Pretty Little Liars #15: Toxic

Emily looked at her exasperatedly. “What was I supposed to tell them?”

 

 

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.”