Once Removed
Emily wakes at the sound of a loud thump from outside the barn. Her shoulder aches from sleeping on the pull out couch, and she yawns extravagantly as her eyes squint at Spencer’s silhouette in the early morning light, already out of bed and heading to the door to investigate.
She stands up and stretches, tiptoeing carefully around the air mattress where Hanna and Mona are sacked out. She joins Spencer, who is peering out the door in a pair of tailored pajamas. Everything seems quiet, there’s a chill in the morning air as they step outside, a the sound of birds twittering harmlessly. Then a faint sound of an engine in the distance.
A black leather messenger bag is resting on the gravel, a few paces away, looking as if it were flung from a distance like a rolled up newspaper.
“Did you see anyone?” Emily asks, as they approach with caution.
“Just a flash of movement,” Spencer replies. “Someone running towards the woods.”
Emily lifts the flap, peaking at the contents. She lifts out one of the hardbacked journals and flips it open.
“We need to get these inside,” she says, urgently, looking around to make sure no one is watching them. “These were Charlotte’s. Alison found her diaries.”
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“How did Mona make French toast?” Spencer mutters, stacking plates in the sink an hour later. “Did I even have eggs?”
Aria gives her a half smile. “I was surprised you had bread. I thought you probably chewed coffee beans straight from the bag.”
“Caleb,” Spencer says, his name already feeling painful in her throat. “He thought breakfast was the most important meal of the day.” She straightens her posture and smoothes her hair.
“Have you heard from him?” Aria asks.
“It’s not important,” Spencer says, determinedly. “Who needs a man when you have multiple volumes of your ex-stalker’s diary to read through?”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Aria asks.
Spencer shakes her head. “I want to stay close to home. Keep an eye on Melissa.”
“My brother. Your sister. My - cousin,” Aria says. “All of a sudden our family trees are full of third suspects once removed.”
“Hey,” Spencer tells her, her voice softer than usual. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
“But what if -”
“What if, nothing,” Spencer says. “It’s not your fault. You can’t choose your family.”
Aria pulls her into a tight hug. “You’re wrong about that. Alison may have chosen us to be her friends, but after all the threats and the drama and the almost dying - you’re my family, too.”
Spencer hugs her back, her eyes a little watery. “I have a rule about not getting sappy before ten.”
“Well then,” Aria smiles. “I better get going.” She hesitates, her hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure we should be trusting Mona?”
“She’s still Mona,” Spencer admits. “But things are - different now. She’s on our side.”
“What do you mean - things are different now?” Aria asks, curiously.
“You’re not the only one with a secret.”
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Mona opens the rusted door of an abandoned factory on the edge of town. There is a fine layer of sawdust on the floor, brittle and grainy with age. She glances down, following a trail of fresh boot prints deeper into the building.
Sunlight streams in from a partially collapsed skylight, illuminating a figure sitting stiffly on a long bench across the room. Mona walks over and sits down, tapping a bearded Mike Montgomery on the knee. “Hey stranger,” she says. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Are you alone?” Mike asks, staring straight ahead.
“No one will hear me scream,” Mona replies, clocking a long look at the grey dust caked on his muscular forearms, the way his beard is separating into greasy looking curls, the wrinkled white t-shirt with alarming reddish brown stains that he’s wearing.
“Did Aria tell you to call?”
“In a way,” Mona hedges. “She’s worried about you.”
“She doesn’t understand,” Mike says in a flat voice that’s deeper than Mona remembers. “She only sees the world through a key hole.”
“Then try me,” Mona suggests. “I’ve always been a big picture kind of gal.”
“This used to be a woodworking factory,” Mike says. “They built things. Furniture. Gazebos. Church pews. They took the souls of all the separate pieces of wood and nailed them together, made something new.” He spits, suddenly, at a shadow in the corner. “You were dead,” he says, looking directly at Mona for the first time. “You came back.”
“I’m sorry,” Mona says, sincerely. “I’m sorry for making that stupid plan, for forcing you to be a part of it.”
“What was it like? Did you hear his voice?” Mike whispers, his hand reaching out to run his fingers through the glossy curtain of Mona’s hair. “Because I hear it all the time.”
Mona doesn’t flinch, but she does take his hand and gently puts it back on his own knee.
“I think you need to talk to someone,” she tells him. “A doctor.”
“My head is clear,” Mike insists. “I found what I wanted. The first devil.”
“You need your meds,” Mona suggests. “I used to think God was talking to me by changing the notes in the hymnals, remember? It wasn’t God. It was a chemical imbalance.”
“A poisoned vine can spoil all the grapes. I found the first devil. The revelation.”
“What did you find?” Mona asks. “Who’s the first devil?”
“His sins,” Mike says. “The sins of my father.”
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“This was a lovely idea,” Ella Montgomery says, an arm around Aria’s shoulders as they stroll through the Rosewood Antique Mall. “I’d love to surprise your father with a samovar. He’s wanted one ever since he read Uncle Vanya in college.”
“Mom,” Aria says, rifling through a box of old camera lenses. “I need to ask you something. Why did you visit Charlotte?”
Ella’s eyebrows arch in surprise, her knuckles go white as she clutches the sleeve of her peasant blouse nervously. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. Not after what she put you through.”
“What did you talk about?”
Ella hesitates before answering. “About her childhood, mostly. What it was like to grow up in that place. How her family abandoned her.”
“Did you know she was adopted?”
Ella doesn’t meet Aria’s eyes as she turns her back and pretends to examine an ornate candelabra. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“You don’t have to pretend,” Aria says, exasperated. “Just tell me the truth! About Charlotte and Mary Drake and Scott Montgomery.”
“Aria,” her mother says, her voice gentle. “Whatever you think you’ve pieced together, it’s not my place to -”
“Mom,” Aria cuts in. “We promised, remember? No more lying to each other for Dad.”
Ella bites her lip and nods. “You never knew your uncle, you were just a baby when he disappeared. He could be very charming, outgoing, the life of the party. He was older than your father, Byron always looked up to him. But he struggled with substance abuse. Of course, we realized later that he was self-medicating. Your grandparents took a tough love approach, they hadn’t spoken to him for almost a year before the car crash that killed them.” Ella pauses, wiping a tear from her eye. “After that, it fell to your father to try and take care of Scott.”
Byron was standing at the grill in the backyard, the smell of charcoal and steak sizzling in the air. “Radley has one of the best rehab programs in Pennsylvania,” he was saying.
His brother sat at the red wooden picnic table, a dark look on his face. Despite the heat of the summer day, he was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and knit hat. He sipped moodily at his lemonade. “My drinking isn’t the problem.”
Byron laughed nervously, wiping a hand on his apron. “This again? You’re not crazy, Scott! You just need some help drying out.”
“I can be here, or I can be there,” Scott says, quietly. “The things in my head, they’ll follow me wherever I go.”
“That’s the liquor talking,” Byron says, firmly. “You can kick this. It’s all about willpower.”
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“Calm down,” Ella implored her husband, as he paced angrily back and forth in their living room.
“He was doing so much better!” Byron exclaims. “They were really helping him! And now this? He gets kicked out for having a quote ‘inappropriate relationship’ with some floozy?”
“Byron, she was a patient. It’s against the rules.”
“Don’t tell me about the rules! Who is this woman? For all we know she seduced my brother to sabotage his recovery!”
“Listen to yourself,” Ella said, incredulously. “You can’t know what was going through her head, or his. We don’t know why she was in there, she might be struggling with the same things he is.”
“So she’s a drunken lunatic!” Byron says, red in the face. “I don’t care what her story is! She’s ruined his best chance to put his life back together!”
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Ella waved a letter in front of her husband’s face. “We need to tell him, Byron. He would want to know.”
“No,” Byron replied, flatly. “She can tell him herself. I’m not getting involved.”
“She says she tried to reach him. You know how he falls off the grid for months at a time! What do you want her to do? Write to every cheap motel in the state? Every trailer park where he might be shacked up with his old drinking buddies? She wrote to us because he doesn’t have a fixed address.”
“She should have thought about that before she took advantage of him. She’s nothing but a gold digger, Ella! He probably mentioned the trust that my parents left for him and she saw a meal ticket! The joke’s on her! Scott is in no condition to raise a child!”
“Scott isn’t,” Ella said, giving him a long, appraising look. “But we are.”
“Are you crazy?” Byron said, looking at her in disbelief. “We don’t even know that it’s his! This Mary Drake could have been involved with dozens of different men! You’re just too soft-hearted to see her for what she is - an opportunistic con artist!”
“We want a family,” Ella said. “I know you’re upset. I know that you blame her for what happened. But this baby is going to be your niece or nephew, and babies can’t raise themselves.”
Byron’s eyes were hard, his face a picture of righteous fury. “This is her problem. I won’t make it ours. I’m going to answer her letter, tell her if she contacts us again, I’ll have her prosecuted for harassment.”
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It was a sunny day in late April when the next envelope arrived in the mail box. Ella opened it before Byron got home. It was a picture of the baby and a short note. She’d named him Charles. Her sister had agreed to adopt him.
Ella stashed the letter in a drawer, but she looked at the picture of the baby for a long time. He looked so alone in the world, she thought. So vulnerable.
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Ella was rocking Aria to sleep, singing her a lullaby when she heard the frantic knocking at the door. Aria started crying at the noise, and a disheveled woman with wild eyes burst into the room.
“Please,” she said. “Please, you have to take him.”
“Who are you? Are you alright?” Ella asked, slightly alarmed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, straightening up. “We haven’t met. My name is Jessica DiLaurentis.” She held out her hand regally for Ella to shake.
“Several years ago,” she continued, “I agreed to care for my sister’s son. Your nephew. Unfortunately, my husband - our circumstances have changed. I was hoping you might be willing to take him on, as it were. Or perhaps tell me where I might find Scott Montgomery.”
“I’m sorry,” Ella replied, patting the baby gently on the back. “We barely see Scott anymore. The last time we saw him, he was working as a handyman at a run down motel out on Highway 6.”
Jessica nodded her thanks. “How old is she?” she asked, running a finger down Aria’s back. “My daughter was born in June.”
“Four months,” Ella answered. “She was born in July.”
“Isn’t that something,” Jessica said softly. “Maybe they’ll grow up together.”
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“How could you?” Byron demanded.
“What would you have me do?” Ella asked, exasperated. “She said her husband is determined they can’t keep him. Scott is his father, he has a right to know.”
“He’s barely holding it together! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to him?”
-----------------
“I hope you’re happy!” Byron shouted. “I went out there to talk to him, and he’s gone! He left everything behind! They haven’t seen him since that woman showed up at his door!”
“If he’s gone, Byron, we need to do the right thing. We need to -”
“We are not bringing that child into the house, do you hear me? That woman poisons everything she touches!”
“This is a child we’re talking about!”
“A child who’s already inherited its mother’s instability! I talked to Kenneth DiLaurentis, to let him know what I thought of his wife barging in here! The boy is- funny, alright? He tried to boil their baby in the bathtub! We need to keep Aria safe!”
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“So you would have done it? You would have taken Mary Drake’s baby?”
“It wasn’t up to me,” Ella says, regretfully. “I pressed the case with your father as well as I could, but he absolutely refused to budge. I was a young mother, I didn’t want to risk my marriage. I had no idea how the consequences of that decision would ripple, the effect it would have on you and your friends. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, after you were kidnapped. I wanted to, but your father convinced me it would do more harm than good.”
Aria shakes her head. “I would have wanted to know. If there was a reason she was targeting me. You shouldn’t have kept me in the dark.”
“We were still trying to protect you. We hired Clark Wilkins, he was on leave from the Pennsylvania BCI. We thought he could crack the case.”
“Is that why you visited Charlotte?”
“I wanted to apologize. To find out if it would have mattered. And it would have, I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t understand!” Aria tells her mother, confusion and pain etched across her face. “The whole story could have been different if Dad hadn’t been such a self-righteous jerk.”
“He was doing what he thought was best,” Ella counters. “He genuinely believed he was doing what was right for his family.”
“But why?” Aria says. “After everything that happened, everything you knew - why did you marry him again?”
“No more lies?” Ella asks.
“No more lies,” Aria begs. “I’m an adult, Mom. I can handle it.”
“The truth then,” Ella says, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a wry smile. “He needed an alibi.”
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“Woah,” Mona says, when Mike finishes his story. “Did you see her that night? Did you -” she pauses before continuing as delicately as possible, “Do anything to her?”
“She fell. A long fall.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“God and the devils were fighting. She should have had wings. It’s all Revelations,” Mike says. “I know things. I understand things, Mona. God talks to me. You don’t have to believe me, but he does.”
“I know it feels real,” Mona says, her voice full of compassion. “But it’s a symptom, Mike. I can tell you’re not sleeping. When was the last time you had something to eat? You’re in the middle of a break, and if you don’t get help, you’re going to fall even deeper in.”
“I don’t need to be fixed,” Mike tells her, animatedly. “I’m not broken. I’m not me when I’m on the pills. You know what it’s like.”
“You have to find the right balance,” Mona tells him, taking his hand. “Like searching for the perfect lipstick blend. Or a signature cocktail.”
“You seem happy,” Mike says, making a face that might be meant as a grin, but comes off as a grimace.
“I am.”
For a second, his face smooths, something in his eyes shifts. He looks just a little bit more like the boy he used to be, the one who kept dropping gummi bears in the woods, hoping she might still be alive to get them. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I always knew you would. Someday.”
“You know what else I want? I want you to call your sister. And your doctor.”
Mike doesn’t agree or disagree. He stares off into the distance.
“Okay,” Mona says finally. “Just promise you’ll pick up if I call.”
“Always,” Mike agrees. “God is on your side.”
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Mona walks out of the building, shutting the heavy door behind her. She exhales slowly, clutches her purse close to her body as she walks to the car and opens the passenger side door.
“I was starting to worry,” Hanna says tapping her nails on the steering wheel. “Another two minutes and I was gonna bust in with guns blazing.”
“You have guns?”
“No,” Hanna says. “But I have hair spray. And I was ready to use it.” Her expression becomes more serious as she senses Mona’s mood. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mona assures her. “It was hard seeing him like that.”
“Did he do it?”
Mona shakes her head. “He didn’t. But he’s been off his meds for weeks. He’d make an excellent fall guy.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Hanna promises, reaching a hand out to squeeze Mona’s knee reassuringly.
“Thank you,” Mona says, resting a hand on top of Hanna’s.
“For what?” Hanna asks, interlacing their fingers.
“For letting us be a we.”
Hanna holds Mona’s gaze, her blue eyes steady and inviting. “We were always a we. It just took me awhile to figure out what kind of a we, we are.”
Mona’s smile looks almost shy, a little girlish, as if she’s fourteen again and stealing glances at Hanna from across a crowded lunch room. But Hanna isn’t nearly so far away now, as she runs a fingertip along Mona’s jawline, then tilts her face forward and brushes their lips together. Mona closes her eyes and kisses back eagerly.
“I thought we were trying to be careful,” Mona says, a little breathless as they break apart. “This is Rosewood. The bad guys could be watching us right now.”
“So what?” Hanna says, grinning hugely as she leans in for another kiss. “We’ll make sure to steam up the car windows.”