by Sara Shepard
The doctor stepped over to her. When he smiled, it was a smile Spencer knew all too well. Her jaw dropped open. Her eyes canvassed him up and down. And then, to be absolutely certain, she checked the ID clipped to his jacket pocket. WREN KIM, it said in bold letters. RESIDENT.
Wren as in the Wren she’d stolen from Melissa. Wren as in the first boy she’d slept with, maybe the first boy she’d ever loved.
“It’s nice to see you again, Spencer,” Wren said in his familiar British accent. “How are you feeling?”
A tiny squeak escaped from Spencer’s mouth. This didn’t feel real. None of this felt real.
She had a million questions for Wren—and was immediately barraged by a million memories. But suddenly, none of it felt pertinent. There was something she really, really needed to know that blotted out anything else. She took a breath and looked into Wren’s eyes. “I’m fine,” she said in a clipped voice. “But I need to know what happened to Emily,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please tell me. Is she . . .”
Wren’s gaze dropped to the bed, and just like that, Spencer knew for sure. He placed a warm, comforting hand on her arm. “Spencer, I’m so sorry. The rescue team is still searching, but they’re pretty sure she’s . . . gone.”
7
FUNERAL FOR A FRIEND
“Hanna Marin! Miss Marin! Over here!”
Hanna peered out from inside her mother’s car. It was Monday morning, one day after she had witnessed Emily drown in Cape May. She was at the Holy Trinity Church in Rosewood. The church was an old, venerable-but-crumbling building with a spooky cemetery out back that Hanna had once run through at midnight on a dare. But right now, she’d rather be running through that thing stark naked than facing what she was about to face. Already reporters and cameramen were descending upon them, almost looking like they were going to climb onto the hood of the car.
She glanced worriedly at her mother, who was clutching the steering wheel so hard the leather was making a squeaking sound. Ms. Marin gunned the car to the other side of the lot. The reporters lunged to either side to avoid getting run over.
“Come on,” Ms. Marin said when she had parked, turning off the car and darting out of the driver’s seat. Together they scampered for the church’s side entrance. The press sprinted toward them, screaming questions. “Do you have any comment on your friend’s suicide? Do you have any suicidal thoughts, yourself? Are you ready for the trial tomorrow?”
“Vultures,” Ms. Marin said inside the church lobby, once they’d slammed the door. She peered out the small stained-glass window, her eyes glimmering with tears. “On today of all days.”
Hanna looked around. The lobby was packed with people and smelled like old newspapers, incense, and perfume. Her gaze drifted toward a large plaque that stood at the double doors to the church. EMILY FIELDS, read swirly letters at the bottom. And there was Emily’s school picture from tenth grade—her parents had chosen it because it was one of the few photos not used in newscasts, magazines, promotional materials, or police files. Emily looked so much younger in it, her freckles bright, her smile wide, her eyes sparkling. It was before A. Before Ali came back. Before Emily even had an inkling about taking her own life.
Hanna felt her legs give way and grabbed onto a nearby statue of some random saint for balance. She was at Emily’s funeral. It was unreal. Unthinkable. Impossible.
One day had passed since Emily had disappeared into the ocean. Though Hanna had rabidly watched every single Emily-related news report—first a recap of the rescue efforts, then an update that her body still hadn’t been found, then a police and coast guard statement saying that considering the magnitude of the storm, it was safe to assume Emily was dead and that funeral arrangements should be made—the details had passed over her like quickly moving clouds. She kept thinking she’d wake up and it would all be a dream. Emily couldn’t have really walked into that water. Emily couldn’t have killed herself because she couldn’t bear the idea of going to prison. How had Hanna not realized Emily was in that much pain?
The thing was, though, Hanna had known. How long had Em gone without a good night’s rest? How much weight had she lost? Why, oh, why hadn’t Hanna tried to help her? She should have read a book on suicide or something. Talked to Em more. Stayed up with her that last night if she couldn’t sleep.
And what had it felt like to be so at the end of her rope? Sure, Hanna felt panicked about going to jail . . . but not suicidal. Why had it hit Emily so differently? Why had this affected her, someone so good, so sweet, so gentle?
How could Em be . . . gone?
Ms. Marin took Hanna’s arm and walked her into the church. The place was packed, and everyone stared at her as she walked down the aisle. There were so many people here that Hanna knew, but how many of them were here because they missed Emily? Like Mason Byers—hadn’t he laughed nastily after A had outed Emily at that swim meet? And there was Klaudia Huusko, the exchange student from Finland—had she ever spoken to Emily? And there was Ben, Emily’s old boyfriend—he’d attacked her! Like he was really grieving? Even Isaac, the father of Emily’s baby, was here, though he looked almost bored. The only person who looked legitimately upset was Maya St. Germain, Emily’s first girlfriend and the girl whose family had bought Ali’s old house. Maya’s hands covered her eyes, and her shoulders shook. Mr. and Mrs. St. Germain and Maya’s brother flanked her, their faces stony, their eyes glazed. Hanna wondered briefly if the family regretted ever moving to Rosewood.
Aria and Spencer were already sitting in a pew near the front. Ms. Marin guided Hanna toward them, and Hanna slid in next to Spencer. Both her old friends glanced at her emptily. Aria’s hands rested limply in her lap. Spencer had a packet of tissues wadded tightly in her palm. Her eye makeup was already streaky, but Spencer didn’t seem to care. Aria nodded slightly. “I think they’ve given up.”
Hanna swallowed hard. “It’s only been one day!”
“There were tons of helicopters, looking everywhere,” Spencer said in a monotone. “She probably drifted farther than anyone thought. Or she’s caught on something underwater, and they can’t see her.”
“Okay, stop,” Aria said, her voice cracking. Her eyes were filled with tears.
Dirge-like organ music started up, and Hanna swiveled around to watch a group of clergymen process down the aisle. Emily’s family followed. Each of them was dressed in black, and every single one looked zombielike.
Her gaze turned to the casket behind the altar. Even though there was no body, the Fields had decided to bury something at the cemetery anyway. It seemed almost inappropriate that the Fields had arranged a funeral so quickly—Emily could still be out there. But the cops had basically said that although there wasn’t a body yet, there was no way Emily could have survived the hurricane conditions. Maybe the Fields just wanted to get this over with and move on.
The music stopped and the priest cleared his throat. Hanna heard him say Emily’s name, but then her mind began to swim and swirl. She grabbed Aria’s hand and squeezed. “Tell me this isn’t happening,” she murmured.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Aria said.
The Fields family rose en masse and walked to the front. Mrs. Fields took the podium first and cleared her throat. A long silence followed before she spoke. “I’d like to think my daughter has returned to the water from which she came,” she said in a hoarse voice, staring at a crumpled piece of paper. “She was a dedicated swimmer. Loved the water, loved to compete. She was going to the University of North Carolina next year, on a full swimming scholarship, and she was so excited.”
Hanna caught Spencer’s eye. Was Emily excited to go to school? And really, what were the chances she was going to go after the trial? Weird that Emily’s mom would bring that up.
Mrs. Fields coughed. “She was also dedicated to her family. Her group of swimming friends. Her community at church. In the past few years, she’d been poisoned by forces out of our control, but deep down, we all know how
good Emily was. How shiny and special and sweet. And I hope that’s what you will remember about her.”
Hanna twisted her mouth. Swimming friends? Church friends? What about her, Spencer, and Aria—Emily’s best friends?
Mrs. Fields left the podium, and Emily’s sisters Beth and Carolyn spoke next. Oddly, both of their speeches left out Hanna, Spencer, and Aria, too. There was more talk of “poisoning” and “evil outside forces,” but they didn’t really elaborate on what they meant. They kept talking about how much Emily loved swimming. Sure, she loved to swim, but that certainly wasn’t the only defining thing about her.
The whole Fields family paraded back to their pew. The church was silent as they shuffled and rustled. Hanna looked at the others. “We should say something. It’s like they’re talking about some other girl.”
Then, wordlessly, Hanna removed a small, clothbound book from her bag and stood. Spencer caught her arm. “What are you doing?”
Hanna frowned. “I’m going to give a eulogy.” She showed Spencer the book. “It’s pictures of us and Em. I thought I’d talk about them here, and then we’d . . . I don’t know. Bury them maybe, afterward.” It was what they’d done for Their Ali—Courtney—to help put her to rest. “Em deserves a better speech than the ones we just heard, don’t you think?”
Aria’s eyes softened. “I brought something to bury, too.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tattered copy of Your Horoscope, Explained. “Remember that summer Em was really into doing our charts? I have notes in here that she wrote about all of us.”
“Great,” Hanna said, pulling Aria up. “We can talk about that, too.”
Spencer looked at both of them desperately. “Guys . . . you can’t, okay?”
Organ music started up again. Hanna stared at Spencer crazily. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you get it?” Spencer whispered. “We’re the poisoners. We’re the evil outside forces.”
Hanna shifted. She realized, suddenly, that people were staring at them.
Abruptly, Spencer stood from her seat and motioned for the others to follow. They walked into a drafty little hallway. A door stood open to a small room filled with toddler toys. Down the hall was a bulletin board boasting Bible verses.
Aria looked at Spencer. “Why would you say that?” she whispered.
Spencer glanced into the church again. “I called Mrs. Fields this morning and asked if I could give a eulogy. She admitted that she didn’t even want us here. Said it was inappropriate. But I said we’d be quiet. We just wanted to honor her death.”
“What?” Hanna gasped. She peeked through the doorway and peered at Emily’s mother, who was sitting straight-backed in the pew. Her hair was molded into a stiff shape. Her shoulders were perfectly squared. Come to think of it, Mrs. Fields hadn’t even looked at any of them once since the funeral began.
“But Mrs. Fields knows us,” Aria squeaked.
“Yeah, well, not anymore,” Spencer murmured bitterly.
Hanna couldn’t believe it. “Didn’t you argue with her?” she asked. “Didn’t you try to make her understand what Em meant to us?”
Spencer scoffed. “Um, no, Hanna. I pretty much got off the phone as quickly as I could.”
Hanna began to feel the hot, bubbling sensation of anger inside her. “So you just took the abuse? You let her call us inappropriate? You just let her believe something totally false?”
“You can take it up with her if you want,” Spencer whispered, her eyes flashing. “But the impression I got is that Mrs. Fields basically thinks we caused Em’s death.”
“Only because you let her believe that!” Hanna argued. And then, frustrated, she shoved the book of pictures back into her purse, crossed her arms over her chest, and said the thing that had been prodding the back of her mind all morning. “Okay, fine. You know what? Maybe Mrs. Fields is right. Maybe we did cause Emily’s death.”
Spencer recoiled. “Excuse me?”
Hanna stared at her evenly. She was so angry she could barely see straight, though she wasn’t sure who, exactly, she was angry with. Maybe just the situation as a whole. Maybe everyone. “Well, you must believe it, too, Spence—or else you wouldn’t have gotten off the phone with your tail between your legs. And maybe she’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t have stayed in Jersey after Betty Maxwell’s house was a bust,” she declared. “We should have come home, where Emily would have been safe.”
Two bright spots appeared on Spencer’s cheeks, even more apparent under the hallway’s harsh fluorescent lights. “Huh. It was my suggestion to stay in Jersey. So it’s my fault she’s dead. Is that what you’re saying?”
Hanna rolled her jaw, at first not answering. But then she swallowed a lump in her throat. “It did seem kind of clueless. ‘Let’s get ice cream! Let’s have a good time!’ And then Emily sits there, all night, like a freaking zombie! That big ocean, that storm, it was so tempting—we should have seen this coming.”
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “You could have said, ‘Hey, I think Emily’s going to drown herself, so maybe we should leave.’”
Hanna’s shoulders tensed. Spencer didn’t have to use quite such a dopey tone when impersonating Hanna’s voice.
“And you were sleeping next to her, Hanna,” Spencer went on. “Why didn’t you wake up when Emily got out of bed?”
Hanna clenched her fists. “You can’t blame me for sleeping. I was tired.”
“Oh, right, you need your beauty sleep,” Spencer said mockingly. “God forbid Hanna Marin doesn’t go one night without an eye mask and headphones.”
Hanna stomped her foot. “That’s not fair!”
“Guys,” Aria said softly, grabbing their arms. “It’s clear both of you are just mad at Mrs. Fields, not each other. So you missed Emily’s cues. You can’t beat yourselves up.”
Spencer yanked away and sneered at her. “Uh, excuse me? You missed Emily’s cues, too, Aria. We were all there.”
Aria’s mouth made an O. “I didn’t want to stay in Cape May.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Spencer growled, looking more and more affronted. “Why am I the only one who makes the decisions? And have you forgotten that I was the one who got up and found that note? Have you forgotten that I went into the water after her and nearly died?”
“No one told you to go in the water,” Hanna said under her breath. “Don’t be such a martyr.”
It was too much, and Hanna knew it. Spencer gasped and raised her hand toward Hanna. Hanna ducked away, nearly cracking her head on a coat rack in the hall. “Were you just going to hit me?” she squeaked.
“You deserve it,” Spencer growled through her teeth. “Someone needs to knock some freaking sense into you.”
Hanna’s mouth dropped open. “What about you, Spence? Someone needs to knock you off your high horse.” She lunged for Spencer.
Aria caught her arms and pulled her back. “Guys. Stop.”
“Yes, Spencer, stop being such a bitch!” Hanna wailed.
“I’m being a bitch?” Spencer hissed. And then, before anyone could say anything else, Spencer spun around and marched toward the back door.
“Where are you going?” Aria cried out, taking a few steps after her.
Spencer pushed on the heavy door to open it. “Away from you people.”
“I’ll come with you,” Aria offered.
Spencer’s eyes flashed. “No.” The door slammed as she marched out.
Silence followed. Hanna ran her hands down the length of her face, her heart drumming fast. She turned back to Aria, whose face was pale. “What the hell was that?”
Aria riffled the pages of the horoscope book. She shifted uncomfortably. “That was too far, Han,” she said sternly. “We’re all hurting.” Then she hurried out the door behind Spencer.
“Hey!” Hanna shrieked, but Aria was already gone. What the hell had just happened?
Then she looked around, her skin prickling. To her horror, quite a few people from the church w
ere peering out the doorway, right at her, as if they’d heard every word.
Hanna spun around and walked the opposite way down the hall, away from the door Spencer and Aria had gone through. She came to a hallway full of conference rooms and sank down on the wall until her butt hit the cold linoleum floor. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. It was strange to feel both angry and numb at the same time, but that was the only way to describe it.
After a while, she heard footsteps. Mike stood over her. “Han,” he said, crouching down.
Hanna stared up at him. She’d been in such a fog she hadn’t even realized he’d come today.
“Hey,” Mike said gently, taking her hands. “Are you okay? Why did you guys leave the church? What happened?”
Hanna swallowed hard, then gazed in the direction in which her friends had run. “Oh, just two of the few remaining good things in my life crumbling away,” she said in a choked voice, realizing as she said it that it was utterly true.
8
ESCAPE ARTIST
Aria barely noticed that she’d crushed a few flowers in the beds as she stamped out of the church. Nor did she pause to appreciate the crisp, blue sky, the meandering bumblebees, or how her stiff suede heels were rubbing against her ankles. All she wanted was to catch Spencer and try to talk some sense into her.
That argument . . . why today, of all days? Emotions were way too raw to fight. They needed to stick together—the trial started tomorrow.
Aria peered into the parking lot and saw Spencer storming toward a row of cars. “Spence!” she called out. “Hey!”
Spencer glanced at Aria over her shoulder, then picked up her pace. “I don’t want to talk.”
Aria ran to her and caught her arm. “We’re all upset. This is . . . horrible, Spence. It’s totally not fair that Mrs. Fields feels that way about us.” She waved her hand toward the parking lot. “I’m half in the mood to smash all the windows of her car! And you almost died, too, and I respect how traumatic that was. But we have to—”