Sara Shepard - Perfect

“How did that make you feel? Angry?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Spencer paused. “Being Ali’s friend was great, but we had to make a lot of sacrifices. We went through a lot together, and some of it wasn’t good. It was like, ‘We go through all this for you, and you repay us by ditching us?’”

“So you felt owed something.”

“Maybe,” Spencer answered.

“But you feel guilty too, right?” Dr. Evans suggested.

Spencer lowered her shoulders. “Guilty? Why?”

“Because Alison’s dead. Because, in some ways, you resented her. Maybe you wanted something bad to happen to her because she was hurting you.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer whispered.

“And then your wish came true. Now you feel like Alison’s disappearance is your fault—that if you hadn’t felt this way about her, she wouldn’t have been murdered.”

Spencer’s eyes clouded with tears. She couldn’t respond.

“It’s not your fault,” Dr. Evans said forcefully, leaning forward in the chair. “We don’t always love our friends every minute. Alison hurt you. Just because you had a mean thought about her doesn’t mean you caused her death.”

Spencer sniffed. She stared at the Socrates quote again. The only true knowledge in life is knowing you know nothing. “There’s a memory that keeps popping into my head,” she blurted out. “About Ali. We’re fighting. She talks about something I read in her diary—she always thought I was reading her diary, but I never did. But I’m…I’m not even sure the memory is real.”

Dr. Evans put her pen to her mouth. “People cope with things in different ways. For some people, if they witness or do something disturbing, their brain somehow…edits it out. But often the memory starts pushing its way back in.”

Spencer’s mouth felt scratchy, like steel wool. “Nothing disturbing happened.”

“I could try to hypnotize you to draw out the memory.”

Spencer’s mouth went dry. “Hypnotize?”

Dr. Evans was staring at her. “It might help.”

Spencer chewed on a piece of hair. She pointed at the Socrates quote. “What does that mean?”

“That?” Dr. Evans’s shrugged. “Think about it yourself. Draw your own conclusion.” She smiled. “Now, are you ready? Lie down and get comfy.”

Spencer slumped on the couch. As Dr. Evans pulled down the bamboo blinds, Spencer cringed. This was just like what Ali did that night in the barn before she died.

“Just relax.” Dr. Evans turned off her desk lamp. “Feel yourself calming down. Try to let go of everything we talked about today. Okay?”

Spencer wasn’t relaxed at all. Her knees locked and her muscles shook. Even her teeth ground together. Now she’s going to walk around and count down from one hundred. She’ll touch my forehead, and I’ll be in her power.

When Spencer opened her eyes, she wasn’t in Dr. Evans’s office anymore. She was outside her barn. It was night. Alison was staring at her, shaking her head just like she had in the other flashes of memory Spencer had recalled during the week. Spencer suddenly knew it was the night Ali went missing. She tried to claw her way out of the memory, but her limbs felt heavy and useless.

“You try to steal everything away from me,” Ali was saying with a tone and inflection that were now eerily familiar. “But you can’t have this.”

“Can’t have what?” The wind was cold. Spencer shivered.

“Come on,” Ali taunted, putting her hands on her hips. “You read about it in my diary, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t read your diary,” Spencer spat. “I don’t care.”

“You care way too much,” Ali said. She leaned forward. Her breath was minty.

“You’re delusional,” Spencer sputtered.

“No, I’m not,” Ali snarled. “ You are.”

Rage suddenly filled Spencer. She leaned forward and shoved Ali’s shoulder.

Ali looked surprised. “Friends don’t shove friends.”

“Well, maybe we’re not friends,” Spencer answered.

“Guess not,” Ali said. She took a few steps away but turned back. Then she said something else. Spencer saw Ali’s mouth move, then felt her own mouth move, but she couldn’t hear their words. All she knew was that whatever Ali said made her angry. From somewhere far away was a sharp, splintering crack . Spencer’s eyes snapped open.

“Spencer,” Dr. Evans’s voice called. “Hey. Spencer.”

The first thing she saw was Dr. Evans’s plaque across the room. The only true knowledge is knowing you know nothing . Then, Dr. Evans’s face swam into view. She had an uncertain, worried look on her face. “Are you okay?” Dr. Evans asked.

Spencer blinked a few times. “I don’t know.” She sat up and ran the palm of her hand over her sweaty forehead. This felt like waking up from the anesthesia the time she’d had her appendix out. Everything seemed blurry and edgeless.

“Tell me what you see in the room,” Dr. Evans said.

“Describe everything.”

Spencer looked around. “The brown leather couch, the white fluffy rug, the…”

What had Ali said? Why couldn’t Spencer hear her? Had that really happened?

“A wire mesh trash can,” she stammered. “An Anjou pear candle…”

“Okay.” Dr. Evans put her hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Sit here. Breathe.”

Dr. Evans’s window was now open, and Spencer could smell the freshly tarred asphalt on the parking lot. Two morning doves cooed to each other. When she finally got up and told Dr. Evans she’d see her next week, she was feeling clearer. She skidded across the waiting room without acknowledging Melissa. She wanted out of here.

In the parking lot, Spencer slid into her car and sat in silence. She listed all the things she saw here, too. Her tweed bag. The farmer’s market placard across the street that read, FRESH OMATOES. The T had fallen to the ground. The blue Chevy truck parked crookedly in the farmer’s market lot. The cheerful red birdhouse hanging from a nearby oak. The sign on the office building door that said only service animals were permitted inside. Melissa’s profile in Dr. Evans’s office window.

The corners of her sister’s mouth were spread into a jagged smile, and she was talking animatedly with her hands. When Spencer looked back at the farmer’s market, she noticed the Chevy’s front tire was flat. There was something slinking behind the truck. A cat, maybe.

Spencer sat up straighter. It wasn’t a cat—it was a person . Staring at her.

The person’s eyes didn’t blink. And then, suddenly, whoever it was turned his or her head, crouched into the shadows, and disappeared.

Thursday afternoon, Hanna followed her chemistry class across the commons to the flagpole. There had been a fire drill, and now her chem teacher, Mr. Percival, was counting to make sure none of the students had run off. It was another freakishly hot October day, and as the sun beat down on the top of Hanna’s head, she heard two sophomore girls whispering.

“Did you hear that she’s a klepto?” hissed Noelle Frazier, a tall girl with cascading blond ringlets.

“I know,” replied Anna Walton, a tiny brunette with enormous boobs. “She, like, organized this huge Tiffany heist. And then she went and wrecked Mr. Ackard’s car.”

Hanna stiffened. Normally, she wouldn’t have been bothered by a couple of lame sophomore girls, but she was feeling sort of vulnerable. She pretended to be really interested in a bunch of tiny pine trees the gardeners had just planted.

“I heard she’s at the police station like every day,” Noelle said.