Hello! I'll keep this short because you all have better things to do than read my ANs, and if you've taken the time to check out this story I definitely don't want to bore you. This is set during the S4 Halloween episode, so spoilers up until then. It picks up during the fight in the greenhouse, and then obviously takes an alternative route. There are only going to be four chapters, the next of which should be up very soon, sooner if I see people are liking this so far. So read, review, favorite, you know the deal. See you next chapter, I hope.
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Face to face with her attacker, Spencer finds herself frozen. She can't see his eyes through his mask, but in her mind she pictures them clearly: dark, glittering, full of malice. Her hand flutters out, reaching for the mask, but she pauses before she touches it; a butterfly about to alight, unsure whether the reward will be nectar or poison. A few forceful words creep into her mind, tough love to remind herself that she needs to do this. She's too determined to change her mind now, too strong to back down. The eleventh hour is no time for cowardice.
Yet her hand still shakes as she curls her fingers around the bottom of the mask, nudging it up inch by inch, revealing features that tell her nothing she doesn't already know. A strong jaw, smooth-shaven skin. The face of someone full of self-confidence. Despite the rugged features, there's a kind of softness about him, and in the second before the mask comes clean off, Spencer's mind fills with pleasant images: bouncing puppies, a bouquet of balloons, a field of flowers.
In one smooth movement she pulls the mask off, and the cloud of images disappears, mist dissipated by the harsh light of truth, the clarity of knowledge. Painful, unbelievable, irrefutable. The word 'no' slips from her mouth and she stumbles back, still staring at her attacker. The face of an angel, the visage of a killer. Panic jolts through her, but before she can get out of the way she notices his eyelids flicker, and then his eyes open.
They share a long look, conveying everything. Her shock at finding him here; his surprise at being discovered. Their fear, her for her life, him for his cover. You're A, she thinks, but she can't even say the words. Her mind, her mouth, her limbs have all forgotten how to work. Courage and intellect have abandoned her, and all that remains is instinct. Woefully inadequate, her last chance.
"Spencer," Ezra splutters in surprise, pulling himself up into a sitting position.
She can see the wheels in his mind turning. Trying to decide if a lie will save him, as surely as the truth has doomed her. Making up his mind, he shoots forward. Spencer lets out a startled shriek and manages to dive out of the way, but it's only a brief reprieve; the next second he's swerved, crashing into her and knocking her to the ground. Suppressing a grunt of pain, she tries to push him off, but he's too strong, and her fear makes her clumsy. He quickly overpowers her, pining her to the ground. Their eyes meet again, and his are exactly how she imagined them. Cold, glittering with malice. Without another word he hauls her to her feet and shoves her forward.
Her heart jumps into overtime, but it's sending blood to all the wrong places; her face is flushed, her skin tingling with anticipation. But her limbs are still reluctant to move, and it's all she can do to put one foot in front of the other. Ezra guides her down a hall, takes a corner, down another one. Every step of the way she thinks of fighting back or calling out, but she can't overpower him and there's no guarantee anyone will hear her.
Spencer is close to tears by the time they come to a stop at a door, painted or stained a faint yellow. One hand still clamped on Spencer's arm, Ezra uses the other to open the door. Knowing her cue, Spencer walks inside. The room is dark, and even when Ezra flicks on a light and closes the door behind them, the details of the room still seem unclear. The dim light from the bulb vaguely illuminates some shadowy furniture shapes in one corner, and a rug that looks horribly like it might be bearskin.
A heavy silence descends on the room, and Spencer steps away from Ezra; a pointless gesture, since he's still guarding the door. She licks her lips and cuts through the silence. "What are you doing here?"
Her English teacher surveys her calmly, although she can see a hint of unease clouding his eyes. This isn't part of his plan. "You know the answer to that," he says, his voice devoid of the malice his body language suggests. "You were in my lair, after all."
"Your lair," Spencer says, the words as heavy on her tongue as they are in her heart. "You're A."
He shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. "Among other things, yes."
"And you came here tonight because you're…" She trails off, but he picks up on her meaning.
"Looking for Alison?" he fills in. Of course."
Although Spencer is still terrified, her desire for answers makes her bold. Here is the one person who might be able to explain everything they've gone through since Alison disappeared, and she's not going to let fear ruin her chance. "You knew her," Spencer accuses. "You're the one she was scared of."
Another infuriating shrug, neither confirming nor denying anything. "You know, you're getting in the way here," he says. "I had this all planned out, and you're not sticking to the script."
"This isn't some play, Ezra," she spits, trying to gauge just how unstable he is. "This is real. And real people are getting hurt. You almost killed me back in the greenhouse -"
And you're going to kill me now. She doesn't say it, but she knows he can read it in her eyes. That's why he brought her to this room, why he's been inching closer to her during this whole conversation. Hoping to catch her by surprise, ready to deliver the killing blow.
"That's not going to help," he says as she backs up. His voice is still dark, but he sounds almost amused. "You've become a liability, Spencer. A loose end. And now you know who I am, I can't have you running off to your little friends -"
"So you're going to murder me?" she challenges. Her voice is high, but it comes across as indignant rather than helpless, which is of small comfort. Something in the way his expression shifts, slipping into something almost bragging, tips her off. "This isn't the first time," she says cautiously. "You… Were you the one who killed Alison?"
His only reply is another shoulder shrug, but it's answer enough. Spencer clenches her fist, but she knows there's nothing she can do. She's trapped in here with a murderer, and she's about to be his next victim.
"For what it's worth, I am sorry," he says, taking a step toward her. "I didn't want it to end this way, but I think it's unavoidable."
Ezra is unnervingly calm and casual, like his only hesitation is the fact that killing Spencer might get blood on his clothes. He holds her gaze as he reaches into a pocket in his suit, but a second later his eyes snap downward. Spencer's heart leaps, for just a moment: he must have dropped his weapon during the struggle in the greenhouse.
"Wait here," Ezra growls, turning on his heel and striding out the door.
"Where do I have to go?" Spencer mutters to his retreating figure, but as soon as the door closes she flings herself against it. It's an old house, maybe the lock won't hold. Maybe he didn't lock it properly. Or maybe there's someone nearby who will hear her.
She pounds against the door, feeling the wood creak beneath her fists, but every second that passes brings Ezra closer to his return. And no one comes to save her. She keeps at it, sheer doggedness rather than hope spurring her on. She knows there's no way anyone will reach her before he comes back. Game over, thanks for playing.
She hears footsteps echo down the hall, and she knows it's over.
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