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Spencer paled and looked at Emily and Hanna. “See? Maybe he’s right. ”
Hanna pushed Spencer aside and typed. We have to know.
The IM window flashed again. Ali and I were planning to meet up that night, Ian wrote. I was nervous to meet her, so I got drunk. I went to wait for her, but she didn’t show. When I looked across the yard, I swear I saw two people with long blond hair in the woods. It looked like one of them was Ali.
Spencer gasped. Ian had told her this when he met her on her porch last week. She and Ali had fought that night, but Ian said it might have been someone else. She shut her eyes, trying to imagine yet another person being out there that night…someone they hadn’t ever suspected. Her stomach started to ache.
Ian’s messages kept coming. It seemed like the two people were arguing, but they were too far away for me to tell. I figured Ali wasn’t going to come over, which maybe was good, because I was pretty wasted. After Ali went missing, I didn’t realize that the person she was fighting with that night could’ve hurt her—that’s why I didn’t say anything at first. She’d talked a lot about running away when we were together, and that’s what I thought she did.
Spencer looked at the others, puzzled. “Ali never talked about running away, did she?”
“I used to talk about running away from my strict family,” Emily whispered. “Ali said she’d come, too. I always thought she was just saying it to be nice…but maybe not. ”
The screen flashed again. But after I was arrested, I figured out a lot of things. I found out who was really out there…and why. They were coming for me, not for her. They found out what was going on, and they wanted to hurt me. But they got to Ali first. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if it was an accident, but I’m pretty sure they did it. And they’ve been covering it up ever since.
Spencer’s vision narrowed. She thought about the figure in the woods last night, scrabbling for something in the dirt. Maybe there was something out there, some kind of proof.
Who are they? Spencer typed. Who did it? She had a feeling she knew Ian’s answer, but she wanted him to confirm it.
Doesn’t it seem weird that he went into law enforcement? said Ian’s next message, ignoring Spencer’s question. He was the least likely guy to do something like that. But guilt is a crazy thing. He probably wanted to absolve himself of what happened any way he could. And they both had a solid alibi that night. They were supposed to be up at the Poconos house. No one knew they were really in Rosewood. That’s why they were never questioned. They weren’t there.
Hanna pressed her hands to her cheeks. “The Poconos house. Wilden’s sticker. ”
“And Jason was allowed to go up there by himself,” Spencer whispered.
She turned back to the keyboard. Say who it is. Say their names.
You could get hurt, Ian typed. I’ve said too much already. They’re going to know that you know. They probably know already. They’ll stop at nothing to keep this secret.
SAY IT, she typed.
The cursor flickered. Finally, the next message arrived with a loud bloop.
Jason DiLaurentis, Ian wrote. And Darren Wilden.
Spencer pressed her hand to her clammy cheeks, a fault opening in her head. She remembered the photo that had been on her dad’s screen saver, the one of all of them at the DiLaurentises’ house in the Poconos. Jason’s wet hair had stretched down past his shoulders, as long as a girl’s. She widened her eyes at Emily and Hanna. “Jason’s hair used to be long back then, remember? So if Ian saw two people with long, blond hair…”
“It could’ve been him,” Emily whispered. “And Ali. ”
Spencer shut her eyes. It fit the memory she had of that night, too. After she’d fought with Ali and fallen, Ali had run down the path. Spencer had looked across the yard and had seen Ali talking to someone. Of course she’d assumed it was Ian—so many signs pointed to him. But as she squeezed her eyes shut and thought hard, the picture began to change. The person no longer had Ian’s chiseled jaw and short, wavy hair. His hair was straighter and blonder, his features more delicate. He leaned into Ali intimately, but also protectively. The way a brother would, not a boyfriend.
How could it have happened? Was it a twisted accident? Was Jason overcome with disturbing rage over what his sister was doing with Ian? Had they fought, and had Ali accidentally fallen into the hole? Had Jason and Wilden run off into the woods, petrified by what had happened? Ian wouldn’t have told the cops about seeing anyone in the woods with Ali, because that would’ve put him at the scene—and he’d also have had to explain his and Ali’s secret relationship. But when he came forward with what he really knew after his arrest, the person who’d most likely taken his statement was Wilden…and Wilden obviously wouldn’t pass on Ian’s story to a higher authority. Once Ian got a lawyer and started ranting about how he wasn’t the killer and the truth was still out there, perhaps Wilden threatened him. Which was why Ian had to flee.
Everyone was silent for a long time. There was a neigh of a horse, far off in Spencer’s stables. A swish of wind, rattling the tree branches. Then Emily raised her chin, sniffing the air. A disturbed look crossed her face.
“What?” Hanna asked, concerned.
“I…smell something,” Emily whispered.
They breathed in deeply. There was a strange smell in the air, one Spencer couldn’t immediately identify. As it grew stronger and more concentrated, Spencer’s head began to pound. Her eyes fell to one of Ian’s last IMs. You could get hurt. They probably know already.
Spencer’s heart leapt to her throat. “Oh my God. It’s…gasoline. ”
And then they heard the telltale sound of a match being struck.
30
HELL ON EARTH
Aria clambered down the spiral staircase from her loft bedroom in her new house, twice stumbling and clutching the wrought-iron railing for support. She burst out of the front door, sprinted to the Subaru, and turned the ignition. Nothing happened. She gritted her teeth and tried it again. No engine. “Please don’t do this,” Aria begged the car, banging her head on the steering wheel. The horn honked weakly.
Defeated, she climbed out of the car and looked right and left. She’d left her bike at Ella’s, which meant she had to walk to Spencer’s barn. The quickest way was through the thick, coffin-black woods. But Aria hadn’t gone in there at night by herself…well, ever.
A crescent-shaped moon hung in the sky. The night was very still and quiet, without a hint of wind. Aria could see the golden porch light of Spencer’s barn through the trees. Before she started through the woods, she pulled Ali’s flag out of her jacket pocket. The flag was where she’d known it would be, nestled deep in the shoe box. She’d grabbed it without looking at it, frantic to get back to Spencer and the others.
The fabric was still shiny and thick, almost perfectly preserved. It even smelled a little bit like Ali’s vanilla hand soap. Aria beamed the flashlight she’d grabbed from the kitchen, examining the designs Ali had drawn. There was the Chanel logo and the Louis Vuitton design, same as the drawings on Hanna’s flag. There was also a cluster of stars and comets and a doodle of a wishing well. But there wasn’t an anime frog anywhere. Nor was there a cartoon girl playing field hockey. So had Hanna remembered incorrectly…or had Ali?
Aria spread the piece out to its very corners. Off to the left, Ali had drawn a strange symbol she hadn’t noticed before. It looked like a NO PARKING sign, the kind that had a letter P with a big red line through the center. Only, instead of P, Ali had written another initial instead. Aria brought the flag close to her face. At first glance, the letter looked like an I. But as she looked closer, she realized it wasn’t. It was a J.
For…Jason?
Heart hammering, Aria shoved the flag back into her pocket and ran into the woods. The snow had melted, and the ground was slick. Aria sprinted over wet leaves and soggy puddles, splashing mud everywhere. When she came to the botto
m of a ravine, her boots went out from under her. She hit the ground with a thwack, landing hard on her hip. The pain was white and hot, and Aria let out a muffled shriek.
A few quiet seconds passed. The only sound she heard was her own breathing. Slowly, she got up, wiped mud off the side of her face, and looked around.
Across the clearing was a familiar, twisted tree. Aria frowned, realizing. This was where they’d found Ian’s body last week—she was sure of it. Something glinted from underneath a patch of logs and dry leaves. Aria carefully walked over to it and crouched down. It was a platinum class ring, half-caked in mud. She pulled her shirtsleeve over her hand and wiped the ring clean. A blue stone glinted. Around the base of the stone were the words Rosewood Day. She shut her eyes, remembering Ian’s body lying among the leaves just one week ago. Her gaze had gone straight to the class ring around his bloated finger. That ring had a blue stone in it too.
She shined the flashlight on the name inscribed on the inside of the band. Ian Thomas. Had this fallen off Ian when he escaped? Had someone pried it off him? She looked again at the pile of wet leaves. The ring had been sitting on top of them, barely hidden. How could the cops not have found it?
A twig snapped. Aria whipped her head up. The noise sounded close. More twigs broke. Leaves crunched. Then a figure slithered through the trees. Aria crouched down. The figure took a few steps and stopped. It was too dark to see who was there. Something made a sloshing noise, like liquid hitting the sides of a container. Aria’s eyes watered, an odd smell filling her nose. It was the odor of a gas station, one of her most-hated smells in the world.
When she saw the figure bend down and heard the liquid glugging out of the container and splattering on the muddy ground, Aria realized what was happening. She stood up fast, a scream frozen in her throat. Slowly, the person reached into his pocket and pulled out an object. Aria heard a flick.
“No,” she whispered.
Time slowed down. The air felt thick and still. Then the forest turned orange. Everything lit up. Aria screamed and sprinted back up the ravine. She careened into trees and stepped in a small ditch, twisting her ankle. For the first few seconds, all she heard was the hideous crackle of the fire building and building, eating everything in its path. But as she rounded a corner, she heard another sound. It was small and pitiful and desperate. A tiny whimper.
Aria stopped. The flames were at the ravine, where she’d been moments ago. To the right was a huddled figure. This person seemed smaller and weaker-looking than the figure that had traipsed through the woods moments before, lighting everything on fire. The person’s leg was caught underneath a heavy tree branch that had fallen, and tiny, fingerlike flames were climbing up the branch, closer and closer to the person’s foot.
“Help!” whoever it was screamed. “Please!”
Aria sprinted up. The person’s face was covered by a huge hood. She assessed the log. It was big and bulky, and she hoped she could move it.
“You’re going to be okay,” she shouted, her face beginning to warm from the flames. Mustering her strength, Aria shoved the log down the hill. It rolled into a pool of gas and exploded. The person shrieked and collapsed against the tree. There was another deafening crack behind them, and Aria turned and screamed. The woods were a wall of orange. The fire was climbing the trees now, felling more branches. In seconds, they would be surrounded.