Sara Shepard - Crushed

“I say we nail Noel to the wall this minute,” Spencer said. “We have enough proof, from what Aria told us and from all our evidence, that he had something to do with all of Ali’s diabolical schemes— and now that he assaulted Aria, we have something to bring him in on.”

Hanna nodded. “The cops can do the rest of the forensic work to link him to the murders. I agree—we need to end this.”

There was a pained sound to her left. Aria covered her eyes with her hands. The girls exchanged a sympathetic look.

“Aria,” Emily said softly, shuffling over to her.

Hanna slung her arm around Aria’s shoulders. “It sucks, doesn’t it? It happened to me, too, remember? With Mona?”

“I just don’t want it to be true,” Aria sobbed. “I keep thinking he’s going to turn up and explain all of this to us in a way that makes sense.”

“I didn’t want to believe it was Mona, either,” Hanna said softly. “But Noel admitted he loved Ali. He knew about the switch for so long . . . and he never said a word. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him. You should feel angry.”

Aria nodded. “I know I should, but . . .” She gazed around at them, her eyes wet and red. “Can we give it a day? If I can’t track down Noel by then, we’ll tell Fuji everything.”

Spencer shut her eyes. “What if Fuji decides to search your house? Then what?”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Aria said shakily.

Spencer leaned back on her palms. Hanna picked at a hangnail on her thumb. Emily gazed nervously out the window.

“How about six hours?” Spencer said. “So by”—she checked her watch—“two PM, if we don’t hear from Noel, we’re going to have to do something.”

Aria’s jaw trembled. “That’s no time at all!”

“If he’s innocent, he’ll reach out, don’t you think?” Spencer said.

“But . . .” Aria looked back and forth. Then she smoothed the tassels on the end of the afghan. “Okay,” she said. “Six hours.”

The girls stood and gathered up their belongings. After some coffee and toasted bagels, they headed out the door. Just as Hanna, Aria, and Emily pulled away, a black Jeep stopped at the curb. Spencer peered out the window, surprised someone was visiting that early. It was a guy she didn’t recognize.

He stepped on the porch and rang the bell. Spencer waited a beat, then pulled the door open. The guy in front of her wore jeans and a striped button-down. He was about Spencer’s height and well-built, and he had sharp green eyes and a sensual, pink full-lipped mouth. There were ugly white scars across his cheeks. There were more slashes on his hands. One of his ears was shriveled, barely there.

“Hey, Spencer,” he said.

She backed away from him. “W-who are you?”

“I’m Chase,” the guy said.

Spencer paused, waiting for the punch line. “No, you’re not,” she spat. “I know Chase.” She didn’t know what to think of Chase—even if he wasn’t A, maybe he was somehow working with Noel and Ali. How else could he have known about Jamaica?

She went to shut the door, but the guy caught her arm. “Actually, you know my brother. His name is Curtis. I sent him to meet you in my place. I’m the one you’ve really been talking to online. I’m the one who set up the Alison DiLaurentis website.”

Spots formed in front of Spencer’s eyes. A horn honked on the next street over, matching the dissonant sounds in her brain. She grabbed the cordless phone that sat on the table next to the door. “Leave right now, or I’ll call the police.”

The boy raised his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry I lied to you. But we had such an amazing connection online, and I was so jazzed about you, but when I went to the Mütter Museum and saw how pretty you were, I just couldn’t go in there looking . . . you know . . . the way I look.” He gestured to his face, his ear. “My brother was in the car with me. So I sent him in instead, told him to be me. I told him what to say about the case. But he fell for you. And then when we found out that you were Spencer Hastings . . .” He paused and shook his head. “Then I really couldn’t show you who I was. I’ve had a crush on you since I read about you in People. ”

Spencer didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I know.” Chase looked tormented. “But it’s the truth, I swear. Curtis texted me what you said during the meetings, and I told him what to say. We were both into you—Curtis and I actually got into a huge fight the night of prom because I thought we should come clean and he didn’t want to.”

Spencer’s head was whirling so fast it actually hurt. “He mentioned something I never told him— either of you.”

Chase blinked. “What did he bring up?”

Spencer swallowed hard. “Something about Jamaica,” she admitted. It hardly mattered who she told now—Noel was the guilty one, not her.

Chase’s brow furrowed, then a light came on in his eyes. “Oh—you were in Jamaica when Tabitha Clark died, is that it?”

Spencer’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing.

“I’ve gotten some requests to put the Tabitha Clark murder on my blog, since it’s local,” Chase said. “I looked into it a little. I also peeked at your Facebook page—some of your photos are public, including a few from The Cliffs in Jamaica last spring. Curtis was in the room when I was searching, and I might have said that you were there at the same time Tabitha was—it was such a weird and sad coincidence.” His big eyes filled with remorse. “But I’m sorry, Spencer. It’s a huge invasion of privacy. I should have never Googled you, never stalked your Facebook page. I should have been honest with you from the very start.”

The sun came out from behind a cloud, illuminating the scars on Chase’s cheek. Spencer shut her eyes and tried to process what Chase was saying. In some ways, it wasn’t really so different from what Their Ali did to them. She’d convinced them— everyone —that she was someone she wasn’t. And people trusted her because of it. People bought into her lies.

“Why should I believe anything you’re telling me?” she said stiffly. “You could be stalking me, too.”

“I’m not.” Chase shook his head. “I promise, Spencer, I’m not. I would never do that. This has happened to me, remember?”

“Exactly!” Spencer cried. “You know what being stalked was like. Or was that a lie, too?”

Chase set his jaw. “ Look at me, Spencer. I’m not lying to you. And I’ll never lie to you again. My roommate slashed me—and even then , people didn’t believe he could do such a thing. You’re right: I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that, but I was just trying to help. As far as sending my brother in my place, tell me you wouldn’t have slunk away, creeped out by the scars. I saw your face when you met Curtis. We all judge a book by its cover. It’s just how life is.”

A gust of wind blew her hair sideways. How would she have reacted? Was she really that superficial?

Chase sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t expect to ever see you again, but I do want to assure you that everything on my site is for real. And I was serious yesterday when I had my brother say I found a picture of Alison on a surveillance video from a building not far from here. Look.”

He rummaged in his messenger bag. Spencer shifted, having forgotten what Curtis had mentioned in the car. Chase extracted a silver laptop, opened it up, and clicked on a folder. “I’m friends with a bunch of cops in Rosewood, Yarmouth, and a couple of other towns outside Philly. I was actually researching that case about the Rosewood Stalker—remember that? Someone thought they’d seen the stalker near Hollis. A cop friend gave me some surveillance videos, and I hit on this.”