A/N: Wow, guys! That's actually the most reviews I've ever gotten on ANY chapter. Thank you! And I loved some of your comments. Let me just say, last chapter was NOT a dream! But I still love the enthusiasm, Dream Conspiracist. All theories welcome, especially after this next chapter.
Emily leaned back in her seat, hearing the high pitched groan of metal on metal, feeling the back of her thighs catch the edge of the thick, worn plastic.
"I'm going to go higher than you!" a voice taunted next to her. It was syrupy and playful.
"Nuh uh!" she shouted back, too elated to come up with a better reply.
Emily took a hard breath, her swing reaching its pinnacle, her body angled towards the ground. There was that feeling of weightlessness before she pitched forward, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she looked left. Ali's blonde hair was flowing behind her like a flag waving in the wind, and her eyes were sharp and clear like the blue sky behind her.
No, they were even bluer, Emily thought.
She tried not to stare, a smile plastered on her face, but it was impossible. Alison looked too pretty to look away. So, she didn't, heaving another great breath as she swung in a half arc, long legs straight as boards in front of her as she reeled in the sense of vertigo. Alison caught her eye just as they swung high again, and Emily wasn't sure which felt scarier, looking at Alison like this, or hurtling butt first back towards the earth.
"We almost had it!" Ali shouted giddily as they continued to swing.
They weren't actually in a competition to go the highest. Instead, they were trying to perfectly sync, side by side, but Emily was a little convinced that Ali kept throwing off their timing. Right as Emily would catch up, Ali would extend a leg, letting her foot skid along the dirt, and Emily would shoot past her, resetting their game. Then, Ali would cackle evilly.
This was a game Ali had enjoyed lately. Emily had only been her friend for a few months, so who was she to argue? She would do anything Ali asked. Especially because… Emily wasn't sure why, but right when they'd sync their swinging, Ali would shout out the weirdest phrase. Something that always made Emily's ears go a little hot.
In fact, as they reached the peak of their next swing, Ali reached out her hand, breaching the air between them, her fingers looking small and delicate.
"We're married!" she screamed in excitement.
Emily focused on Ali's fingers nearing hers, on the idea that if she could move those last few inches, they'd be touching. Maybe she'd even be holding Alison's hand. But then Ali was flying away from her, shooting off the edge of her seat, and Emily was left hurtling backwards, hand outstretched.
She'd forgotten. When Ali said that, they were both supposed to jump off their swings. But she'd been distracted. Alison had been right there. She had been so close. Why was her best friend always just out of her reach?
She flew off the seat on the next pass, eyes closed and trying to forget that terrible feeling.
Emily shivered, stirring from sleep. She wasn't sure why she felt a chill, she'd felt something warm on her earlier, something soft. But now she felt its absence acutely, and she searched for it, one hand ghosting under the sheet, other reaching out into the air.
What was she missing?
Alison, she thought suddenly, jerking awake.
Shit.
Alison was uncuffed. She could've escaped. She could've taken the gun. Emily sat up fast, even though she felt a surge of nausea and the room spun slightly, tilting on its axis. She had to find her, though, before Ali found the cops.
She whipped her legs off the bed, a sheet clutched around her chest, when her eyes fell on a figure watching her curiously from the floor. Alison sat there, a piece of chicken in her hand, those crystal blue eyes looking at Emily like a particularly fascinating zoo animal.
Emily merely stared back at her for a moment, shocked Ali was still in the hotel room, shocked she was eating so casually, and wondering, really, what in the hell she was doing on the floor. She was also in a different, over large t-shirt and warm looking sweat pants, like she'd left the room recently.
"What is that?" Emily finally asked, her voice sounding scratchy, alcohol abused.
"I got us food," Ali shrugged, indicating a large plastic bag full of Styrofoam packages.
Emily looked at the bag, then back at Alison, if possible, even more disbelieving than before.
"You bought us food?" she asked with a hint of skepticism.
"Well, I wouldn't say 'bought,'" Ali answered, biting into the orange chicken with those perfect white teeth.
Watching Ali eat, Emily instantly became aware of her own hunger. She felt her stomach rumble angrily, long neglected. She was keenly aware that the food was Chinese, she could smell the spices, the meat, even the rice.
She pulled the sheet with her, sliding to the floor next to Alison with her back against the bed. She removed one of the packages, not caring at all what it might be. She'd eat anything. It could be road kill, and she wouldn't care.
Fortunately for her, it was not. She tore into something with noodles, broccoli, and some sort of honeyed chicken. She was halfway through the entire box before hazarding a glance at Alison.
"You didn't kill someone for this, did you?" she managed between bites.
Ali turned to look at her, a devilish smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"No," she answered in that seductive rasp. "But I would have."
Emily tried not to let her eyes idle too long on Ali's lips as they wrapped around a spoonful of egg drop soup, but she didn't quite manage. So, she continued to eat while scanning the pink tinged scar, the ocean deep darkness of Ali's blue eyes, and her glossy, pulled back pony tail. Ali looked back her, searching Emily, too. For what? Emily had no idea.
Feeling an unbidden pang of regret, Emily looked away, back into her steamed vegetables. Was it because of what had happened last night? Or was it because of the dream? That had been her Ali, the gleeful squeals, the manic smile. Courtney had loved swinging, and they'd done it for hours on end in 7th grade.
What would Courtney think of her now?
She swallowed a too large bite, and couldn't help but wonder if she had betrayed her best friend. Emily had slept with her sister, her killer. Twice now. The person who had laughed at Emily, mocked her, and tortured her. But she could also hear that silky voice again, like a smoke tendril curling up into the darkness,
"I'm obsessed with you, honey."
Emily chewed, not sure what to make of her twisting insides. So, she pushed the thoughts away, mostly out of guilt because she didn't want to risk getting turned on again. By Courtney's fucking killer.
She glanced at the blonde, but Ali was no longer watching her, picking instead at the plastic packaging of a fortune cookie.
"Do you think this will tell us the future, Em?" she said teasingly.
Emily didn't reply as she watched her crack the shell open, not bothering to eat it as the pieces fell to the floor. She slid the paper from the cookie with those same small, delicate fingers and read thoughtfully.
"Well, that was about what I expected," she said under her breath, nonplussed, tossing it into Emily's lap.
Emily picked it up while she continued to eat.
"You will be the guest of a gracious host."
Emily furrowed her brow at that, somewhat unsettled by the message, before she felt Ali shift beside her.
"I think this will be a more insightful, sweetie," Ali said, holding up a crumpled post card.
Emily bristled at that damn nickname, but then her eyes fell to what Ali was holding. The note.
"I found it in your jeans," Ali explained simply, sounding neither angry nor particularly pleased. Just calm. Blank.
Emily sighed, putting her food down on the stained carpet. She took it from Ali, going over it once again, suppressing a feeling of hot, boiling anger.
It was just a post card for Philadelphia, a picture of a giant cracked liberty bell on the front side, but on the back, it had unusual handwriting, slanted and small.
You sentimental fool,
don't you know I'm irreplaceable?
Your time is running out.
If you're missing something,
try checking the last place you saw it.
-C
"What does it mean?" Ali asked as Emily glared down at the writing.
"Well," Emily started with bitter resignation, dropping the note back into Ali's lap. "It looks like it's from your copy cat. You said they signed their messages this way."
Ali looked at her with narrowing eyes. She flattened the post card with her thumb, smoothing the bent corners.
"I don't know," she said with uncertainty. "It's different. The other messages, they always used things I'd said before. I never said anything like this."
"What do you mean, things you said before?" Emily asked. "Like what?"
"You know me," Ali started slowly. "You killed me."
Emily heard Alison, heard that voice, and it was like she was looking at her again. Like Courtney was saying that to her. It was haunting. It hurt. She looked away, clenching her jaw.
"That was one," Ali sighed. "'It's my turn to torture you.' That was another."
"So, things you said as -A?" Emily asked.
Ali nodded.
"Is it the same handwriting?"
Ali leaned forward, looking at the script.
"Yes."
"Well, then it seems pretty clear to me that it's Cece," Emily snapped in a terse tone, closing the lid of her now empty styrofoam package. "She's fucking with you."
Ali glanced sharply up.
"This is not Cece," she stated in a growl. "It's obviously Paige."
"I thought it was me?" Emily challenged, holding Alison's tiger-like, aggressive gaze.
Ali didn't flinch, her eyes burning but otherwise unreadable.
"Like I told you, Paige was helping," she replied, ignoring Emily. "Or maybe that was just a ruse, and she's the actual killer. But either way, this is her. It's not CeCe."
Ali said it with complete finality, but Emily still wasn't so sure. She thought back to Paige, to the brown-haired girl from the club. She hadn't struck Emily as some Ali-obsessed psycho. But then again she remembered the lingering touch, the comment about Emily's hair.
"You were talking to her," Ali said, and Emily glanced up quickly, the desire to tell Alison to get out of her head on the tip of her tongue. "What did she say?"
"You're pretty innocent, huh?" Emily could hear in her mind, the base of CeCe's Gaga pounding like a rushing heartbeat in her ears.
She felt woozy for a second, maybe the food wasn't settling well in her stomach. She closed her eyes, trying not to get sick. After a moment, she opened them again, collecting her thoughts.
"She might've recognized me," she admitted quietly.
She glanced at the blonde, expecting Ali to be mad but she only sighed, leaning back on her palms, looking deep in thought.
"Is that how you were going to set me up?" Emily continued, her voice gaining in strength, her stomach still pitching. "That night? Through Paige?"
"Yes," Ali breathed, toying with lint on the ground. "We were going to kill her. So, maybe this is payback."
Emily sighed, clutching the sheet tighter to her chest and rolling her eyes.
"Everything is always your fault."
"This is not my fault," Ali defended angrily. "I told you the copy cat would come to me, and they did."
"Yes," Emily clipped back. "And then you drugged us, so we wouldn't be able to stop them. Great work, Alison."
Ali only smoldered, nails digging into the fibers of the carpet. Emily snatched the note back up.
"You asked what this meant?" Emily said, waving the post card in front of her. "I'm guessing she wants us to go back to the crime scene," she spat, tossing it back at Alison and standing.
"It's going to be crawling with cops," Ali argued.
"Well, we can't stay here anyway," Emily said, looking down at Ali's incredulity. "If it is Paige, I bet she knows exactly where we are. And she left us CeCe's wallet for a reason. That's what we're 'missing,' isn't it?"
Ali's expression shifted to a grim one.
"She wants to play."
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Emily said through her teeth, finally walking away.
She needed to put some clothes on. Warm clothes for once. And she needed to go make sure the damn gun was still in the bathroom.
"What if we don't go along?" Ali suggested as Emily rooted through the packed bag for clothes.
Emily grumbled, dropping the sheet. She slipped a shirt over her head and pulled underwear and jeans over her legs. She turned around to Alison, who was sporting a bit of a flustered expression, still sitting on the floor.
"I know you're not used to being on this side of the game, Ali," Emily started, a bit of a mocking tone to her voice. "But there is no 'not playing along.'"
Ali looked like she was about to argue, so Emily crossed the room and leaned over the blonde, pressing a loose strand from her pony tail behind her ear. Ali stilled under her touch.
"It's either something bad happens," she said, caressing her jaw. "Or something worse."
After they dressed warmly and situated their wigs, they were back out in the frigid cold. The bag was slung over Alison's shoulder and the gun and cuffs safely tucked into each of Emily's jacket pockets. It wasn't for the cops, though, Emily wasn't quite sure she could use it on them. Instead, she was worried about the blonde to her left. Ali seemed compliant enough, but Emily wasn't about to start thinking she could predict a psychopath. So, she was going to stay prepared.
She waited for Ali to check them out of their hotel, kicking a rock in the parking lot. Emily knew she wouldn't miss it. Actually, she hoped she'd never see this place again. When they started walking, she didn't look at the convenience store either, the dull white light shining out onto the pavement in front of them. She didn't really look at anything as she followed Alison's petite form. Emily wasn't sure where they were going, how they even got here, but Alison always seemed to know the way.
Always.
Again, they walked in silence, but it seemed more amicable than last time. Less tense. Alison didn't seem to be trying to avoid her, in fact, they stood nearer to each other, and Ali's hand sometimes even bumped Emily's.
It made Emily wonder if Alison, psycho killer, was even capable of holding hands. Did she ever hold Nick's hands? Did she ever hold her parents? Emily would probably never know. She watched the blonde's face, the silver tipped scar at her eye brow moving as Ali lifted it, questioning Emily as she caught her eye.
But Emily looked away, back at the concrete.
The closer they got, they kept to the alleys, pressed close to the walls of the passing buildings. Ali wound down the same narrow passageway, the one they'd exited from before, and Emily finally recognized something about where they were. But not totally. Something had changed.
"That wasn't down before," Ali said, pausing and indicating a fire escape ladder.
She was right. The ladder jutted out into the alleyway as if it were asking to be climbed.
"Do you think it's for us?"
"Certainly makes things easier," Ali replied as she circled around it, placing her hands on the cold metal. "Help me up?"
Emily was reluctant to follow her request, but she slid her hands around Ali's waist and pushed her up the ladder, anyway. Afterwards, she jumped, her muscles burning as she lifted herself onto the ladder. As they both climbed, she tried not to stare at Ali's ass when she gazed skyward.
After three floors, they came to a flat landing. There was a window, and Emily peered in.
"I don't see any cops," she said.
"Don't touch anything," Ali responded sharply.
"We don't have gloves," Emily snarked back.
"Then use your sleeve."
Emily rolled her eyes but followed her instruction, finding the window unlocked as she moved to lift it up, her hand pressed through her sleeve.
"Do you think this is how Paige got in?" Ali asked, climbing in behind, using Emily's shoulder and hand for support.
Emily wasn't sure, feeling the cold sting of Ali's hands on hers. She resisted the urge to try to warm it up, dropping it to Ali's side. When she looked around, she noticed it was the guest room, the one they'd both slept in.
Something about it bothered Emily. What if Ali was right? She looked back at the window. What if Paige had come in this way? What if she'd seen…
She hadn't, Emily thought. They would've noticed. Or woken up.
Right?
She thought back to her state of mind. She was so high. And not just on the drugs, but on Alison. Would she have noticed a face in the window, a creak on the fire escape? She hadn't even known there was a fire escape there.
She didn't like the feeling that was beginning to settle in her chest, her stomach.
Ali brushed past her, though, back into the living room, giving Emily a weird sense of déjà vu. Like they had just done this, which they had only a few nights ago. She followed the blonde, but there was nothing there. It was quiet. The blood that was splattered red looked darker now, brown on the white paint. There was police tape in certain areas, outlines, but otherwise, nothing seemed different.
"What're we supposed to be looking for?" Ali hissed in a whisper, her irritation clearly mounting.
Suddenly, the TV turned on and Ali jumped backwards into Emily, grabbing her arms. Emily tensed, too, but nothing happened. The TV was black for a moment before it shifted into color, and a news segment played.
"It's a development hardly anyone can believe," a female news anchor started, looking grave as she sat behind a black and mahogany desk. "The video was posted to multiple social media platforms, from multiple accounts, and even though it's been taken down repeatedly, it's now become viral."
Then, the television paused and something else played. It was black and slightly blurry, grainy from lack of light. But then there was motion, two shadows moving. It became eerily familiar to Emily, like something from a dream.
"Emily," she heard a voice say, long and drawn out, but unmistakable.
Oh, shit, she thought. She knew what this was, but she still couldn't believe her fucking ears. And judging by the way Ali's shoulders immediately tensed under her fingertips, Ali knew what it was, too. She shifted away from Emily, towards the TV, getting a closer look.
"Emily," it said again, this time breathier, choppy, and Ali raised her hands to her face, covering her mouth.
"Don't stop."
"Oh my God," Ali blurted out.
She leaned forward quickly to turn off the TV, but it didn't work. She became frantic, repeatedly slamming it, searching, hitting any button she could find.
But the news anchor droned on.
"Unfortunately, that's all our network is able to show, but one thing has become clear. The relationship between Alison DiLaurentis and Emily Fields is not what we thought. Which beg the questions… is Alison DiLaurentis guilty after all?"
"Shut up!" Ali shouted, standing again, pulling at strands of her hair, pacing in front of the TV. Emily merely stood still, too shocked to believe it could be real.
"Is Emily Fields innocent? Or in it with her?"
Then, the image paused again, white words appearing on a black screen. Emily could hear Alison breathing angrily, like she might literally explode with rage.
Who is playing who?
Don't forget, sis. She'll never love you.
-C