Spencer spun around, clutching the sides of her head. The kitchen was empty. Beatrice and Rufus dozed on the floor, their paws twitching. If someone were here, they’d be barking their heads off, right? What the hell was happening to her?
Her cell phone let out a loud dog-barking sound, and Spencer jumped. She picked it up from the side table and saw that Emily had sent a text. I’m really freaked. A just shoved me down a hill at the Stockbridge trail.
Spencer glanced toward the den, thinking again of the flashes and voice she’d just heard. Amelia and the orchestra nerds weren’t here right now, but they were scheduled to come over later this evening. Kelsey wasn’t there, was she? she wrote back.
There was a long pause. Finally, Emily’s reply popped up on the screen: No.
And you’re not hanging out with her anymore, right? Spencer typed.
Emily replied again with a one-word No.
Good, Spencer responded.
“So this was where that Alison stuff went down, huh?”
It was forty minutes later, and Spencer and Beau were standing in the Hastingses’ backyard, preparing for another Macbeth coaching session. Spencer was sure she’d be more than ready after today. She’d already made arrangements with the school’s videographer to pay special attention to her in her scenes in the play performance on Saturday night. She’d even composed a draft email to the admissions committee talking about the play; all she needed now was to attach a movie file of her brilliantly executed scenes.
Beau gazed around at the twisted, blackened, ruined tree branches from the fire Real Ali had set here over a year ago. To the left was the property’s original barn, which had once housed a lovingly restored guest suite . . . until Real Ali burned that down, too.
“Yeah,” Spencer said softly. “I rarely come out here anymore. It’s too creepy.”
“I hear you. This place feels haunted.” Beau toed the dirty slate path that used to lead to the barn. It was on this very path that she and Their Ali fought almost five years ago on the last night of seventh grade. The argument had been over Ian Thomas, whom they’d both had a crush on. Spencer had shoved Ali, who’d fallen, then quickly leapt back up and run down the path. For a long time, Spencer had assumed Ali had gone to meet Ian, her secret boyfriend, and Ian had killed her. But it was her twin sister who had intercepted her and murdered her.
“Anyway.” Beau turned around and faced Spencer. “Are you ready to get into character?”
Spencer shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Beau smiled. “You did awesome yesterday, but there’s another exercise I think we should try. You know how I said I connected being bullied to my role as Macbeth? It’s your turn to do that, too. Try to really become her. Imagine getting rid of the person standing in the way of your success. Maybe you didn’t mean to do it, but you carried it out anyway.”
Spencer stared at him. That sounded like what had happened with Tabitha . . . and Kelsey, too. “I guess I could try,” she said quietly.
“Go there,” Beau instructed. “Repeat the lines Lady Macbeth says when she’s overcome with guilt.”
“Out, damned spot,” Spencer chanted.
“Good. Now, close your eyes and say them again.”
“Out, damned spot,” Spencer repeated, shutting her eyes. “Out, damned spot.” She thought of Lady Macbeth wandering in the night, trying to clean her bloody hands of the shame she could never wash away. “Out, damned spot!” She thought of the guilt she felt for Tabitha. She opened her eyes and stared at her palms, imagining they were covered with blood—Tabitha’s blood, fresh from her fall from the roof.
She forced herself to relive that awful night in Jamaica. How Tabitha had lashed out at Hanna. How she’d fought with Aria. How Aria had shoved her over the edge. Searching for Tabitha’s body on the shore and not finding a trace. Feeling terrified to go out to the ocean each and every morning, certain the girl’s body would have washed ashore in the night. Seeing that horrible newscast about Tabitha on television a few weeks ago.
But as she said the line a few more times, a different memory overtook her thoughts. She saw herself in that hot, poorly lit police station on Penn’s campus. It was about a half hour after she’d spoken to Hanna and outlined her plan. Spencer didn’t know if Hanna had gone through with it, but she had heard a lot of scuffling and ringing phones outside. Finally, the cop burst back in and looked at her. “You’re free to go,” he said gruffly, holding the door open for her.
“I-I am?” Spencer had sputtered.
He handed her back her iPhone. “Take my advice, Miss Hastings. Finish your summer program and go home to the suburbs. Be a good girl. You don’t want to get mixed up with pills.”
“What about Kelsey?” Spencer had blurted as she walked into the hall.
The corners of the cop’s mouth curled into an ugly smile. At that very moment, a second holding room door opened. Two cops walked Kelsey down the hall. She screamed and flailed. “What are you talking about?” she said. “What did I do?”