Deadly

ALI, INTERRUPTED

Alison ran and ran until her muscles ached and her lungs burned. The more she ran, the less she thought, and the less she thought, the less she cared. And by the time she was where she needed to go, she was resolved in her decision. This was the only solution. She’d saved herself.

She walked up to the place she’d set up weeks before without Nick knowing, the place that was all her own. She pulled the keys out of a secret pocket sewn into her jeans and unlocked the door, striding down the dark hall and sinking into the freshly made bed without even glancing at the pile of mail she’d left there the last time she’d come in, all addressed to Maxine Preptwill, her new alias. It was always a name she’d found funny, sort of an anagram of Nick Maxwell and also the name she’d used with Noel for their secret communiqués. For a long time she’d thought about what sort of person Maxine would be. A quiet girl who kept to herself. A friendly face around the neighborhood, a standout at the community college she would eventually enroll in with the remaining cash from Nick’s trust—she’d tucked away small amounts every time she came here, building up a nest egg. She’d use it to get her teeth fixed, too. Her hair properly cut. Plastic surgery for the burns. She’d become beautiful and irresistible again. She needed to put someone new under her spell.

She lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, her mind working over the day’s events. She poked at the Nick wound, but she felt nothing. Well, good. It was better to feel nothing. No regrets. No entanglements. She was free.

She thought about turning on the television—she’d jerry-rigged the antenna with aluminum foil so she could at least get the news. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to see the carnage yet. Man Arrested for Clark Murder. Pretty Little Liars Finally Tell the Truth. And there would be Nick’s mug shot, his hollowed eyes, his dazed expression. He was the smartest guy Ali knew, but he still wouldn’t know what had hit him.

Okay, okay, if she really thought about it, it wasn’t what she’d wanted. She hated that those bitches were free. And she hated that she had been the one to turn Nick in. But she knew what might have come next if she hadn’t. As soon as she heard those sirens, she’d started to panic. She’d imagined the cops finding him . . . and then her.

Well, she couldn’t have that.

And so she’d fled. The cops had found Nick, still unconscious on the ground, Ali long gone. He’d probably told them she’d put him up to everything—which was pretty much the truth. And if Ali didn’t have solid proof to stop them, the cops would come looking for her. Luckily, she had the very thing to seal his fate.

That video. Nick never knew she’d taken it. But that was what you needed to do to survive in this world. You needed tricks up your sleeve. You needed to keep secrets and release them at the perfect moment.

Still, when Ali shut her eyes, Nick swam into her thoughts. The first time they’d met at The Preserve during group, Nick throwing a wadded-up piece of paper to get Ali to talk. The first time he’d ever shown her that secret attic at The Preserve that only the cool patients knew about—she’d written the name everyone but Nick knew her as, Courtney, in big bubble letters on the wall. The way he’d listened to her when she’d explained the horrible story about the switch. How he’d vowed to help her get revenge.

She thought about Nick’s figure looming next to her over the hole in her parents’ backyard that night Courtney died. After it was over, he’d grabbed Ali and hugged her hard, repeating over and over that he loved her so much and he was so, so proud. That was true love, she figured: Someone who would kill for you, over and over again. Someone who would go to the ends of the earth to wrong all your rights.

But now, something inside her turned to steel. Only the strong survive, she incanted. Even if Nick, when on trial, professed again and again that Ali was alive, there was no trace of her: She always made sure of that. Besides, he had been the one who’d murdered Tabitha. That video didn’t lie.

She rolled over in bed, poking her tongue into the space where her tooth was missing. “Screw him,” she said out loud, testing out her voice. “It’s time to move on. I’m Alison. And I’m fabulous.”

And she knew, suddenly, and without a doubt, that whatever she did next, she would do it well. And someday, when those bitches weren’t looking, she’d come for them again. But let’s face it: She was impatient. She had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later.

She couldn’t wait.