A/N: Thanks to WhyAreYouLaughing for the review and enthusiasm.
Chapter 9
Emily sits opposite Aria, who's idly drinking coffee and skimming the book propped up before her. There's silence at the table, and Emily registers the way the spine of the book leans up against the table, creating a physical barrier between Aria and her surroundings opposite her.
It's new. Normally when Aria reads the book lies flat on the table, one hand splayed across the pages – not like this, not like a defence mechanism.
She tries not to think of holding it like a weapon.
As she eats, she tries to get a read on Aria, tries to see if there's a secret in her eyes, and comes up short. Hanna's been gone thirteen days now, and they're just waiting to see if either one of them gets called. Emily's checking her mailbox and every device she has at least four times a day in case there's a scrambled email address with a ticket, withdrawing cash to stockpile every time she visits an ATM.
Aria's eyes are carefully empty and Emily has the deepest sense that the book is a prop, that this entire scene she is watching is a performance. Aria has always been the designated "best liar", a dubious honour if ever there was one, but Emily watches as she turns pages, hums softly to herself as though she's measuring time before she needs to turn another page. It's what any casual observer would expect of her, and she knows it.
She's always been good at telling you what you want to hear, not what she wants you to hear. It is why they all look at her as being so good a liar: Emily thinks of how she and Spencer and Hanna dance around the truth, constructing and fabricating new stories on the fly. Aria, by contrast, weaves together some mesh of fabrication and truth and gets away with it.
Sometimes she thinks of asking Aria to just run away with her, knows Aria probably won't go for it. Probably is the keyword when she thinks it, lies awake at night planning what she'd say if she did ask. Aria would want to both protect herself and stay with Ezra. Protecting Emily… well, sometimes Emily is a little dubious on that count. She remembers how Aria's lies can be more self-serving than self-preservation, can see the fact that somewhere there's a half-truth wrapped in innocence and big bright eyes.
They stay together.
Once she would have said they stick together, but half the square is gone, and the bonds have dissolved with them.
Emily crumples her water bottle and makes an excuse about going to one of her teachers about an essay before lunch is over, just to get away from the stifling silence.
Another lie, it's no wonder we're being chased for it, she thinks as she slips into an empty classroom and draws out a notebook, writes some nonsense words with a textbook open beside her. The teachers have been cutting her some slack lately, knowing that two of her best friends have gone missing and the police are sniffing around trying to get her to trip up.
She can't trip over nothing though, so she goes about her routine in a bit of a daze and no-one calls her out on it.
Or if they do, she doesn't hear it.
This is routine for the next few days, and then there's a thin envelope in the mailbox. She recognizes Spencer's handwriting and instinctively knows: hide this, protect it. Something tells her it's not just a standard miss you, wish you were here note, and so she crumples the envelope, bends the cheap paper until it forms a hollow U-shape and shoves it into her sleeve.
Goes inside and curls up on her bed.
Her mom calls her for dinner and she sits there quietly scraping cutlery over the plate, hears the way she swallows water as too loud and feels too hollow in her smiles. She can't be seriously thinking of leaving, can she? How could she leave behind her family, her home? Dinner finishes in near-silence and she escapes to her room, draws out the ticket and letter.
Her friends are safe, and that's what Spencer thought to say first. She wants to keep them safe, keep her and Aria safe. If she's not here, what does that mean for Aria?
Unless… and her heart lifts with hope, because maybe Aria got a matching letter, maybe she doesn't have to worry about keeping her safe. So far all they have had to do is play along like nothing is wrong, but with two people gone and a stalker who's circling them, getting more and more desperate, everything is wrong.
Darkness falls and Emily draws the curtains, suddenly feeling exposed. Her mom stops in to say goodnight, and Emily feels that she must be able to sense guilt radiating off her as Pam kisses her head, smoothes down her hair.
Pam doesn't seem to think anything wrong though, just tells her not to stay up all night and closes the door softly behind her. Darting back to her book, Emily unfolds the letter and inspects the ticket. If she goes, she doesn't have to leave for another four days and eleven hours.
If she goes, she risks leaving a trail. She doesn't doubt that at this point, A is desperate enough to double surveillance, recruit more team members, spend more money on tracking down the girls. Hell, she wouldn't put it past them to have guards outside her home during the night.
If she doesn't go, what does that mean for Aria?
If she does go, what does that mean for everyone she's leaving behind?
Restless now, she paces, sits down and picks up a book. Stands up and brushes her hair; walks to the wardrobe to get a jersey; sits down and flicks through texts. She waffles for what must be hours, and crawls into bed somewhere around midnight.
At school the next day, she feels sure that Aria can see through her, and Emily curses the fact that she's not exactly good at acting casual. The ticket remains hidden in one of her books, wedged into the binding as best she can without damaging it, and she feels like there's a sign above her head.
Aria is by turns polite and distant, drifting in and out of the conversation and Emily decides to pack a couple of things together tonight. She only has to wait another three days now. Three days to decide.
In class she feels wired and jittery, fingers shaking around the pen she's holding as she pretends to take notes. In the end she writes nonsense words, scribbles together bits and pieces that don't mean anything, but spell out a pro and con list. It's barely decipherable even to her, and she tries to not take it as a reflection on her own state of mind.
(How else is she supposed to take it, though?)
The days drag on and she fluctuates between antsy to go, eager to pack her bag and run out the door, and refusing to go.
One day she does a quick search to see how much the trip cost, just out of curiosity. The result surprises her and she feels her throat tighten. Even if Spencer and Hanna paid with joint funds, it's still too expensive for her to rip up the ticket and refuse to go. For all she knows, the cost meant the difference between a roof over their heads.
On the eve of her departure date she makes a point of going to bed early, then slips out and uses the flashlight on her phone to pack haphazardly. She doesn't know the first thing about Wyoming, doesn't know how cold it might get, and so she bundles everything together, does her best with the one duffel bag she assigned herself.
At 2:05 her alarm buzzes in her ear and she panics, thinks it's a text or call and is relieved when it's neither. Outside, the house is still and the darkness is only broken by the odd streetlight.
She dons an ancient black hoodie that hides at the very bottom of her wardrobe and starts walking.