Sara Shepard: Wanted

“Should we go?” Hanna said uneasily.

“ No! ” Aria gasped at the same time Emily said, “Yes!”

Spencer chewed on her pinkie. “We should see what she wants.” She grabbed Aria’s arm. “C’mon.”

They sneaked around the side of the house, ducked past an overgrown holly bush, and darted through the red-painted side door.

The huge kitchen smelled of cloves, olive oil, and Febreze. One of the chairs was cocked at an odd angle to the table, as if someone had been sitting there moments before. Spencer recognized the old Delft pottery flour and sugar jars by the microwave from the DiLaurentises’ old kitchen. Someone had started a grocery list and pinned it to the refrigerator. Jelly . Pickles. French bread.

When Courtney appeared from the hallway, a whisper of a smile emerged on her eerily familiar face; Spencer’s legs dissolved into Jell-O. Aria let out a small squeak.

“I promise I won’t bite,” Courtney said. Her voice was exactly like Ali’s, husky and seductive. “I wanted a minute alone with you guys before things got too crazy.”

Spencer nervously shaped her dirty blond hair into a ponytail, unable to take her eyes off the girl. It was like Ali had crawled out of the hole in her old backyard, grown back her skin, and become alive and whole again.

The girls all stared at one another, their eyes wide and unblinking. The clock on the microwave ticked from 3:59 to 4:00.

Courtney plucked a yellow bowl full of pretzels from the island and joined them. “You guys were my sister’s best friends, right? Spencer, Emily, Hanna, Aria?” She pointed to each of them in succession.

“Yeah.” Spencer curled her hands around the caning on her chair, remembering the time in sixth grade when she, Aria, Hanna, and Emily had sneaked into Ali’s backyard, hoping to steal her Time Capsule flag. Ali had come out onto her porch, wearing a pink T-shirt and wedges, and caught them. After telling the girls they were too late—someone had already stolen the flag—she’d pointed at Spencer and said, “You’re Spencer, right?” She then made the others introduce themselves, acting as if she was way too popular to remember their names. It was the first time Ali had ever spoken to any of them. Just one week later, she handpicked them as her new best friends.

“Ali told me about you.” Courtney offered the girls pretzels, but everyone shook their heads. Spencer couldn’t fathom eating right now. Her stomach had inverted itself.

“But she never told you about me, did she?”

“N-no,” Emily croaked. “Not once.”

“Then I guess this is pretty bizarre,” Courtney said.

Spencer fiddled with a cork coaster that said MARTINI TIME! in fifties-style lettering.

“So…where were you? At a hospital or something?” Aria asked.

Not that Courtney looked sick. Her skin radiated, as if it was lit from an inside source. Her blond hair shone as if it was deep-conditioned hourly. As Spencer canvassed Courtney’s face, a realization hit her with meteoric force: If Ali was Spencer’s half sister, then this girl was, too. Suddenly she was keenly aware how much Courtney looked like Mr. Hastings…and Melissa… and Spencer. Courtney had her dad’s long, slender fingers and button nose, Melissa’s cerulean eyes, and the same dimple Spencer had on her right cheek. Nana Hastings had that dimple, too. It was amazing that Spencer hadn’t noticed these similarities when Ali was alive. Then again, she hadn’t known to look.

Courtney chewed thoughtfully. The crunches echoed through the room. “Kind of. I was at this place called the Radley. And then, after it became a hotel or whatever, I was moved to a place called the Preserve at Addison-Stevens.” She said the name with a haughty British accent, rolling her eyes.

Spencer exchanged a shocked look with the other girls. Of course. Jason DiLaurentis wasn’t the patient at the Radley— Courtney was. His name was in the logbooks because he’d visited her. And Hanna had said that Iris, her roommate at the Preserve, had drawn a picture of Ali in some secret room. But Iris must have known Courtney, not Ali.

“So…it was for…mental issues?” Aria said tentatively.

Courtney pointed a pretzel at Aria like a dagger. “Those places aren’t just for mental patients,” she snapped.

“Oh.” A bloom of red appeared on Aria’s cheeks. “Sorry. I had no idea.”

Courtney gave a shrug and stared into the pretzel bowl. Spencer waited for her to elaborate on why she had been in those facilities, but she said nothing.

Finally, Courtney raised her head. “Anyway. I’m sorry I ran away from you the night of the fire. That was probably really…confusing.”

“Oh my God, that was you,” Hanna exclaimed.

Spencer ran her fingers along the edge of the blue linen place mat. It made sense, of course, that it was Courtney who had emerged from the woods, not Ali’s ghost or a figment from a weird group hallucination.

Emily leaned forward, her reddish-blond hair falling in her face. “What were you doing there?”

Courtney pulled her chair closer to the table. “I got a note—from Billy I guess—saying there was something in the woods I needed to see.” Courtney’s face twisted with remorse. “I wasn’t supposed to leave the house, but the note said it would help solve Ali’s murder. When I reached the woods, the fire started. I thought I was going to die…but then Aria saved me.” She touched Aria’s wrist. “Thank you, by the way.”

Aria’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

“How did you get out of there so quickly?” Emily pressed.

Courtney wiped a stray piece of salt from her lip. “I called my contact at the Rosewood PD. He’s an old family friend.”

The sound of mic feedback filtered in from the press conference outside. Spencer gazed at Aria, Emily, and Hanna. It was obvious who the family friend was. It explained why they hadn’t seen him the night of the fire. It also explained why he’d told them to stop saying they saw Ali the very next day: He’d needed to keep Ali’s sister safe.

“Wilden.” Emily’s jaw tensed. “You shouldn’t trust him. He’s not what he seems.”

Courtney leaned back, letting out an easy, amused chuckle. “Settle down, Killer.”

A chilly frisson of fear slithered up Spencer’s back. Killer? That was Ali’s nickname for Emily. Had Ali told her?

But before any of them could say anything, Mrs. DiLaurentis appeared in the front hall. When she noticed the group, her face brightened. “Thanks for coming, girls. It means a lot to us.”

Mrs. DiLaurentis walked over to Courtney and put her hand on her arm. Her long, perfect nails were painted classic Chanel red. “I’m sorry, honey, but there’s someone from MSNBC who has a couple of questions. He’s come all the way from New York….”

“Okay,” Courtney groaned, getting up.

“The Rosewood PD wants to speak with you, too,” Mrs. DiLaurentis said. She took her daughter’s face in her hands and began to smooth out Courtney’s eyebrows. “Something about the night of the fire.”

“ Again? ” Courtney sighed dramatically, wrenching away from her mom. “I’d rather talk to the press. They’re more fun.”

She turned back to the girls, who were still sitting motionless at the table. “Come by anytime, guys,” she said, smiling. “Door’s always open. And, oh!” She pulled a brand-new laminated school ID from her jeans pocket. COURTNEY DILAURENTIS, it said in big red letters. “I’m going to Rosewood Day!” she exclaimed. “See you at school tomorrow.”

And then, with a final unsettling wink, she was gone.