“Girls!” Mrs. Fields wailed. “Girls, stop!”
Two hands grabbed Emily around her waist and lifted her to stand. Emily felt her father’s hot breath on her neck, but she was so angry that she elbowed him off. She reached out and grabbed a chunk of Carolyn’s hair. Carolyn screamed and wrenched away, but not before Emily pulled several strands of hair from her sister’s head. Carolyn rammed her body into Emily hard, sending her careening across the room and knocking into a cabinet that held her mother’s Hummel knickknacks.
There was a creaking sound as the cabinet tipped on its side and slowly, slowly, slowly started to fall. Mrs. Fields leapt forward, trying to grab it, but it was too heavy and too late—the cabinet was already too far gone.
The floor shook. There was the sound of breaking glass, and all of the figurines spilled out. Suddenly, the room was silent. Emily and Carolyn stopped and stared. Mrs. Fields dropped to her knees, gaping at everything that had broken. At least that was what Emily thought she was doing until she turned around. Her mother’s face had turned a ghostly white. Her mouth was an O, and she sucked for air. She clutched at her chest, a look of terror frozen on her face.
“Mom?” Carolyn ran to her. “What’s going on?”
“It’s . . . my . . .” It was all Mrs. Fields could get out. She grabbed her left arm and hunched over.
Carolyn yanked the cordless phone from its cradle on the desk. Her fingers shook as she dialed 911. “Help!” she said, when someone answered. “My mother is having a heart attack!”
Emily knelt by her mother helplessly. She took her mom’s pulse. It was racing fast. “Mom, I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully, staring into her mother’s widened, desperate eyes.
Mr. Fields appeared from behind, pushed a baby aspirin into his wife’s mouth, and made her swallow. Seconds later, sirens blared from up the street. EMTs burst through the front door in a swirl of boots and reflective jackets. They elbowed Emily and the others out of the way and started to attach Mrs. Fields to monitors and an oxygen tank. Two strong men lifted her onto a stretcher, and before Emily knew it, they were carrying her out the door.
Everyone ran outside to where the ambulance was parked. A couple of neighbors stood on the adjacent lawns to gawk. “Only two can ride with us,” the head EMT was saying to Mr. Fields. “The other can follow along behind.”
Mr. Fields looked at Emily. “Stay here,” he growled at her. “Come on, Carolyn.”
Emily shrank back into the house like he’d kicked her. Her father had never spoken to her like that in her life.
She pushed the door shut and leaned against the back of it, breathing hard. In the kitchen, everything was still as they’d left it. Forks protruded out of bowls. The coffeemaker beeped loudly, indicating that the pot had finished brewing. In the living room, the Hummel cabinet lay ruined on the floor, broken Hummels scattered across the carpet. Emily walked over to them and knelt down. Her mom’s favorite milkmaid had a severed head. There was a single arm holding a water bucket by the vent. The little ballerinas were now legless, the tranquil-looking cows were hornless and without tails.
She wanted to find Ali and strangle her with all her might. But all she could do now was look at the shattered remains of her mother’s prized possessions and cry.
21
CLOSED DOORS
A week later, Spencer crept through the woods behind her house to meet Aria, Hanna, and Emily. It was almost too dark to see anything, so she used her cell-phone light to guide the way. Thick roots jutted up from the earth. A fallen log lay across her path. Before long, she came upon the old wishing well, a stone relic left behind from farmers in the 1700s. Moss grew over the sides. Some of the rock had crumbled away. Spencer peered over the edge and threw a pebble down the hole. There was an empty-sounding echo as it plopped into shallow water.
Then she turned and gazed down the hill at her house. Most of the lights were off. The basement window she’d snuck out of was ajar. The spot where her family’s barn apartment had been before Ali burned it down still had no grass. She counted seven news vehicles at the curb, staking out the house. They’d been parked there around the clock since their arrest.
“Hey.” Emily’s head appeared over the other side of the hill. It was a chilly night, and she had on a black hoodie and jeans. She glanced at the well and made a small whimper. “Do you think she really used to come here?”
“I guess.” Spencer dared touch the slimy curved stones. The frame was half-rotted, there was a fuzz of moss on the top and sides, and a rusted metal bucket lay a few feet away. “The top of this hill gave her the perfect vantage of my house.”