Crushed

20 The Sting

That same afternoon, Spencer, clad once again in her Britney wig and sunglasses, paced back and forth in front of a Philly brownstone near the Schuylkill River. Boats honked. A double-decker bus full of tourists in faux Ben Franklin glasses and Liberty Bell sweatshirts swept by. Rain had just fallen, and the air smelled like slick cement and exhaust. She checked her school e-mail on her old cell phone, piggybacking off someone’s unencrypted WiFi. A new message had come in. Dear Spencer, Perhaps our wires crossed. I was hoping to see you at your house yesterday, but maybe you didn’t get my message. Can we try for tomorrow? Sincerely, Jasmine Fuji.

Bile filled her stomach. Yesterday, she’d taken special care not to be anywhere near her house around four PM, when Agent Fuji said she was going to oh-so-casually drop by. She’d treated Mr. Pennythistle, her mother, and Amelia to ice cream at the King James Mall so they wouldn’t be home when Fuji came by, either. But Spencer couldn’t dodge her forever.

“Boo,” a voice said. Spencer whirled around and put up her fists.

“Just me, Britney!” Chase held up his hands in mock terror, backing away.

“Don’t do that.” Spencer gave him a playful shove. Then she examined him more closely. Today, he wore skinny-ish jeans, a button-down polo, and a down vest that made him look rugged and tough. Was it possible he looked even better than he had the last time she’d seen him? Spencer had been thrilled when he’d sent her an IM yesterday saying, My connection at CVS found an address for Barbara Rogers in their system. 2560 Spruce Street, Apt. 4B, 4 PM tomorrow?

She looked at the brownstone. “Now what do we do?”

“Knock on her door,” Chase said matter-of-factly.

Spencer gave him a crazy look. “Are we sure she even lives here?”

“Let’s check.” He climbed the steps and looked at the names on the buzzers, then frowned. “Hmm. There’s no Rogers listed.”

“It could be an outdated directory,” Spencer suggested. “Or maybe she’s not on the lease.”

“Let’s buzz.” Chase reached toward the 4B button.

Spencer caught his arm. “Wait! Maybe we shouldn’t let her know we’re coming.”

Chase squinted at her. “Then how are we going to get into the building?”

At that very moment, the red door opened, and an old man with white hair walked out. Spencer tried to catch it, but the door banged shut and locked behind him. She turned to the man instead. “Um, I’m Barbara Rogers’s niece. Can you let me in?”

The man glowered at Spencer’s Britney wig. “Never heard of her.” He shuffled down the stairs.

Spencer exchanged a look with Chase. Something told her the guy was lying. “Are you sure?” she called after the man.

“I said I don’t know anything,” he called over his shoulder, practically diving into a parked Audi. In seconds, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Black exhaust sputtered out of the tailpipe.

Chase climbed down the steps and stood by Spencer. “Oh-kaaay.”

Spencer leaned against the wrought-iron railing, trying to get a look at the vanishing license plate, but it was already too far away. “It seems like he wanted to get away from us really quickly, didn’t it? Almost like someone got to him, told him not to talk.”

“And if people got to him, they had to have a reason,” Chase went on. “Maybe Barbara Rogers is Alison’s nurse.” He glanced up at the brownstone again. “Let’s wait for someone else to come out and catch the door before it shuts.”

“Good idea.” Spencer sat down on the first step and stared fixedly at the door, willing someone to appear. Cars honked on the main avenue. A couple of pigeons fought over a bread crust on the sidewalk. But no one emerged in the foyer. How long would they have to wait?

“So did you get your blog emergency sorted out the other day?” Spencer asked.

Chase looked at her blankly. “What?”

“You know, the reason you had to cut our first meeting so short,” Spencer prompted. “Was there breaking news about Benjamin Franklin secretly running a meth lab? Independence Hall once being a whorehouse?” In some of their chats, Chase had revealed some of the ridiculous myths that his readers debated.

“Oh.” Chase stared at his hands. “Actually, it wasn’t a blog emergency at all. It was more of a family thing. My brother needed my help.”

A trail of pale green leaves swirled down the street. One of them flew right into Chase’s cheek. Spencer resisted the urge to brush it away. “Is your brother older or younger?” she asked.

“A year younger,” Chase said. “We’re pretty close. We weren’t when we were little, but after the stalker thing . . .” He trailed off, his gaze suddenly distant.

Spencer rolled her jaw. “That must have been intense,” she said quietly. “What happened, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Chase’s gaze slid to the right. “At first, the guy and I were friends. But then, something changed. He threatened me. Tried to kill me. Messed me up pretty badly.”

“There’s not a mark on you.” Spencer allowed herself a few moments to stare.

Chase ducked his head. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Yeah, well. Most of the scars you can’t see.”

Spencer knew exactly what he meant. And she hated that she knew. She watched the pedestrians on the street, lost for a moment in memories of Ali. “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked after a while. “Did he go to jail?”

Chase looked pained. “He was under eighteen, so no. And like I said, his parents were loaded. They kept this out of the press, paid off the cops. He left school, but that’s all I know.”

Spencer shook her head. “That is so unfair. So he’s just walking the streets?”

Chase nodded. “I guess so.”

He turned his head away then and made a pained noise that broke Spencer’s heart. She touched his arm, all at once so sad and heartbroken, both for Chase’s experience and her own. How dare someone torment him? How dare someone torment her?

“I know what it’s like,” she whispered. “I’ve been stalked, too.”

Chase turned around, his brow furrowed. “You have?”

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Spencer removed the Britney wig and took off the sunglasses. “I’m Spencer Hastings,” she said. “One of the girls Ali tried to, uh, kill.”

Chase’s mouth made an O. All sorts of expressions crossed his face in a single second. “I wondered if it was you,” he said after a moment in a voice so tender it made Spencer’s heart break. “But I was afraid to ask. I was afraid to scare you away.”

Spencer pulled the wig back onto her head. “You can’t tell anyone, though, okay? I’m trusting you. If I see this show up on your blog . . .”

“That will never happen!” Chase said, urgently shaking his head. Then he leaned back and blinked at her. “Jesus. Spencer Hastings. Now I feel like an idiot telling you all that stalker stuff. It pales in comparison.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Spencer said firmly. “The same thing happened to both of us. Someone we trusted screwed us over in the worst way possible.” All of a sudden, she felt tears filling her eyes. She’d connected with other people about Ali, confessed what Ali had done to other boys she’d been interested in, but no one had gone through it, too. She’d always laughed at the expression kindred spirits, but now, with Chase, she understood what it meant. If only she could see Chase on occasions other than Ali stakeouts. She had a feeling they could talk all night without ever running out of things to say.

She swallowed hard. “Will you go to prom with me?”

Chase sat back and blinked. “Wait. What?”

“We both need something fun in our lives. Something to take our minds off what happened. We could go just as friends. As whatever. And you probably couldn’t tell my friends that you run an Ali blog, and you’d have to promise not to talk about any of us in it—”

“Spencer,” Chase interrupted. “I already told you, I’d never do that.”

Spencer nodded. “So what do you say?”

Her heart pounded as she watched Chase tilt his head back and peer down his nose at her, as if trying to see her from a different angle. The longer he didn’t say anything, the more ridiculous Spencer felt. It was a horrible idea. Chase was out of high school, too cool to go to proms.

Then Chase grabbed her hand. “I would be honored. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there with a tux on.”

“Really?” Spencer’s mouth wobbled into a smile.

Chase was about to say something else, but then the door behind them swung open. An old lady with a kerchief over her head and a bunch of bags in her arms struggled out the door. Chase stepped up and held it open for her. The old lady smiled at him. “That’s so sweet of you, dear!”

“No problem at all,” Chase said, giving her a small bow. He and Spencer scrambled through the door before it slammed closed.

The hall was dark and smelled like spicy curry. There were two apartment doors on the ground floor, then a set of stairs. Spencer could see another apartment door up the first flight. There had to be at least four or five more apartments in the building.

She looked at Chase. “So what do we do now?”

“Go to Four-B, I guess,” Chase said, peering up the stairs. Then he turned to the front door again. “You go up. I’ll be right behind you, keeping watch.”

Spencer nodded, then bolted up the stairs, passing three doors painted red, orange, and blue. Another blue door still had a Christmas wreath, despite the fact it was May. Another orange one had a pile of mail on the mat. The railing wobbled when she grabbed it for support. She could hear Chase’s footsteps on the stairs behind her.

On the top floor, light flickered behind 4B. Swallowing hard, Spencer exchanged a look with Chase, who was a few steps down, then crept up to it and pressed her ear to the door. Could Ali’s nurse really be inside? What if Ali was inside, too?

“What should I do?” she whispered to Chase.

He shrugged. Knock? he mouthed.

Trembling, Spencer rapped once, then twice. Then she listened. The television’s volume didn’t change, but she thought she heard a sigh and couch springs squeak. There was a click in the hall, and she whipped around, on alert. “What was that?” she whispered to Chase.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, eyes wide. Then he walked farther down the hall. He stopped at the second-to-last door on the right and stepped closer to it, inspecting the knob. He pressed his ear to the door, as if listening, but then he lost his balance, falling forward and softly slapping the door with his palm. Spencer covered her eyes. “Shhh!”

“Sorry!” Chase jumped away from the door as if anticipating a ghost was going to spring out.

For a moment, it was eerily silent. Then, a creak sounded above her, and she looked up. And all at once . . . boom. There was a crunch of metal, and a whoosh of air, and then more banging and clanging sounds. Spencer jumped back as an attic door in the ceiling opened and items tumbled down. First an unwieldy coatrack, then a mounted deer head, its antlers sharpened to knifepoints, and then a bowling ball. The ball crashed onto the floor next to her and careened down the steps.

“Spencer?” Chase called through the dust. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer said, realizing she’d fallen to the ground. When she touched her face, it was slick. She brought her hand away—it was sweat or tears, not blood. More dust cascaded from the ceiling. The trapdoor hung precariously on one hinge, the screws dangerously loose.

“Come on,” Chase said, catapulting over the rubble, grabbing her hand, and dragging her down the steps. Heads poked out of apartment doors, mouths agape.

“That was weird,” Spencer said shakily as they barreled down more stairs.

“Weird doesn’t even begin to describe that,” Chase said. He glanced up the stairwell. Another loud thunk sounded. “It’s almost like it was planned.”

Spencer shivered. She’d been thinking the same thing. It was possible, perhaps, that Ali or her helper had planted this address online for Chase to find. And then snuck in here and filled the attic with dangerous things. Rigging the door to fall at just the right moment . . . on just the right person’s head . . .

A’s evil message swirled in her mind: I did it. And guess what? You’re next. Maybe this had all been a trap. And maybe A’s warning was coming true.