Twisted

“Oh.” Aria looked at him. “I can’t stay an extra night. I promised my dad I’d babysit Lola.”

“Fine.” Noel didn’t even look up from his Google search. “Do you mind taking the bus home?”

Aria opened her mouth, then shut it again. She’d hoped Noel would drive her back to Rosewood himself. Couldn’t the other brothers stay here with Klaudia? Couldn’t he come back tomorrow to retrieve them?

But Noel didn’t offer, and so Aria shrugged into her coat and dug out her phone to check Greyhound times. “What time do you think you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked Noel. “Maybe we can hang out in the evening.”

Noel’s head shot up. “We don’t even know if Klaudia’s going to be okay yet. I don’t think we should make plans until we do.”

“Oh.” Aria backed away from him. “Right. Sorry.”

“And anyway, I should probably hang out with Klaudia for the next few days.” Noel glanced at Klaudia’s sleeping shape. “It’s the least that I can do. She’s probably going to be in a lot of pain. She’ll need someone to help her get around.”

“O-of course.” Aria fought back tears.

The next Greyhound bus to Philly was in an hour. Aria could walk to the station from the clinic, and Noel could grab the rest of her things from the hotel and bring them home tomorrow. Just as Aria was backing out of the tiny curtained-off area, something made her turn. Klaudia’s eyes had opened, and she stared straight at Aria. There was a tiny, victorious smile on her face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her small, pale hand, and gave Aria the finger.

Aria gasped. The realization was like a rush of cold air. Klaudia didn’t have amnesia—she remembered everything on the ski lift with perfect clarity. And now she had exactly what she wanted. Now she had something to hold over Aria’s head. Now, Klaudia had Aria in her power.

Just like A did.

Chapter 31

Congratulations, now eff-off

Later that afternoon, Emily pulled into her driveway just as an ad blared over the radio. “The devastating deceit. The identity twists. The lives at stake. Get the whole story tonight on the anniversary of the Poconos fire and her death. Pretty Little Killer. Brought to you by . . .”

“Ugh,” Emily moaned, switching it off. She couldn’t wait until this day was over and the advertisements went away. She certainly didn’t want to relive the day of Ali’s death—any of them. Especially since she wasn’t even sure if Real Ali was truly dead.

She got out of the car, pulled her swim gear bag over her shoulder, and walked up the snowy front path. Before she opened the door, she tried texting Chloe one more time. I need to talk to you. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t know how to tell you. She’d texted Chloe five times since the swim meet, but Chloe hadn’t written back.

Sighing, she slipped her key in the door, but the knob turned easily already. That was strange—her parents usually kept the door locked tight, afraid of intruders. “Hello?” Emily called in the foyer. No answer. That was weird, too—her parents always at least mumbled some sign of their presence, even if they were beyond pissed at her. The house seemed occupied, though—there was an unfamiliar scent in the air and a nagging sense that someone had just walked down the hall.

The hairs on Emily’s arms stood on end. Various scenarios flipped through her head. What if A was here? What if A had hurt her family? Maybe A—Ali—was pulling out all the stops. Maybe this was the day everything was going down.

A horrible thought stopped her cold. Today was the day of reckoning, the anniversary of Ali’s death, the day she’d tried to kill them. Naturally this was the day she’d come back to finish them off.

“H-hello?” Emily called out again, creeping down the hall toward the kitchen. A sound made her stop and turn. Was that . . . a giggle? Her heart banged in her chest. It was coming from the living room, which was closed off to the hall by French doors. Those doors were never closed.

There was the giggle again. Emily’s hands started to shake. Her mouth went cottony-dry. Slowly, she pushed on the door. It gave way with a wailing creak. What was inside? Dead bodies? The police, here to arrest her for what she did in Jamaica? Ali?

“Surprise!”

Emily screamed and jumped back, bumping hard against the doorjamb. Tons of balloons were tied to the chairs, a wrapped present sat on the couch, and her mother had placed an enormous sheet cake that was in the shape of the University of North Carolina logo on the coffee table. Her parents rushed toward her, huge smiles on their faces.

“Congratulations on the scholarship!” Mr. and Mrs. Fields enveloped her in a hug, the first one they’d given her in months. “We’re so, so proud of you!”

There were more people behind Emily’s parents. She craned over their lumpy bodies and saw baby Grace, Mr. and Mrs. Roland . . . and Chloe. “Oh my God,” Emily whispered, letting her arms go limp.

Mrs. Fields turned and gestured to them. “I invited the Rolands over for cake to help us celebrate! If it weren’t for them, this might not have happened!”

“Yes, thank you again,” Mr. Fields said, walking over to the family and pumping Mr. Roland’s hand up and down.

“It was no trouble,” Mr. Roland said in a stiff, fake-friendly voice. He avoided Emily’s gaze, which was fine with her.

“I’m so glad it worked out for you!” Mrs. Roland gave Emily a big hug. As Emily pressed up to her thin chest, Chloe made a small, choked noise. Emily glanced at her. Her eyes blazed with hatred. The corners of her mouth didn’t show a hint of a smile. To Chloe, Emily was the adulteress. The home wrecker.