Wanted. (Book Eight)

Thirty-Four: Spencer Hastings's Beautiful, Imperfect Life.

Andrew Campbell picked up Spencer from the hospital in his Mini Cooper and drove her home. KYW news was running the same report about how the police still hadn't found any evidence of Ali's body in the rubble.

Spencer pressed her forehead to the window and shut her eyes.

Andrew pulled up to Spencer's curb and shifted the Mini into park. "You okay?"

"I need a minute," Spencer mumbled.

At first glance, her street was resplendent and picturesque, all the houses grand and impressive, all the yards fenced in and maintained, and all the driveways paved with bluestone or brick. But if Spencer looked closer, the imperfections were obvious. The Cavanaughs' house had been dark since Jenna's death, a For Sale sign on the front lawn. The oak where Toby's tree house had once stood Wawa now a rotted stump. The whole where Jenna's body had been found was filled in with thick, black dirt. The Jenna shrine remained at the curb, so swollen that it encompassed some of the neighbor's curb and yard. The Ali shrine, on the other hand, had been dismantled. Spencer had no idea what happened to all the photos and stuffed animals and candles—they'd disappeared overnight. No one wanted to memorialize Alison DiLaurentis anymore. She was no longer Rosewood's blameless, beautiful darling.

Spencer stared at the Big Victorian on the corner of the cul-de-sac. You're Spencer, right? Ali had asked Spencer the day she'd sneaked into the DiLaurentis yard to steal Ali's piece of the Time Capsule flag. Spencer had thought Ali was only pretending not to know who Spencer was...but she actually didn't have a clue. Courtney had to learn everything about Ali's life—fast.

Spencer could also the dilapidated barn at the back of her house, forever ruined by the fire Ali had started. I tried to burn you. I tried to have you arrested. And now, here we are. The night Ali went missing, when Spencer and Ali got in that awful fight, the Ali she knew stormed out, probably on her way to meet Ian. The real Ali, the one whose life had been stolen, was waiting for her.

I saw two blondes in the woods, Ian had told Spencer on the back porch his trial. Spencer had seen those blondes, too. At first she'd assumed it was Ian or maybe Jason or Billy, but in the end, it had been two identical sisters. Of course the real Ali knew when the hole was going to be filled with concrete—she'd probably heard her parents talking about it when they'd picked her up from the hospital that weekend. She'd known how deep the hole was, too, and how hard she'd have to shove her sister to kill her. Ali probably thought that after the deed was done, she'd go back into the house and reclaim her life. Except that hadn't happened.

Spencer still had nightmares about those last moments in the Poconos before the house erupted into flames. One minute, Ali and Emily were grappling by the door. The next, the house was filled with a white fireball...and Ali was gone. Had she been blown into another room? Had they unknowingly stumbled over her dead body while trying to escape? Spencer had seen the kooks on the news who theorized that Ali was still alive. "It makes perfect sense," a wild-haired man told Larry King last week. "The DiLaurentis parents vanished. They obviously caught up with their daughter and are hiding in another country."

But Spencer didn't believe it. Ali had perished with the house, Ian's body, and her terrifying letter. Finis. Finito. The end.

Spencer turned back to Andrew, letting out a held breath. "It's all so...sad." She gestured out the window to her street. "I used to love living here. I thought it was perfect. But now it's...ruined. There are so many terrible memories here."

"We'll have to make good memories to override the bad ones," Andrew assured her. But Spencer wasn't convinced that anything could really do that.

There was a knock on the window, and Spencer jumped. Melissa peered in. "Hey, Spence. Can you come inside?"