“I trusted you,” Emily whispered, staring at Nick. “And because of you, I almost gave my baby away to a crazy person.”
Nick’s eyes hardened. “I didn’t force you to make that deal, Emily. You did it yourself. That’s the beauty of this, girls—I got you all into trouble, but you were the ones, ultimately, who sealed your fates.”
Everyone exchanged a doomed glance. He was right. They were culpable . . . and ultimately responsible. Somehow Nick had figured out their weaknesses and exploited them.
“You killed Tabitha, too, didn’t you?” Emily sputtered.
Nick glanced at Ali, and she snickered. “We just did what we had to do,” Nick said.
“And what about Iris?” Emily whispered.
Nick shrugged. “No more questions. We’re done.”
He brushed past them and located a small bump in the wall. He twisted it once, grunted, and the whole wall shifted, revealing a hidden room. Light spilled out from a bare bulb in the corner. “Go,” he demanded, pushing Emily and the others inside.
Emily walked shakily into the space. It was a small, damp, basement room that smelled of mildew and that horrible sweetness she couldn’t identify. There was an old tweed couch pushed against the cinder-block wall, a table at its side. And on the walls, covering every inch, were pictures of Ali.
Old school pictures from seventh grade. Snapshots from yearbook in fourth and fifth grades, candids of her when she’d returned to Rosewood after Ian was arraigned, family portraits Emily remembered from the DiLaurentis front hall, only one DiLaurentis twin smiling a gap-toothed smile. The pictures covered every inch of the space. Newspaper articles about Alison returning to Rosewood, Alison going missing after the Poconos fire, and Alison sightings all over the country were plastered on the walls as well, certain lines of text highlighted, other things circled with red pen. WE LOVE YOU, ALI, read sparkly letters along the top border of one wall. WE MISS YOU, ALI, read letters on the opposite wall.
Emily stepped back. “What is this?”
“Like it?” Ali asked behind them, her gun still pointed at their backs. “You should. You made it.”
Emily blinked, her head lolling on her neck. She couldn’t feel her legs, exactly. “What do you mean by that?”
“When they find you,” Ali explained in a pleasant voice, “they’ll figure it’s your shrine to me.”
Spencer’s eyes blazed. “We would never make a shrine to you.”
“Oh, please.” Ali rolled her eyes. “You love me. You’ve always loved me. I’m all you’ve been thinking about these past few years. That’s what the cops will think when they find all of you dead here. Your own little death plan, a final tribute to moi.”
It took Emily a great effort to swing around and give her best friends a horrified look. Her brain was moving slowly, but the pieces fit. The cops. An Ali shrine. A death plan. When the cops found them—if the cops found them—it would look like they’d killed themselves because of—or in honor of—Ali. Because they were haunted and enchanted by her.
Emily clutched her head, which was now pounding. “What did you do?” she asked Nick. “You pumped something into the air, didn’t you? Something poisonous that will kill us.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Nick teased.
“I can’t breathe,” Spencer sputtered. “Make it stop.”
Nick shook his head, then reached behind him and placed an object over his face. It looked like a gas mask. He handed a second one to Ali, and she put it on, too. Their bodies relaxed as they took deep breaths of clean air. Mist appeared against the plastic. He breathed again and again, mocking them.
All the while, every breath Emily took hurt. She could feel her cells fizzling, sputtering, giving up. Her friends writhed, too, equally suffering. Tears filled Emily’s eyes. This was it. She could feel it. But I need more time, her brain screamed. She couldn’t die now. She couldn’t let Ali win.
But this was the end. Spencer let out a helpless whimper. Aria dropped to the floor, half-conscious, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Nick and Ali clasped hands and bounced on the balls of their feet like children. They were loving this.
Emily stared at them. They were savages. Inhuman. Suddenly, energy from somewhere deep inside filled her, and she sprung for Nick, her arms outstretched. He screamed as he landed on his back. She ripped off his mask and tossed it across the room, then grabbed the gun and flung it away, too. When she looked at him again, his neck was twisted, his eyes closed, his lips parted. He took even, steady breaths. She’d knocked him out.
The gun glinted across the room. Emily didn’t know where she found the energy, but she lunged for it and grabbed it with both hands. It was heavier than she expected, the metal cold to the touch.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s tough.”
Emily looked up. Ali peered down at her, the mask still over her face.