Emily turned the knob. It gave way easily, and the door swung open with a loud groan. The same pungent vanilla scent washed into her nostrils, turning Aria’s stomach. Did Ali bathe in the stuff?
They walked inside. Spencer felt around the wall and found a light switch, but none of the bulbs brightened. Aria teetered toward the table and stared at its wooden surface. It was covered with the same thick substance as the floor. Her nose twitched, filling with the smell of something sour and familiar. All at once, she knew what it was. She glanced at the others, seeing the horror of the realization reflected on their faces.
“Is that blood?” Aria cried.
“Oh my God.” Emily curled her hands into her chest as though afraid to touch it.
Hanna tiptoed into the small kitchen area. “There’s more blood here.”
“And here,” Spencer called out from a back closet.
“Whose blood is it?” Emily cried.
An ominous silence followed. It was clear everyone was thinking the same thing. Maybe a murder had happened here.
Maybe Ali had killed someone.
Aria peered up the stairs to the second level, then took a deep breath and began to climb them. She gripped the rail hard, feeling unsteady. As she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed another light shining from the back room. Her heart stopped. Was Ali still here, hiding?
She pushed forward, ignoring the frenzied fear pulsing through her. More floorboards creaked as she peeked around the corner. When she saw lumpy shapes in the middle of the room, she let out a tiny scream—but as she moved closer, she realized that it was only a dead rat . . . and a crumpled-up dress.
She ran to the dress and picked it up, holding it away from her body. The fabric smelled powerfully of vanilla, and it, too, was covered in blood. Parts of it were still damp, maybe with blood.
“Guys,” she called, holding the dress by two fingers. “Come here.”
Everyone thundered up the steps and gathered in the room. “Look,” Aria whispered, shaking the dress side to side.
Emily clapped a hand over her mouth. “Was that Ali’s?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Aria said. “Maybe she had it on while she . . . you know . . . did whatever she did down there.” She pointed to the floor. “This could have all kinds of DNA on it. Hair, skin cells, maybe even Ali’s blood, too. Everything the cops need, right?”
“Great,” Hanna whispered excitedly. “Let’s take it to the cops and get the hell out of here.”
Creak.
Aria’s heart jumped into her throat, and she reached for Emily’s hand. It sounded like a window opening. Please let it be the wind, she willed. But then she heard footsteps across the floor.
Everyone skittered to the back of the room and huddled together. Aria fumbled for her phone in her pocket. The surveillance cameras were on the screen, but the images showed nothing on the porch and no figures in the yard. The last view, the one that would show whoever was downstairs, still displayed that maddening loop.
A glugging sound followed. Aria stared at the others. Gasoline? she mouthed. Was Ali going to torch this place with them in it, like she’d meant to do in the Poconos? But then a scent filled her nostrils. It smelled nothing like gasoline at all.
It smelled like bleach.
Another creak sounded, then a small pffft of a window closing. Everyone remained very still for what seemed like hours. Finally, Aria tiptoed to the doorway and peered over the railing. The room was empty, but the stench of bleach was overpowering.
Someone had moved around the furniture in the room. The blood on the floor and the table had disappeared. The mop and the bucket were gone, too. It looked like someone had come in, dumped a bunch of bleach everywhere, and tried to clean up.
But clean up what?
She turned back to her friends, her instincts urging her to run, now. “We have to get out of here.”
Everyone scrambled into action. Aria grabbed the soggy dress, sidestepped the rat, and thundered down the stairs as quickly as she could. Emily lunged for the front door, pulling it open and tumbling outside. As Aria and the others followed, no explosions sounded behind them. No figures shot out from the trees to attack them.
They sprinted toward the road as fast as they could. Aria had never been so grateful to see Hanna’s car on the shoulder. They hurried inside, and Hanna locked the doors and started the engine. When Aria breathed in, all she could smell was bleach. It had soaked into their skin and clothes. She could taste it, even, on her tongue.
As they pulled away, Aria swiveled around and stared out the back window. The road was dark and desolate. Even if someone was there, she wouldn’t be able to see who it might be.
Beep. Aria looked at her phone. Byron was calling, but she let it go to voice mail. How could she answer and not sound completely freaked?
Then she looked at her texts. There were four from Byron. Several from Harrison, too, replying that he was going to leave the party since he couldn’t find her anywhere. Then one from Ella, who hadn’t even attended the party: Your father called me. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this.
When she looked around, the other girls were looking at their phones, too. “Shit,” Spencer whispered. “My mom’s pissed.” Hanna chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at her screen as she drove. Only Emily stared straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. Tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.
“What just happened?” she whispered. “Was that Ali? Why didn’t we ambush her? I should have done something.”
Aria patted her hand. “No, you shouldn’t have. We had no idea what she was doing down there. And she could have had a gun, Em. We did the right thing by staying put.”