by Sara Shepard
A flashlight snapped on. Diffused, yellow light scattered throughout the room. The mouse squeaked and scampered. The house creaked and groaned with the wind. Finally, the figure holding the flashlight flipped it upward, shining it on himself. “Hello, girls,” a guy’s voice said.
Hanna blinked at his face in the light. He had brown eyes, a sloped nose, and a pointy, clean-shaven jaw. There was a gun in his right hand, aimed at them.
As he drew up to his full height, Hanna realized with a jolt that she knew him. Madison had just shown her his picture.
“Jackson?” she exclaimed. The bartender. The one who’d overserved Madison and laughed when Hanna suggested they call her a cab.
Only . . . what was he doing here?
“Derrick?” Emily said slowly, next to her.
Hanna frowned and studied the look of shock on Emily’s face. Who was Derrick?
Spencer was twitching, too. “Phineas,” she said dazedly, staring at the boy. “Easy A Phineas from Penn.”
“Olaf,” Aria said at the same time.
Hanna recoiled, too many neurons firing at once in her brain. “Wait. Olaf from Iceland?”
“Yeah,” Aria said slowly, her hand half covering her mouth. “That’s him.”
Hanna shook her head vehemently. “That’s not Olaf. I met Olaf.” Her night at that dive bar in Philly had happened before Iceland—she would have known if the same guy who’d waited on her the night of Madison’s accident was also hitting on Aria halfway around the world.
Or . . . would she? She stared at Jackson’s dark eyebrows and thin lips. Come to think of it, he did sort of look like Olaf. But she never would have thought to connect the strange Icelandic guy with a preppy bartender in the States.
“I-I don’t understand,” Spencer croaked.
“What the hell is going on?” Hanna said at the same time.
The boy stepped forward. “My name is Jackson,” he said. “And Derrick. And Phineas, and yes, even Olaf. But my real name is Nick. Or Tripp to my friends. Tripp Maxwell.”
Emily blinked hard. “Tripp,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”
Spencer looked at her. “Who’s Tripp?”
Emily’s jaw trembled. “Iris liked a boy named Tripp Maxwell. He was a patient at The Preserve.”
“Oh, Iris.” Nick rolled his eyes. “She always had such a thing for me.”
Hanna’s head spun. He was a Preserve patient. His name started with an N. This was Ali’s boyfriend. He was the person who Graham was talking about. He’d hurt Noel, too. Killed Gayle. Murdered Kyla.
He was Helper A.
Panic rose in her chest. She peeked over her shoulder. They were only a few steps away from the door—maybe they could make it out without Nick getting any of them. She grabbed Spencer’s arm and yanked her around. Emily and Aria made a break for it, too. Hanna took one step for the door, then another, reaching out her arms for the wobbly knob.
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, a body shot forward and stood in front of the door, barring their exit. “Not so fast,” said an icy voice.
This voice Hanna knew instantly. All at once, the scent of perfume wafted through the air. Hanna’s blood ran cold. Vanilla perfume.
Slowly, dramatically, Nick trained the flashlight on her. Scars covered her neck and arms. She still had huge blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, but there was something hard and mean about her. She was thinner, reedy, stripped down, and very sick-looking. Her eyes were cold and mocking, without the slightest bit of joy. Hanna drew in a breath.
“Greetings, bitches,” Ali whispered, pulling out a gun as well. “You’re coming with us.”
33
THE SWEET SMELL OF DEATH
Emily trembled as she felt Ali’s steely, murderous gaze upon her. Here she was, finally. Real. Alive. Sickly and way too thin, her jeans hanging off her hips, her arms like toothpicks, cords and veins standing out in her neck. There was dirt all over her face, her hair was matted, and one of her front teeth had rotted, spoiling her smile. It was like scribbling over the Mona Lisa. A beautiful girl, the most beautiful girl, envied by everyone, adored by Emily herself. Now she was just a tarnished ruin. A twisted freak. Then she spun around again and looked at Nick. Derrick. It made no sense. Emily couldn’t believe this was her sweet confidant, the boy who’d helped her through a bleak summer. He’d offered to rescue her from Carolyn’s dorm. But he was looking at her coldly now, an eerie, unfamiliar smile on his face. And something else occurred to her, too: Derrick knew Gayle. He had worked as her landscaper that same summer. It was why Gayle spoke to Derrick with some familiarity the night he’d killed her. She’d probably wondered what Derrick, of all people, was doing in her driveway.
Ali waved the gun, her body still planted firmly against the front door, their only exit. “There’s a trapdoor in the corner. Go there. Now.”
They marched the girls to a hidden door in the floor. Nick pulled at a rusty hinge and yanked it open. A set of stairs descended to a basement. A strip of dim light shone on a carpet. A strange, sweet smell wafted out, causing Emily to cough. “What is that smell?” she sputtered.
“No questions. Climb down,” Ali demanded, pressing the butt of the gun into Aria’s back.
Trembling, Emily staggered down the stairs, nearly falling twice. Spencer, Aria, and Hanna followed. Emily’s feet touched the bottom, and she looked around. They were in a narrow corridor. There was nothing down here except for four walls. The sweet smell was stronger, cloying and almost suffocating, and there was an unsettling hiss in the air, perhaps of more of the sweet poison filling the space. Emily coughed a few more times, but it didn’t seem to help. Spencer took heaving breaths. Aria looked pale.
Ali’s and Nick’s shapes danced before them as they climbed down the ladder last and shut the trapdoor. “So, girls,” Nick said, grinning like a crocodile. “Are you still confused?”
No one dared to speak, though Emily was sure they were all as confused as she was.
“You followed me to Iceland,” Aria stated.
Nick shrugged. “I guess I did.”
“Were you there, too?” Aria asked Ali, peeking at her in the dim light.
Ali just smirked, not answering. Probably figuring she didn’t have to answer.
“Did you put Noel in that shed?” Aria whispered, tears coming to her eyes.
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. Again with that sly smile.
Then Emily cleared her throat. “You stole that money from Gayle. And you killed her. And you came on the cruise with us. You told the Feds about Jordan.”
“And you bombed the ship,” Aria added. “You almost killed me.”
“You did kill Graham,” Hanna said.
Nick and Ali glanced at each other, looking proud. They seemed almost giddy.
Emily reached for Aria’s hand. The extent of everything he’d done knifed through her, hot and sharp. It was bad enough what Nick and Ali had done to Noel. But the two of them had killed Ian, too. And Jenna. He’d helped set fire to Spencer’s yard. He’d more than likely been in the Poconos when Ali tried to kill them, too. He’d helped Ali escape.
Even though it made no sense, even though it was crazy, somehow this guy had been four people at once, different people to all of them.
“I trusted you,” Emily whispered, staring at Nick. “And because of you, I almost gave my baby away to a crazy person.”
Nick’s eyes hardened. “I didn’t force you to make that deal, Emily. You did it yourself. That’s the beauty of this, girls—I got you all into trouble, but you were the ones, ultimately, who sealed your fates.”
Everyone exchanged a doomed glance. He was right. They were culpable . . . and ultimately responsible. Somehow Nick had figured out their weaknesses and exploited them.
“You killed Tabitha, too, didn’t you?” Emily sputtered.
Nick glanced at Ali, and she snickered. “We just did what we had to do,” Nick said.
“And what about Iris?” Emily whispered.
<
br /> Nick shrugged. “No more questions. We’re done.”
He brushed past them and located a small bump in the wall. He twisted it once, grunted, and the whole wall shifted, revealing a hidden room. Light spilled out from a bare bulb in the corner. “Go,” he demanded, pushing Emily and the others inside.
Emily walked shakily into the space. It was a small, damp, basement room that smelled of mildew and that horrible sweetness she couldn’t identify. There was an old tweed couch pushed against the cinder-block wall, a table at its side. And on the walls, covering every inch, were pictures of Ali.
Old school pictures from seventh grade. Snapshots from yearbook in fourth and fifth grades, candids of her when she’d returned to Rosewood after Ian was arraigned, family portraits Emily remembered from the DiLaurentis front hall, only one DiLaurentis twin smiling a gap-toothed smile. The pictures covered every inch of the space. Newspaper articles about Alison returning to Rosewood, Alison going missing after the Poconos fire, and Alison sightings all over the country were plastered on the walls as well, certain lines of text highlighted, other things circled with red pen. WE LOVE YOU, ALI, read sparkly letters along the top border of one wall. WE MISS YOU, ALI, read letters on the opposite wall.
Emily stepped back. “What is this?”
“Like it?” Ali asked behind them, her gun still pointed at their backs. “You should. You made it.”
Emily blinked, her head lolling on her neck. She couldn’t feel her legs, exactly. “What do you mean by that?”
“When they find you,” Ali explained in a pleasant voice, “they’ll figure it’s your shrine to me.”
Spencer’s eyes blazed. “We would never make a shrine to you.”
“Oh, please.” Ali rolled her eyes. “You love me. You’ve always loved me. I’m all you’ve been thinking about these past few years. That’s what the cops will think when they find all of you dead here. Your own little death plan, a final tribute to moi.”
It took Emily a great effort to swing around and give her best friends a horrified look. Her brain was moving slowly, but the pieces fit. The cops. An Ali shrine. A death plan. When the cops found them—if the cops found them—it would look like they’d killed themselves because of—or in honor of—Ali. Because they were haunted and enchanted by her.
Emily clutched her head, which was now pounding. “What did you do?” she asked Nick. “You pumped something into the air, didn’t you? Something poisonous that will kill us.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Nick teased.
“I can’t breathe,” Spencer sputtered. “Make it stop.”
Nick shook his head, then reached behind him and placed an object over his face. It looked like a gas mask. He handed a second one to Ali, and she put it on, too. Their bodies relaxed as they took deep breaths of clean air. Mist appeared against the plastic. He breathed again and again, mocking them.
All the while, every breath Emily took hurt. She could feel her cells fizzling, sputtering, giving up. Her friends writhed, too, equally suffering. Tears filled Emily’s eyes. This was it. She could feel it. But I need more time, her brain screamed. She couldn’t die now. She couldn’t let Ali win.
But this was the end. Spencer let out a helpless whimper. Aria dropped to the floor, half-conscious, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Nick and Ali clasped hands and bounced on the balls of their feet like children. They were loving this.
Emily stared at them. They were savages. Inhuman. Suddenly, energy from somewhere deep inside filled her, and she sprung for Nick, her arms outstretched. He screamed as he landed on his back. She ripped off his mask and tossed it across the room, then grabbed the gun and flung it away, too. When she looked at him again, his neck was twisted, his eyes closed, his lips parted. He took even, steady breaths. She’d knocked him out.
The gun glinted across the room. Emily didn’t know where she found the energy, but she lunged for it and grabbed it with both hands. It was heavier than she expected, the metal cold to the touch.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s tough.”
Emily looked up. Ali peered down at her, the mask still over her face.
“Get away.” Emily pointed Nick’s gun at her.
Ali shrugged and aimed her gun at Emily. “Now, now, Em,” she said kindly, her voice muffled. Then she took off her mask and smiled, showing that horrible gap in her teeth. She dropped to her knees next to Emily. “It doesn’t have to end like this. We can be friends again, can’t we?”
Her breath was hot and sour-smelling on Emily’s cheek. Emily cringed, not wanting Ali to touch her. She glanced at Nick on the floor. He was out cold. Then she peeked at her friends across the room. They were staring at her fearfully but also dazedly, too weak to move.
“I’ll hurt you,” Emily warned Ali.
Ali placed the mask back on her face, then rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t, Em. I know how you feel about me. I know I’m not as pretty as I used to be, but I’m still the same Ali. I know you’ve still been thinking about me. I’ve been thinking about you, too. Especially the last time we saw each other. When you let me out of that house just before it exploded. I’ve never properly thanked you for it.”
There was a knot in Emily’s throat.
Emily gripped Nick’s gun hard and brushed Ali off of her. “Stay away from me.”
Ali sat back on her butt, looking amused. “Does poor widdle Emily not love me anymore?” she said in a pouty, babyish voice, partly muffled by the mask over her mouth.
Emily looked her in the eye. “I never loved you,” she hissed.
Ali drew back her hand and slammed Emily across the cheek. Red streaked across Emily’s vision, her face screamed with heat, and she wheeled backward. The gun flew from her hands and skidded across the floor once more. Emily reached for it, but Ali caught her and pulled her back with surprising strength.
“Say you never stopped thinking about me,” Ali growled, her gun at Emily’s temple now. Her mask came loose and dangled around her neck. She held it against her mouth, her nostrils flaring. “Say you would have betrayed even your best friends if it meant getting me back.”
Emily’s cheek stung. She couldn’t eke out a response. She glanced again at Spencer, Aria, and Hanna. They were barely conscious, their skin gray, their breath ragged. Each had a look of desperation on her face—it was clear they wanted to help Emily, but they simply couldn’t. The gun rested in the corner, out of their reach.
“Say it,” Ali demanded. “Tell your friends just how much you wanted me to live. Tell them you betrayed them. We’ll see how much they love you then.”
“She already told us, Alison,” Aria said weakly. “We don’t care. Emily’s still our friend.”
Ali pressed the gun into Emily’s flesh. “Say it, anyway.”
“Leave me alone.” Emily’s lips trembled. Even though she knew this was the end, even though she’d probably be dead in a few minutes and Ali would escape again, she didn’t want this to be the last thing she ever said. She didn’t love Ali. No frickin’ way.
There was a click as Ali lifted the safety latch. “Say it,” she growled. “Say how excited you were when you guys were looking for me. Say how much you wanted to find me so you could kiss me again.”
“Stop it!” Emily screamed, curling into a ball.
Ali moved the gun to Emily’s temple. “Well, then, say good-bye.”
Emily started to sob. Every muscle in her body trembled. She looked around the room, first at her friends, then at Nick’s limp body, and then at all of those awful Ali photos on the walls, and then, finally, at Ali herself. “I hate you,” she whispered.
“What was that?” Ali growled, looking alien in her gas mask.
Emily was about to say it again, but suddenly, there was a faint sound from upstairs. Ali cocked her head toward the ceiling. Emily did, too. The sound grew louder. It sounded like . . . a police siren.
Ali gasped. She glared at Emily. “Did you call the cops?”
Emily looked at t
he others. Were the cops coming for them? Did they know? Would they be here in time?
But the sirens were still so far away. Even if the police did reach the house, they’d never find the basement. Tears ran down Emily’s cheeks. Help was so close . . . yet so far away. Ali was going to win this time . . . for real.
“Too little, too late,” Ali said in a soothing voice, pushing the gun against Emily’s head. “Say good-bye, Emily, dear.”
Emily shut her eyes and tried to think of something good and pure. And then, bang. The sound reverberated off the walls. Emily flattened to the ground, terrified of the power.
And then all she saw was darkness.
34
SOMEWHERE OUT THERE
Aria was swimming in a beautiful blue ocean. Colorful fish flanked her sides. Coral waved in the ocean current. A figure treaded water in the distance, and she kicked toward him. When she surfaced, she saw Noel. The sun danced across his cheekbones. His eyes sparkled. But his smile was sad and lonely. There were tears in his eyes.
“Aria,” he said, his voice full of pain.
“Noel!” Aria paddled toward him. “I’ve missed you. I thought I’d never see you again.”
Noel blinked and pressed his lips together. “That’s the thing, Aria. You won’t. This is the last time.”
“W-what do you mean?” Aria asked. Why did he look so miserable?
And then she remembered. That basement room full of Ali. That poisonous gas. Ali and Nick and those guns. That bang.
It all flooded into her memory, twisting her into knots. She looked at Noel in horror, waves lapping around them. “Am I . . . dead?”
Noel’s chin trembled. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
“No!” Aria exclaimed, waving her arms, suddenly hyperventilating. “I-I can’t be dead. I feel so alive. And I’m not ready.” She stared at her ex-boyfriend, full of purpose. She wasn’t ready. She wanted to live; she wanted him back. She didn’t care about that Ali shit anymore. Everyone lied. Everyone made mistakes. They’d get over it, the way they’d gotten over everything.
