Emily nodded weakly. She glanced back and forth for something to battle Mrs. D with, but there was nothing nearby. She was trapped. Mrs. D had her.
“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. So this was it. She really was going to die. No one would ever know she’d searched valiantly for Ali. And Ali would get away . . . again.
A sound rose up from down the street. Emily perked up her ears. It was a siren—so the 911 dispatcher had heard her. “Back here!” Emily dared to scream. “Help!”
After that, everything happened so quickly: She heard the sounds of footsteps and the clang of the gate. The officers exploded onto the patio, and Mrs. D dropped the gun. The cops ran and picked it up, and then there was more shouting and confusion. “What’s going on here?” the cops bellowed. “Everyone, hands where we can see them!”
“This girl was trying to break into my home!” Mrs. D pointed at Emily. “She’s Emily Fields, the girl who’s supposed to be dead! She’s a murderer!”
The cops turned and stared at Emily. The tall one grabbed her wrist. The dark-haired one reached for his walkie-talkie. “Wait!” Emily cried. “The girl I supposedly murdered? She’s here!”
She gestured to where Ali had fallen—and gasped. Ali was gone.
There was a tinny, clanking sound at the edge of the property. Emily turned and caught sight of a shadowy figure scaling the chain-link fence. Ali was halfway up by now. “It’s Alison DiLaurentis!” Emily screamed to the cops, who were next to her. “You know who she is, right?”
The tall cop, who was still holding Emily’s wrist, glared at her. “Isn’t she dead?”
The other cop shouted up the fence. “Hey, you! Come back down. Now.” But Ali kept climbing. The short cop climbed up the fence after her. Ali let out a wail and scurried as quickly as she could, but her excess weight slowed her down. The cop caught her by the ankle and dragged her back. Ali’s legs kicked, and her fists flew. “Don’t touch me!” she screeched. “You’re hurting me! You can’t do this!”
“Stop struggling,” the cop said, shoving Ali to the dirt. Her hair fell in her face. Her too-small T-shirt pulled unattractively across her stomach. But as she twisted around to spit in the cop’s face, he looked at his partner, recognition dawning. The second cop leaned down and stared into Ali’s face, which was pushed against the grass. Now it was his turn to look baffled . . . and maybe a little bit frightened. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. “I’m going to need backup. Will you send two more black-and-whites to 8901 Hyacinth Drive?”
Mrs. D touched the cops’ arms. “Don’t believe a word that girl says,” she warned, her eyes on Emily. “She’s insane. My daughter’s name is Tiffany Day, not Alison DiLaurentis.”
“Yeah?” Emily felt heat in her face. “Do you have ID?”
Ali twisted around and looked at her mother. “Get my ID, Mom.”
Mrs. D stood very still. The corners of her mouth turned down. “S-she doesn’t have ID.”
Ali’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course I do.”
Mrs. D averted her eyes. “I didn’t get it yet,” she whispered to her daughter. “There wasn’t enough time.”
Ali just stared. There was a look of horror on her face.
The dark-haired cop reached for a pair of handcuffs and clapped them around Ali’s wrists. “Let’s all go down to the station so we can talk. You, too, Mrs. . . .” He looked searchingly at Ali’s mom, then shrugged and clapped cuffs around her wrists, too.
Mrs. D looked stunned. “We’re not the ones you want.” She nodded her head toward Emily. “It’s her.”
“Oh, we’re bringing her, too,” the dark-haired cop murmured. “We’ll get all this sorted out.”
It took all of the first cop’s strength to restrain Ali enough to get her into the squad car, and Mrs. D howled the whole way to the curb. Emily, however, walked calmly and patiently. She could feel a big smile spreading across her face. Sure, the cops would bring her in and ask her questions. But she knew she wouldn’t be in trouble. Once they realized who Ali was—once they realized everything—she wouldn’t be in trouble at all.
A second police cruiser had pulled up, and two officers loaded Mrs. D and Ali into the backseat. Just as Ali was about to climb inside, she twisted around and gave Emily a damning look. Her features were small and tight. She was so angry that her jaw was shaking.
“This isn’t over,” she hissed at Emily, little droplets of spit flying from her mouth. “We’re not even close to being done.”
But Emily knew they were. She knew, finally, she’d won.
31
THE GANG’S ALL HERE
Present, Monday,
Rosewood, Pennsylvania
“Emily?” Hanna gaped at the girl at the front of the courtroom. It was the most incredible thing she’d ever seen. There was Emily, whole, undamaged, bright-eyed, almost excited looking at the front of the courtroom. Not pulled out of the water, dead. Not huddled in a corner, crazy. Alive. Smiling.
Hanna tore down the aisle to her friend. Emily stretched her arms out and gave her a huge hug. It felt so good to breathe in Emily’s lemony smell and look into her eyes. Hanna didn’t even realize she was crying until she tried to speak and her words came out all blubbery. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “You’re . . . here. Really here!”
“I’m here,” Emily answered, tearing up, too. “I’m just sorry I’m late. You had to go to prison. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”