Vicious

by Sara Shepard

  The tall cop, who was still holding Emily’s wrist, glared at her. “Isn’t she dead?”

  The other cop shouted up the fence. “Hey, you! Come back down. Now.” But Ali kept climbing. The short cop climbed up the fence after her. Ali let out a wail and scurried as quickly as she could, but her excess weight slowed her down. The cop caught her by the ankle and dragged her back. Ali’s legs kicked, and her fists flew. “Don’t touch me!” she screeched. “You’re hurting me! You can’t do this!”

  “Stop struggling,” the cop said, shoving Ali to the dirt. Her hair fell in her face. Her too-small T-shirt pulled unattractively across her stomach. But as she twisted around to spit in the cop’s face, he looked at his partner, recognition dawning. The second cop leaned down and stared into Ali’s face, which was pushed against the grass. Now it was his turn to look baffled . . . and maybe a little bit frightened. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. “I’m going to need backup. Will you send two more black-and-whites to 8901 Hyacinth Drive?”

  Mrs. D touched the cops’ arms. “Don’t believe a word that girl says,” she warned, her eyes on Emily. “She’s insane. My daughter’s name is Tiffany Day, not Alison DiLaurentis.”

  “Yeah?” Emily felt heat in her face. “Do you have ID?”

  Ali twisted around and looked at her mother. “Get my ID, Mom.”

  Mrs. D stood very still. The corners of her mouth turned down. “S-she doesn’t have ID.”

  Ali’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course I do.”

  Mrs. D averted her eyes. “I didn’t get it yet,” she whispered to her daughter. “There wasn’t enough time.”

  Ali just stared. There was a look of horror on her face.

  The dark-haired cop reached for a pair of handcuffs and clapped them around Ali’s wrists. “Let’s all go down to the station so we can talk. You, too, Mrs. . . .” He looked searchingly at Ali’s mom, then shrugged and clapped cuffs around her wrists, too.

  Mrs. D looked stunned. “We’re not the ones you want.” She nodded her head toward Emily. “It’s her.”

  “Oh, we’re bringing her, too,” the dark-haired cop murmured. “We’ll get all this sorted out.”

  It took all of the first cop’s strength to restrain Ali enough to get her into the squad car, and Mrs. D howled the whole way to the curb. Emily, however, walked calmly and patiently. She could feel a big smile spreading across her face. Sure, the cops would bring her in and ask her questions. But she knew she wouldn’t be in trouble. Once they realized who Ali was—once they realized everything—she wouldn’t be in trouble at all.

  A second police cruiser had pulled up, and two officers loaded Mrs. D and Ali into the backseat. Just as Ali was about to climb inside, she twisted around and gave Emily a damning look. Her features were small and tight. She was so angry that her jaw was shaking.

  “This isn’t over,” she hissed at Emily, little droplets of spit flying from her mouth. “We’re not even close to being done.”

  But Emily knew they were. She knew, finally, she’d won.

  31

  THE GANG’S ALL HERE

  Present, Monday,

  Rosewood, Pennsylvania

  “Emily?” Hanna gaped at the girl at the front of the courtroom. It was the most incredible thing she’d ever seen. There was Emily, whole, undamaged, bright-eyed, almost excited looking at the front of the courtroom. Not pulled out of the water, dead. Not huddled in a corner, crazy. Alive. Smiling.

  Hanna tore down the aisle to her friend. Emily stretched her arms out and gave her a huge hug. It felt so good to breathe in Emily’s lemony smell and look into her eyes. Hanna didn’t even realize she was crying until she tried to speak and her words came out all blubbery. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “You’re . . . here. Really here!”

  “I’m here,” Emily answered, tearing up, too. “I’m just sorry I’m late. You had to go to prison. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Hanna waved her hand. “You’re alive,” she whispered. “That’s all that matters.”

  The others had approached and flocked around Emily, too. “How is this possible?” Spencer asked.

  “How did you survive that storm?” Aria cried.

  “Where have you been?” Hanna asked. She wondered, too, why Emily was back here. Had she survived only to turn herself in?

  But Emily was looking back at the doors through which they’d all just come. Hanna swiveled around, too, and so did everyone else in the courtroom—which was mostly empty except for the judge, the lawyers, and some official-looking note-taking people. The double doors had opened, and someone new had just been escorted through. Hanna’s jaw dropped.

  “Ali?” she whispered.

  At least she thought it was Ali. The girl’s hair was stringy and brown. Layers of fat concealed her fine-boned face and made her blue eyes look all squishy and piggish. The black T-shirt she was wearing didn’t remotely fit across her stomach or her boobs. A single thought bubbled to the surface of Hanna’s mind: If this girl had been at Rosewood Day, and if the old Ali were still around, she would have ruthlessly made fun of her. Ali had become her own worst nightmare.

  The rest of the courtroom exploded into whispers as a guard led Ali to the front of the court. Ali shuffled despondently. Hanna’s heart was pounding so hard. Their almost-killer, the mastermind who’d gotten them sentenced to life in prison, was standing just feet away. Part of her wanted to break free from the others and pummel Ali to the ground. Another part wanted to run far away as fast as she could.

  She wheeled around and stared at Emily. All at once, she understood why Emily was here. It wasn’t a coincidence that both Emily and Ali were in the courthouse at the same time. Somehow, Emily had survived her death and . . . found Ali, wherever she’d been hiding.

  She gawked at her friend. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Where was she?” Aria asked at the same time, her eyes wide.

  Emily gave them a patient smile. “I’ll tell you the whole story soon,” she whispered.

  They all turned back to Ali, who was standing at the judge’s bench, her head down. The judge looked from Ali to the girls. “It seems we have another surprise witness,” he said wryly. “The murdered girl, arisen from the dead.”

  Ali’s head snapped up. “They did try to kill me,” she suddenly blurted. “You don’t understand. They did everything I said in my journal. They tied me up. They hurt me. Everything I told you is true.”

  “Yeah, right,” Spencer shouted.

  Ali sneered at them, her face twisted and terrible. “They’re horrible bitches,” she told the judge. “They deserve to go to jail.”

  The judge stared at her evenly. “Watch what you say, Miss DiLaurentis. Everything that comes out of your mouth can and will be used against you—in your trial.”

  Ali’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but a man in a pin-striped suit who’d joined her at the bench, presumably her lawyer, placed a hand on her arm to silence her. Ali wilted, letting out a small, weak whimper.

  Hanna felt a triumphant flurry in her chest. In every situation, Ali had gotten the better of them. Until now. It was the best feeling in the world. The judge then turned to them and gave the news that Hanna thought she’d never hear: All four of them were cleared of their murder charges, since the victim was still alive. “Not just alive, either, but she faked her own death and has been on the lam, evaded the law, tried to escape, and threatened Miss Fields here with a gun,” the judge added, glancing in Emily’s direction.

  Hanna gawked at Emily. “She tried to shoot you?”

  Emily shrugged. “Her mom did, too.”

  Spencer’s mouth dropped open. So did Hanna’s. She was too dumbstruck to ask questions.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Now, there are some charges we will need to clear up with you girls. Miss Fields, you put a lot of people through a lot of strife, thinking you were dead. Not to mention you deliberately broke your court-ordered mandate to stay in the state of Pennsylvani
a and took off for Florida. But I suppose we’ll let those charges rest, considering the ordeal you’ve been through.”

  Emily let out a huge sigh. “Thank you,” she gushed. Hanna squeezed her hand.

  “And Miss Montgomery.” The judge flipped a page on his desk. “You fled the country, which is a bigger offense. But I think we can negotiate community service in lieu of prison time.”

  Aria’s eyes brightened and she clapped a gleeful hand over her mouth.

  The judge flipped more pages. “As for everything else with you girls, you’ve been cleared. You’re free to go.”

  Spencer looked down at her prison uniform. “We can take this off?”

  The judge nodded. He motioned toward a guard in the corner. The man strode over to the girls and began removing their ankle shackles one by one. The weights fell to the ground with a satisfying clunk.

  Hanna took a moment to relish what was happening. She wasn’t going back to prison! She wouldn’t have to shower in plain sight or starve for fear of the disgusting food or sleep next to a murderer. She’d get to be with Mike again. She’d get to do everything again!

  Hanna stared at Emily. “You actually did it. You found her. You got us all free!”

  Emily grinned, still seeming a bit stunned herself. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? The whole time I wasn’t sure if I could actually do it. But you guys were what kept me going. I thought of you the whole time—and that’s why I did what I did.”

  They moved together into another group hug, everyone crying a little. Then Aria pulled back, sniffing, crying tears of joy. “You know, Em, we thought you were suicidal. We were so worried.”

  Emily nodded. “I was struggling a lot, ever since what Ali did to Jordan. And I know I took a huge risk going after her—it probably was crazy. I had no idea if I would actually find her.” She slung one arm around Hanna’s shoulders and another around Spencer’s. “I’m just sorry that I had to leave you guys the way that I did. I felt terrible that I wasn’t there during the trial. It looked awful.”

  “It was,” Spencer said. But then she shrugged. “I get it. What you were doing was far more important. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “You never have to,” Emily said quickly. “You would have done the same for me.”

  Hanna turned to the judge. He was flipping another page, his gaze on Alison. “As for you,” he said, the courtroom falling silent again. “You’re a flight risk, you’re a menace to society, you faked your own death, and you’re unsafe on your own, so you will await your trial in prison.” He banged his gavel. “Take her away.”

  Two guards appeared at Ali’s sides and grabbed her arms. Ali let out a little grunt but let her limbs go limp. As they dragged her down the aisle, she glared at Hanna and the others. A shiver ran up Hanna’s spine as their eyes met.

  Neither of them blinked. Ali stared at Hanna and the others with disdain and a seething fury. It was a look Hanna had never quite seen from her before, probably because Ali had always been the one in control. This look said, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Ali wasn’t used to being on the losing end. The last time she’d lost, really lost, was after Courtney switched places with her, sending her to The Preserve.

  And just like that, everyone in the courtroom was rising and filing out. No guards rushed up to Hanna and the others to escort them away. Slowly, the girls turned and walked out on their own. Through the doorway, Hanna caught sight of her mom and Mike waiting in the lobby. She squealed.

  “Is this a dream?” she asked her friends, her grin stretched wide.

  “Maybe,” Spencer said, looking just as dazed. Then she reached out and took Hanna’s hand, breaking out into a smile. Hanna reached for Emily on her other side, and Em reached for Aria.

  Hand-in-hand, the four girls walked into the lobby together. Reporters pounced on them immediately with questions, microphones thrust in their faces. “What did you think when you saw Alison today?” one yelled. “Do you think she’ll get the death penalty?” “Emily, how did you find her?” “What are your thoughts on this whole ordeal?”

  For some reason, Hanna felt compelled to answer that last one. She leaned toward the reporter and took a deep breath. “What are my thoughts on this whole ordeal?” she repeated, pausing to contemplate. And then she thought of the perfect answer. “Ali didn’t manage to kill us,” she said. “She only made us stronger.”

  32

  A CLEAN SLATE

  The smell of something salty and delicious woke Aria from a deep dream. She opened her eyes, expecting to feel the immediate aches and pains of sleeping on a hard prison mattress, but instead she was lying in her old, familiar bed, surrounded by a million pillows. Her art posters hung on the walls, and her pig puppet, Pigtunia, peered out from the foot of the bed. Her recently returned cell phone blinked cheerfully on her desk.

  She shot up like a start, everything rushing back. A miracle had happened. She was home. And Ali was in jail.

  Aria leapt out of bed and grabbed her phone. There were a ton of Google Alerts for Ali, all of them mentioning her capture. Aria scrolled down to the bottom, searching. There was no mention of Ali escaping from jail this morning, though. No prison attacks, no strange disappearances. Ali was behind bars, for real.

  But Aria still felt uneasy. Last night before bed, she’d checked every window and door to make sure it was locked. When she’d called her friends, they’d seemed just as paranoid. It would take a little time for them to shake the Ali fear. Aria just hoped it would go away eventually.

  She pulled on her favorite robe, slipped the phone in her pocket, and strode downstairs.

  Her mom stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. She looked up at Aria and smiled. “Morning,” she said, pushing the hair out of Aria’s eyes. “How did you sleep?”

  “Really well,” Aria said in a froggy voice, still feeling a little bewildered. “I guess a sleepless night in prison will do that.”

  Ella paused from making eggs to wrap her arms around Aria. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said gently.

  Aria shrugged. “I’m sorry I took off for Europe without telling you.” She peeked at Ella. “Are you really mad?” she asked in a small voice.

  Ella sighed. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” She shook a spatula at her. “I mean it. You have nothing to hide now. Everyone believes you about Alison.”

  Her gaze drifted toward the TV in the corner. Not surprisingly, Ali’s face flashed on the screen. The report was a rehash of yesterday’s events—Ali coming into the courthouse, the ruling overturned, the girls going free, and Ali being locked up. The latest news, though, was that Ali had been put into the prison’s psych ward, and she’d suddenly changed her story, confessing to framing the girls, faking the journal, and constructing an elaborate murder scene.

  The prison psychiatrist appeared on TV. “Miss DiLaurentis keeps calling herself A,” he told the reporter. “She has said, repeatedly, I’m A. I did it. It was me all along.”

  “Whoa,” Aria whispered. Ali, confessing to being A? That was a new one.

  Ella let out a tsk. “I guess she’s trying to plead insanity. Otherwise, why would she admit to all that?”

  Aria winced. “Does that mean she might get out sooner?”

  Ella shook her head. “Doubtful. In prison, you serve your sentence, and then you can go. At the psych ward, they can extend your stay indefinitely.”

  Aria rolled her jaw. Maybe that was so, but Ali was smart. She wouldn’t have gotten herself thrown into the psych ward if she didn’t think there was something in it for her. Probably she thought she could figure out how to escape from it.

  Then Emily appeared on the screen, giving a brief recap of how she’d tracked down Ali in Florida. Aria beamed with pride. Emily had told them the whole crazy story yesterday, including the part about Mrs. DiLaurentis hiding Ali, and Emily confronting her, and Ali popping out with the gun. She’d also explained how she’d called 911 but left the phone in her pocket, banking
on the call being recorded and the police realizing something terrible was happening. It had been a risk, Emily said, but it had paid off, as the cops arrived just in time to save Emily from Ali’s wrath. Aria couldn’t believe the good luck of it all. It felt like fate had intervened, like the universe had realized that Ali couldn’t get away with it again.

  Then the news showed a shot of Mrs. DiLaurentis. Ali’s mom’s head was down, her hands were cuffed, and two police officers were leading her into what looked like a jail. “Jessica DiLaurentis is being charged with harboring a known criminal,” blared a reporter. “Her trial is set to begin next week.”

  Then Ali’s father, looking bewildered and exhausted, popped on camera. “I had no idea my wife was hiding our daughter,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I have nothing else to say on the matter.” For whatever reason, Aria believed him.

  “So that’s that,” Ella said softly as she scraped the eggs from the pan and onto a plate. She handed Aria one serving and kept another for herself, and the two of them sat down to eat. After picking at moldy prison food, the eggs were the most delicious thing Aria had ever tasted.

  “So that’s that,” Aria repeated, looking down.

  Ella cocked her head. “You don’t seem so thrilled.”

  “I am . . .” Aria trailed off. “It’s just . . . weird, you know? We were so used to no one believing us. I even got a call from Jasmine Fuji yesterday, apologizing.” That had been a huge surprise. It certainly felt good to hear Fuji say she was sorry. “But it’s hard to actually let go,” Aria added. “I keep thinking Ali’s still out there, plotting her next move against us.”

  Ella chewed thoughtfully. “Are you worried about the Ali Cats?”

  Aria fiddled with the napkin on her lap. “Maybe,” she admitted. “What if she gets in touch with them in prison? What if she asks them to hurt us, somehow?”

  Ella shook her head. “They won’t let her have visitors, and they won’t let her use the internet.” She patted Aria’s hand. “You can’t keep being afraid of her. You have to live your life. Otherwise, she really has won.” Then Ella brightened and pushed her cell phone across the table. “And actually, I have some news for you. In the past weekend, demand for your artwork has gone up tremendously. Everyone wants an Aria Montgomery piece now. Which means you, my dear, have to get painting.”