Chapter 39:

Closet Full of Skeletons

"You okay?" Ezra's voice asked Aria from behind her. She stood, facing out the window of their apartment, arms crossed, eyes on the Rosewood skyline. She jumped slightly and looked over her shoulder. Ezra, fresh from a shower, tightened the belt of his robe and approached her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

She nodded, saying nothing more. Ezra understood.

After a moment, she leaned her head back slightly on his shoulder, "You know, when Ali and I were little…we used to joke around about Jason being some kind of superhero…you know, how they all have double lives? And his façade was some kind of lost, weary teenager." She laughed – a short, bitter sound. "And that he had some kind of super hero suit in the back of his closet." She smiled at the memory.

Ezra chuckled slightly – a bittersweet laugh as well – and kissed her temple.

"He was my superhero, though." She continued. "He lost everything and still tried to get through. At least…up until the very end. But he put his friends first. And that," she said, "is one of the best superpowers anyone can have."

"He was a good man." Ezra agreed.

That afternoon, at the funeral…Aria had to play piano for the chorus. It was a sick notion when she thought about it now, as the sun settled behind the horizon and night swept over the town, playing an old Coldplay song, for a dead man, for an empty casket, for a room full of broken people, in the middle of a graveyard.

Death. It was a powerful thing. Funerals were even more so. Still dressed in black, Aria pondered the idea of their darkness. How something that was supposed to celebrate someone's life…almost always resulted in collaborated pain over someone's death.

Closure my ass, thought Aria as Ezra tightened his grip on her, keeping her warm when the cold of the night threatened to shake her.

"Come on, come to bed." Ezra whispered to her. "I'll hold you, if you need me too."

That sounds nice, Aria decided, and took Ezra's hand as he led her back into the bedroom.

"Well, at least the Melissa and baby crisis has been averted." Spencer said bitterly, without the slightest bit of a filter.

Toby looked up at her skeptically, knowing that the harshness of her words didn't match the true feeling in her heart.

She sighed. "I know, I don't really mean it. You know I love babies." She said, "But you know, at least she won't have to deal with telling Wren anymore."

"What Wren? As far as I know he dropped off the face of the planet." Toby scoffed, handing her a glass of Bourbon and sitting beside her on the sofa.

Spencer was surprisingly talkative that night, especially after a funeral like that. Funerals were for the living, she'd decided. It barely even related to Jason's death.

Toby put an arm around her and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you." She said softly, taking a sip of the drink. He kissed her hair in return as she stared aimlessly at the wall.

"What are you thinking of?" Toby asked her.

"Thought it would be obvious."

"I know you're not thinking about Jason; at least not right now."

"Well, you're wrong." She replied. "Well, maybe you're a little right. I'm thinking about what happened to him. Like, what ever possessed him to…do such a thing."

"People always look for outlets to their own personal suffering; it isn't outlandish for Jason to relapse on his drug addiction."

Spencer shook her head and sighed again, "Yeah, I just thought that he was stronger than that." She took another sip of her drink.

Spencer was at a numb point where she couldn't even cry anymore. She couldn't feel sorrow, only confusion. She just wanted to know what had happened and why.

The frustrating part was that Jason wouldn't be living across town anymore, where she could call him up and ask him. She may never know the whole story.

Noticing that her body had become tense, Toby gently reached over and took the drink from her hands. "Here," he said under his breath as he set both of their drinks on the coffee table in front of them. Before Spencer could inquire about his intentions, he drew her into his warm body, sliding her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her. She kicked off her black ballet flats and tucked her feet against her, pressing her face along his throat as his arms tightened around her.

"Spencer," he started softly, his hands making their way up and down her back, "you are the best sister anyone could ever have."

His words brought tears to her eyes, not only because she felt like an awful sister, but because she would no longer fully be one. She blinked a few times to keep the tears from pouring down her cheeks, and cuddled closer to him. "Thank you." She whispered hoarsely.

"And I know that you'll be the best wife ever, too." He murmured, his fingers absently playing with her hair.

She snorted, "Promise you'll stick by me even when I burn the food?"

"Through good times and bad."

"And you'll take care of me when I'm sick? You know I'm a baby when I'm sick."

"In sickness and in health." He replied, pushing all of her hair away from her face and kissing her forehead.

"Even when I spend all of our money on frivolous things, like proposal watches that end up getting stolen?"

"For richer or for poor…" His lips continued down a path along her cheek, his teeth gently grazing her earlobe. She shivered in response.

"Forever?"

"As long as we both shall live." He said finally, and with that, he pulled back and kissed her lips, softly and gently, as if they might bruise.

When she pulled away, he ran his hand through her hair again, and offered her a soft, easy, bittersweet smile. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he got to his feet, cradling her in his arms, and carried her down the hall to bed.

It was amazing how fast a bottle of Chardonnay could go, thought Hanna absently as she tapped her manicured nails against the surface of the table. Just a few drinks before there's only one drop left and the party's over.

Hanna hadn't even bothered to change out of the black lace mini she'd worn that day – the day she watched Jason's DiLaurentis' empty casket get lowered into the ground. The day she watched her best friend deliver a speech about life and all it holds. Spencer had always been a master at speeches. But today, Hanna sensed that something was off. She'd spewed a bunch of crap about how Jason lived a fulfilling life, and touched everyone at the funeral in a different way, and how the sun would shine just that much brighter now that he was watching over them from above.

Will had been right; funerals were for the living. For the people that just want to hear that "everything will be ok" and get on with their own selfish desires. Funerals don't give closure; they just serve as deadbolts, holding the closet door closed as more and more skeletons try to claw their way free.

Will had offered to come over after the funeral, make sure that she got home safely, but she had kindly refused. Will was much too human for her sometimes; he always saw the glass as half full. Sometimes, the world was just full of half-empty glasses, and sometimes, the most inspiring people are the ones that brought nothing to the table.

"Cheers, Jason." Hanna said grimly, raising her glass to an invisible figure sitting across from her, and tossing back the last sip of her drink. When she set it down, she licked her lips and let her eyes trace the circumference of the cup.

Suddenly, she heard a rattling noise, and looked over her shoulder to see her apartment doorknob being jostled.

Immediately thrown into panic, Hanna looked around for something to use as a weapon. Finding nothing more than an old broom and a candlestick, she carefully got to her feet, uneasily making her way towards the door. Her hands were clammy, so she wiped them on her dress. Who would even be coming here so late? After a Rosewood funeral that everyone knew about?

"Spence?" She called out carefully, her voice apprehensive. When no one answered her, she got even more worried.

The sound of a key being inserted into the lock made Hanna jump like a deer, and she wondered who would even have a key for her apartment. Expect…

"Hanna?" Caleb's voice said as the doorknob turned and his head peaked inside. Her heart skipped a beat, but her nerves washed away like an ocean wave. He pushed the rest of the door open, and she could see that two of his suitcases were behind him, and his trademark backpack was slung over one shoulder.

She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at his stoic expression.

"I got off the plane." He said, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

Slowly, Hanna's expression changed from confusion to something that resembled relief, and before she knew it, she was running across the carpet, her bare feet not carrying her fast enough. He dropped his bag and within seconds, she was in his arms, buried in his soothing warmth.

He buried his face in her hair, and she smiled gleefully into his shoulder, her eyes closed in pure bliss. She laughed gleefully in the back of her throat, and he tightened his arms around her.

They stayed like that, in their own little infinity, enjoying the feel of each other's love. And Hanna finally remembered what the word 'home' felt like.

Spencer's dreams were torturous all night; she'd wake up from one about being chased through a garden by the grim reaper, only to go back to sleep and return to a nightmare about watching Jason get hit by an oncoming truck, and then suddenly become the driver of that truck.

"I think the universe is trying to tell me something." Spencer groaned softly, rolling onto her stomach after yet another tormented dream.

"Like what?" Toby asked, gently rubbing her back over her silk nightgown.

"Like I'm an awful sister." She replied with her face half-buried in a pillow.

"Now why," Toby began to softly pet her matted hair, "would the universe be saying that? Sounds like either the universe is a liar, or you're not interpreting its message correctly."

She snorted a soft laugh and shook her head, "Why didn't I go after Jason, Toby?" She asked. "I could've helped him get out of the rut. He wouldn't have had to turn to drugs. I could've saved him."

"Spence…" He shook his head. "Babe, you can't keep blaming yourself. Really, it isn't your fault. You keep trying to make everyone else happy; all I'm worried about is if you're happy."

She sighed, opening her mouth to say something, but didn't.

"I won't say anything else," Toby continued. "I know you don't want me to; but come here." He said, wrapping an arm around her. She smiled sadly and scooted closer, cuddling up to his warmth. He held her tightly, softly inhaling the fragrance of her skin as he pressed his face to her cheek. Thankfully, he'd shaved that morning before the funeral, so nothing scratched her face as he held her.

A few hours later, Spencer awoke again, but this time to the sound of something being dropped in the kitchen. Still tangled up with Toby, their legs intertwined, she fought to look over her shoulder and squinted to see the red letters on the side table clock. 2:30.

She listened for a few more seconds, and when no other sounds followed the first, she chalked it up to being part of her dream and curled back up against Toby. He made a sleeping sound in the back of his throat and she pulled the haphazardly thrown covers over them.

But, a few minutes later, a sound alike to that of footsteps startled her awake, and she untangled her limbs from Toby's.

Listening carefully, she tried to make out another sound over the hammering thunder of her nervous heartbeat. She swore she'd heard something…

Thunk. There it was again. Looking back at Toby, sound asleep after being woken up multiple times from her night terrors, she sighed and climbed off the bed.

She quietly moved towards the closet, and carefully retrieved Toby's crowbar from behind his work boots. Holding it behind her, poised to hit, she made her way for the bedroom door. Once she'd slinked into the hallway, she could see a candle lit in the kitchen. She covered her mouth to keep from gasping, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Carefully, she slithered down the hall, towards the light. Her eyes caught sight of a trail of muddy footprints, and she gulped. She contemplated hurrying back to the bedroom to wake Toby, but she feared that whoever was in the kitchen would hear her scrambling and get to her before she could reach him.

Swallowing her fears, she kept walking, slowly, the swishing of her silk nightgown the only sound to be heard.

Once she made it to the open kitchen doorway, she saw a hooded silhouette, hunched over the counter, illuminated by the glow of the candle. She clapped her hand over her mouth again, ghostly memories of –A returning to her in a flash. Her fingers reached for the light switch at the same time the hooded figure turned upon hearing her gasp. Once she'd flicked the light on, her arm holding the crowbar dropped to her thigh.

"Jason?"

sorry for taking so long m'loves! this season has been really hard lately :/ and i've had a lot of personal shit that's been going on :(

nevertheless, i love that you all are still pulling for spoby ;) thanks for always being amazing!

-AJ