Pretty Little Liars #14 (15 page)

All at once, just talking about Mike, she remembered a dream she'd had last night. Her phone had buzzed, and a note from A said that Mike was in danger and Hanna had to find him. Hanna had darted into the street and looked around. Incongruously, the DiLaurentis house was next door—and the old hole the workers had dug to build the gazebo was back. Hanna had run to it and peered inside . . . and there was Mike at the bottom, curled up in a fetal position. It was obvious he was dead.

“What if something happens to him?” Hanna said now, horrified she was only just remembering the dream. “Are we sure everyone is safe?”

“Hanna, calm down,” Fuji interrupted. “Everyone is safe. Every time you girls call, it takes me away from solving this case. I'm sure you understand.”

CALL ENDED
flashed across the screen. Hanna recoiled, not sure whether to feel dissed or reassured. But Fuji was doing her job—she had to trust that. Soon enough, this would all be over.

Thirty minutes later, Mr. Marin's SUV pulled through the gates of Immaculata University, a liberal arts school not far from Rosewood. Girls in rugby sweaters and plaid kilts crossed the quad. Boys carrying lacrosse sticks over their shoulders climbed the steps to a dorm. Nearly everyone was wearing Sperry Top-Siders.

They parked at Madison's dorm and got out. “Come on.” Mr. Marin took Hanna's hand and led her to the path toward the dorm entrance. The inside of the building smelled like a jumble of perfumes and bustled with girls.

“This is it,” Mr. Marin said when they got to a door marked 113. There was a white board filled with messages for Madison. Hanna paused to read a few.
Dinner, 6?
And,
Are you going to that meeting tomorrow?
And,
Did you do the chem homework?
Did that mean Madison had a relatively normal life?

Hanna hesitated before knocking, dread squeezing her chest corset-tight. “You can do this,” Mr. Marin said as if reading her mind. “I won't leave your side.”

Hanna was so grateful, she almost burst into tears. Mustering up the courage, she reached out and knocked. The door flung open immediately, and a blond girl with an oval face and overplucked eyebrows stood on the other side.

“Hanna?” she said.

“That's right.” Hanna looked at her dad. “And this is my dad.”

Madison's brow crinkled, her focus still on Hanna. “Huh. I thought you were the blond Pretty Little Liar.”

“That's Spencer.”

Madison leaned against the jamb. “Wow. I really don't remember that night at all.”

She stepped aside and let Hanna and her dad into her room. A neatly made twin bed with a downy, white comforter stood near the window. There was a desk filled with books, papers, and a Dell computer pushed against another wall. A pile of laundry was near the bathroom, and shoes lay in a heap by the closet.

“You have a single,” Hanna commented, only noticing one bed. “Lucky.”

“It's on account of my leg.” Madison pulled up her jeans to reveal a brace around her calf. “They took pity on me, I guess.”

A heavy weight settled on Hanna's chest. Naomi had told her that Madison's leg had been shattered in the accident. She wouldn't be able to play field hockey ever again. “Does it hurt?” Hanna said in a small voice.

Madison shrugged. “Sometimes. I'm having surgery to reset the bone this summer. The doctors say I'll be good as new after that.”

Surgery
. Hanna glanced at the door, tempted to run out and never come back. But then she peeked at her father. He nodded at her encouragingly.

She took a deep breath. “Look, Madison, I'm sure you know by now what went down that night, right? I drove you home . . . and then someone swerved into my lane and we crashed and I left the scene. I never should have left you.”

Madison sat down in her desk chair. “It's okay, Hanna. I forgive you.”

Hanna's eyebrows shot up. Well,
that
was easy. “Okay, then,” she said, starting to stand. Done and done!

But then she paused. Maybe that was
too
easy. “Wait. Are you just saying that? If you're really pissed, you can tell me. It's okay.
I
would be pissed.”

Madison twirled a pen between her fingers. “It sucks that we got in an accident. It sucks that you felt you had to leave. But as far as I'm concerned, I would have been in way worse shape if I would've driven myself.”

“I should have been more forceful about getting you a cab.” Hanna perched on the edge of Madison's neatly made bed. “
They
wouldn't have crashed.”

Madison spun around in the chair. “We don't really know that for sure. The same person might have crashed into them.” She paused, her eyes lighting up. “Did you know we found video footage?”

“Of the other driver?” Hanna leaned forward. “Did you see who it was? Was it
Ali
?”

“They had part of a license plate, and for a while I thought they were on to something, but they couldn't figure out who the driver was,” Madison answered. “The only thing the cops figured out was that the car was an Acura.”

Spots formed in front of Hanna's eyes. An Acura? Hadn't Spencer found an Acura keychain in her stepfather's trashed model house?

Madison pinched the bridge of her nose. “I wish I could remember who the driver was. I wish I could remember
anything
from that night.” She grabbed her phone from her desk. “I barely remember going into that bar. I'd had a couple drinks at this other place that never cards down the street before I even went there, but I kind of remember this hot bartender really,
really
wanting me to come inside.”

Hanna straightened up. “Yeah, Jackson. He did that to me, too.”

She thought about passing the bar that day, Jackson eyeing her from the entrance.
Drinks are half off right now
, he'd said in a flirty voice, flashing her an ultrawhite smile. He had the look of a guy who had played lacrosse and rowed crew in high school, though there was something predatory in his eyes, too. Much later, after Hanna and Madison bonded, Hanna had leaned over to catch Madison before she fell off the bar stool. As she looked up, she caught Jackson sneaking a look down her blouse, a smirk on his face.

“I wish I could get my hands on him,” Hanna's father said gruffly.

Madison looked conflicted. “Maybe he didn't know I was underage.”

Hanna opened her mouth but didn't say anything. Jackson might not have known Madison was under twenty-one, but he
had
been pouring drinks for Madison faster than she could drink them. And when Hanna suggested he call Madison a cab, he just laughed.

Mr. Marin tapped his lip. “Could you describe what he looked like?”

Madison smiled sheepishly, then tapped her phone. “I do have a picture. I took it secretly because I thought he was hot.”

Hanna peered at the photo. It was a dark shot of the profile of a handsome guy with short hair. Madison had caught him while he was mixing up a margarita. “Yeah, that's him.”

Then Madison checked her watch. “Actually, I have to get to orchestra practice.” She awkwardly stood and held out her hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Marin. And to see you again, Hanna.”

“It was nice to see you, too,” Hanna said, shaking her hand. “Good luck with . . . everything.”

“Good luck with your PSAs,” Madison snorted. “Better you than me.”

Hanna and her father were silent as they headed down the hall, but suddenly, Mr. Marin put his arm around her. “I'm so proud of you,” he said. “It's hard to face your demons and come clean.”

Hanna felt tears well in her eyes again. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Then her phone pinged. Her heart lifted. It was Mike, finally getting back to her.
Sorry, busy day
, he'd written, and she let out a sigh of relief. He was fine.

Then she noticed a second text had come in as well. She looked at the screen, and her heart dropped. This one was from an unknown sender.

“Hanna?” Mr. Marin turned. “Are you okay?”

Hanna's hands trembled. Was that a threat against her father?

Squaring her shoulders, she forwarded it to Fuji. Then she looked at her father, who was peering at her worriedly from the end of the hall. “I'm great,” she said with certainty. And she was. If Fuji was working so hard on the case that she couldn't even take Hanna's calls, then she would keep everyone safe.

She'd
better
.

THE WALLS COME CRASHING DOWN

Friday morning, Spencer and Chase sat at Wordsmith's Books. The place smelled like fresh-brewed coffee and sugary crullers, jazz played faintly through the stereo speakers, and a free-verse poet was reciting his latest work on a makeshift stage. The store was holding a performance series called “Morning Muses” in which local authors read their works to caffeine-starved patrons.

“That was awesome, wasn't it?” Chase asked when the poet finished his zillion-line free verse and they stood to leave. “That guy has such an amazing sense of imagery. I wish
I
could write poems like that.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you write poems?”

“Sometimes.” Chase looked bashful. “They mostly end up really lame.”

“I'd love to read them,” Spencer said softly.

He met her gaze. “I'd love to write one for you.”

Spencer's stomach flipped over, but she cut her gaze away, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. A's threat against Chase. Should she warn him?

“You okay?” Chase asked.

“Of course.” Spencer cleared her throat. “So . . . nothing else has happened lately?”

Chase's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing . . . weird?” Spencer didn't know how to phrase it. Saying something like
Have you felt like someone's been watching you?
would just get Chase riled up.

Chase shrugged. “The only weird thing going on right now is that
you're
paying attention to me.” He lowered his head. “I really like it, by the way.”

“I really like it, too,” Spencer said, her cheeks turning red. She
should
just tell him. But Fuji was handling it, right? Maybe Chase had a security detail so secret that they didn't even know they were there.

“I'd better get to school,” she mumbled, standing up and tossing her coffee cup into the chrome trash can near their seat.

Chase followed her onto the street, and they parted with a demure hug. “Call you later?” Chase asked eagerly.

“Definitely.” Spencer shot him a shy smile.

She kept the innocent look plastered on her face until he rounded the corner to the back parking lot. Then she pulled out her phone, scrolled to find Fuji's number, and dialed. Annoyingly, it went to voicemail. Just like her six other calls to Fuji in the past twenty-four hours had.

“It's Spencer Hastings again,” Spencer said after the beep. “I'm just checking about that extra security detail on my friend Chase—I'm really worried about him. Also, I think my sister might need one, too. And you got the Acura keychain, right? And my letter?”

Yesterday, because e-mailing was far too risky, she'd hand-delivered to Fuji a letter of connections and leads. Like how Ali and/or Helper A had been in New York a few months ago when Spencer, her mom, Mr. Pennythistle, and his son and daughter visited—Spencer had gotten an A note practically the second Mr. Pennythistle walked in on Spencer and his son, Zach, in bed together. Maybe Team A was staying in the Hudson Hotel, too. Perhaps it would be useful to search Amtrak passenger manifests from around that time. There were
tons
of avenues to investigate.

“Anyway, give me a call back when you can,” Spencer chirped. Then she hung up and turned into Rosewood Day. After parking the car, she trudged through the wet grass to the elementary-school swings, where she and her friends always met to talk—they hadn't spoken about A in a while, and maybe it was time. Emily dangled languidly from a low swing, her long legs dragging on the ground. Aria pulled the strings on the hood of her bright-green jacket. Hanna checked her reflection in a round Chanel compact. It was one of those beautiful spring mornings where practically the whole senior class was lingering outside before the bell.

“So what's the news?” Spencer asked her friends when she approached.

“Well, Sean Ackard's now officially a stalker,” Aria mumbled. She gestured to a clump of kids on the stairs. Both Sean and Klaudia Huusko, the Kahns' exchange student, were staring at them. When they noticed the girls looking back, they turned away fast.

“Maybe Sean likes you again, Hanna,” Emily teased.

“Or maybe it's about those suicide rumors.” Aria looked at Hanna. “Sean gave me a pamphlet the other day for a support group at his church. He was looking at me like I was going to slit my wrists right there.”

Hanna rolled her eyes. “I'm getting sick of those rumors.”

Spencer cocked her head. “I wonder if the cops questioned Sean about Kyla.”

Hanna shrugged. “There were cops all over the burn clinic. They probably did.”

Aria scratched her chin. “Maybe Fuji slipped and admitted that Kyla was secretly Ali.”

Spencer twisted her mouth. “I thought Fuji wanted to keep that a secret. Not freak out anyone until they were close to tracking her down.”

“Well, maybe this means they
have
tracked her down,” Hanna said excitedly.

A dreamy smile spread across Aria's lips. “Guys, can you imagine it? Ali behind bars. For
real
this time.”

Everyone paused, the fantasy sinking in. Spencer pictured Ali in a prison jumpsuit, stamping out license plates, guarded twenty-four hours a day. That bitch totally deserved it.