A/N: Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story and keeps letting me know what they think in reviews! I love the feedback. Apologies for the long delay, lots of drama in real life. I know this is a short chapter, but we're going to meet the copy cat very shortly in the next chapter. We'll also see my Captive rendition of Emison at the wishing well.
Before Spencer had barged into the room, Emily's relationship with Alison had felt like it existed inside of a bubble, a microcosm. Even Spencer's lake house had felt like their own personal snow globe. No one had seem them together. No one had talked to them. It was just Emily and Alison, blocked from the outside world.
But now that Spencer stared down at the pair of them, gaze as sharp and focused as a microscope, her unusual relationship with Ali felt blown wide, naked and exposed.
On top of the fact that Emily was actually naked and exposed.
"Ugh," Spencer groaned out loud, rolling her eyes and turning her back. "Can you please put some clothes on?
Alison watched Spencer as she still straddled Emily, a sheet over her chest. Emily couldn't see her face, but she felt her shift a leg off of her hips and move to stand up. Ali grabbed one of the discarded robes on the floor, a robe that that Emily could still remember taking off, pushing down her shoulders while she left a mark, stinging red, on her neck. She had to push the thought away as Ali slipped it on. She was already inappropriately aroused enough in front of company.
"Hey, sis," Ali said with a smirk, tying the robe tight at the waist.
Emily closed her eyes tight to avoid rolling them completely.
"You are not my sister," Spencer said sharply in return, her eyes lancing to Emily.
"Can I speak to you, Emily?" she said again quickly, her voice hitting a high pitch that Emily knew she reserved only for extraordinary displeasure. "In private."
Emily opened her eyes again and nodded. Taking an awkward gulp, she reached for the other robe and when she looked up, Alison was watching her. Her expression was difficult to read, though. Did she want Emily to tell her to stay? To tell her to go?
When Emily said nothing, merely shrugging herself into the robe and pulling it closed, Ali turned on her heel and padded across the floor, throwing Spencer another especially baleful look. Spencer, for her part, refused to look at the blonde, her eyes trained on a spot in the corner. But once Alison was through the doorway, Spencer whirled, slamming the door shut behind her.
"What the hell are you doing?" she exploded. "Were you just—were you in bed with her?!"
Emily felt like that was a redundant question. She was obviously just in bed with Alison, but she still opened her mouth defensively to reply… but to say what?
"Of course not!"
"No!"
"Why would you think that?"
"It's not what it seems!"
But, unfortunately, it was exactly what it seemed. Only Emily didn't know where to even begin with how to explain that uncomfortable truth.
"My parents called me, Emily," Spencer continued in a rage. "They said the alarm had been disabled here and asked if it was me. I came here from Princeton! The fire, I thought—I thought you were hurt!"
Spencer threw a hand to her face, looking distraught, her cheeks splotchy and pink. She was wearing a crisp white pea coat with a deep red scarf. Her hair fell straight and dark over her shoulders. She was still wearing her gloves, which looked expensive and couture.
"I thought the video was a fake," she said to no one in particular, dropping the hand again. "I was scared she was hurting you, and instead I find this."
Emily flinched at the weight of Spencer's tone. She had never really spoken to Emily this way before. Sure, she'd been the recipient of Spencer's disappointment many times in the past, who hadn't? But still, this felt different. Spencer had always hated Ali on a level, even when they were best friends, but she especially hated Real Ali. Emily did, too, they all did. Right?
She felt conflicted, confused, but more than that, she felt guilty. What was she going to say to Spencer? How was she going to explain her behavior? Tell her that Alison had changed? She hadn't. She was still cold and calculating. A killer. All that had changed were the layers to those qualities. And then the layers beneath those layers. As if she were a very still lake that ran cold and psychotically deep.
"Spencer, you don't understand—" Emily tried to defend with a resigned sigh.
"Of course I don't understand!" Spencer cut her off. "That's fucking A, Emily! She tried to kill you, she tried to kill all of us!"
"I haven't forgotten, Spence," Emily said through gritted teeth, feeling her temper flare.
"She pulled her own fucking teeth out with a pair of pliers!"
"I know what she did, Spence!"
"Are you sure?" Spencer asking angrily. "Is this how you're repaying her? By sleeping with her?"
"No!" Emily shouted, flustered. "This wasn't part of the plan!"
"No shit!" Spencer cried back.
Emily shut her mouth, clenching her jaw tight. She looked away, and Spencer paced angrily in front of her, like some sort of caged, angry lion.
As the silence stretched on, she turned to Emily again, releasing a loud huff.
"Just talk to me," Spencer begged, her voice sounding strained. She pressed a finger to her temple as if trying to ward off a very serious migraine. "Why are you here? Where are you going? What are you doing?"
Emily shook her head, dropping her eyes back to the cushy carpet again, digging her bare feet into the fibers. She had no defense. She had no reasoning.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted quietly.
Spencer's face fell. Emily didn't need to look up to endure its full affect, she could see it well enough in her periphery. She knew Spencer would've liked her to have a plan, any plan, over having no plan. Spencer hated chaos.
"You're in really deep, Em," she said softly. "The police thought you'd kidnapped Ali. Now they're saying you two killed a bar owner and that you're working together."
"We didn't kill anyone," Emily said, pinching the sheets under her fingers.
"But you are working together?"
Emily didn't answer.
"Why didn't you call me?" Spencer asked. "I've been trying to reach you for months."
"You haven't—" Emily started sharply, feeling anger bubbling in her chest. She could feel it in her cheeks, too, burning hot. "You haven't been here. You don't know what it's been like."
"You haven't told me!"
"I can't tell you everything, Spencer," Emily replied heatedly, voice rising. "I mean, look at you."
Spencer glanced down, not understanding, as if trying to find a stain on her clothes that wasn't there.
"You're finally living the life you wanted," Emily explained with a flourish of her hand. "You don't want to hear from me."
"Yes I do, Emily," Spencer argued. "You won't let me in!"
"So, you could do what?" Emily barked. "She wasn't dragging your name through the press. No one was calling you a murderer. Why would you get involved?"
"Because you're my friend!" Spencer shouted again. "One of my best friends. And this is a huge mess, and you said yourself you have no idea what you're doing."
Emily rolled her eyes in frustration while Spencer looked as though she were thinking hard, brows furrowed.
"Is that what this is all about?
"What?" Emily asked insolently.
"Were you going to hurt her? Was it revenge?"
Emily shook her head. Spencer just didn't get it.
"That's not it."
"Then, let's go to the police," Spencer said matter-of-fact. "Explain it all."
"No," Emily said with another frustrated sigh.
Spencer smoldered, her anger crackling. She pressed her lips in a hard line.
"Why not? Are you protecting her?" she accused.
Emily looked away.
"She's manipulating you," Spencer argued. "It's like you're her pitbull again. Her killer."
"That's not true," Emily spat back, eyes flashing up. "There's someone else. They're pinning evidence on us."
"Someone else?" Spencer cried out in frustration, pacing again. "Another A?"
"Not another A," Emily said. "The copy cat."
Spencer fixed her with a hard gaze.
"So another A."
She kept pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, until Emily was sure she was going to leave burn marks.
"Are you going to turn us in?" Emily asked, clutching the bed sheets again.
"Don't you think I would have already?" Spencer said angrily under her breath.
She kept pacing. Emily wasn't sure if she was relieved by that answer or not.
"They're not going to believe you," she said, chewing on a nail. "Especially not with Alison around. Who the fuck knows what she'll say."
Emily couldn't argue with her.
"She's probably skipped town by now anyway."
"No," Emily said slowly. "Knowing her, she's probably standing right outside the door, listening to everything."
"Wanna bet?" Spencer asked bitterly.
Emily only had time to raise her eyebrows before Spencer turned back to the door and threw it open.
Sure enough, Alison was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking porcelain and indifferent.
"Now, that you're here," Ali started coolly. "Can you turn on the heat and electricity? It's freezing."
Emily could see Spencer's jaw clench, even from across the room. She stared at Alison for what felt like an eternity.
"You just make yourself right at home, don't you?" Spencer finally replied, her eyes shooting downwards. "That's my robe."
"What's mine is yours, sis," Ali replied with that same insufferable smirk, digging her hands into the fluffy pockets.
"You're not my sister," Spencer reiterated again.
Ali shrugged, turning to walk down the hallway towards the stairs. Spencer only glared back at Emily, her eyes saying any number of disparaging and judgmental things. Emily took that as her cue to stand while Spencer whipped out her phone. Shortly after, Emily heard the heating kick on.
They followed Ali down the hallway and stairs, back into the living room. Spencer watched the blonde like a hawk, as if at any moment, Ali might strike. Emily guessed it wasn't an unusual response to have, especially after everything they'd been through. They were sisters, too, half at least. Alison had even tried to kill Spencer's real sister, locking her in the closet with her fiancé's corpse.
Ian Thomas. Emily shuddered at that memory. How did she forget these things? Why was her tongue always in the mouth of someone who murdered people? Not just people, their friends.
She felt sick. She was starting to see why Spencer was so disgusted with her.
They all paused in the living room, a large fireplace roaring to life behind them. Emily watched the flames lick the fake logs, wondering if that was controlled by Spencer's phone, too. Ali eyed the fire as well, looking uncertain, before she flashed her cold blue eyes back to Spencer.
"Did you tell anyone you're here?"
Spencer clenched her jaw again, holding Alison's gaze. It reminded Emily of two territorial bucks, about to clash horns.
"No," she replied curtly.
Alison continued to stare, an unspoken challenge to her gaze. She looked so different than this morning. As if a door had completely closed, like no one was home. While Emily could see anguish and hate reflected in Spencer's dark brown eyes, Ali's only looked pale, hardened like stone.
She finally turned away and reached to pick up the TV remote from the coffee table.
"Still obsessed with the news?" Spencer jabbed.
Ali ignored her, flipping through the guide to find the news. It didn't take her long. After a few short commercials segments, the fire at the church blazed brightly on the screen.
"The two suspects are still at large," said a female reporter, standing in front of scorched rubble. "The only witness to the fire sustained minor head trauma, but distinctly remembers seeing Emily Fields fleeing the scene."
Emily watched Ali's head slowly turn, her mouth pinched in irritation.
"Won't remember, you said?"
"It's good that you didn't kill him," Spencer cut in hotly. "He has head trauma. It's circumstantial."
"Sorry, I didn't realize you were a lawyer already, Spence," Ali said scornfully.
"What were you doing there, anyway?" Spencer asked Emily, pointedly disregarding Alison.
"The copy cat," Emily said with a resigned sigh. "They've been leaving clues."
"They?" Spencer asked.
"It's Paige," Ali cut in.
"It could be CeCe, too," Emily argued back.
"Wait, wait—" Spencer said, waving a hand in the air. "Who is Paige? Who is CeCe"
"Paige was a bartender at that club," Emily explained. "She abducted CeCe, the owner, and is making us go on a little treasure hunt to get her back."
"Oh," Spencer said, looking confused. "They've been calling her Charlotte on the news."
Alison glanced back at the television, listening to minor details surrounding the fire.
"Why would you care about getting some club owner back?" Spencer asked her scathingly.
"We know each other," Ali replied boredly.
"They're related."
Ali glanced at Emily, peeved.
"And she hasn't killed her yet?" Spencer mocked. "Shocking."
Emily could see Ali visibly simmer, her cheeks looking less white, a touch of pink.
"Paige was at the church, too," Emily continued, trying to keep the conversation moving. "She started the fire. She left a tape recording for Ali."
"And what did it say?"
"I don't know," Emily answered hesitantly. "We haven't listened to it."
Alison turned, briefly leaving the room. Spencer lifted her eyebrows at Emily, but Emily only shrugged. After a moment, Ali returned with the recorder, and Spencer snatched it from her with a glare for equal measure.
She pressed play.
"Alison? Is that you?"
Emily leaned away from the recorder. It sounded just like her best friend, just like her first love. But Emily knew it wasn't, that it couldn't be. She fought the urge to take the recorder and stop it. Or smash it. She glanced at Alison, who looked like she was struggling with a similar urge.
"I guess you found me," the voice continued, but it sounded different now. There was an inhuman quality to it, more granular, indistinct. "You always did like secret places, didn't you? You liked the dark. You liked the dirt."
The three girls listened to a long, grainy silence, then a shallow little laugh.
"That's good," the voice continued with an eerie, girlish mirth. "Because that's how I'm going to bury you."
"But not yet," it sing-songed. "First, I'm going to make a wish about a bad, bad boy. When it comes true, you're going to make a wish, too."
The tape clicked off.
They all stood there in the silence. Emily hoped they wouldn't play it again.
"Courtney's dead," Spencer said quietly. "And some parts didn't sound quite right. Paige obviously used technology."
Emily nodded in agreement. It did have a strange ring to it, like some sort of weird voice changer.
"Is she that smart?" Spencer directed at Emily.
"No," Ali replied harshly.
Emily rolled her eyes.
"You always underestimate people, Alison," she said with a sigh before turning to Spencer. "She could be that smart. We don't know."
Spencer considered that, thinking hard. Closer up, she looked tired and drawn. Emily wondered how long she'd been awake, how much coffee she'd consumed in the last 24 hours.
"What do you think it means?" Spencer asked.
"The well part," Emily replied. "There's a well on the DiLaurentis property."
"There is?" Alison asked.
"You don't know about that?" Emily asked incredulously. "You lived there."
Ali didn't respond immediately, refusing to acknowledge that there was anything she didn't know.
"How do you know about it?" she asked accusatorily.
"I used to walk out there."
"Really," Ali said, not looking convinced. Spencer watched them skeptically.
"The cops are all over your street."
"I know a way we can get onto it," Ali supplied.
"Of course you do," Spencer said, pushing another stressed hand to her forehead.
"What was that last part?" she added, closing her eyes. "About a bad, bad boy?"
"That could be anything," Emily said.
"First the sex tape, now this fire, what's next?" the TV droned on behind them, causing Ali to glance backwards. "Emily Fields and Alison DiLaurentis both look like such homegrown girls, it's hard to believe they're really the criminals here."
It looked like some sort of debate, with multiple commentators seated around a coffee table.
"People actually—" Spencer started, sounding annoyed. She paused, collecting herself.
"People actually support your—whatever this is," she said with a wave of her finger. "Your relationship. They have a name for you."
Emily was about to ask, but Alison beat her to it.
"What is it?" she asked, looking over eager.
"Emison."
Ali looked self-satisfied, preening as she turned back to the TV. Spencer curled her lip in disgust, looking at the tape recorder again and rewinding it.
"I think there's something more sinister going on," said a different woman. "Given the news we received earlier today about Nick Maxwell…it's hard to believe that's a coincidence."
Emily watched as Nick's face flashed on screen. His normally warm brown eyes looked gaunt, his clean shaven jaw dark and stubbly.
Ali turned on Spencer again.
"What happened to Nick?"
"He's dead," Spencer replied. "I heard it on the news this morning."
"What?" Ali replied, her brows furrowing for the first time, a chink in her armor.
There was a long pause before Emily broke the tension.
"I guess that's our bad, bad boy."
We're headed to the DiLaurentis property next! Will there be a warm welcome from our favorite copy cat? Will Lassie save Emily when she falls into the well?