Her friends exchanged a glance. It was that look again, that Emily’s lost it look. But she was too worn out to care. So they were worried about her. So her parents were worried about her. Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone?
Aria flopped on the couch and hugged an embroidered pillow to her chest. “What do you think the police are doing right now? Do you think they’re at the house?”
It was a question they hadn’t dared to ask. When Aria had been connected to the police station, she’d told an Ashland officer that they’d been hiking around in the woods, it had gotten dark on them quickly, and they’d stumbled upon a pool house whose floors were covered in blood. The police officer said they’d send someone to the address immediately, but when he asked for Aria’s name, she’d hung up. The police didn’t need to know it was them. They’d go there, they’d find Ali’s prints—for there had to be some. And once Fuji was involved, she’d form that conclusion on her own.
Emily walked over to the closet near the den and pulled out blankets and pillows the family kept there for sleepovers. “I hope they’re surrounding the pool house right now. Maybe they even caught Ali in the woods.”
Aria helped her spread the blankets on the floor. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”
Hanna dug her phone from her clutch. “Let’s check surveillance.” They’d periodically looked at the camera feed on the drive back; the loop was still playing on camera four, and the other angles showed no movement. They’d even rewound the tapes to see if there were any flashes of someone getting into the house, but there weren’t. Ali must have gotten into the house through a way the cameras didn’t see.
But now, surely, the cameras would show something different. Police investigating the space. Forensic teams testing the traces of blood.
Hanna tapped the screen and logged on to the site. Her mouth dropped open. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Emily rushed over and looked at the screen. Every one of the camera feeds said No Signal. The video images were gone.
Spencer’s eyes widened. “Ali shut them down?”
“Maybe that’s good,” Emily said. “Maybe she was disabling the cameras as the police rolled up.”
Aria twisted her mouth. “Or maybe she got away.”
A lump formed in Emily’s throat. If Ali got away, that meant she could be coming for them. She looked at the blankets and pillows strewn on the floor. They were right in front of a huge window. The lock on the garage door was flimsy at best.
Straightening up, she rolled an armchair in front of the door. Then she moved the couch to block the windows. Her friends seemed to sense what she was doing because Aria ran into the kitchen and barricaded chairs against the sliding doors to the back. Hanna checked and rechecked the bolts of the front door, too.
There was nothing to do after that except change into T-shirts and pajama pants Emily lent everyone and huddle under the covers together. For a long time, they were very quiet, listening to the sounds of one another’s breaths. Emily considered turning on the TV, but she knew none of them would watch. She didn’t even know what to talk about. She kept refreshing her phone, thinking something would be listed about a murder at the Ashland property. But there was no news. Hanna brought up the surveillance site again and again. The lines were still cut, the images of the house gone.
Knock.
Emily shot up. The hair on the back of her neck rose.
Knock.
“What was that?” Hanna whispered.
Emily thought she might throw up. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. She listened hard. Then, a barrage of banging sounds followed, and the girls screamed and held one another even tighter. But then Emily realized what the sounds were.
“It’s the ice maker,” she whispered, rising and pointing to the fridge through the kitchen doorway. The appliance was older; sometimes the ice hit the bucket in one big, loud clump. Feeling brave, she peered into the dark room. The kitchen chairs were still against the sliding doors. The clutch her mother had brought to the party sat on the island, its silver clasp glimmering in the single beam of light from over the sink.
“Ali’s not here,” Emily said as she turned back to her friends.
Aria twitched. “Not yet.”
They returned to the blankets. Emily stared into the darkness, her mind frantic and alert. The hours crept past. Every noise, every tiny click, sent her into a panic. She felt herself drifting off every once in a while, jumping back to consciousness after only minutes of sleep. The final time, when she awoke, the smell of vanilla hung heavily in the room. A figure stood over her. Emily blinked hard. Ali’s blond hair hung in knotted tendrils down her chest. Her eyes were hollow, her posture stooped.
Emily sat up hurriedly, her heart leaping into her throat. She’d been anticipating this, but it was still horrifying. “Please,” she said, scuttling backward. She glanced at her friends. Astonishingly, they were all still sleeping. “Please don’t hurt us.”
Ali tilted her head and offered Emily a smile. “Oh, Em. I didn’t hurt you. You hurt me.”
“What?” Emily whispered. She looked at her friends, but still none of them stirred. “What do you mean?”
Ali’s smile didn’t waver. “You’ll see.” Then she climbed over the chair Emily had pushed in front of the garage door and slipped through. A faint giggle trailed behind her. She slammed the door loudly with a bang.
Emily shot up and looked around. Pale light streamed through the windows. The room no longer smelled like vanilla. She ran her hands along the back of her sweaty neck. Had she dreamed that?
There was another bang, but this time it was her father opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen. Hanna stirred next to Emily. Aria rolled onto her side. Spencer shot up, her eyes wide. “What time is it?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
“It’s morning,” Emily said groggily, staring at the empty room again. Ali had seemed so real. “And nothing happened.”
Everyone looked at one another, blinking hard. Nothing happened. It was actually more shocking than Ali breaking in.
“Maybe they got her,” Spencer whispered.
Aria’s mouth dropped open. “Maybe this is over.”
“Maybe,” Emily said shakily. But she couldn’t stop thinking of what Ali—or dream-Ali—had said. I didn’t hurt you. You hurt me.
It meant something. Emily just didn’t know what.
32
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
Hanna had never been so tired in her life. Staying up last night, one eye on the door, certain Ali was going to burst through at any moment, was more exhausting than any all-nighter she’d ever pulled. Worse than the night when they’d thought they’d accidentally blinded Jenna Cavanaugh with a firework. Worse than the night of Mona’s death, when she’d lain awake all night, wondering how her best friend could have been A. Worse than the night they’d seen Ian Thomas’s dead body—Hanna couldn’t get the sight or the smell out of her mind. Today, her limbs felt like she’d run back-to-back marathons. It took everything in her to drive home, change her clothes, and make her early call-time for her new role as Hanna Marin.
There were knots in her stomach as she drove to the set. Why was she even doing this? She got to be Hanna, but the victory had come at too high a cost—she’d lost Hailey and Mike, and who knew how many other people on the set would hate her, too, seeing her only as a backstabbing, overly ambitious bitch? Plus, she looked like hell today, and she certainly wasn’t up to performing—Hank was probably going to fire her on the spot. Should she quit and save him the trouble?