She is running and A is chasing her. The plan was a fool proof disaster in the first place. What did the girls expect would happen? They tricked A, they obtained the videos that Maya found, all is well with the world. But A is still out there. The bastard won't go down without a fight, a big finale. The girls went to the police except for one, the one who volunteered, the stupid one with a broken heart who had some avenging to do. She stayed behind to distract A before the cops arrived, alone in the wilderness. Something is bound to go wrong. Well I suppose they were never quite as clever as me, sure Spencer is intelligent but she lacks the instant brilliance shown in a good lie. She may have gotten an A in AP Russian History but she can't make a person doubt the truth with a single persuading glance. That's a power left to a DiLaurentis. But I hand one thing to Spence, she can run like hell thanks to field hockey. That was my weak spot, running. Last time I ran from A I ended the night in the ground, six feet under without a beating heart. Hopefully tonight won't end the same way for Emily. You'd think with all that swimming she would be excellent at a simple athletic task. Turns out her sea legs are better than her land legs. To her credit it is pretty dark in the forest. I can barely make out the shape of her brown jacket, the one we bought together at the mall. I strain my eyes to see her stumble over stumps and logs. Each step is a bold move, like dancing on landmines. I smirked to myself. You always were bold Em, in your own kind of way. Traces of moonlight wander through the throng of thick pine branches. The glow illuminates her face, appearing angelically porcelain. Everything about the girl is revealed to the world, the raw Emily Fields. She was born in a little circle, a halo she wore for most of her life, a cage she tried to break free of for the rest. Her rules were set her plans arranged her aspirations reasonable. She never stepped out of bounds, out of the lines she created for herself. But then she met me. I made her bold I made her insane and I made her life complicated. She needed a whirlwind like me to hit her or else she would have never learned to live. In this scene, in this second, she is iron strength. She is a fortress fearless and proud despite its inevitable peril. She has no chance, no decision, no right or left. She only has her fate. I know what that fate is, and I do not want to believe it. I have seen her suffer and tortured but I cannot see her end. She has too much fight, too much fire left to be silenced. If she was still dull shy shackled Emily it wouldn't hurt so much to see her die. To that wisp of a girl it would be a mercy killing, it would be giving her peace from heartbreak. But that isn't my Emily now. My Emily deserves to live.
"Emily, don't go that way! Listen to me!" I yell but no sound can be heard in the natural world. She will always be deaf to my voice. I'm not sure how I can sense what is coming but I do. Less than 20 feet away from her feet is a cliff drop, one that she could never survive falling. You wouldn't know it was there with all the shrubbery surrounding the ledge. I have this fantasy that perhaps she does know about the slope and is leading A on so that the bastard falls. But that's unlikely.
"Emily, please!" Comes my futile cry once more. Now I am running too, or floating. I propel myself toward her with all the spirit like force I have been given. The strange whoosh sound that clouds my ears almost disorients me. I must be moving faster than the speed of light. The moonlight blurs into streaks across my vision.
God, I don't deserve your mercy, or your sympathy. That is why you've never answered my desperate prayers before. But this isn't for me God. I'm not praying for my sake, I'm praying for hers. Save her God, please, save my Emily. I saved her once but I can't do it again unless you give me some help.
My vision returns. I go from super speed to slowed time. I find myself beside the girl. Her figure is painted silver and black, shadows capturing the essence of the moment. Neither close to the moon above nor close to the dark promise of death below. She is a static frame, a laurel flower bitterly frozen in the winter's chill. Punished for enduring the harvest season and praised by preserving it's everlasting beauty.
"It's going to be okay" I breathe in her ear. Only a finger's length away, a whisper away, I can smell her honeysuckle and gardenia perfume. She leans forward as if to take off into the sky and fly among the stars, but then like the twisted punch line of a joke, she plummet's into the abyss.