•

"Misery Loves Company"

Steam billowed off the fresh pour from the small teapot. Emily Fields filled the matching cup and raised it to her nose to sniff as the water appeared murky to her eye. She squinted, top lip turning up in disgust. "What is this?"

The lights had been purposefully dimmed to low in the Montgomery household to help ease the strain on Aria's drooping eyes. From under a thick, brassy red blanket, Aria laid curled up into the end of the couch, a pillow from her bed tucked beneath her arm. "Some kind of herb-thing," Aria said weakly, sniffling. "It's Meredith's cure-all recipe."

As Emily passed it over to Aria, who took it with shaky hands, Spencer voiced, "Well, I don't think it's working. You look terrible."

Aria looked over at her, grey faced and tired eyes. "Thank you," she said without humour. Briefly, Aria held the cup above its saucer before she decided against it, groaning. "Oh, god." Putting it aside, on the table next to her side of the sofa, Aria gave another groan and brought her hand to rest on her head. "I couldn't have a worse time to get sick. First week back after the Halloween train, study groups for exams start this weekend, and I'm ill."

"You can't help when you get ill," Halle offered her. Sweetly, Halle made sure Aria's sock-covered feet were covered by the blanket, tucking the material all the way around. "I could make you some broth, or... put shea butter on your nose."

Spencer furrowed her brows at Halle. "Why would you do that?"

"It's something my mom does, helps if you're congested," Halle explained easily, with a casual shrug. "My nana used to put an onion in her socks when she slept, gets rid of bad toxins."

"Does it work for A?" Emily humorously asked.

"If it does, I'll be first to buy us all an onion," Spencer retorted, smiling small through the suffering Aria was currently going through.

"So, broth?" Halle checked, her right eyebrow quirked up at the girl next to her.

Aria shook her head slowly, her forehead contorting as a jolt of pain shot through it. "No, no, thank you."

"Have you heard off your dad?" Spencer asked Aria softly, just as the door opened from within the house.

Humming, Aria said, "He left a message, but I haven't talked to him since he left last night for his conference. He shut the door on me after I saw him grab Meredith."

Heels clicked against the wood entire, and Hanna appeared from behind Emily, from where the front entrance was. Walking into the back snug, where the girls sat, Hanna carried in her large bag. "Hey, how's the patient?" she asked, slotting herself in the slither of space between Halle and Aria.

"Not great," Emily answered for them.

"Well—" Hanna declared to them, her bag on her lap, "I brought over everything that helps me when I'm sick." Rooting inside the white tote, Hanna grinned widely as she presented the objects she had collected. "Trash—" a series of celebrity gossip magazines, "ginger ale—" a large bottle of it was placed down on the table, "And three seasons of Saved By The Bell," she said, revealing the box-set of DVDs, which made Aria rejoice in hearty laughter.

"Thank you, Hanna," Aria said, genuinely smiling.

"Oh, and—" Hanna went back inside it, but appeared confused when she pulled out a tub. "Halle text to say buy shea butter."

Aria peered around Hanna, at Halle. "Thank you," she said, softer, almost mouthing it.

"If it helps, it helps," Halle replied.

Wittily, Spencer poked fun, "There an onion in there, too?"

"An onion?" Hanna asked, entirely lost while her friends shared a giggle. "No, Halle only said shea butter. Why would I have an onion?"

Halle placed a hand on Hanna's shoulder. "It doesn't matter, thanks."

"Yes, thank you again," said Aria, before coughing more and having to thump her chest with her fist to help it. Her friends watched on worried, wary for leaving her alone.

"Are you sure you wanna stay here by yourself?" Spencer asked, concerned, once the coughing had ceased.

"Guys—" Aria glanced around at them, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Hanna said.

With her head rested against the back of her knuckles, Aria returned miserably, "So I've heard."

"You sure you don't want us to drive you to your mom's?" Emily checked in.

"No," Aria sighed, "it's her week with Mike, so the guest room's already taken. And besides, I promised Meredith that I wouldn't tell her about Ali's diary until we talked to my dad, so if I just stay away from her, it's easier to keep that secret."

Muttering, Hanna quipped, "I can't believe we're trusting Meredith."

"I think she's really just as devastated as I am," Aria admitted sympathetically to her closest friends.

"So we're trust the woman who blamed us for an explosion not three days ago? Sure, sounds... smart," Halle mused sarcastically.

"I know, but it's the best we have," Aria said.

Hanna had to check, "You're not giving her the pages, right?"

"No, no, they're hidden in a safe place, and they'll stay there until my dad gets home," Aria explained. "Then we'll give him the chance to tell us the truth."

"And if he doesn't?" Hanna asked.

With the tiniest shakes of her head, barely noticeable, Aria said, "I don't wanna believe that my dad could have hurt Ali." She paused, growing more soft, "But if he did do it... this is a family secret I can't keep."

"Speaking of secrets..." Halle began torturously, "I have to tell you guys something."

"Oh, god," Spencer cursed, "your secrets are always so much worse."

"Is this about yesterday?" Emily questioned, "You freaking out on Mona?"

Halle's voice was small, shamed into quietness from her amounting guilt. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Hanna took Halle's quiet nature as a bad sign. She sensed her friend's discomfort, watching Halle's face intently as she stubbornly tried to fight back any tears. Immediately, Hanna's concern grew. "Halle, what happened?"

Biting the inside of her left cheek, Halle dug her hand inside the pocket of her leather jacket. Paper crunched as she brought out the letter A left in her locket yesterday, the one that caused her to unleash hell on Mona in the school courtyard, and Halle held it up for someone to take.

Emily and Spencer exchanged a look, sat opposite each other. Both moved to lean forward, intrigued, but it was Emily who reached out for it. Emily grabbed it and unfolded it from it multiple creases. Her eyes softened once she read the words, them looking up to Halle in a mix of confusion, empathy and fright.

"What does it say?" Aria asked, fearful as she stewed in anticipation.

Looking across at Halle for permission, Emily waited for Halle to nod before she spoke regretfully. "'You bury headaches like you buried me.'"

"But—" Hanna cut herself off, stunned, before she adamantly protested, "No, that makes no sense."

Halle tracked her eyes around the room, meeting all of her friends' wary states but worried eyes at least once. She gulped back the lump on her throat, eyes glassy now. "Guys, I think I killed Ali."

•

"You did not kill her."

Spencer shut down Halle last night and did the same the next morning. In the kitchen of the Hastings house, the pair's most frequent argument transpired again, just as it had last night, when it all irrupted just so Halle wouldn't unload That Night on the group.

"I might have, Spencer," Halle defended. "If you just... if you let me talk to them about it—"

"They're not ready," Spencer argued back.

"You can't baby them, we have to talk about this," Halle insisted fiercely. "We have to talk about That Night, then maybe—"

"Maybe, what?" snapped Spencer. She threw her hand up in frustration. "You know just as well as I do that bringing up That Night will do nothing but make them feel terrible." Strongly, Spencer chose to remind, "We all agreed, Halle. We agreed to never talk about — to stick to the story. That was the deal."

"Why? So we can go around pretending we're decent people?" implored Halle irresponsibly. She yelled, "Spencer, it was our idea! We pushed them into it!"

"But we didn't go through with it!" Spencer shouted back at her. "God!" Huffing out her frustration, Spencer brushed her hair from her face and held her palm to her head. She looked at Halle, defeated. "Did you even go to see Dr Sullivan about this?"

Not completely disillusioned by it, Halle threw back bitterly, "And explain to her that I saw Alison get killed? That I dragged her body across the lawn—" her voice rose, more anger bubbling up because nobody was listening to her, "that I could've buried her?!"

"You didn't—!" Spencer stopped from yelling. She recollected herself, inhaling and exhaling deeply before she started again. "You didn't leave the barn, we all said so."

That did nothing to to ease Halle's fury. It only served to stir it up more, plating it alongside some reason. "We were all freaking passed out," Halle said. "I didn't know you left when you did, we didn't hear Toby at the barn door — face it," she urged her, "you guys don't know for sure if I was in there the entire night."

"You didn't hurt Alison—"

"I buried her, A is saying so," Halle cut in.

Spencer's eyes judged her for that, shooting back, "When do we ever trust what A says?" It encouraged Spencer to continue fighting her friend on this. "That is like the best reason not to get sucked into this mess, Halle — A lies."

But Halle only lit up again. "And we're lying, too, that's the point!" Persistent, Halle argued, "I didn't hit her like I thought I did last year, but I did drag her body." Resigned, Halle said, "I buried her."

"And you remember that?" Spencer asked her, "You remember burying her?"

"No—" Halle saw Spencer retract, ready to throw it back in Halle's face, but Halle swiftly defended, "But I remember some things. It's blurry," she confessed, upset with herself. "But I remember leaving the barn, and I remember the sound her skull made when it was caved in. I remember the blood on the back of her head, the weight of her body, dragging her over the lawn, hiding the rock..." Her features folded in on themselves, "... putting the sprinklers on."

"None of it happened." Spencer went to her, clutching Halle's hands firmly in hers. Staring intensely into Halle's eyes, Spencer refused to break the gaze as she tried to talk her friend down from a risky ledge. "Halle, I love you, and I really wanna help you, but I can't do this every time A gets in your head." She explained, "It's every time. Every time A targets you, singles you out, they get inside your head and you act like this."

Halle scoffed. She sucked her teeth, backing off, essentially tearing her touch away from Spencer. She doesn't believe her, Halle's brain spoke, she'll never hear her out.

Still, despite Halle's retreat, Spencer carried on. She said pointedly, firm so that Halle will take it in, "The most solid argument we have is this — Alison was hit with a shovel. She was hit so hard, it left a dent in her skull. That is fact. It is not fiction. It's not a blurry memory in your head or a bad thought. It is fact."

Trembling, Halle started to beg with watery eyes. "I need you... I need you trust me on this." She wanted to cry and her voice broke, "I need you to believe me."

Spencer sensed the great distress amounting in Halle's shaky form and tried to preserve what little faith Halle had in herself that she wasn't capable of the dreadful thing she thought she was. "Okay, I believe you."

Halle let out a huge sigh of relief. It washed over her, shoulder relaxing at last finding peace. She believes her, Halle told herself, Spencer believes her.

"But—" Spencer put a dagger to that thought. She looked warily at the fear that shone in Halle's eyes, and Spencer said, "But, we'll talk about. All of us." She gave Halle what she wanted — what she needed. "When Aria is better, we will sit down and talk about what happened, okay? We'll talk about whatever you wanna talk about, but..." Full of remorse, Spencer added, "I can't do this tonight. It's mine and Toby's anniversary tonight and I really can't have this lingering over me, so I need you to promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever—?"

"Promise me, Halle," Spencer insisted, interrupting. She meant it; she was firmer this time. On this, Spencer had to be unwavering. "It's the same as before, you're on that edge looking down, ready to jump. I need you not to jump. Promise me you won't jump."

Halle looked down. "... Okay, I—"

A phone ringing cut Halle off instantly. Spencer apologised, telling her to hold on, before she turned her back on Halle and picked up her mobile from off the kitchen island. Spencer raised it to her ear, answer. "Hey?"

Emily came through, "Hey, Spence. Mission accomplished." Her voice told that of her glee, enthused greatly. "He's on his way to your house, and I got the keys."

"You got the keys? Oh, that's great, thank you," Spencer replied. As much as Spencer wanted to stay chatting to Emily, spilling all things Toby and the night she had planned for them, Halle lingered at the forefront of her mind. "Look, Em, I gotta go— thanks again."

"Okay, I'll swing 'round with the keys later," Emily said. "Bye."

Spencer ended the call, speaking to Halle before she had even turned back. "Okay, Toby is on his way over to shower, we should—" Spinning around, phone in hand, Spencer was startled to find the room empty.

Gone was Halle. Vanished was the heightened fight they'd just had, full of risks and high stakes. Halle had walked out without promising.

After being put to Spencer's back, as the Hastings girl answered the call, Halle had left. Although this conversation, this time around, succeeded in pushing Spencer into at the very least talking about That Night like Halle had craved for weeks now, Halle still felt like a burden. It was Spencer's anniversary with Toby tonight, and Halle didn't want to add to anymore concern Spencer possessed for her. It was hard enough sharing the demons waging war inside Halle's head, battling around, because she already felt like she was closer to insanity than getting her friends to believe.

Halle just needed proof. If she had that, then they had to believe her.

Settling on that, Halle began the short distance from the Hastings' house to the DiLaurentis'. Once outside, instead of going right and heading the back gate, which led out onto the road, Halle walked to the renovated doors to the barn. Halle decided to count the steps, trekking through the overgrown, busy pathway between the two houses. She'd trace her steps from last night.

Her phone went off, beeping with a text-alert, just as she immerged into the DiLaurentis' backyard. She counted almost a hundred-and-fifty steps. Her eyes fell on the soiled ground where Halle knew the gazebo went up, concealing Alison's body for a whole year. Its grass was shorter than the most. This past summer was the first chance Jason got to recover it — start again — but the spot was always going to be haunted by the dead girl who was buried there.

She reached for her mobile. There was another message, filling Halle with anxious dread. It swirled around her head; nerves swarmed her stomach and tied into a ugly knot of terror.

ONLY GUILTY GIRLS
GO BACK TO THE MURDER SITE.
-- A

Breathing got harder for her. Sharp, fast breaths left her light-headed. All the blood rushed to her head, pounding in her ears. It was deafening, beating loudly. Halle tried to push through it. She tried to remember — to push herself to remember. But Halle felt her legs go limp, like the sensation was lost, and her head began to seer with pain.

A stabbing feeling shot up her forehead, and Halle cried out. "Argh!" Her hand darted up to her head. She imagined the rock descending down on her, crashing through her skull, slicing through her skin. Halle swore she felt liquid seep from a phantom wound, but as she moved to wipe at it, her palm came up clean.

Consumed by all the chaos, too far gone as she stared down at the plotted land and envisioning Alison's head caved in, Halle hadn't heard a figure approach from behind. It wasn't until a hand clamped on her shoulder and she let an almighty scream that she knew she wasn't alone.

Instantly, Jason was there. Startled by her jerk reaction, her screaming in pure terror at a singular touch, Jason attempted to steady her. "Hey— Hey," Jason spoke before Halle broke into flood of tears, collapsing into his arms. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay." His arms eloped her into a tight embrace, scooping her up like a small child terrified from a bad dream. "I got you, you're safe."

•

It had taken a while for Halle to settle. Her adjustment to neutral had yet to be complete. Her hands trembled around the mug of hot coffee, purposefully half-full because Jason didn't trust it not to spill from the shaking. It reminded her of last night. His attentive nature and steadily coaxing until she was ready to talk again. Jason found her there, on her bedroom floor surrounded with photographic proof she was being stalked extensively and red paint on her skin; a giant A tainted the room.

It had been longer than fifteen minutes. Jason grew restless of waiting. The night's cold began to pick up, becoming more bitter with each ticking minute gone by, howling against the windows. Wondering where she had gotten to, Jason picked himself up from the couch. Candles were lit around the DiLaurentis living room, lighting up the house in a cascading warm yellow, that neither were basking joyously in as of yet.

Jason convinced himself, after sending and not receiving a reply from his first text, that something terrible had happened. He blew out each candle, not wanting a repeat of last year, and took himself across the street, up the Brewster's porch and knocked on the door.

Nick Brewster answered, a smile on her face. "Jason, hey."

"Hey, Mr Brewster," said Jason politely.

"Nick," corrected Halle's father, like he did every time Jason insisted on addressing him more formally out of respect.

"Nick," repeated Jason.

"What can I help you with?" Nick asked him.

"Halle's meant to be come mine and she's not answering her phone," Jason replied, trying to seem indifferent about it. "Just wanted to see if she forgot."

"Oh, well, she's definitely upstairs, heard her banging around," Nick mentioned. He stepped aside, inviting Jason inside. "Go on up." He jested, "Probably can't find anything in that room of hers." The man gave a chuckle and shut the door behind them both.

Jason tried his best to hid his deep concern. He even managed a short-lived smile at his girlfriend's father before he dashed up the stairs. Rounding the rich-wood bannister, Jason made his was to the front right bedroom. He pushed open the door, it creaking on its hinges, and then found Halle.

There she was.

On the floor, surrounded by countless photographs of her face, Halle sobbed to herself. She sniffed and wiped her hand over her face, painting her cheek and nose with red. When her eyes flashed up to Jason, taking in his speechless expression, Halle broke into tears. The water streamed down those same cheeks. "Help me," she pleaded, "help me, they can't see."

"So, you've been having more nightmares?" Jason asked her seriously. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly opposite her, leant forwards with his hand clasped together.

Halle shook her head, hands quivering still as the remnants of her anxiety attack remained. "It's the same one," she said. "Every night."

"You mean to tell me you've been having the same one as before?" he checked, careful to consider her face as he listened. Jason saw her nod and raised his brow up at her. "And you think it's real?"

Regretfully, knowing it was what set Spencer off earlier, Halle said, "A is telling me it is, yeah."

He gifted a single shake of his head and replied, "That's not what I asked." Jason clarified for her, "I asked if you think it's real."

Halle opened her mouth, going to speak but all that left her was an audible breath. She tried again, but the same happened. She was too terrified to admit to it that her throat paralysed itself and no words came out.

Jason took that as an answer. There was no hesitancy as he put a hand out and rested his palm across her thigh, rubbing it gently in hope of easing her anxiety. If he didn't believe her, Jason gave no sign he did. Instead, he kept asking questions — showing interest in her nightmares to solve whatever trouble waged on inside Halle's brain. Jason wanted to fix it for her, like she had done everything else. "So one of the girls hit Alison—" he dipped his head, asking, "in your version?" He saw her give a little nod, most probably scared, and Jason continued, "But, Ali was hit with a rock?"

Managing to speak, Halle pushed out a small, "Yeah."

"When she was hit with—"

"A shovel, yeah, I know," grumbled Halle, having heard it before. Annoyance gathered in her as she thought on the amount of time she was shot down. "Spencer keeps telling me."

Jason ignored that. He simply moved onto his next question, eyes tracking Halle's worried features as they got overcome with slight irritation. Jason wanted to sooth that away. "But you still think you saw this happen?"

Looking up, meeting his gentle gaze, Halle met his concerned eyes. Her hand laid on top of his, on her thigh, and she squeezed it, grateful for the tenderness in a moment Halle thought she was losing her mind. "I feel it," she confessed, struggling with it, "it's too real not to be."

"This could just be A getting in your head," Jason made sure she knew, softening as he spoke to her fragile state. "Making you paranoid, trying to break you." Jason told her earnestly, "This could just be another game."

Halle shifted forward, towards the end of the couch cushion, as she broke the space between them. She gripped at his hands and stressed, "It is the game, Jason, it's not another one." Her tongue came out to wet her lips, eyes diverting down to the floor. "But I'm too scared to follow this, because if I saw... If I—" Halle paused, taking a moment to recollect herself over speaking aloud the very thing that had been haunting her dreams for months. "I could've seen her be killed."

He seemed to mull over her confession. His face terrifyingly neutral for the enormous bomb she had just imploded into their lives. Jason observed her carefully, never knowing impatience when it came to these fractured moments with Halle. It was a slow game, inching closer to the goal and willing taking a step back when venturing too far. Jason took all this and handled her with the upmost care. "What else?" asked Jason knowingly. He knew there was more, just be her turned-in shoulders. "There's something else, isn't there?"

A metal taste leaked into her mouth from biting down on her left cheek too hard. Water welled in her eyes, blinding her from seeing his understanding gaze while she admitted the final part. "I chose the other person," Halle said. "In my nightmare, I chose the person who hit Alison over Alison. I dragged her across the grass, left her by that gazebo and cleaned the rock off and hid it." Entirely helpless, Halle feared aloud, "Who knows what else I did?"

Next, Jason asked his most cautious — and important — question. "Who are the people you'd chose over Ali?"

Halle looked up, frightened despite the already confident in the conclusion she had been brought to. "The girls," she said.

"Okay." He thought it over, considering it for a second. "What can I do?" He shuffled closer, at the very edge of his wooden coffee table, hands reaching for her jaw. He held her face within his solid hands, deeply searching her eyes for any answers she wouldn't voice aloud to him. "What can I do to help ease this for you?"

She smiled small, appreciative, through the tightness in her chest. "Jason, you don't..."

"No, I do," said Jason protectively, and Halle responded by pressing a kiss to the palm that held her face. He asked again, persistent in being there for her, "How can I help?"

With a photograph, taken only twenty minutes prior, open on her phone, Halle tracked around the surrounding shrubbery around Jason's house with her boyfriend in tow. The treeline sheltered the wood-ground and made it difficult to see. Halle held a torch in her hand, crouched down and compared every rock to the ones out of the front of the house.

"Are you sure it was one from the front?" Jason asked, traipsing after his girlfriend as she checked the next rock they came across, ducking down to check it against the image.

"Yes!" Halle inserted firmly. But then began to waver. "I mean, yeah? It has to be, right?" Halle recounted her steps in her dreams. "I left Spencer's barn and came out the side gate, at the back, walked down the street until I came to yours." Carefully, Halle walked herself through it, remembering it as precisely as she could until it was blurry, "And I was almost at the front then the rock came down... Alison was right outside the house."

"And you don't have an idea who hit her?" Jason asked her again, stepping under a low hanging branch. He clarified, "In this dream of yours."

"No." Her answer was flat. She believed it, but then that nagging voice in the back of her head crept up and she started to waver. "Well, maybe. No, not really."

It left Jason entirely confused. She wasn't being clear, and Jason knew her well enough not to push when she was opening up. If Jason pushed her too hard, Halle'd clam up and he wouldn't be able to pry it out of her. Wishfully thinking for Jason was hoping A knew the same thing, but the sick feeling that swirled inside told him that perhaps that was A's plan — to drive Halle to the point where she'd shut everyone out to where she had nobody around her, protecting her, keeping her safe.

So, Jason kept to what he already knew — what she had told him — and tried to find out more. He wanted to see how that brain of hers ticked. "You really think one of them would've done it?" he asked. "Killed Ali?"

Huffing, Halle threw her hands up. "I don't know— That Summer, Alison was making herself a lot of enemies," she recalled with ease.

It was known to her. Halle remembered how Alison taunted her That Summer. Every agonising snide comment her best friend made. Every cheap shot Alison took to knock Halle back stung her deeply enough to cause her permanent trust issues. Yet Halle was used to it. She had been dealing with it for years. The girls had only been taking it since the September, and Alison treated them with more contempt than she ever did Halle.

"That girl's head was full of everyone's secrets, and she used them to get whatever she wanted. Trust me," Halle stressed, "if you knew the secrets she did, you'd understand why I would think it."

"Ali enjoyed playing with people," Jason affirmed to her, voice full of regret and misery. He, too, had been a victim of his kid-sister. Alison played up to their father, contributing to the neglect and hatred that built in man raising them. It only got worse when no doubt Alison found out Jason's true parentage and when he began using substances to cope with the overwhelming grief that came with constant abuse. "It was her favourite past-time," he said, small.

"I know—" Halle glanced back at him, a sadness creeping in. She met his green eyes, passing her heart-felt sympathies from her to him. Locking the phone, plunging the screen into total darkness, Halle tucked it away and started to walk towards him. A softness overcame her. Halle treated him delicately — like he had done with her — and brought her hands up to rest on his chest. "She had a real skill of doing cruel things and making people do cruel things, too."

Defeated, and utterly exhausted, Jason begged the chance to ask her, "When can we finally move on with our lives?" His hands landed on her waist, his thumbs dancing under the bottom of her top for bare skin. "I don't wanna be like this in five years time."

"I think—" Her eyes drifted down to his chest, hands moving slowly up to his shoulders, as she focused on one of the buttons on his shirt, "when we finally get answers, we can all start to move on."

"That includes answers to this?" he asked, referring to what they were doing.

Now, stood around in the middle of the woods, behind the DiLaurentis house, while they searched for a rock, did Halle realise how stupid the whole thing seemed.

"God, I'm such a nightmare," Halle laughed.

"You're not so bad, Brewster," Jason replied, chuckling along with her. He rested his forehead to hers. "You're not half the trouble you pretend to be."

A text-alert interrupted them. Her once-relaxed body tensed within his hold. She contracted her muscle in her and went rigid. Her jarred movements had her pluck the device from her pocket, already riddled with dread.

SOS.
Meet at mine.
From: Hanna

"What is it?" Jason asked, a tone of concern coating his words.

"It's Hanna," she sighed in relief. She looked up at him, guilt gnawing at her stomach. "I have to go," Halle explained, "it's an SOS."

"So it's an emergency," Jason concluded. Again, he always checked in with her, "You gonna be good to drive?"

"Should be," Halle said. She met his worried gaze. "I'll be fine."

"Let me drive you, then you can text and I'll take you to work after," Jason suggested, although it was more of a request.

Still, independence was something Halle tried to cling to. "I can walk."

"Or," Jason began, his hands finding the loopholes of her jeans to bring her closer, "you can let me drive you." He smiled down at her and then kissed her gently. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

"Okay."

•

Nerves dwindled Halle's sanity down to practically nothing. She was a tight, tense ball of anxiety with her brain constantly ticking, zooming with thoughts, as her middle finger incessantly tapped at the pad of her thumb. Her eyes tracked to the key, laid on the duvet in front of her, dropped in the process of attacking Hanna. A circular keyring on it revealed the name of the unit it was for: A.

Gathered in the white and pink floral bedroom, a troubled Hanna, scarred from another deadly encounter with their enemy, laid sprawled across her bed on her stomach with her legs in the air. Emily perched on the side while Halle sat cross-legged behind them near the head of the bed and Spencer searched the internet for information.

"Corin mover her store to Society Hill a month ago," Spencer informed, referring to the interview Hanna was supposedly meant to have this today with a designer in the city.

"Did you tell Mona you applied for a job there?" Halle asked, not taking her stare of the letter. Last night came to mind; how she scrubbed her palms raw to rid herself of the red paint used to plaster the same letter in her room.

"No, I applied months ago online," Hanna answered. Stubbornly, she inserted, "She's just doing this to get back at me for cutting her off."

"No, it wasn't her," Emily said with confidence. "I saw her at school around four." Sparing a glance back at Halle, thinking her friend would appreciate it, Emily remarked, "She looked real cosy with her study group, almost like coven."

But Halle cracked a smile. She was too busy stewing inside her own head, really inside of it, swimming amongst the chaos.

"Then it was her minion," Spencer boldly claimed. She stood from the desk, came away from the laptop and took herself to the ottoman at the foot of Hanna's bed, sitting down there. Again, Spencer held the blonde's phone and read the latest A-text, promising that next time Hanna would be left faceless. Spencer asked, "Is she threatening to cut your face off?"

"Or throw acid at her," Emily shot in.

Mortified, Halle's eyes grew large. Her breathing continued getting faster. The ticking inside her get ramped up, and her incessant tapping increased as she swapped the pads of her middle finger for her nails of her index and middle finger. She thought, maybe she should text Jason, maybe he should be driving her to and from places. Halle was too scared to do it by herself.

"You guys, come on," Hanna tried. She wanted to dilute the craziness down. As much of a threat Mona was, acid was little much even for Mona.

Picking up the key they found, taking it from Halle's focused but dazed view, Emily asked them, "Shall we give this key to the cops?" She studied the metal, finding the numbers on the back. Emily commented, "There's a numerical code on it, they could trace it."

"Yeah, but even if they could trace it though—" Seriously, Spencer faced them and considered carefully aloud, "are you ready to talk about Mona 2.0? That's what we would have to do if we turned it in."

"Well, for all we know, it's not just Mona and her minion," Emily mentioned wryly. She suggested hopelessly, "Maybe she's built a whole A-army, we still don't know what her endgame is."

"I do," quipped Hanna, "it's to cut my face off."

Un-pressing her lips, Halle stopped holding back her fears. She bit the inside of her cheek, inhaling deeply through her nose and then blurted out, shocking them, "I wanna go to the cops." They looked to her; Hanna turned her body to do so. Halle stopped her tapping and decided to hide her palms under her thighs to stop her from doing it again. "I wanna take this to the cops, I'm ready."

Hanna sensed something was wrong, how frigid and riddled with anxious energy she was. "Okay — what's up with you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Halle asked, dropping her voice in panic.

"Yeah—" Spencer's eyes widened for a second before she jumped in briskly with, "nothing's up with her, why would anything be up with her?"

"Well, considering just last night, she thought she had buried Ali, I'd say a lot, Spencer," Hanna retorted back smartly.

Narrowing her eyes, them shifting between Halle and Spencer, Emily zeroed in on the pair suspiciously. "What aren't you telling us? What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," lied Halle. She diverted her eyes down to her lap, muttering the last part, "I just wanna go to the cops about this, I'd feel safer."

"Safer?" Now Emily really was concerned. It floored her that this was what Halle felt. To Emily, Halle would never trust them, not after all they had been through. Halle was smart; understood the police turned everything on them. Once Halle had said that going to the police would never end well for them, so this new shared confession made no sense. "When have the cops ever made you feel safe?"

"I don't know but you asked my opinion—" Halle looked up, accusation on the tip on her tongue as she remarked, "I can have my opinion, right?" When they didn't reply, Halle casually shrugged and said, "You asked, I answered — I'd like to go to the cops."

"I get it, I hear you guys—" Spence spoke to the three of them yet her words were purposefully supposed to ring louder in Halle's ears. I hear you, Spencer was saying while she begged for the girl to listen. "But," Spencer reminded, "Mona still has all those pictures of us at Ali's grave."

"You know what?" Hanna's hand shot up in dismissal. "I don't care anymore," she said, "she has to be stopped."

"We have to go to the cops," Halle voiced, beginning to overflow with vulnerability.

Sadly, Spencer met her in that place. Recently, she had seen it more times than she would have liked. Halle was falling apart, and Spencer was there following closely behind her trying to scoop all the turmoil left behind in the wake of it. Last night — Halle's abrupt and blunt confession, admitting to thinking she killed Alison — was just another prime example. "Yeah, you're right." Then, Spencer firmly chose to make sure it was known, "But this decision is gonna affect all of us. Aria has to be in on it too."

"Has anyone talked to her today?" Emily curiously asked.

Halle's head picked up, she hadn't heard from Aria either. The terror seeped into her face, and Halle returned to tapping her finger to her thumb at rapid speed now.

"I've tried her phone, but all I get is voicemail," Spencer responded.

"Me too," added Hanna. "She's probably still sleeping."

"We'll just wait," Spencer said, hand extended out for the key. As she accepted it, she spared a glance to a troubled Halle. "We'll talk about it in the morning," she promised and meant more. Spencer aimed to pierce whatever fright bubbled obviously at Halle's surface.

We'll take about it in the morning, we'll talk about That Night.

It was the same. Just more secrets on top of all the others. Halle bore them all. She carried the brunt of the worst parts of their demons, and shared it rarely and with few. As she as she'd hate to admit it, Halle was falling part. Her brain was splitting in halves. She felt it happening. Halle wondered if it was punishment. Her head would break because Alison's was caved it. Halle would lose her mind for it.

•

The Grille usually, as it had been for most of Halle's life, had gotten busier when the year entered its later months and the sky got dark around four. Nowadays, with all the misery and murder that painted their small town red, people were coming out less and less. The family-friendly restaurant was quiet and Halle's noticeable presence was kept to a minimum, only during the easy shifts, as not to draw in a crowd or drive one out.

Association was dangerous game in Rosewood. People saw Halle and saw the dead girl's best friend. They saw the girl who dated that same dead friend's brother. They saw the girl who lied and formed a sharp-tooth wolf pack with her friends. The girls who death followed. After all, Halle could be directly connected to every murder that had happened in the space of two years.

Four.

Four deaths. Four murders, and Halle was connected to them all. So were her friends. It was more than a coincidence now. This was a pattern. Death was their friend, killing off those who came too close.

With a forced smile tight on her face, Halle served up two plates of hot food to a table of patrons. "Here you go," she said, still smiling. "Can I get you folks anything else? Sauces? More drinks?"

"No, thanks, this is wonderful," replied the woman at the table, waving off Halle's questions.

"Okay, well, enjoy your food," Halle said. The whole time she kept that same damn smile on her face until she was gone from their view. It dropped in an flash and the tiredness she felt clouded her limbs. She ached all over while her hands still shook.

Holding one hand out, palm horizontal to the floor, Halle monitored its tremble. She hadn't stopped since that same morning. Every time she closed her eyes, Halle pictured herself stood over Alison's murder site; the rock in her blood soaked hands this time.

Guilty girls.

Guilty girl.

It was what A said. It was what A was insisting on. Halle was guilty. She wasn't absolved from it. She hadn't gotten away with it. Halle had handled a rock That Night and somebody was hurt because of it.

Trying to bury it down, burrowing it deep within her gut, Halle blew out a breath and tried to return to work. She ventured over to the empty table in her section, ready to collect the cheque-book there. A smile came to her lips at the few spare coins left there in the dish, but it was wiped from her quickly when she noticed a screwed up napkin abandoned on the floor.

Picking it up, Halle went to toss it yet hesitated when her eyes caught onto something red inside it. She unfolded it, ironing out the creases, and a breath was stolen from her the second she read the words left for her.

IN GEORGIA I WAS AWAY,
TO KILL THE CAT THE MICE PLAY.
-- A

Alison had been gone almost a two days. Two days of blissful peace enveloped Halle up in great comfort, not awaiting in anxiousness for the next slight or cruel comment intended to maim her. It had only been two days, and Halle was already much calmer than ever. Spencer Hastings shared the same relief; the pair in the Brewster kitchen chatting as fixed up themselves some popcorn for a sleepover.

"I know Em's annoyed too," Halle said to Spencer.

"Is that why she was so upset the other day?" Spencer asked, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth while she sat at the counter. "Did she tell you why?"

"No," Halle answered. "Just that her and Ali were meant to meet me at The Grille. Ali showed, Em didn't, and when I called her to ask, she was..." Halle sucked in a breath and admitted, "She barely spoke, gave me some lame excuse of feeling too great. I could tell there was something more."

"Do you think it's over Ben?" Spencer wondered curiously. "I know Ali doesn't like him very much, doesn't think he's good for Emily."

"He ain't," Halle stubbornly agreed with Alison on that one. "But this wasn't about Ben. It was something else—" her eyes narrowed, "it was between her and Ali, I could feel it."

Spencer groaned, deflating. "You should've heard her at mine last month, talking down to Hanna," she revealed. "She shamed her out of eating a cookie — one cookie!"

A scoff left Halle. "She's a bitch."

"I'm glad you feel the same," Spencer confessed. Truthfully, she added, "I just knew if I didn't talk to someone about this, I was gonna go insane. I knew it wasn't just me who thought she was going too far, and you've—" she gestured at Halle, "known her the longest, so I figured you'd be a good place to start."

"Why me?" Halle asked her. She blinked and said, "I would've thought me knowing Ali the longest was good enough not to start with me."

"You seem different with her lately," informed Spencer, honesty in her voice. "It's like something's changed." She diverted her eyes down at the counter, fixing her eyes to the veining the wood island-top. "I didn't know if had something to do with..."

"With The Jenna Thing?" finished Halle knowingly, and Spencer's eyes went up to her. Pressing her lips together, Halle remarked, "Well, you ain't wrong."

But there was something else, Halle thought, someone else.

Jason.

And Halle wasn't stupid enough to start blabbing about that. So she clammed up and stuck to The Jenna Thing. That was enough to make anyone change. It popped the bubble that Alison had blew around her seven years prior and now pleasing Alison wasn't the thing that built pride in Halle.

"She got way worse this year," commented Spencer with a huff.

"No—" Halle shook her head, thinking back on it, "it got worse the year before last." She breathed in deep and began, "I was in the thick of all of it. She was vicious. If you thought was bad now, she was... impossible," she gave, stressing it, "back then." Halle craned her head back, remembering vaguely, "Then, it changed. October break ended, and she was back to the Ali I knew."

"What made you stay?" Spencer asked her, baffled. "Like, if she was bad, why stay?"

"Ali's my only friend, Spencer," Halle replied, giving over a rare slice of emotion. "Okay — she was my only friend for really long time, and she can be— you wouldn't know," Halle snapped in an instant, "you've only been friends with her seven months, I've done seven years."

"But Halloween," Spencer brought up, pleading almost. It was enough to still Halle and melt all the offensive attack that showed previously. "That prank," breathed Spencer.  Annoyance flashing through her veneer of strength, she remarked, "We should have voted her off the island that night."

"Maybe we should have," Halle mentioned without a second thought. She hadn't realised what she had said until she looked up and saw the wide-eyed stare on Spencer's face. "What?"

"I never thought you'd turn on her," Spencer returned, mild shock on her features.

Sincerity leaked in, and Halle said, "Neither did I."

A gentle knock alerted the girls to the back porch. Halle put down the bowl of popcorn on the island and crossed the room to open it. Once she had reached the door, through the glass and shutter, Halle saw Aria Montgomery. Her pale face was covered in tears, pink strands of hair matched Halle's, and instantly Halle forced the door open. "Hey," she said, concerned, "what's happened? Are you okay?"

"No, not really. I just really need—" Aria stopped, spotting Spencer sat there at the island. "Oh, I didn't realise you were busy." Now awkward, Aria appeared to go flush, waving her right hand about panicking. "Sorry, I can come back."

"No, no, it's fine. We were just—" Halle spared a glance back at Spencer, who was always smiling encouragingly at Aria in hopes she'd open up, "having a sleepover. You can join us if you want," Halle kindly offered.

"Yeah—" Spencer's smile broke out across her face, "I brought The Notebook over," she claimed, "and Halle's chose—"

"—How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days," Halle inserted over her, smiling. "You're happy to stay. I'm sure I got some pjs you can borrow."

"Sorry, I, uh—" Aria smiles painfully through her glassy eyes. She sniffled and cleared her throat before she took a huge leap of faith, hoping they'd both hear and listen to her. " just came over to talk to you... Halle... about... about Alison." Aria looked meek, sheepish, as she spoke it aloud like she was terrified of them judging her. "I have one else," she said.

Again, Halle blinked back at Spencer, them sharing a deep breath of acknowledgement as they knew the majority of the group was reaching the end of the very thin thread Alison was dancing boastfully on. This was it, Halle told herself, this was the moment to take if there was ever going to be one.

"We were—" Halle looked back at Aria, smiling once again, more encouragingly now, "actually doing the same."

A harsh snap back to reality left Halle unbalance. Like she had been soaked through by a cold bucket of freezing water, Halle stood rigid and dithering. The loud clatter of the restaurant around came back to her, and Halle suddenly realised where she was. Staring down at the inked message, Halle had pushed that memory far back for a reason. She didn't like the version of her that came afterwards.

The door to The Grille opened, the bell chiming above. Detective Wilden strolled in, that same sinister smirk on her mouth as he noticed Halle. Only a fool would assume the man didn't get enjoyment out of taunting them. Halle glanced around the restaurant: her boss was nowhere to be found and the only other staff was waiting on a table. It was Halle who had to serve him.

Shoving the crumpled threat into her apron, Halle approached with pressed lips. She presented herself at the maître-d stand and forced on the fake, half-polite smile she reserved for customers. "How can I help you?" she asked.

"Is that the first time you're making yourself helpful?" Detective Wilden asked, already wanting to crawl under her skin within seconds.

Instead of a reply, Halle repeated her questioned. "How can I help you?"

"What, no witty comment?" he poked at her. "No dry comeback?" Detective Wilden shook his head and tutted, "That's not like you."

"Well—" Her smile grew tight and sarcastic, "I'm sorry I'm not up to scratch, but I am working and you're..." Halle looked him up and down, coming to an obvious conclusion, "not."

"No," replied the detective. "Not technically."

"So," Halle asked another time, patience wearing thin, "how can help?"

"I have an order I'm here to pick up," he told her, and Halle nodded. As she went to walk off to go check on it, Detective Wilden called her back with a simple mention of a singular name.  "I hear Jason is back in town."

Turning to face him, Halle shortly returned, "He is."

"He doing okay? Better, I mean," added Detective Wilden, his words like finely aimed hints at Halle's resolve.

But she was much smarter than that. Than him. Than he thought she was. Halle didn't easily unravel, not when her loved ones were concerned. "Never better," Halle said. "Let me go check on your order."

She, laced with slight panic which wrapped up her hysteria comfortably, shifted on her feet to move but stopped. Her sanity slipped through her fingers slowly, hand clenched tightly as she held onto the last grains of it. There was nothing she could do as it fell away.

Yet, Halle's mind rang with the conversation from earlier. How she wanted to go to the police. The paranoid, shaking shell she was now to the once-confident girl she used to be was not a comparison she liked.

"Uh, Detective."

Instantly on guard, Detective held her in suspicion. Halle's usual tone was drowned heavily in sardonic disrespect — openly out to make a mockery of his job title — but this time it was not spoke with a hint of her snarky attitude or sass. "Yeah?"

"Uh, I don't..." Tearing up already, Halle scolded herself for it. Stupidity rose in her chest, heating her neck and face until she swore she was burning up. Embarrassment filled in her senses as she desperately tried to rid the water from her eyes.  "God, why am I so emotional lately?"

His scepticism only doubled. Not even when Halle was in serious trouble — interrogated in a police station — had she ever displayed anything but anger and irritation. Now, in the open, in front of him, she was exhibiting a real flurry of emotions: fear, sadness, self-depreciation. So, Detective Wilden asked,  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, uh, just..." Complete disbelief landed on her shoulders as Halle admitted, with nowhere else to go, "I need your advice."

Raising his brows at her, narrowing his dubious eyes, Detective Wilden said, "You want my advice?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't need it," chided Halle instinctively yet folded afterwards. "But you're police officer and I don't know where to go with this." Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Halle debated opening her mouth. She knew her friends wanted to wait, but Halle could feel the walls closing around her. Her heart was constantly hammering, her breathing was always fast, her thoughts were zooming around. Halle couldn't do it anymore. Nobody was listening. Scared and lonely people do dangerous and foolish things, Halle reminded herself. "Mona Vander— Mona Vanderwaal is back at school, and I don't safe around her. I don't— I don't trust her."

Playing off his surprise at her confession, he scanned her stance but only got the impression she was telling him the truth. "That's gotta be hard for you." Detective Wilden recalled, "Considering what you and your friends were out through by her last year."

"I feel like I'm being watched, like all the time," Halle disclosed, eyes glossy again. Her speech ramped up, as the blood pounding in her ears did, "Like someone is watching me all the time, and I don't if I'm paranoid or what, but I don't— I don't feel safe," she admitted.

Detective Wilden checked in, curious now, "And this is started happening since Mona Vanderwaal was released from Radley and returned to school?"

Halle froze. Her rambling stopped. She couldn't say no, nor could she say yes. So Halle settled on not saying anything at all and hoped her silence would be loud enough of an answer.

"Do you want to come to the station and make statement?" asked Detective Wilden, and Halle's eyes shot open.

"No—" Halle made a move to cross out that suggestion with her hands, defiant and strong. "No, no, I don't want trouble."

"If you don't feel safe then I suggest—"

"No, forget it," Halle cut him off. "Forget I said anything."

"Look," Detective Wilden began reassuringly, "I can't do much if you're not willing to make a statement, and I'm not even sure what I could file it under if it's a feeling and you don't have any proof."

"I thought so," said Halle. She sucked her teeth, self-hatred flooding in fast at how she betrayed her friends for safety but received not even a slither of it. "God, I'm so stupid."

"But, what I can do," he interrupted her panic, "is keep an eye out." Detective Wilden offered, "I can speak to her doctors, under the basis of the ongoing investigation, find out if she's keeping up with her mandatory therapy and rules since leaving Radley."

"You can do that?" asked Halle, pleasantly surprised at how forthcoming he was being with her. It unnerved her.

"Sure." His grin did nothing to ease her rising discomfort. Sickeningly, Detective Wilden confirmed, "It's my job, I'm the good guy. In the badge you can trust."

Halle grimaced, "Forgive me if that's not comforting."

"I just want to know what happened That Summer," he reiterated, his ulterior motive laid clearly in front of her.

It resonated with Halle. Shame filled her. The weight of that A-message in her apron reminded her of her own sins from That Summer.  "You and me both."

The bell above the door chimed. It signalled a new arrival, and when Halle begged a look around the detective, she laid her eyes on her boyfriend. Jason's looming figure stood prominently in the entrance. His presence demanded attention, strong chest puffed and green eyes darkened. His steely stare directed at the man in front of his girlfriend. He didn't taken them off him even as his question was meant for Halle. "Everything okay here?"

"Everything's fine," Halle attempted to sooth. Her eyes met Jason's, him finally looking at her. "Detective Wilden just came in for his takeout, I should—"

"Detective," Susan, Halle's boss, came out with a large smile on her face. In her hands, she had a brown paper bag sealed with the Grille's logo. "Here's your food, sorry for the wait."

"No worries," the detective said, as he flashed a smile back at the woman. Then he aimed it purposefully at Halle. "You have very accommodating staff."

"Yeah, Halle's the best of them," Susan praised. She faced Halle and said, "I'll ring Detective Wilden up, you can clock out once that table is clear."

"Thanks," Halle said. She chanced a glance up at Detective Wilden before she diverted herself away. She headed for the side cabinets and grabbed the disinfectant spray along with its cloth. Halle went to table she long forgot — the one where she found the note — and resumed cleaning it. Well aware Jason was hot on her heels, shadowing her, Halle refused to look at him knowing she'd cave easily.

"What was that about?" asked Jason. He was by the table, watching as she sprayed and clean its surface while ignoring him; the detective was now leaving. "He pressure you to answer questions?" Instantly, Jason said, "We can go to your parents, get them to file a complaint. He shouldn't be asking you anything without a parent present."

"He wasn't." Halle's eyes went up to him, both wild and stunned. "He was just picking up his food."

"Halle, I saw you talking," he protested. Her favourite shade of green eyes begged her. "Don't lie to me again, please."

Exhaling a heavy breath, knowing too well how he'd damn her for it, Halle confessed, "I told him I was worried about Mona, about her being back."

On the spot, Jason implored her, "Why didn't you come to me?"

"I did," Halle fiercely bit back. Acutely tuned in to where their where, Halle lowered her voice and said, "I did come to you, and you told me you were in no position to the rock the boat, remember?" Sighing as she saw the recollection seep into his features, them melting at the reminder, Halle shook her head. "I have to go put these back then we can go." She closed in on him, approaching on his space to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, before she pulled back and headed through to the back.

Jason closed his eyes as she left him. He embraced the feel of her lips on his cheek, feeling the warmth spread around the spot she kissed. But then, as he felt her leave, his eyes opened and were filled with hot determination.

In that heat, that itching rage, Jason made a snap-decision. He turned his head around and stared out the wall-sized windows, at the front of the restaurant, locating the police cruiser. A switch went off and before Jason knew it, he was exiting. "Hey!" His shout caused Wilden whip back around to face him. Jason stalked down the couple of steps and down to the pavement. Briefly, he glanced either side of the street then crossed it. "I don't like you around Halle." Jason strongly instructed, "I want you to stay away from her — and the girls."

"I was just picking up my takeout," Detective Wilden defended, one palm up to show he meant no harm despite the slight taunt within his tone.

"That better be all." Jason threatened him "Because if I find out you're bothering her again, you'll be answering to me. You've been kicked off this case before; I'll make sure when it happens again, you won't get reinstated." Warningly, full of protectiveness, Jason promised, "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her."

"Maybe you should ask her about that, then," Wilden requested, his eyes darting back over Jason's head, at the window. "Somebody's hurting her. Question is, am I find out who first, or are you?"

Caught off-guard, out of his depth entirely, Jason looked back. He saw Halle through the front window, smiling at her boss as she slid on her jacket. The worst past was, Halle had become too good of liar that he wasn't confident enough to decipher if it was real or not.

It worried him. Jason was helpless. He felt guilty, tortured over the fact he couldn't protect her. Jason knew Halle was scared of A — petrified of That Night and what she could've done. The question he was left with now was, what else was she afraid of?

•

The car journey home had been almost silent. The steady thrum of the engine kept the peace between them, and both were thankful for it. They barely said a word to each other until they climbed into bed.

Jason watched her as she flitted around his bedroom as she got unready. He leant back on his pillow, stare on her exposed back, monitoring of her muscles were clenched or not, wondering if she was tense or not. He didn't get a close enough look until she sat down on the side of the bed; and from what he saw, she was relaxed until she wasn't.

Halle's phone went off. It seemed to be pinging every time he was with her recently. Somebody always needed her — wanted her — and Jason witnessed her shoulder shoot up. Halle flinched, like she did every time it beeped.

Reaching for it, her hand quivered. Halle checked the bright screen and let a sigh escape her when she saw who it was from.

My dad said he met with Ali,
but he didn't kill her.
Call me?
From: Aria

A groan left her though. She was tired, exhausted. Her shoulders slumped in defeat; body carried the weight of her depression. She didn't want to do this right now. Halle craved a break. She wanted to wish herself back to Cape May, but wishes weren't real.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Jason asked, as she dragged a hand through her hair.

"Not really," Halle answered. She glanced back at him, smiling sadly. "I'll deal with it tomorrow," she said, putting the phone aside, screen facing down. "Now—" she started to get into bed, laying herself down next to him, "I just wanna sleep."

Tentatively reaching out, Jason tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "You taken your pills?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

"Why Wilden?" Jason asked. "You know he's a dirty cop."

"He's the only cop we have," Halle replied. Honestly, she added, "I'm scared, Jason. I can't protect you or my friends. I can't even protect myself."

He couldn't help the scoff that came next. "And you think Wilden's gonna help you?"

Her shoulder shrugged, lips pressed together; Halle didn't have an answer. She didn't necessarily believe the detective could help her — his track record with them told her much different — but Halle had no other options.

"You said we should've gone to the cops, and I wanna do the same, Jason," Halle revealed. "I wanna so that now, I wanna end this."

Jason shuffled closer to her in the bed, bringing his warmth nearer. "Then let's go, we'll go together."

"We can't," said Halle regretfully. She was brimming over with remorse. For putting him through this, she damned herself for eternity. "It's not just us, it's them." Her friends, she didn't say aloud. "I have to protect them."

"You protecting them has got you this scared, Halle," Jason argued, passionate about keeping her safe. "It's making you feel nuts, maybe that's why you're waking up crying every morning."

Halle's finger found its way to his lips. She shut her eyes and shushed him. "Shh, no, let's not tonight." When she opened them again, she removed her finger and then shifted herself towards him. She rested her head on his chest, loving the feel of the steady rise and fall of his chest, letting it calm her. "I just wanna sleep," she repeated, "I just wanna sleep."

But Jason was right. When she closed her eyes, the blackness of her lids taking her out, Halle saw her nightmares come alive. Only they weren't nightmares. In the black, her memories appeared and her fear reared its ugly head. Halle protecting her friends had made her mad, and yet, the manipulation was hers.

Halle was the first domino who fell.

The weakest link.

They were settled. The three of them sat around the Brewster dining table. Halle was at the head with Spencer to her right and Aria to her left. The large bowl of popcorn was between them; the two DVDs laid at the end, unwatched and untouched. Coffee hung in the air, masking the scent of betrayal that came next.

"What happened with Alison?" Halle asked Aria.

The pale faced girl had stopped her crying. Used tissues were screwed up and abandoned around her, but still she sniffled. Her nose was pink as strands of her hair were. "She called me today," Aria admitted. "She just—" She shook her eyes, eyes welling up again. "She's just awful, I can't deal with it anymore." She blinked up at them, water falling from her lashes down her cheeks. "I can't, I can't keep doing this."

Spencer reached across the table for her, clutching kindly at Aria's hand. "It's okay, we get it," she assured, "we hear you."

In the window of opportunity, Halle grasped at it. Boldly, without faltering, Halle said, "We should do something about it." They looked to her. "We should make sure Ali knows she can't mess with us anymore."

"How do we do that?" Spencer asked.

"Play at her own game," Halle attested. The cheerleader had already been doing it for the past month, playing Jason to get back at Alison for her own selfish vendetta. This was one was for her new friends — the friends Alison had given her.

Aria questioned, her crying ceasing, "Do you think Emily and Hanna will join us?"

"Em will," Halle said. "She's angry enough."

"Hanna might need some convincing," Spencer agreed, "but she won't be able to take anymore comments. She'll join, if you put enough pressure on her."

"Okay," Aria said shakily. She turned to Halle, whom held all the answers. "How do we play the game?"

Smiling devilishly, Halle proclaimed to them, like their new leader, "With a prank."

•