At first, Hanna had been relieved that Aria pushed Ali over the side. She’d killed so many people, getting rid of her felt like a good deed for all humanity. But then she realized what they’d done. A life was still a life. They weren’t murderers.
Hanna and her friends ran down to the beach, taking the stairs two at a time. They banged out the back door onto the sand and looked around. The moon cast a silvery stripe down the beach. The ocean roared. Hanna stared at her pale feet below, hoping she wouldn’t bump into Ali’s limp, twisted body. Surely she’d died on impact, right?
“Do you see her?” Aria’s voice called from a distance.
“Not yet,” Spencer answered. “Keep looking!”
They ran up and down the shore, splashing through the warm water, searching the dunes, even looping around and checking out the coves and cliffs. But there was no body anywhere.
“What the hell?” Aria stopped, out of breath. “Where did she go?”
Hanna looked around frantically. It wasn’t possible. Ali couldn’t just disappear. Aria had pushed her. She had fallen hard. They’d heard her hit the sand. They’d looked over the rail and, in the fuzzy darkness, they’d sworn they’d seen a body. Hadn’t they?
“The tide must have picked her up.” Spencer gestured to the sea. “She’s probably washed away by now.”
“What happens if she washes back up?” Aria whispered.
“It’s not as if anyone can prove we did it.” Spencer looked around, checking the beach again. It was still empty. No one was watching. “And Aria, it—it was self-defense—Ali could have killed us.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” Aria’s eyes were wide and scared. “Maybe we misunderstood her up there. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“You should have,” Spencer said sharply. “If you wouldn’t have pushed her, we might not be standing here right now.”
Everyone was silent for a moment. Emily stared at the round moon above them. “What if Ali didn’t wash away?” she whispered. “What if she survived the fall and crawled away to find help?”
Hanna’s stomach swirled. She’d been thinking the same exact thing.
Spencer kicked at a clump of sand. “There’s no way. She couldn’t have survived that fall.”
“She survived a fire,” Emily reminded her. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with. She’s, like, bionic.”
Spencer’s eyes blazed. “Just let it go, okay? She washed out to sea. She’s dead.”
Now, Hanna noticed something across the gym. Jeremiah stood in the doorway near the check-in desk, glaring right at her.
Hanna jumped off the elliptical and toweled off her face. She could feel her racing pulse even in her lips. As Jeremiah approached, she gave him a big, innocent smile. “Uh, do you go to this gym?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jeremiah snapped. His face was purple with fury. “Or I should say I did. Your father got me a complimentary membership. But now that’s been revoked.”
“Oh,” Hanna said quietly.
“Oh? That’s all you can say? Oh?” Jeremiah was so angry he was shaking. “I hope you’re happy, Hanna. This is all because of you.”
A shockwave rippled through Hanna’s skin, but she stood her ground. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just told my dad that I saw you go upstairs.”
“You didn’t see anything, and you know it.” He leaned closer to her, his breath smelling sour and unclean. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you?”
Hanna turned her head away. The girl who’d wanted her elliptical glanced over at them, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jeremiah pointed a finger at her. “You’ve ruined my career. And I have a feeling you’re going to find a way to ruin your father’s campaign. Remember that anonymous note I got, saying you were hiding something? I’m going to look into it, Hanna. And you’re going down.”
Hanna let out a terrified squeak. Jeremiah remained in Hanna’s face for a moment longer, then wheeled around and marched back through the room.
“Are you okay?” the elliptical girl asked, pausing on the treadmill. “He seemed pretty . . . intense.”
Hanna ran her hand over her sweaty hair and murmured a noncommittal reply. She definitely wasn’t okay. How serious was Jeremiah? What had she gotten herself into?
And then, out of nowhere, a high-pitched, lilting giggle, floated out from the vents. She stared around the room. Ali?
The laugh persisted. Hanna shut her eyes, thinking about that empty beach again. For so long, Hanna had suppressed the thought that Ali had survived, but now she knew Emily was right.
Ali was here. Maybe not here at this gym right now, but she was here in Rosewood, following them, watching them, ready to ruin their lives for the third and final time. Ali was like a cat with nine lives: She’d survived the fire in Spencer’s woods, then she’d survived the fire in the Poconos, and now she’d survived that impossible fall off the crow’s nest. She’d crawled away, nursed her wounds, got healthy again, and was back. Maybe she wouldn’t die until she got exactly what she wanted: to get rid of them, once and for all.
There was only one thing Hanna could do: go to the police. Ali had to be stopped. If it meant admitting what happened in Jamaica, then so be it. It had been in self-defense, after all. They’d done it to stop Ali’s evil cycle of murders—who knew who else she’d killed after she survived the fire. Besides, it wasn’t as if they’d actually killed Ali—she was still alive. Hanna would even take the blame for her friends, even if it meant falling out of favor with her dad. There was no way she could let Ali do this to them again.