But then Spencer looked at Melissa again. She looked worried, almost like she could read Spencer’s thoughts. Spencer placed her hand over Melissa’s, and her sister pulled her into a hug. After a moment, Aria hugged them, too, and then Emily and Hanna. Spencer inhaled Melissa’s clean, soapy scent. It was nice to be on Melissa’s side after so many years of hating her. Even if she was no help, at least someone cared.
Because there was nothing left to do, everyone stood and headed for the door. Melissa followed them, her head lowered, looking defeated. She offered to drive Spencer and the others to the train, but Spencer waved her off. “You’ve done enough already.”
“Call me if you need anything,” she told Spencer, tears now running down her cheeks. “Even if you just want to talk. I’m always here.”
“Thanks,” Spencer said, giving her hand a squeeze.
And then she turned to the street. The temperature outside had dropped significantly, and the moon was now hidden in clouds. Spencer hugged her arms tight to her torso and followed the others back to the train station. No one said anything, because what was there to say? Another dead end. Another lead gone cold.
26
THE DARKEST PLACE EVER
That next Thursday, Emily woke to a headache and a perfect blue sky. She tried to get out of bed, but her legs wouldn’t move. You have to get up, she told herself.
Only, why? Her Rosewood Day graduation was in an hour, but it wasn’t like the school was allowing her to take part in it. She’d been given permission to attend, but why would she want to watch? And more than that, her mother still hadn’t returned from the hospital, more expensive items were missing from her house, and the FBI still thought Ali was dead and the girls had killed Tabitha. Emily’s arraignment was tomorrow, and then she’d be shipped off to Jamaica. All around her, summer was unfurling: Her neighbors were grilling and playing with their dogs and going for walks around the neighborhood. But when Emily even looked at the blooming flowers or the brilliant green grass, all she felt was dread. All of this was for other people to enjoy, not her.
She grabbed her phone, pulled up CNN, and looked again at the video. By now, eleven thousand, eight hundred, forty-two—no, forty-three—people had commented that Emily and her friends were evil incarnate. She winced as the shadowy girls beat Tabitha to death. It did look like the four of them. Besides, if the police suspected the video was a fake, wouldn’t they have already blown the thing up, used all their high-tech equipment to prove it? Ali had somehow made that video foolproof.
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.