Deadly

20 SHE’S DEAD TO US

Emily had returned to her house after a fair share of trouble—Ali’s death, A outing her at a swim meet, her banishment to Iowa, her secret baby coming to light. Each of those homecomings had been stilted and strange, but nothing, nothing was like returning to the Fields abode after being arrested for murder.

Her family was silent the whole ride home. Her mother stared straight ahead, unblinking, and her father gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. Only once did Emily dare to protest her innocence, but her parents hadn’t responded. Her phone buzzed, and she looked at it. To her astonishment, Jordan had sent her a private message. I’m so disappointed in you, Em.

Emily recoiled. Had Jordan heard? Did she actually believe the news?

There was an Instagram attached to the message. Emily thought it would be a still shot of the fake video, but instead a shadowy photo of her on a dance floor appeared. Emily held a champagne flute in her hand. A pretty black girl spun her around.

Pegasus? Emily dropped the phone to her lap. The night with Carolyn at the bar. The dance with River. Who had snapped and posted this? Ali?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. It’s not what it looks like! she wrote. We were just dancing. I still love you, I promise.

But Jordan didn’t write back.

The Fields house was cold, and most of the lights were off. Emily followed her parents inside the kitchen and clapped eyes on Carolyn, who was bustling around gathering silverware and plates from drawers and cupboards. Her heart lifted.

But Carolyn didn’t even meet Emily’s gaze. “I have Chinese,” she announced in a brisk voice, plopping a large paper bag on the table.

Mrs. Fields’s brow furrowed. “How much did that—”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Carolyn cut her off, then slammed a bunch of forks down.

Emily took a few more forks from the pile and placed them at the rest of the seats. She glanced at her sister. “You know this is a huge mix-up, right? Someone framed us for killing that girl.”

Carolyn turned away. Emily’s heart slowly began to sink.

She waited until everyone else had served themselves lo mein and kung pao chicken, then took a paltry amount of fried rice and sat in her normal chair. The only sounds were chewing and the scraping of knives and forks.

She shut her eyes. How could Fuji think they killed not only Tabitha but Gayle and Graham, too? And why was Fuji so convinced, suddenly, that Ali was dead? Emily wished she could talk to the agent, but Mr. Hastings had forbade them from saying a word to anyone except for the legal team.

She decided to try again, turning back to Carolyn. “We think it was Ali, actually. She’s alive. We were afraid that Tabitha Clark was Ali, in fact . . . but she wasn’t, and . . .”

Carolyn looked desperately at their father. “Dad, tell her to stop.”

“Carolyn, I’m telling the truth.” Emily knew she should shut up, but she couldn’t control her mouth. “Ali survived. It’s really her.”

She looked around at her family, wishing someone would say they understood. But everyone was staring at their plates.

The doorbell rang. Everyone’s heads swiveled toward the hall, and Mr. Fields stood to answer it. There were low murmurs, and then the front door slammed.

Emily got up from the table and peered through the front window. Two tow trucks sat in the driveway. A man in a blue jumpsuit hitched the Volvo wagon to the tow, and a balding guy in a black jacket did the same with the family’s minivan. Mr. Fields just stood there on the lawn, hands in his pockets, a forlorn expression on his face.

“Why are our cars being taken away?” Emily called to her mom in the kitchen.

No answer. She walked back into the room. Mrs. Fields and Carolyn picked at their meals. Emily’s heart started to pound. “Mom. What’s going on?”

“Why is she asking that?” Carolyn’s voice rose in pitch. “How could she not know?”

Emily looked back and forth at them. “Know what?”

Mrs. Fields’s jaw was clenched tight. “We had to sell both cars and use the money we got to pay your bail,” she said calmly. “Among other things.”

Emily blinked hard. “You did?”

Carolyn leapt up from the table and walked over to Emily. “What did you expect? You killed someone.”

Something exploded in Emily’s brain. “N-no, I didn’t!”

Carolyn’s nostrils flared. “We saw you on that video. You looked like a monster.”

“That wasn’t me!” Emily glanced desperately at her mother. “Mom? You believe it wasn’t me, right?”

Mrs. Fields lowered her eyes. “That video. It was so violent.”

Emily looked at her imploringly. Did that mean her mom believed her . . . or she thought she’d done it?

Carolyn sniffed. “All your lies have finally caught up to you. But we’re paying the consequences. We might even lose the house.”

Emily walked back to the window and stared at her father, who was standing with his back to her, facing the tow truck.

“I’m going to have to get a job—that is, if anyone will even hire me,” Carolyn said from the kitchen. “All because of you, Emily. It’s always about you, isn’t it? You’re always ruining everything.”

Mrs. Fields kneaded her temples. “Carolyn, please. Not now.”

Carolyn slapped the table hard. “Why not now? She needs to understand. She doesn’t live in the real world, and I’m really sick of it.” She faced Emily. “It’s always an excuse with you. Your best friend was murdered. You were getting text messages from Mona Vanderwaal, who I personally saw you guys make fun of when Ali was alive. But hey, it’s different when you’re bullied, huh? Everyone’s just supposed to drop everything and treat you like some sort of delicate flower.”

Emily walked back to the table. Her jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? She tried to kill us.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “And when you get pregnant, you don’t actually face up to it. Nope, you hide in Philly. You use me all summer, make my life hell, and then, afterward, it’s all about you, how I hurt you, how I should have just accepted what you were going through without being upset or afraid or anything.”

Emily pressed a hand to her chest. “I thought you forgave me for that!”

Carolyn shrugged. “I might have forgiven you if I hadn’t known you were still doing it, Emily. Now you’ve killed someone, and you’re still blaming everyone but yourself, basically. But you can’t make excuses anymore. I’m sorry Ali tried to kill you in the Poconos last year. I’m sorry you loved her, and she rejected you. But get over it. Take some responsibility.”

“Get over it?” Emily screamed, anger she’d never experienced before rising up her throat. “How can I get over it if she’s still doing it?”

“She’s not still doing anything!” Carolyn screeched back. “She’s dead! Face it! She’s gone, and what you did is nobody’s fault but yours.”

Emily let out a primal roar, ran for her sister, and grabbed her shoulders. “Why can’t you believe me?” she screamed. How did Carolyn not understand? How could her family believe she’d made all of this up, done something so awful?

Carolyn pushed Emily away, and Emily slammed against the back wall. Emily lunged for her sister again, and suddenly, they were on the ground. Carolyn’s strong body pressed into Emily’s. Her nails scratched Emily’s face. Emily shrieked and nudged Carolyn’s abdomen with her knees, then wrapped an arm around Carolyn and flipped her on her side. Carolyn’s eyes flashed. She bared her teeth and then bit down on Emily’s arm. Emily screamed and pulled away, staring at the marks where Carolyn’s teeth had broken the skin.

“Girls!” Mrs. Fields wailed. “Girls, stop!”

Two hands grabbed Emily around her waist and lifted her to stand. Emily felt her father’s hot breath on her neck, but she was so angry that she elbowed him off. She reached out and grabbed a chunk of Carolyn’s hair. Carolyn screamed and wrenched away, but not before Emily pulled several strands of hair from her sister’s head. Carolyn rammed her body into Emily hard, sending her careening across the room and knocking into a cabinet that held her mother’s Hummel knickknacks.

There was a creaking sound as the cabinet tipped on its side and slowly, slowly, slowly started to fall. Mrs. Fields leapt forward, trying to grab it, but it was too heavy and too late—the cabinet was already too far gone.

The floor shook. There was the sound of breaking glass, and all of the figurines spilled out. Suddenly, the room was silent. Emily and Carolyn stopped and stared. Mrs. Fields dropped to her knees, gaping at everything that had broken. At least that was what Emily thought she was doing until she turned around. Her mother’s face had turned a ghostly white. Her mouth was an O, and she sucked for air. She clutched at her chest, a look of terror frozen on her face.

“Mom?” Carolyn ran to her. “What’s going on?”

“It’s . . . my . . .” It was all Mrs. Fields could get out. She grabbed her left arm and hunched over.

Carolyn yanked the cordless phone from its cradle on the desk. Her fingers shook as she dialed 911. “Help!” she said, when someone answered. “My mother is having a heart attack!”

Emily knelt by her mother helplessly. She took her mom’s pulse. It was racing fast. “Mom, I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully, staring into her mother’s widened, desperate eyes.

Mr. Fields appeared from behind, pushed a baby aspirin into his wife’s mouth, and made her swallow. Seconds later, sirens blared from up the street. EMTs burst through the front door in a swirl of boots and reflective jackets. They elbowed Emily and the others out of the way and started to attach Mrs. Fields to monitors and an oxygen tank. Two strong men lifted her onto a stretcher, and before Emily knew it, they were carrying her out the door.

Everyone ran outside to where the ambulance was parked. A couple of neighbors stood on the adjacent lawns to gawk. “Only two can ride with us,” the head EMT was saying to Mr. Fields. “The other can follow along behind.”

Mr. Fields looked at Emily. “Stay here,” he growled at her. “Come on, Carolyn.”

Emily shrank back into the house like he’d kicked her. Her father had never spoken to her like that in her life.

She pushed the door shut and leaned against the back of it, breathing hard. In the kitchen, everything was still as they’d left it. Forks protruded out of bowls. The coffeemaker beeped loudly, indicating that the pot had finished brewing. In the living room, the Hummel cabinet lay ruined on the floor, broken Hummels scattered across the carpet. Emily walked over to them and knelt down. Her mom’s favorite milkmaid had a severed head. There was a single arm holding a water bucket by the vent. The little ballerinas were now legless, the tranquil-looking cows were hornless and without tails.

She wanted to find Ali and strangle her with all her might. But all she could do now was look at the shattered remains of her mother’s prized possessions and cry.