It was at least three miles to Hanna’s dad’s campaign office, which was in a building on Lancaster Avenue near the train station. Spencer had considered taking her bike, but she hadn’t had time to plant it in the woods behind her house, so she had to go on foot. She shot into the next development, ran on the streets for a while, but ducked into a yard whenever a car turned onto the road. Every footfall was like a chant: Must Get Ali. Must Get Ali.
Running along Lancaster was much more difficult—even though it was late, there was still some traffic, and Spencer had to keep on the inside of the guardrail at all times. Whenever she saw headlights, she ducked behind a tree or a strip-mall sign. Once, when she saw a cop car at the intersection, she hid in a ditch. Still, she arrived at the office shortly before 1:00 AM. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body. Dirt caked her tights and shoes. She was pretty sure she’d twisted an ankle diving into a ditch. But it didn’t matter. She was here.
She stared at her reflection in the building’s flat panes of glass. Exit lights above the doors glowed, but otherwise the atrium was dark. She peered at the underground parking lot, then at the woods in the back, and then at the neon sign of Jessica’s Consignment Shop next door, where the Rosewood Day Drama Department sometimes got costumes for school plays. Was it really possible Ali was around here? How could she have hidden somewhere so public for so long?
“I bet you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
Hanna stood behind her, similarly dressed in black and breathing heavily as if she’d run here, too. “Ali isn’t here, right? She wouldn’t hide near an office building right in the middle of Rosewood.”
Spencer shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn’t seem very likely.”
Hanna sat down on the planter next to the front door. “This is where the protests were on Friday. This is where she called Emily from.”
Within minutes, Aria and Emily arrived on bikes. Spencer filled them in on what they were talking about. “I’ve thought about this being a mistake, too,” Aria admitted, carefully stashing her bike in a shrub. “I mean, if we’re wrong, what are the cops going to do when they find us?”
“It’s not like they can punish us any more,” Spencer said emptily.
Emily looked at Hanna. “What if Ali was only here for a little while? Maybe she knew you’d figure it out, Hanna, and she called from here just to send us on a wild-goose chase?”
“But what if she didn’t?” Hanna said. “It’s worth the risk.”
Spencer pulled at the bar on the front door, but it was locked tight. “So where do we go from here? It’s not like we can get inside and check if Ali’s in any of the offices.”
“She wouldn’t be,” Hanna said thoughtfully. “I’ve been here so often that I know everyone in all of the offices throughout this building—no one is hiding Ali in a back room, I’m sure of it.”
“What about the basement?” Emily suggested.
Hanna shook her head. “There are maintenance guys patrolling this place during the day—I doubt she’s set up camp there.”
Spencer put her hands on her hips and did a full circle, once again taking in the building, the parking lot, and the road.
Hanna’s gaze fixed on the lot next door. “What about that building?”
Everyone turned and looked. “Jessica’s Consignment Shop?” Emily asked.
“No, the thing before Jessica’s.” Hanna pointed at a cluster of trees that made a barrier between the office building and the consignment store’s parking lot. And suddenly, Spencer saw it: Set back from the road, peeking out above the brambles, was what looked like a rooftop.
“Oh my God,” Aria breathed.
“I noticed it when I was here the other day, talking to my dad,” Hanna whispered. “I don’t know what it is, though.”
They walked closer, down a path hidden in the tall grass. A hundred yards back, mostly concealed by overgrown trees, loomed a building—a fallen-down barn, perhaps, or an old stone house left to disintegrate. Spencer opened the flashlight app on her iPhone and shone it against the weathered clapboard frame, a broken window, a drooping gutter. The ground was overrun with weeds, as if no one had touched it in years.
Hanna squinted. “Gross.”
A hush fell over the group. They peered at the looming house. A shiver slunk up Spencer’s spine. Suddenly, this felt like it. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
32
THE BOY
One by one, Hanna and the others climbed through the hedges. Up close, it was even more disgusting than it had looked from the parking lot. The windows were boarded up with rotted pieces of wood, and a front porch was covered in spiderwebs and trash. A rusted, rooster-shaped weathervane on the roof spun slowly and creakily with the wind. Vines and weeds grew up and into the walls as if they were trying to swallow the house completely. The foul stench of a rotting animal carcass wafted out from somewhere inside.
Hanna covered her nose with her sleeve. “How could she live in a place like this?”
“The same way she could kill five people,” Aria reminded her. “She’s crazy.”
Spencer climbed up a crumbling ridge to the front door. The hinges were so old that it gave way easily, letting out a loud screech as it opened. Hanna bristled and covered her head as though a bomb were about to go off. After a few seconds, she dared to open her eyes. The door was ajar. No one was there. Spencer was stock-still in the doorway, her face a mask of fear.