Sara Shepard - Ruthless

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?”

“You know what you did,” the cops growled at her.

Kelsey met Spencer’s eyes for a moment and gave her a pleading look. What are they talking about? But there was something else in her expression, too, something Spencer hadn’t wanted to think about until now.

It was fury. Like she knew exactly what Spencer had done.

“Out, damned spot,” Spencer repeated once more now, staring down at her hands, just as Lady Macbeth did in the play. Suddenly, her palms were filled with small, white, round pills. Were those . . . Easy As? Shrieking, she flung them into the air. Where had they come from?

She looked for Beau, but Beau was gone. The yard was empty. “Beau?” she cried. No answer. It was dark out now. How much time had passed?

The trees whispered in the wind. An owl hooted in the distance, and the faintest smell of smoke from last year’s fire tickled Spencer’s nostrils. She looked down at her palms again; somehow, the Easy A pills had returned. “Get off!” She tried to jettison them away, but they remained glued to her skin. “Get off!” she shrieked, scratching at her palms with her fingernails until red, jagged lines appeared on her skin. “I can’t be seen with these!” she screamed. “They can’t catch me!”

But the pills wouldn’t budge from her palms. Whirling around and breathing hard, Spencer staggered toward the small pond behind the barn. “Get off, get off, get off !” she shrieked, plunging her hands into the stagnant, half-frozen water. She barely felt the cold. She swished her hands around for a moment and then drew them back. The pills were still there. “No!” she screamed, running her wet palms through her hair. Frigid, fetid water streamed down her face and dripped into her ears and mouth.

Another twig snapped. Spencer shot to her feet, hands and hair dripping. “Who’s there?” she cried out, her heart pounding hard. Was it the cops? Were they here for her? Would they see the Easy As on her palm and take her away?

Someone snickered behind a bush. Shh , another voice said. Two figures stepped out from the trees. One was Kelsey. The other was Tabitha. They stood hand in hand, staring at Spencer.

“Hey, Spence,” Kelsey teased, staring at Spencer’s dripping palms. “Feeling guilty about something, murderer?”

“You can’t run from us,” Tabitha whispered. “We know what you did.”

She smiled mysteriously and advanced down the slope. Spencer wheeled back, her ankle catching on a thick, twisted root. Within seconds, her butt hit the creek bank and her head and right shoulder plunged into the icy water. Her face instantly went numb. When she opened her eyes, Kelsey and Tabitha stood over her, their arms outstretched. Ready to drown her. Ready to exact their revenge.

“I’m sorry!” Spencer sputtered, flailing in the freezing water.

“Not sorry enough,” Kelsey growled, plunging her chest down.

“You weren’t sorry when you did it,” Tabitha screamed, holding her neck.

“I’m sorry now!” Spencer struggled to break free of the girls, but they held her tight. “Please! Don’t!”

“Spencer?”

Someone lifted her out of the creek. Ice slid down her back. Cold air slapped her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, Kelsey and Tabitha were gone. Instead she saw Beau standing before her, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he cooed. “It’s okay.”

Spencer felt Beau leading her out of the woods. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked around, half crying, half hyperventilating. She was in her backyard again. When she looked at her palms, they were empty. But while the visions she’d had of Kelsey and Tabitha had vanished, the real Kelsey stood a few feet away on the lawn with Amelia and some of the other orchestra girls, here for their evening practice. Her eyes were wide and there was a satisfied smirk on her face.

“What’s wrong with her?” Amelia said in a disgusted voice.

“She’s fine,” Beau answered, walking Spencer toward the house. “We were doing a drama exercise.”

“W-what happened ?” Spencer whispered dazedly as they climbed the patio stairs.

Beau grinned. “You were amazing. You totally went for it. You immersed yourself in the Method— literally. Most actors have to study for years to make that much of an emotional connection. You’re going to rock the part tomorrow.”

As he helped her through the sliding door, Spencer tried to smile as if she’d known what she’d been doing all along, but her insides felt weak and decimated, like a town ravaged by a tornado. And when she turned around, the real Kelsey was still watching her. That smirk was still there, as if she knew the root of Spencer’s bizarre behavior.

As if she knew everything.

Hanna opened her eyes. A digital clock blazed a big red 2:14 A.M. across the room. A huge poster for a band called Beach House hung on the wall, and the windows were covered with blackout shades. This wasn’t either of her bedrooms. Where the hell was she?

The bedsprings squeaked as she sat up. Pale light from the hallway glinted on a mirror across the room. A beaded curtain hung from the closet door. A four-leaf clover air freshener swung from the lamp switch. Hanna saw a picture of a girl with red hair in a silver Tiffany frame on the desk. Next to it were four AP textbooks.