind the pantry. Mrs. Hastings’s computer was on a vegan recipe website. Spencer exited out of it, logged into her mother’s instant messenger screen name, RufusAndBeatrice—Mrs. Hastings liked to IM Spencer that dinner was ready and things like that. She found Chase’s screen name, friended him, and told him that it was Britney, just using her mom’s account instead of her own.

  After a moment, another message from Chase appeared. Two things: One, I’ve reached out to Billy Ford to see if he had any interaction with Alison before he was arrested.

  Spencer almost dropped her bottle of coconut water. Billy Ford was the guy who’d been framed for murdering Their Ali—he’d been one of the guys who’d dug the hole where Ali’s body had been found. People thought he was A, too. The cops found pictures of Spencer and the others on the laptop in his truck. But Real Ali had planted them there.

  Did he tell you anything interesting? Spencer asked. If she remembered correctly, Billy told the cops that the only time he’d seen Alison—or, rather, Courtney—was when he’d worked on her gazebo when the girls were in seventh grade. He had no idea how Real Ali had gotten those files onto his laptop.

  He told me that a few days before all that stuff was found in his truck, someone from Geek Squad came to his door and offered to do a free security scan. Maybe that person helped frame him. Perhaps they were working with Alison.

  Spencer’s eyes lit up. Was it a guy or girl?

  He said it was a guy. But he barely remembers him. Couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.

  Spencer laid her head on her mom’s desk. Another dead end.

  There was another ping. Two, I just received some interesting photos of Ali and her sister when they were younger. Maybe they’ll spark a connection.

  Spencer glanced over her shoulder in case Amelia was watching from the kitchen. Where did you find them? she typed.

  The text box lit up again. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of people who come out of the woodwork when you run a conspiracy theory blog. I get all kinds of weird stuff about all sorts of topics. These I got anonymously, but I really think they’re legit. Exciting, right?

  Spencer swished a gulp of coconut water in her mouth. Whenever anything was done anonymously, her first thought was that it was A. But why would A send DiLaurentis twin pictures to a conspiracy blog?

  It is exciting, she wrote back—and she meant it. Not only finding new evidence, but also talking
to someone who was just as jazzed about it as Spencer was. Not just someone, either, but a smart, interesting, funny, intriguing guy. Not that Spencer had a crush on him or anything.

  Okay, maybe she did.

  The idea of him was just so alluring. All the investigating he’d done on Ali, his tragic story about being stalked, even his choice of words in their chats. Last night, he’d used the phrase if I had my druthers, which was so adorably old-fashioned Spencer had squealed with delight. Chase was smart and funny . . . and they both wanted to bring Ali down. It sort of felt like they were a superhero duo, connected via Internet. Surely there was a picture of him online, right? But Spencer had spent hours last night searching all sorts of avenues. The work he’d done with the police. The stalking story. There wasn’t a single image of him anywhere—of course, it would help if she knew his last name.

  She had to meet him.

  She looked at the screen and took a deep breath. I really want to see them, she wrote. But I don’t want you sending them over the Internet. Do you think we could meet in person? It might be a risk to reveal who she really was, but she was willing to take the chance.

  The cursor blinked . . . and blinked . . . and blinked. No new message appeared. Spencer’s cheeks burned. This felt just like the time in seventh grade when Spencer and Ali were competing over who could kiss the greatest number of older guys. Spencer had walked up to Oliver Nolan, the champion rower at St. Francis Prep, and asked him to kiss her, and he’d flat-out refused. Ali had been watching—she’d laughed her head off.

  There was a knock on the front door. Spencer jumped up from her mom’s desk chair, ran through the kitchen and down the hall, and peered through the sidelight window. Emily stood on the porch. Her Volvo wagon chugged at the curb; Iris’s blond head could be seen in the passenger seat.

  “What’s going on?” Spencer whispered as she opened the door.

  Emily looked right and left. Then she pulled Spencer down the hall and into the powder room. She shut the door and turned on the overhead fan, which rattled noisily, and ran the faucet at full volume.