Pretty Little Liars #14 (22 page)

So figure out who N could be
, a voice told her.

Another impossibility. Like the staff at The Preserve was going to allow a suspected criminal to infiltrate their building. Besides, they'd already balked when she'd asked.

But she dialed The Preserve's number all the same, another matter on her mind. When a nurse answered, Emily coughed. “Has Iris Taylor returned?” she asked shakily.

“Let me check.” There was typing. “No, Iris Taylor isn't here,” she answered.

Emily gripped the phone hard. “You haven't found her?”

There was rustling on the other end, and a second voice got on the line. “Who is this?” a man demanded. “Are you another reporter?” And then,
click
.

The call time flashed on Emily's screen. She set her phone down on the bedside table and stared blankly out the window. Iris was out there somewhere. Who knew if she was alive or dead? And it was all Emily's fault.

Suddenly, a second voice sounded in Emily's head, this one lower in pitch and eerily hypnotic.
So give up
, it echoed.
Just stay in bed. Close your eyes. There's no point to anything
.

A door slammed outside, and Emily opened her eyes once more. Though it took a huge effort, she hefted herself out of bed and crossed the hall to the front window. Outside, her father was helping her mom out of a cab. Carolyn grabbed Mrs. Fields's bags, and Emily's sister Beth and brother, Jake, fluttered around, trying to be useful.

She watched her mom hobble to the front door. Mrs. Fields looked gray and old, clearly sick. The door creaked as it opened, and Emily heard voices downstairs. “Sit right here,” Mr. Fields encouraged softly. “See? Isn't that nice?”

“Can I get you something, Mom?” That was Beth's voice.

“How about some ginger ale?” said Jake.

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Fields said. Her voice was scratchy, like a grandmother's.

There were quick footsteps, the kissing sound of the fridge opening and closing. Emily hesitated at the top of the stairs, more nervous than she'd felt on the blocks before the state-championship swim meet last year. After a few heaving breaths, she squared her shoulders and walked down the stairs.

Beth and Carolyn were sitting on the couch, their hands in their laps, their smiles twitchy. Jake returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of ginger ale. Mr. Fields was squatting by the TV, doing something with the cable box, and Emily's mom was sitting on the recliner, her face pale and lined.

When Emily reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone froze. Carolyn's lips puckered. Jake shot to his feet. Beth looked away, which made Emily feel especially awful.

Emily stepped toward her mom. “It's so nice to see you home,” she said shakily. “How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Fields stared at her hands. All at once, her breathing began to quicken.

“Tired?” Emily tried. “Did they feed you okay in the hospital?”

Mrs. Fields was actually wheezing now. Carolyn let out a whimper. “Dad,
do
something.”

“She shouldn't be here,” Beth said quickly, sharply.

Mr. Fields rose from the TV stand. He had disconnected the cable box from the television. Were they so broke that they couldn't even afford cable anymore? “You need to go back upstairs,” he said firmly to Emily, his eyes cold.

“I'm sorry, everyone,” she eked out. “I'm really, really sorry.”

Then she fled back upstairs, holding in her sobs only until she was safely behind her closed door. Her phone was flashing on the bed.
GOOGLE ALERT FOR THE PREPPY THIEF
, said the screen. Emily scanned the headlines. Jordan's sentencing trial was scheduled for next week.
Experts say her sentence will be somewhere between twenty and fifty years
.

Emily threw the phone against the wall. Jordan would have been fine if it weren't for Emily. She'd ruined her life, too.

All at once, she thought of Derrick, her pal from last summer. How many times had he held her hand in the break room when she'd poured her heart out about how scared she was about having the baby? How many times had she called him in the middle of the night because she couldn't sleep? She'd seen him not too long ago, when A was tormenting her about Gayle, so she knew he was still around. Maybe he'd listen. Maybe he'd understand.

She scooped up her phone from the carpet and dialed his number, but the call went to voicemail. Emily hung up without leaving a message. What if Derrick saw her number and hit
IGNORE
? Maybe he thought she was a killer, just like everyone else did. Maybe he was still upset that she'd cost him his job with Gayle, because she hadn't given Gayle her baby—the last time she'd seen him, he'd mentioned it. She'd negatively impacted Derrick's life, too.

She was the opposite of King Midas—everything and everyone she touched turned rotten, and there was so little now she could fix. Suddenly, something occurred to her. A lot of this was out of her control, but there was a way she could make her family happy again, get their money back, and heal their mother. She could disappear completely.

But did she dare even think it?

Emily squeezed her pillow hard. If she weren't here right now, if she weren't a constant stressor, her mom would recover. But when she thought about vanishing, she didn't mean simply leaving town. It was a bigger, scarier, more definite decision than that.

She'd save her family. And who would miss her?

A laugh exploded from downstairs. Someone opened a door and shut it again. Emily rose from her bed and stood in the middle of the room, fingertips twitching. All at once, she couldn't get the thought out of her mind. It made so much sense. She couldn't live like this. She couldn't let her family suffer. She couldn't go to Jamaica, either. Maybe the rumors weren't swirling because Ali and her helper planted them. Maybe everyone thought it was the next logical step.

Emily shut her eyes and thought for a moment. The Rosewood covered bridge came to mind. Most of the bridge had a roof over it, the inside walls coated with graffiti, but there was a tiny walkway on the outside that was open to the water below. The stream was deep this time of year from all the melted snow. It would still be cold, too. Numbing.

Heart pounding, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. Then, gathering up her courage, she hefted open her window, crept onto the roof, climbed onto the oak tree, and slid down the trunk, the way she always did when she snuck out. The bridge was about a twenty-minute walk. By the time her father checked on her—if he even
did
check on her—she'd be long gone.

FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS JUMP

That same morning, Spencer and Melissa stood on the Rosewood Day Commons. All one hundred and six of Spencer's senior classmates, dressed in white and black graduation gowns and blue-tasseled caps, sat on folding chairs in front of a makeshift stage. Spencer, however, was in a plain cotton dress and wore no cap at all.

Faces of kids she'd spent the last twelve years with lined the rows. Phi Templeton sat next to Devon Arliss. Spencer's field-hockey friend, Kirsten Cullen, giggled with Maya St. Germain. Noel Kahn, still looking a little weak, sat with his lacrosse buddies. Naomi Zeigler, Riley Wolfe, and Klaudia Huusko whispered to one another. Cast members from countless school plays Spencer had starred in fiddled with their tassels. Her cohorts on newspaper and yearbook fanned themselves with their programs. None of them glanced back at her. There weren't even four empty seats, indicating where Spencer, Aria, Emily, and Hanna should be sitting. It was like Rosewood Day had wiped them clean from its memory.

Spencer looked around, wondering if any of the others had come. She finally spied Aria and her mother on the other side of the field. Hanna was under the bleachers. Emily wasn't anywhere. Maybe she had the right idea.

Principal Appleton cleared his throat on the stage. “And now, I present to you, our valedictorian, Mason Byers.”

There was thundering applause as Mason rose from a seat in the front row and took the stage. Spencer shook her head ever so slightly. Mason Byers? Sure, he was smart, but she had no idea he was next in line for valedictorian.
She
was supposed to be up there right now. She'd had a speech prepared since sophomore year. Knowing Mason, who never stressed about anything, he'd probably written the speech last night.

Melissa reached over and squeezed Spencer's hand. “It's going to be okay.”

Spencer swallowed a lump in her throat, grateful to have someone next to her who understood how painful this was. But it was too much. “Let's get out of here,” she grumbled, walking toward the parking lot.

Melissa followed her. As they passed the big fountain in the front of the gym, she coughed. “Listen, we're working on finding you a top-notch lawyer from Jamaica. Darren has some contacts down there, and so does Dad.”

Spencer pinched the bridge of her nose, hating that the lawyers weren't even considering the possibility of trying the case in the United States anymore. “Do you know how long it takes for a case to go to trial in Jamaica?”

“I've gotten conflicting answers.” Melissa's heels clicked on the sidewalk. “Some people said only a few months. Others said years.”

Spencer made a small whimper.

A cheer rang out from the Commons. Melissa stopped in the middle of the jammed parking lot. “I'm sorry,” she said with a pained look on her face. She glanced around the lot, then leaned closer. “If you do get sent to Jamaica, I'll look for her after you're gone. I don't want to stop until she's dead.”

Spencer shook her head. “Don't. It's awesome that you'd offer, but she's dangerous. She'll kill you, Melissa. I couldn't live with that.”

“But . . .” Melissa trailed off and sighed. “It's just not
fair
.”

Spencer didn't think it was fair, either. And this was so ironic: Just when she and Melissa were really, truly bonding, becoming the sisters Spencer had always hoped they'd be, her life was ending.

Her phone beeped loudly. Spencer looked at the ID.
EMILY
. As Melissa unlocked the car, Spencer answered it. There was no reply, only the sound of wind. “Hello?” Spencer said. “Em?”

And then she heard crying. The sobs were soft at first, but then they intensified.

“Emily!” Spencer shouted into the phone. “Em, are you there? Why aren't you at graduation?”

The sobbing stopped. There was some rustling, and then Emily sniffled loudly into the receiver. “S-Spencer?” she bleated.

Spencer sat up straighter. “Why aren't you at graduation?”

“I just wanted to call to say good-bye.”

More wind blew against the speaker. On Spencer's end, the band had just struck up the beginning notes of “Pomp and Circumstance.”

“What's going on?” All at once, it sounded like Emily was crying again. Spencer clutched the phone tighter. “Em. What's wrong?”

“I just can't do this anymore,” Emily said. Her voice had no intonation to it. “I'm really sorry. I'm just . . . done.”

Spencer's skin prickled. She'd heard Emily despair before, especially after she'd had her baby. But this seemed different, like Emily was in a dark, dark place and had no idea how to save herself.

“Where are you?” she demanded, gripping the phone hard. Melissa paused from getting into the car, giving Spencer a curious look.

“It doesn't matter.” There was a swish, maybe a car passing. “You'll never get here in time.”

Spencer's heart pounded. “What do you mean?” she demanded, even though, horrifyingly, she thought she knew. She spun in a circle, feeling helpless. “Em, whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. I know things are tough right now, but you have to hang on. Just tell me where you are, okay?”

Emily laughed bitterly. “I probably won't even drown, you know. That's the thing I was thinking just before I accidentally called you. I picked a bridge—and I'm a freaking
swimmer
.”

“A bridge?” Spencer's eyes darted back and forth. Melissa was now standing next to her, her eyes wide and full of question. “Which one? The covered bridge?”

“No,” Emily said quickly, but Spencer could tell she was lying. “Don't come, Spencer. I'm hanging up now.”

“Em, don't!” Spencer screamed. The call ended. Spencer tried to dial Emily back, but it rang and rang, not even going to voicemail.

“
Shit,”
Spencer said out loud.

“What's going on?” Melissa asked.

Spencer's throat felt dry. “It's Emily. She's on a bridge. I think she's going to . . .” She trailed off, but by the look on Melissa's face, it was obvious she knew what Spencer meant.

“Which bridge?” Melissa demanded.

“The covered one on the other side of town,” Spencer said. She stared at Melissa. “Can I take your car?”

Melissa pursed her lips. “I'll go with you.”

Spencer swung around. “I don't want to involve you in this.” What if Ali had led Emily there? What if it was dangerous?

Melissa's eyes were firm. “Stop it. Come on.”

On the lawn, kids were marching up the stage and collecting their diplomas to thunderous applause. Spencer got into the car and slammed the door. Melissa started the engine and gunned out of the lot onto the mercifully empty street. “It won't take us long to get there,” she said, staring steadily at the road.

As Principal Appleton called out Chassey Bledsoe's name, Spencer dialed 911. “A friend of mine is going to jump off the covered bridge in Rosewood,” she shouted to the dispatcher, when she answered. “Send an ambulance, now!”

Melissa turned out of the school's main drive. Spencer then dialed Aria and Hanna; she hadn't wanted to waste precious time finding them back at the ceremony. Hanna answered on the second ring. Spencer could hear applause in the background. “We need to get to the covered bridge,” she shouted. “Emily's in trouble.”