A/N: No, time did not reverse. This chapter is supposed to be confusing. It is all part of the mystery. And remember, I am drawing inspiration from the books. Please review. It warms my heart.
Spencer takes a nervous sip of her low-fat mochaccino and checks her text messages. Nothing new from Ali. Darn! She slams the cell phone on the table, loud enough to make an eye-catching thud, but not hard enough to break the thing in two. Alison is never late and it is almost 3pm. She's got to be back to school for social studies. Mr. Tsakalotos' is not a forgiving teacher and will penalize you with a tardy if you're even a second late.
Spencer throws the notes she was studying with while waiting haphazardly into her black-and-red book bag. She peals a pair of fives out of her wallet and folds them neatly on top of the checkbook the waitress left, ensuring there are no creases. To add further to her OCD, she straightens out the checkbook, so it is lined up with the checkered pattern on the table top.
She bends down to scoop up her bag, while trying to get up at the same time, and stumbles into somebody walking by. Spence trips, spinning in a half-circle and landing on her side. The man is unperturbed and rushes to her side. "Spencer?," he questions in a charming British accent that is too familiar. The brunette lifts her gaze and finds herself staring at an awkwardly smiling Wren, her sister's ex-boyfriend.
Unfortunately, Spencer was the reason the two of them broke up. At a Rosewood ball in a tent-city set up in the park, Melissa told Spencer to keep him company while she freshened up. But, when she got back, the two were locking lips, swaying on the dance floor. It was not as horrible as it sounds. Swear. Wren expressed his admiration for the younger sister long before finally giving into passion. One night on the back porch, while Spencer was reading Molière, Wren had gotten a little tipsy and mused that perhaps he had met the wrong sister first. Things cooled off between Melissa and Wren after that. Wren became distant and distracted.
She had so much more in common with the British boy than her sister did. They both read Victorian English literature and could speak comfortably in French. Melissa didn't get his humor like she did. Even though he was an Oxford grad, he was not a snob. He did not define his success by bourgeoisie methods. Making the big shot through the windmill on the last hole of mini golf was as much an achievement as success at work. In those moments, Melissa merely thought him stupid and immature in those moments. Yet, he enjoyed life, something which seemed impossible for a Hastings. Yet, with him it seemed possible.
Alas, it was not to be. After the breakup, Wren tried to woo her, but not wanting to hurt Melissa any further than she already had, she told him nothing could happen between the two of them. They shared one last kiss outside his motel room, and man, was it the perfect goodbye kiss—like in the movies; soft and sweet, but still loaded with passion.
"I am terribly, sorry," he apologies even though the collision wasn't his fault. He reaches out and scoops up some of the contents that spilled out of her book bag, handing them back to her, as she frantically tries to clean up the mess.
"It's not your fault," she mutters as she throws everything into the bag, "You shouldn't be apologizing for me being such a klutz." This time she secures the zipper, so that the same accident won't happen again. She struggles getting to her feet like a baby foal.
"Sometimes a little imperfection paints you in a more flattering light," Wren compliments in his roundabout manner with a sly inflection, "That is something the Hastings never quite seem to learn." He stands with his arms folded over his chest, as if he were scolding all of the Hastings in that moment.
A slight pink blush breaks out on her cheeks as she tilts to the side to try to hide it. "So what you're saying is that I should make sure I get at least a few questions wrong on the SAT, just for fun?," she flirt-whispers the last part, biting down on her index finger. The two of them can never happen, but what's a little harmless coquetry?
Wren chuckles heartily, but does not say a word. Spence gives him a confused look, as if she's the kiddie who didn't get the adult joke. "You know what's so funny, Spencer?," he cannot stand to leave her hopelessly confused for too long, "Is that you don't even realize how silly it sounds to hear a fifteen-year-old talking about the SATs."
That causes the both of them to burst into laughter. "We should invent a new word," he continues poking fun at her, "Whenever someone is overly obsessed with wining in this studious, nerdy way, we should say 'Oh, yeah she's just Hastingsing things up."
"You think I'm a nerd?," Spencer feigns insult, lightly hitting him with her elbow for show.
"I haven't quite decided," he smirks, looking her up from the tips of her shoes to ends of her soft brown hair, "You definitely have much better fashion sense than the typical nerdy girl." He pinches a piece of her fabric, "Though, I have to say, you would look incredible in a pair of those thick, but not-too-thick glasses that'd make you look even smarter." He taps her temple with the tip of his finger, and adds as he leans in to her ear, "Not that that's even possible."
"Oh, hahah…" is all Spencer's crushing mind can think to say in response. She shakes a finger at him, "You're very smooth, you realize that don't you?" A big smile beams across her visage.
"I'd like to think I've developed something of a charming sensibility over the years," Wren answers in that soft accent of his, where he is able to get away with what is actually an arrogant comment without coming off as overly egotistical.
Spencer takes a few steps back and twirls around in a 360-degree circle, not wanting to leave. "Well, no matter how charming you are," Spencer declares in that lecturing voice of hers, "My answer is still 'no'". She smiles brightly as if to mock him. There is something empowering about having somebody want you who can't have you. Being pined over is the ultimate form of flattery. Wren might see ten really pretty girls over the course of the day, but at the end of the day, she knows it is her face he sees when he closes his eyes in bed.
"You can't blame a guy for tryin'," is all Wren says, still staring at her face as if it were a vividly shining diamond. The incredibly alluring facet of the boy is that no matter how many times Spencer tells him "no," it never phases him. He is still as confident and sweet as ever. All the boys at Rosewood High are so childish that the contrast is horrifically shocking. When she turned Andrew Campbell down for a date, he would not talk to her for weeks. It is refreshing to find a man so mature as Wren. Why are all the good ones forbidden fruit?
The brunette shoves her hands in her pockets and breathes out a sigh, not sure what else to say that won't get her in trouble. "Well," she ejects before he can say something more and stop her from leaving, "I have class in a few minutes," she points back in the direction of the school, "So I should probably go." Her eyes look demurely at his brown loafers.
"Of course," he nods with a slightly detectable sadness, "I have no doubt that fate will be kind to me and this will not be the last time we bump into each other." He side-steps a patron who is leaving with an obnoxious assortment of shopping bags that take up the whole width of the aisle.
"We live in a small town," Spencer retorts with a knowing chuckle, "That's not fate, it's just probability." She moves closer to the door and ipso facto closer to him, clutching her bag like she is ready to exit stage left. His delicious Gaultier Fleur du Male cologne invades her nostrils.
"You have your words for it, I have mine," he strikes back at her, "What is it that the Bard said, 'There are more things in heaven and in earth than you have dreamt of in your philosophies.'" His voice at the end gets all high and mighty, like he is giving a presentation in an auditorium at Oxford.
She slips past him towards the door, always keeping her gaze fixed on him. "Such a cliché coming from a limey," Spencer tosses back at him, before she clicks her heals and pushes out the door, leaving him a final, "Cheerio, Gov'ner," in a faux English accent.
A joyful energy pulses through every nerve ending in the brunette's body. Her gait is something of a bouncy step. She resists the urge to let out a little squeal, so she settles for a small giggle and shake of the head. Spencer knows she has to wipe this stupid grin off her face, before she arrives at school. The girls will ask too many question, especially Alison.
Crossing the threshold to the school grounds, Spencer decides to cut through the parking lot. She spots the bright-haired DiLaurentis girl leaning against a car door belonging to one of the senior royalty who have the conspicuous prerogative of driving to school every day. Her head hangs low and she has one leg crossed-over the other.
"Ali," Spencer calls out. She raises her hands in confusion and shouts, "Where the hell were you? You told me you'd meet me for mochas at 2:15." The blonde simply raises her head and stares at her, not offering a justification for standing her up. Spencer taps a foot waiting for an answer.
But now that she is standing close to Alison, she can tell that something is deeply troubling her friend. Ali's posture is uncharacteristically bashful and her eyes look glassy. "Hey, what's wrong?," Spencer asks in a low, concerned voice, while moving in closer to put a comforting hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"I just got off the phone with Emily's Dad," Ali says slowly as if she wants to delay having to finish the whole thought, "Have you seen her at all today? In any of your classes? At lunch?" The words drip heavy off her tongue, and her eyes beg Spencer to take this gravely.
"No, I haven't," Spencer replies in a increasingly nervous pitch, "I just thought she was home sick or something." She twists to rest her body against the car, next to Ali, their shoulders bumping. All the giddiness from before flees from consciousness, replaced with a nervous cathexis. Alison keeps staring at her phone as if it is going to ring any second, but it never does. "What's going on?," Spencer presses, "Is Emily okay?"
Alison shakes her head and mumbles, "I don't know. She isn't answering my calls or texts." She flicks her front teeth with the tip of her tongue, "Her Dad called me asking if any of us had seen Emily at school today or heard from her at all. When I told him I didn't, he asked if all of us could come over the house… saying it was an emergency." Ali looks up into Spencer's face with wide eyes, "It sounded like there were police officers in the background, Spence."
"Oh my God," Spencer exclaims breathlessly. She twists her head, looking all over the parking lot for any of the other girls. "Where are the others?," she says frantically, "We have to get over there, right now." She pulls out her phone and texts Aria and Hanna: "S.O.S. Something is wrong with Emily! Ditch school and meet Ali and me at her house. This is an emergency!" Spencer takes Ali's hand and begins leading her towards the Fields' home, "Come on, we can walk it, it's only a ten minute walk."
The two girls eventually reach Emily's home, after rounding the winding block corner. A police cruiser pulls away from in front, thankfully without sirens. Spencer is the first to enter the house, not bothering not knock. Wayne and Pam are huddled together on the couch. She sobs into her husband's broad shoulders. Before the girls presence is discovered, Wayne tells his inconsolable wife, "It's gonna be okay, sweetie. I'm sure it's not as bad as we think. She probably hasn't gone too far. She'll come home once she knows we want nothing more than to have her back."
Ali's boot lightly catches the edge of the bottom stairs leading up, and the smack draws Wayne's gaze. He lets go of Pam and rises to greet them. "Spencer, Ali," he says pulling them further into the living room with his outstretched arm, "We appreciate you coming so quickly. I know it's a school day."
"We came right over as soon as I found Spencer, Mr. Fields," Ali piques in an usually subdued tone, glancing back at the brunette, "Do the police have any idea where she could be?" Wayne shakes his head sullenly. Ali takes a look at her cell and informs him, "Aria and Hanna are on their way."
Pam rushes up off the couch and gets in Ali's face, "Where is she you lying tramp?" Alison takes a step back in fear and nearly trips over the coffee table. Wayne tries to reign his wife in, but she is not done exploding, "We read the letter. Don't pretend you're not behind this!" Alison stutters to eke out some words, but Pam is having none of it. She takes a palm and smacks it across the blonde's cheek. "How could you do this to my sweet baby girl?"
Ali's winces to the side from the brutal slap that causes quite a red mark to flush across her face. Wayne jumps into action and physically restrains Pam. Spence pulls the blonde back and into a protective hug. "What the hell is wrong with you?," she fires back at Mrs. Fields, rubbing her friend's shoulder. Spencer turns a shell-shocked Ali toward her and says, "You're okay. It's okay."
"She's the reason our Emily is missing," Pam screams through tears, pointing an accusatory finger at the DiLaurentis. Wayne clasps her cheeks in his hands and says in a stern but concerned voice, "That's enough. We're all upset, but we have to be rational about this. She's here so… obviously things aren't what they appear."
Pam interrupts her husband, "She knows something that she not telling us, and I wanna know what she's done to my daughter." But he is not buying her objection. He calmly out-reasons her, "Ali's here, Pam, so we don't even know what's going on, so we all need to calm down and figure out where she is." The sour expression on Pam's face betrays that she does not really agree, but she sits back down on the end of the couch anyway. Wayne mouths an apology to the blonde, not knowing how else to make it up to her.
"Can somebody please tell us what is going on?," Spencer says worried but also frightened. Emily is the sweetest person, she has ever known. Yet, she has always been terribly naive, seeing too much good in people. It is part of her charm, but also opens her up to a lot of dangerous situations. If anybody has taken advantage of her, Spencer swears she is going to tear them apart with her bare hands, and then use the pieces for confetti in the Macy's Day parade.
Wayne looks to Pam who begrudgingly hands him the letter Emily left for them. Wayne glances at it for a few seconds, not fully believing what is written on there, before passing it onto Alison. Given the sensitive nature of its contents, it is only fitting that she be the first to read it. Her eyes quickly buzz over line after line. Halfway through, the girl goes pale and her eyes go wide. She peaks over the letter at Mrs. Fields who is giving her a death-stare.
Spencer notices the tension coursing through her friend's body, but fights the temptation to swing around the other side and read the letter over the other girl's shoulder. "What does it say, Ali?," she coos, "Does it say where she might have gone?" Some of the ink has bled through the back of the letter, but nothing clear enough to try to read, even though Spence possesses the particularly bizarre skill of reading words backwards.
Before Alison can raise her voice to speak, Aria and Hanna burst in the front door, not bothering to wipe their shoes on the welcome mat. "We got your texts," Hanna trumpets, dropping her purse to the floor, "Is Em okay? Where is she?" Aria and Hanna's eyes both search around the room as if she were hiding under somewhere the throw pillows. Aria forgot her jacket, not bothering to go to her locker before heading over, so she rubs her palms up and down the sides of her forearms.
Regaining some of her tenacity, Ali tells the girls, "Emily ran away and we don't know where she is. We don't even know if she's okay." She taps the letter in her hand and looks over to Wayne for confirmation. Hanna's jaw simply drops open at the news, while Aria is too freaked out and cannot move a muscle. "There's something I have to tell you guys," she says dryly, avoiding eye contact with any of them.
Wayne all but orders Pam, "Let's give the girls some privacy," while tugging on her shoulder. Wanting to put up a fight, but out of all steam, she complies, wrapping an arm over him. Ali gives Mr. Fields a thankful smile, and he just nods knowingly in recognition. Emily's father has always been the softer of the two, even if he is actually a macho military man with two tours in Afghanistan.
Ali sits on the tan arm chair, not saying a word. Aria and Hanna take up seats on the Field's couch, but Spencer remains on her feet, at Alison's side. "Emily and I were," she begins but pauses, unsure of how to say this. The girls wait on her with horrible anticipation, Hanna even leaning in forward. "We were… we were kind of together," Ali forcefully stutters out. The others share befuddled glances back and forth.
"You mean the two of you were," Aria is the first to speak up but she does not know how to finish the sentence, so instead she intertwines her fingers to signify "togetherness." Hanna shows pure confusion at the whole ideal, wondering if she heard Alison correctly. The thought of Alison being with a girl has never once crossed her mind; least of all such a sweet and shy girl like Emily. Ali was perpetually the man-eater. She had two or three guys on the hook at any given time.
Alison merely stares into their faces like a dumb lamb and hands the letter up to Spencer, who rests on the thick arm of the chair. Aria and Hanna slink over to peer at the contents of the letter Emily left behind to explain her actions. They each read the letter silently, though Hanna mouths along with the words. The script is Em's signature, flawless cursive:
There's something I have to tell you. Mom, Dad, I'm Gay.
I have known for a long time that I've felt this way. But I buried it down deep inside and pretended like I don't have these feelings. I close my eyes and pretend like I'm okay kissing Ben. I pretend that it will all be okay if I just push through it… that someday it will feel right.
But I am tired of pretending. I can't do it anymore. I kissed Alison for the first time in the library last semester and I have never felt more alive, or more… me. But, at the time, I forced myself into believing it was just a silly kiss. Now, I know better.
Ali is running away from home tonight, because her parents are going to ship her off to military school for bad behavior… and I have to go with her. I know you guys are not going to be able to tolerate a daughter who is such a disgrace to you, anyway. I do not want to be sent away to some conversion camp just so you can pretend like you have the perfect little daughter to the neighbors. I know that after you read this letter, you'll no longer love me. I know what you'll think of me, and I cannot stand to have you looking at me every day like I'm a disappointment and a burden. So, running away is the only option I have left, just like Alison.
All I know is that I am irrevocably and hopelessly in love with Alison DiLaurentis. I don't know if she loves me like I love her, or not, but I know that every time we kiss, I feel whole… and this might all end in heartbreak, but I cannot live a lifetime wondering what might have happened. She asked ME to be the one to come with her, and that has to mean something.
I can't let her wander off on her own. She is not nearly as tough as she thinks she is, or she appears to be. She needs someone to watch out for her, someone to stop her from getting into so much trouble.
Even if you will no longer love me after this, know that I still love you Mom and Dad with all my heart, and I am sorry for not being who you wanted.
Love,
Em
Spencer rubs small circles on Alison's back. "I'm sorry I never told any of you," Ali confesses, "But I didn't know what I felt. I was confused, and scared, so I told Em to keep, whatever it was between us, a secret." She curls into Spencer's side, her long blonde hair bunching up and over the length of her arm. She seems so small, so timid now. Normally, her body projects power outwardly, but today, she is caved in, passive and compliant.
"It's okay, Ali," Spencer reassures, "None of us are going to judge you for 'being' with Emily." Spencer's voice drops a few octaves before she continues, "It is a little shocking for all of us to hear, but we'll get used to it. We just have to find Em first. And, I'm sure the police will find her soon." Not a minute ago, Spencer was a mess herself. Yet, upon discovering this revelation, it is her first natural instinct to play the role of nurturer. The first objective has to be to get Ali back to equilibrium. She and Ali haven't been getting along the last month or so, jockeying for power in their circle, but all that has instantly melted into air, these last fifteen minutes. All their high school problems seem so small compared to this. "Yeah," Aria concurs, teaming up with Spence to reassure their friend who appears so vulnerable now, "I think it's kind of sweet, actually," offering a tiny smile.
"That's not why I'm so upset," Alison growls, pushing her head off of Spencer and clenches her jaw, "I don't care what you or anyone else thinks of me."
"Wait, why are we focusing on the fact that Ali and Em were getting their lesbigay on," Hanna interjects too loudly, "That letter Emily left makes absolutely no sense." All eyes draw their focus to the boorish blonde. "Why is Emily writing that she is running away with Ali," Hanna taps her open palm with a small karate chop for emphasis, "When she is sitting right here? Am I the only one that finds that really queer." Hanna catches the Freudian slip, rolls her eyes at the look Spencer gives her in response, and squeaks in defense, "Oh, you know what I mean. Focus people! She could have been kidnapped and that is a fake letter."
"But it's her handwriting," Spencer retorts, "Nobody could have faked her style that precisely. What are we supposed to believe? That somebody broke into her bedroom window, forced her to write that letter, and then stole her away into the night, without waking her parents?"
Alison slams her hand down on the coffee table, causing the glasses resting there to shake and nearly fall off the edge. The girls jump and straighten their postures. "All of you, need to listen to me for a minute," she commands, tired of this bickering back and forth, in a voice that is still high strung. Hanna nearly peed her pants there. When Alison uses this voice, they know she means business.
When she does not immediately explain herself, Spencer is bold enough to ask, "What is it, Ali?"
Ali lets out a sigh and tries to remain stoic. "I think I know who took, Em. It's the only thing that makes all of this have any kind sense to it… Emily saying I asked her to run away with me, even though I never had that conversation with her." She pauses not wanting to speak these next words and sound like a crazy. All eyes burn into her, waiting for an answer. "It has to be Courtney," she divulges, trying to swallow but her mouth is too dry.
That name means nothing to the others, as they scrunch their faces in confusion. "Who's Courtney?," Hanna interrogates.
"My twin sister," Ali replies.