Sara Shepard - Wicked

A plume of bluish smoke trailed out of his mouth. “You know I didn’t kill Alison. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”

Spencer gripped the smooth wooden posts along the side of her deck for balance. “You did kill her,” she reiterated, her voice wobbly. “And if you think the notes you’ve sent us are going to scare us into not testifying against you, you’re wrong. We’re not afraid of you.”

Ian cocked his head, confounded. “What notes?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Spencer squeaked.

Ian sniffed, still acting confused. Spencer glanced at the hole in the DiLaurentises’ yard. It was so close. Her eyes moved to the barn, the site of their very last sleepover.

They’d all been so excited that seventh grade was over. Sure, there’d been some tension between all of them, and sure, Ali had done a lot of things that had pissed Spencer off, but Spencer had been certain that if they spent enough time together that summer, away from everyone else at Rosewood Day, they’d be as close as ever before.

But then she and Ali had had that stupid fight about closing the blinds so Ali could hypnotize them. Before Spencer knew it, the argument had spiraled out of control. She told Ali to leave…and Ali did.

For a long time, Spencer felt terrible about what happened. If she hadn’t told Ali to leave, maybe Ali wouldn’t be dead. But now she knew that nothing she could’ve done would have made a difference. Ali had been planning to ditch them all along. She was probably dying to meet Ian to see what he’d decided—to break up with Melissa, or to let Ali tell the world about their oh-so-inappropriate relationship. Ali thrived on stuff like that, seeing just how far she could manipulate people. Still, that didn’t give Ian permission to murder her.

Spencer’s eyes brimmed with tears. She thought about that old picture they’d looked at just before the news came on announcing Ian’s temporary bail, the one from the day Time Capsule was announced. Ian had had the audacity to stroll right up to Ali and tell her he was going to kill her. Who knew, maybe he’d wanted to even then. Maybe he’d had some death wish for Ali all along. And maybe he’d seen it as the perfect crime. No one will ever suspect me, he’d probably thought. I’m Ian Thomas, after all.

She glared at Ian, her body shaking. “Did you really think you’d get away with what you did? What was going through your head, even fooling around with Ali? Didn’t you know it was wrong? Didn’t you realize you were taking advantage of her?”

A crow cawed in the distance, loud and ugly. “I wasn’t taking advantage of her,” Ian said.

Spencer sniffed. “She was in seventh grade—you were in twelfth. That doesn’t seem weird to you?”

Ian blinked.

“So she pestered you with a stupid ultimatum,” Spencer went on, her nostrils flaring. “You didn’t have to take her seriously. You should’ve just told her you didn’t want to see her anymore!”

“That’s how you think it was?” Ian sounded truly astonished. “That Ali liked me more than I liked her?” He laughed. “Ali and I flirted a lot, but that was all. She never seemed interested in taking it further than that.”

“ Right ,” Spencer said through clenched teeth.

“But then…suddenly…she changed her mind,” Ian went on. “At first I thought she was paying attention to me just to make someone else mad.”

A few slow seconds went by. A bird landed on the feeder on the back deck, pecking at the birdseed. Spencer put her hands on her hips. “And I suppose that would be me , right? Ali decided to like you because it would make me mad?”

“Huh?” A stiff wind blew up the edges of Ian’s black scarf.

Spencer snorted. Did she really have to spell it out? “I. Liked. You. Back in seventh grade. I know Ali told you. She convinced you to kiss me.”

Ian breathed out, his brow still furrowed. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”

“Stop lying,” Spencer snapped, her cheeks burning. “You killed Ali,” she repeated. “Stop pretending you didn’t.”

Ian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “What if I told you there’s something you don’t know?” he finally blurted.

An airplane rumbled softly overhead. A few houses down, Mr. Hurst started up his snowblower. “What are you talking about?” Spencer whispered.

Ian took another drag of his cigarette. “It’s something big. I think the cops know about it too, but they’re ignoring it. They’re trying to frame me, but by tomorrow I’ll have my hands on evidence that will prove my innocence.” He leaned closer to Spencer, blowing the smoke in her face. “Believe me, it’s something that will turn your life upside down.”

Spencer’s entire body went numb. “So tell me what it is.”

Ian looked away. “I can’t say yet. I want to know for sure.”

Spencer laughed bitterly. “You expect me to just…take your word for it? I don’t owe you any favors. Maybe you should be talking to Melissa instead of me. I think she’ll be more sympathetic to your little sob story.”

A wary look Spencer couldn’t quite read passed over Ian’s face, as if he didn’t like that idea at all. The toxic smell of his cigarette settled over them like a shroud. “I may have been drunk that night, but I know what I saw,” Ian said. “I went out there intending to meet up with Ali…but I saw two blondes in the woods instead. One of them was Alison. The other…” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Two blondes in the woods. Spencer shook her head quickly, understanding what Ian was implying. “It wasn’t me. I followed Ali out of the barn. But then she left me—to find you .”

“It was another blonde, then.”

“If you saw someone, why didn’t you say something to the cops when Ali first went missing?”

Ian’s eyes darted left. He took another nervous drag. Spencer snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “You never said anything, because you never saw anything. There isn’t any big secret the cops are ignoring…period. You killed her, Ian, and you’re going to fry. End of story.”

Ian held her gaze for a long few seconds. Then, he moved his shoulder jerkily, flicking his cigarette butt into the yard. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said in a dead voice. And just like that, he whirled around and stomped off the deck, skulking through Spencer’s side yard and slipping into the woods. Spencer waited until he was past the tree line before she collapsed weakly to her knees, barely noticing as the slush immediately soaked through her jeans. Hot, frightened tears slid down her face. Several long minutes passed before she noticed that her Sidekick, still sitting on the patio table, was ringing.

She leapt up and grabbed it. There was one new text in her inbox.

Question: If poor little Miss Not-So-Perfect suddenly vanished, would anyone even care? You told on me twice. Three strikes and we’ll find out if your “parents” will cry over the loss of your pathetic life. Tread softly, Spence.

—A

Spencer looked up at the trees at the back of the property. “Not sending notes, huh, Ian?” she screamed out into the emptiness, her voice raw. “Come out where I can see you!”

The wind swirled silently. Ian didn’t answer. The only evidence that he had been here at all was the angry, red-tipped ember of his cigarette butt, slowly dying in the middle of the yard.

Thursday night after swimming, Emily stood in front of the full-length mirror in the Rosewood Day natatorium, examining her outfit. She had on her favorite pair of chocolate brown corduroys, a pale pink blouse with just a teensy bit of ruffle, and dark pink flats. Was the look appropriate for a dinner at China Rose with Isaac? Or was it too girly and un-Emily? Not that she knew what constituted “Emily” these days.