Thank you to Pinkpoodle8, Guest, Fun With Typing, RHatch89, and potterjay92 for the reviews, and to RobynSOS for the favorite. This is a pretty intense chapter, so please, please leave a review and let me know what you think!

Chapter 56

"Bitch."

"Murderer."

"Freak."

I scream and bolt upright, my hand flying to my pounding chest. I've never had such a vivid nightmare, not even on any of the other nights I've been here, and I figure it's probably due to whatever drink "A" gave me.

"Psycho."

"Killer."

I gasp as the words reverberate around me, the voice growling and loud, almost like the words are being yelled by multiple people instead of one.

I clap my hands to my ears as the words grow louder, swirling around me. This wasn't a nightmare. This is real life.

I'm so shocked by the sound that it takes me a moment to notice where I am. I'm lying on a cold concrete floor, not in the little bed in the Radley-like room, and when I gaze straight ahead, instead of being surrounded by gray walls, I see only a midnight black sky and stars.

I'm outside? I jump up and rush to the edge of the concrete floor. A short little brick wall borders the square-shaped surface, just like…a roof. I'm on a roof.

For one brief moment, an intense feeling of joy fills me. I'm no longer trapped in an underground dungeon, with only one exit. There must be a way out of here.

I lean against the edge of the roof and peer down. Sure enough, way, way down below is bright green grass. I haven't seen grass in almost two months. I grin down at it, but through my happiness comes another feeling…doubt.

This is too easy. If I wanted, I could leap right over the edge of this roof and plunge right to my death. And judging by the insults that keep booming from everywhere and nowhere, that seems like it just might be the plan.

I shake my head hard, trying to wipe that thought from my head. Absolutely not. I'm not giving "A" the satisfaction of watching me get desperate enough to kill myself. I'd rather starve up here. I lift my hand up toward the sky, reaching out over the edge of the roof.

My hand connects with something hard, and I yelp, jumping back.

What?

Shaking my throbbing hand for a moment, I reach out again. Just as my hand reaches the edge of the roof, it runs into something sturdy and unwavering. Like an invisible wall has been placed right up against it.

I feel like I've just entered another planet. I walk slowly along the perimeter of the roof, running my hand along the hard, invisible surface. Sure enough, it's everywhere. I couldn't get off of here if I wanted to.

I feel a breeze on my arms and gasp, looking down at myself. The thin white hospital gown that I've worn since I arrived here has been replaced by tight blue jeans and a yellow ruffled shirt that I know all too well.

Again: What?

"Hello?" I yell up to the sky above me, which suddenly looks just as artificial as the sunlight that beams into my underground room every morning. "Hello?"

In response, the booming voices grow louder, nearly screaming the words now.

"Murderer!"

"Bitch!"

"Liar!"

I cry out and press my hands tightly over my ears. The force of the words makes my knees buckle, and I fall to the concrete ground, squeezing my eyes shut.

A red glow pierces through the darkness of my closed eyelids, and I look up, instantly wishing I hadn't. Words have appeared on the invisible walls, looking like they have been projected right onto the sky. Bright red, dripping words, exactly the color of blood, giant and everywhere, the same insults that are being screamed into my ears.

I feel tears leak out of my eyes but I can barely concentrate on them. My eyes are squeezed shut and my fingers are pressing my ears closed, but I can't escape the screaming words or the bright red writing.

I feel like my senses are going into overload. I curl into as tight a ball as I can, sobbing openly now, not caring if "A" is watching or not.

I've been stuck in a tiny room for days. I've been trapped down in a hole and starved, and abandoned outside in the rain.

But none of that compares to this.

…

There is no concept of time up here. Or out here, or down here…I don't even know if I'm still somewhere in the dollhouse.

I have no idea how much time has passed, but I'm very aware of that fact that all feelings of hunger or thirst are gone. I remember what Mona said, back when we were stuck outside, that when you're no longer hungry or thirsty it means your organs are shutting down.

At this point, I don't even care. Aside from the occasional few minutes – those three minutes every night, maybe? – there is no break from the voices screaming down that I'm a "bitch" and a "killer," and no break from the blood red words projected all around me.

It's gotten colder, too, a strong wind blowing from every direction. I lay curled up, shivering, on the freezing concrete, goose bumps now a permanent fixture on my bare arms. I still can't figure out why I'm suddenly dressed like Alison…except that Bethany was also wearing this shirt the night she died.

Was Bethany the one who hit Ali? Is that why these dark, accusing voices keep screaming that I'm a murderer?

But Alison's still alive. So who else could Bethany have killed?

After a while, though, I can't even think about that. Just like when we were locked out of the bunker, all of my thoughts turn to mush, my mind constantly blank. I don't even keep my ears covered anymore. The words barely bother me, but I still have to squint away from the bright red writing, and the constant wind has given me a cold.

The sky doesn't even change to sunlight, or rain, or anything…it stays night at all times, the same fake stars twinkling in the sky.

So when the sky suddenly goes out, I'm more than a little surprised.

The stars disappear, the inky blackness dissolving instantly into gray concrete with a loud bang. I gasp and struggle to my feet, turning in a slow, dizzying circle.

I'm not outside at all. I've been in a large, gray room this whole time, with bricks stacked and glued around the walls. The sky and grass below was all an illusion.

And there's a door along one wall, that I swear wasn't there before. "Please proceed to Ali's room and prepare for arrival," that awful female voice monotones, and I jump. Aside from those booming insults, this is the first voice I've heard in…days? Weeks? It feels like an eternity.

The door swings open, revealing the same dank, dark hallway that I've gotten used to, and I rush out without thinking, desperate to be anywhere but in there. I'm so deprived of food and water that I can barely walk. I lean my shoulder against the wall and stumble down the hallway, into the room meant to mimic Alison's.

I spot Spencer first, sitting on the edge of the bed and rifling through a cardboard box. Hanna and Emily are sitting nearby, and Aria is standing by the closet, rummaging through the line of yellow shirts.

"Guys," I gasp, so relieved that my knees nearly give out. I'm not alone. I'm finally not alone. And they all look fine, despite the slightly traumatized expressions on their faces and the fact that Aria seems to have gotten a haircut.

They all look up at me, and the relief is visible on their faces. "Viola," Hanna breathes, getting up from the chair and hugging me. "What happened to you? You look awful."

I open my mouth to explain, but I can't even find the words. Besides, I already feel the whole memory of that experience melting away, almost like my mind is starting to repress it. Good. If I never have to think about that place again, I'll be glad.

"I can't talk about it," I mutter, shaking my head. "What about you guys?"

"Yeah, I think some things are better left unsaid," Spencer responds, examining a little toy car in her hands.

Gazing around the room, I realize all at once that someone is missing. "Where's Mona?" I ask, terror replacing my relief.

The girls exchange glances that make me uneasy. "This is all Ali's stuff," Spencer says, gesturing to the boxes that litter the floor. "We think that 'A's' preparing for Alison to get here. The real Alison."

My blood runs cold. "So does that mean…" I trail off, unable to finish, and the others seem to feel the same way. Shaking my head, I join Spencer on the bed, reaching into the box and pulling out an empty picture frame.

I shift through the box in silence for the next few minutes, getting more and more freaked out. "A" really has managed to get a lot of Alison's personal stuff, way more than he stole for any of the other girls. She must be the one he really wants.

"Hey, Spence," Aria calls after a moment. She's leaning into the closet, fiddling with the bar holding the clothes in place. "Can you come help me with this?"

"What?" Spencer has been staring down at the same little wooden car for the past five minutes, and she looks up, caught off guard. "Help you with what?"

Aria falters for a second, pausing. "Uh, the rod's just a little bit loose."

I frown deeply, suspicious. Spencer glances down at the toy in her hand and then over at Hanna. "Hanna, can you please do it?"

"She's busy," Aria exclaims immediately, practically a shout.

Spencer sighs and resigns, getting to her feet and walking over to Aria. I roll my eyes and go back to messing with the little trinket box in my hand. "Oh, yeah, I see," Spencer mutters, and then calls out, "Viola."

I jump and glance up, alarmed by the intensity of her voice. "Yeah?"

"I think we need another pair of hands. Can you help?"

"Sure," I say slowly. There's something going on here. They're both staring at me, their eyes wide, so I set down the box and hurry over.

Aria pushes aside a few of the yellow shirts, identical to the one I'm wearing, and my heart stops at what is scratched into the wooden back of the closet.

HE'S GOING TO KILL ME. –M

A sob catches in my throat as I stare at the words. "Oh my god," I whisper, keeping my voice low so Hanna and Emily won't hear, though I have no idea why they can't know. Maybe they were more affected by whatever happened to them all than Spencer and Aria.

I stumble back from the closet and sit down hard on the edge of the bed, feeling a little like I'm going to pass out again. I hear the other girls talking again, about trinkets of their own that they've found in their own rooms, but I'm not listening.

We need to find my sister. And we need to do it soon.

...

Let me know what you think, and once again, please vote on the poll on my profile! Next, the girls put their last escape plan into action.