A/N: I decided to add flashbacks, cause they are cool. Again (as usual) Abbie helped me. Thank you I love you. However I didn't receive any reviews which disappointed me so... -N
Little Emily and Tommy were sleeping over at their Auntie Emily's. Spencer and Toby loved their children as much as they loved each other; and anyone who knew Spencer and Toby's relationship knew there wasn't a greater love out there. They were trying to keep everything as normal as they could for the sake of their tiny, vulnerable heads. The pair knew more than anyone how easy it was to be traumatised beyond repair - they had shared the unfortunate experience of seeing and feeling it themselves first hand. Normal wasn't something that could be achieved in their own home. There was place tape everywhere, small areas were sectioned of, Ariana's belongings all placed in small clear bags for testing. The sights caused a screeching noise to enter Spencer's ears. The room would start to close in on her, past memories replaying over and over in her head, making it harder and harder to hold on to her sanity. When Toby found her huddled in the corner of their eldest and bravest daughters room, clutching to her picture rocking back and forth covering her ears to drown out the sound, he swept her up into his arms and took her into his truck to find an alternative accommodation. He thought about the local motel but to him it was a sacred place. The place where he first fell in love with the brown eyed beauty he now had the privilege of calling his wife and he wasn't about to taint that memory. Instead he decided on a large hotel on the outskirts of Rosewood. He figured the more people they were around the less alone he would feel. But he didn't realise the loneliness he felt was the 'no people' kind of loneliness; it was the 'you're missing someone' kind of loneliness.
Watching her sleep always gave him some strange sense of comfort and after watching her toss and turn resulting in sleepless night after sleepless night since the occurrence, it was even more soothing for the burning concern he always held in his heart especially for her. It was a pity he himself couldn't sleep. Truthfully he wanted nothing more. He wanted to be able to wrap his arm around her thin, dainty waist and nuzzle his head into her silky hair. To feel her soft steady breathing against his chest and feel the steady beat of her heart which contained more love than he had ever known. Then to wake up in the morning to his favourite alarm of his littlest girl and his only son jumping at the bottom of their beds shouting for breakfast. But most of all he wished that after finally choosing to get up he could stroll into Ariana's room shake her gently on the shoulder and tell her softly it's time to get up and face the day. He wasn't ready to face his day without her. The thought that she could be anywhere in the world as he lay in the hotel room made him want to throw up. The prospect that anything could have happened to her and the last thing she has said to him was "I hate you," made him wish the ground would hurry up and just swallow him already. He didn't hug her goodbye or kiss her cheek, he didn't reassure her that she was one of the most beautiful and amazing things that existed in his world. And there was a chance that he never could. Suddenly he felt like he had went back twenty years back to the days where he spent constantly worrying and constantly trying to keep his Spencer safe from the unknown enemy A. And he knew, he knew that this time he couldn't let them win. This time there was so much more at stake and he wasn't going down without a fight.
Breathe slowly, she told herself, calm down and save your breath. She woke up in a small trunk of a fast car, struggling with oxygen. Her most rational thought was to save energy and escape. Ariana touched her sore head, moaning quietly, not that anyone could hear her, and she felt warm liquid covering her hair. Blood. Then she remembered; someone had critically hit her with a chair and dragged her out of her house, leaving a trail of blood behind her. She could barely see at the time, but there was a lot of red; blood and a person with a red coat, as far as she remembered. The trunk was painfully small and she struggled with moving. She felt a lock on the inside of the trunk but no matter how hard she kicked and punched it would not move.
"If you had to go to someone's house but they wouldn't open the doors, what would you do?" a twelve-year-old Ariana asked her father, who was a specialist in these kind of things as he was a cop. Toby laughed at the question, but he stopped when he noticed his daughters' serious look.
"This is an actual question? Why would you want to know that?" he eyed his daughter carefully, and she just shrugged casually. "I often use some sort of thin metal and jiggle it in the lock, often works fine." Toby smiled at his daughter. "Your mother taught me." Spencer looked up from the sofa with a little baby in her arms and smiled sweetly.
It's weird how she remembered this now. She took out her hair pins out of her hair, which resulted in here short hair covering her face and jiggled the lock, like her dad said. It wouldn't move for a while but eventually the trunk opened. the car, which was black, was moving rapidly. It looked like it was night time or early morning, it didn't matter though. There was no cars behind them whatsoever so she made the decision; she jumped.
Her head hurt a lot. The pain was so unbearable that she couldn't move or breathe, not even when her kidnapper dragged her from the street into the lake.
Spencer was yet to tell anyone about what happened at the police station. Only she and Toby knew yet neither of them spoke about it. It was almost as if they physically couldn't manage it: every time she tried she felt a fiery burn at the back of her throat warning her of the consequences if she said it out loud. If she said it out loud it would become the truth, she would go back to the terrifying reality of not managing to complete the simple task of viewing a text message without the ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach eating her up piece by piece. If you lie to yourself enough it becomes the truth. For someone who was forced to lie so often, Spencer hated lying. Sure they hide you from the harsh sometimes heart breaking reality of the real world but it only results in you feeling trapped. Nowhere to turn, nowhere to go. Only the truth can really set you free. That's how she found herself sitting in the empty hotel room after Toby headed out to get breakfast, trapped by the unknown stalker who left her with no other option to lie. Spencer truly felt like she was a vulnerable, scared 16 year old trying to hide her insecurities from the world trapped inside a woman's body. It made her sick to the stomach. And she nearly was sick when her phone buzzed again. She tried to tell herself it was stupid to be paranoid.
She wasn't 16 any more, she didn't have an excuses to be scared. But then again she wasn't a Hastings anymore and she didn't have to live in a false façade. She was a Cavanaugh and Cavanaugh's were strong and brave it the sweetest of ways.
'No one seemed to miss Alison much when she was 'murdered.' Let's hope Ariana was a little more popular since this time I'm not messing around. Kisses. -A.' Just like that her whole world felt like it was crashing down. She couldn't be strong. She couldn't be brave. She couldn't be anything with her daughter gone. It wasn't fair. Why didn't A take her? What did her daughter ever do wrong? She thought it was over. She thought she could finally have her happily ever after with her handsome husband and three perfect kids. It wouldn't be the same without her. Nothing would ever be the same without her. She heard the ringing noise again. She heard Ariana's first words, her first laugh, and her cute singing voice in the schools talent show. She wondered if that's what happened before Ariana died, they say you live through all your best moments. She wasn't sure. All she knew is that a piece of her heart died alongside Ariana and she would never get it back.
A/N: remember; in Rosewood, no one really dies.