Back Against the Wall
Spencer sits cross-legged on the couch, flipping through the small stack of Charlotte’s diaries.
She’s making a conscious effort to not look at her phone, to not keep checking for messages from Caleb. Her heart had lurched when a message came in late last night, but it was from Wren, texting her his room number at the Radley “just in case.”
She’s working on a way to cross reference the visitors logs and the journals, to try and determine who Charlotte was working for or with, what she might have written about them. She used code names, scrawling notes that ran for pages without giving any solid identifying features. She runs a hand through her hair in exasperation, then glances apprehensively toward the door at the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching.
Toby knocks politely, but doesn’t wait for Spencer to answer before letting himself in. Spencer smiles as she snaps the books shut, sliding two of them under the couch with her foot.
“Hey,” Toby says.
“Hey,” Spencer replies, casually tossing a throw pillow over one of the visitor logs.
“Sorry for dropping by like this,” Toby says, shoving his hands awkwardly in his back pockets. “I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay.”
“I’ve had better weeks,” Spencer says. “But I’m fine.”
“You’re always fine,” Toby remarks. “Even when you’re not.”
“What about you?” Spencer asks. “Desk duty?”
“Only a few days worth. Internal Affairs worked me over pretty hard, but it was a clean shoot, and Lucas isn’t going to sue.” He shrugs, in a noncommittal way. “I should be back out protecting and serving before you know it.”
“Good,” Spencer tells him, nervously. “That’s good.”
“Is Caleb around?” Toby asks, peering at the freshly made bed.
“No,” Spencer answers, making an effort to keep the bitterness to a minimum. “He’s not.”
“I told Yvonne and her mother, I’m sure it wasn’t him.”
“Of course it wasn’t. They’re still investigating, but we proved the hack didn’t originate from his computer.”
“Wow,” Toby says, with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was fast.”
“Lucky for us,” Spencer nods.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Toby asks, not waiting for an answer before he making himself comfortable on the couch.
“I was actually on my way out,” Spencer hedges.
“Don’t lie to me, Spencer,” Toby says, amicably. “You have a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the stove. You expect me to believe you’d ever waste that much caffeine?”
Spencer laughs, pouring them both large mugs and handing one to Toby. “You’ll make detective yet.”
“That’s why I’m here, actually. I was hoping you could tell me whatever you know. About this new threat.”
“If I knew who it was, you’d be the first person I’d call,” Spencer says.
“But you’re working on it,” Toby insists. “I know you, Spencer. You’re investigating. You’re following up on clues. Let me help you.”
“This isn’t like last time. You don’t have to be involved.”
“I’m already involved. Honestly, I could use a win. If I crack this case, they’ll have to promote me.”
Spencer frowns. “We’re looking into Mary Drake. And it seems like Dr. Rollins might be working with her. Can you run background checks on the two of them?”
“I can. But if you tell me where you’re going with this - I can get warrants, do searches, pull people over.”
“And find yourself right back in front of internal affairs for abusing your power on behalf of your ex-girlfriend.”
A sour expression comes over Toby’s face at her words, and he shifts his position on the couch, dislodging the throw pillow to reveal the visitor log from Springhill.
Spencer makes a grab for it, but she isn’t fast enough.
“What is this?” Toby asks, sharply. “Spencer, where did you get this?”
“It’s nothing,” Spencer assures him. “We’re checking Charlotte’s visitors to see who she was in contact with.”
“So you stole this. What else have you got?” He puts the visitor log under his arm and starts checking under the magazines on the coffee table, between the cushions of the couch. Spencer closes her eyes as his boot knocks against the diaries.
“Stop it,” Spencer orders. “This doesn’t concern you anymore.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Toby says, pulling the two journals out of their hiding place and flipping them open. His face darkens. “She wrote it all down? And you have the diaries?”
“They’re Alison’s,” Spencer insists. “She’s Charlotte’s next of kin. She gave them to me to read through, that’s all.”
“Spencer, these are evidence,” Toby says, incredulously. “Charlotte was murdered, and there could be important information about her killer in here!” He waves the volumes at Spencer, his voice so loud it borders on shouting.
“Exactly,” Spencer says, her face hard. “Which is why I’d rather not turn them over to the police, where - no offense - they’ll either get stolen, or used to railroad us into more criminal charges.”
“That’s not going to happen this time.”
“It’s what happens every time.”
“You have to let me take these.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You can either deal with me, or I can call Lorenzo and Tanner. Would you rather have this conversation with them? Because they aren’t going to buy your story about Alison just happening to have these any more than I do. And I’ll bet they’ll be a lot less polite about saying so.”
Spencer looks at him, her eyes blazing. “You are not going to do that.”
Toby takes a step towards her, wrapping his fingers around her forearms to force her to look at him. “You don’t get to give me orders!” He’s looking at her with an intensity that seems less about justice than desire. “You said it yourself, Spence. You’re not my girlfriend anymore.”
Spencer looks at him in disbelief, unsure what exactly he’s implying, but she doesn’t have to wonder long as he pulls her against towards him and kisses her. She twists away, taking a large step backwards to get some distance between them.
“We can’t,” she says.
“Why not?” Toby demands. “We’re the same people we’ve always been. We fit together. We make sense. We talk like we used to talk. We fight like we used to fight.”
“You’re practically engaged to Yvonne.”
“I loved you first. I would have married you! I told you that was what I wanted, that day-”
“It isn’t what I want,” Spencer says, firmly. “You’re my friend, and I care about you. But you can’t bully us back together.”
“Bully?” Toby bristles. “I was trying to give you a chance. To keep you out of trouble!”
“Oh my god,” Spencer says, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re just like the rest of them! Is that actually in the police handbook? That’s probably the same line Wilden used on Hanna’s mom! That Holbrook used on Alison!”
“That’s not the same thing,” Toby insists, angrily. “I want to help you!”
“Then listen to what I’m saying!” Spencer exclaims. “Don’t just decide what’s best for me!”
“You always know what’s best for both of us,” Toby says, an ugly sneer distorting his features. “Is this about Caleb? Because he’s not a choir boy, either.”
“This has nothing to do with Caleb! This is about you and me.”
“Alright,” Toby says. “It’s fine. You’ve made your choice. I’ve made mine.” He takes out his phone and pulls up the contact info for the Rosewood Police. He lets his thumb hover above the green call button. “Don’t make me do this.”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
“They’ll come in with a warrant. There’s still a few stray photographers out front. It’ll be the lead story on the six o’clock news.”
“It won’t be,” Spencer says, her voice hard, with a layer of sadness and resignation underneath. “You’re not going to call it in.”
“Give me a reason not to,” Toby insists, moving his thumb a centimeter closer to the call button.
“Lucas could change his mind,” Spencer says quietly. “He paid a $500,000 ransom and took two bullets for Hanna. Do you really think he wouldn’t call in his lawyers if she asked him to?”
Toby’s jaw ripples with concealed fury as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “You do not want me as your enemy, Spencer!” He throws the visitor log and the two diaries to the floor in a fit of pique.
“Is everything okay in here?” Melissa asks, appearing in the doorway. She eyes the scene suspiciously, noting Toby’s angry glare and Spencer’s defensive posture. “I heard shouting.”
“It’s fine,” Spencer says. “Toby was just leaving.”
“Good idea,” Melissa comments, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him the most glacial look in her repertoire.
Toby stomps out, shooting Spencer one last furious look as he storms past.
“What was that about?” Melissa asks, watching Toby’s retreating back.
“Nothing,” Spencer lies.
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Melissa observes. “I could hear him bellowing from the kitchen.”
Spencer shrugs, holding her ground. “It was nothing. Like I said.”
“Fine,” Melissa says, her expression a mix of concern and irritation. “Have it your way. But I need to borrow your car. Mine won’t start.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Do I look like a mechanic? It. Won’t. Start. I have an appointment. I don’t want to be late.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“Haven’t you and your friends invaded my privacy enough?” Melissa asks. “Forget it. I’ll get an Uber.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Spencer says, fishing her keys out of her purse and tossing them to her sister.
“Thanks,” Melissa says, catching the keys one handed. She turns to leave, then calls out over her shoulder. “And Spencer? Don’t ever let him talk to you like that again.”
--------
The pot of coffee that she shared with Toby has cooled to a tepid room temperature by the time Spencer hears a tentative tapping at the door of the barn.
She looks out the window and sees Caleb standing there uncertainly. She opens the door, but doesn’t invite him inside, regarding him warily.
“I thought I’d hear from you as soon as you were out of custody.”
Caleb looks down. “I’m violating a restraining order to see you. If that counts for anything.”
“Maybe,” Spencer admits, grudgingly.
“I’d rather not have your folks call the police on me, if that’s okay. Can we - go somewhere?”
Spencer doesn’t say yes or no, but she goes back inside to grab her coat, locks the door carefully behind her as she leads him into the woods, away from the main house and all its windows.
They walk in silence, Caleb leading the way. Spencer realizes where they’re heading a few minutes before it comes into sight. The shed in the woods. The one they pretended Alison had been staying in after escaping from her faux-kidnapper.
“Welcome,” Caleb says, opening the door. “To my very humble abode”
“Wow,” Spencer says. “I bet it looked a lot bigger on Airbnb.”
“It had really great reviews! Probably written by raccoons, but still.”
He smiles at her, and Spencer forces down the swell of affection that’s threatening to burst through her better judgement. She looks for a place to sit, folding her coat into a cushion before carefully settling on an overturned milk crate. Caleb sits on the floor, next to her, his back against the wall.
“I wanted to thank you,” Caleb says. “When I left the barn the other night, I thought you hated me. But you had Jason send in those lawyers. You traced the source of the hack well enough to prove I wasn’t behind it. It made me wonder if you might be willing to give me another chance. Let me plead temporary insanity, okay? It was a crazy situation and I got tripped up by the past. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
Spencer studies his face. “You’re asking me to forgive you?”
“I am,” Caleb says. “But there’s more. If you’re going to take me back, you have to be able to trust me. And that means there are some things I need to tell you. Some things I’m going to need forgiveness for.”
“Caleb, you’re scaring me.”
“It’s not like that,” Caleb assures her. He looks around at the shed, the moldy bedsheets and rotten leaves scattered across the floor. “I used to stay here, sometimes, when I first came to town.”
“I didn’t know that. Hanna said you were sleeping in the school before you moved into her basement.”
Caleb’s mouth transforms into a hard line at the mention of Hanna’s name. “Hanna didn’t know. This part of the truth - I never told her. I stayed here because I needed a place to crash, somewhere under the radar. I had an arrangement with my foster mom. She could keep the money from social services, she just had to fill out the paperwork to bring me here.”
“They didn’t just assign you to her?”
Caleb shakes his head. “After everything that went down in Allentown, I spent a few months in juvie. I was doing whatever I could to get by, to get out of there. I got friendly with a guy who knew a guy who knew someone in Rosewood who needed some help, who was willing to pay pretty well for it.”
“What was the job?” Spencer asks, her stomach already feeling sick.
Caleb looks like he’s visibly steeling himself to deliver the next words. He puts a hand on her knee and looks directly at Spencer, his expression like a prisoner in front of the firing squad. “Jenna put the word out through Toby. They needed someone to try and steal back the N.A.T. club videos.”
Spencer moves away from him so quickly she knocks over the milk crate.
“Don’t,” Caleb pleads, standing up. “Don’t jump away like you’ve just seen a snake. Just hear me out.”
“I have seen a snake,” Spencer says. “You lied to me! You lied to Hanna! For years!”
“I know,” Caleb says, “I know. But I didn’t know you back then. It was a job. It sounded easy. Search your computers. Find the flash drives. Get paid ten grand for a few weeks of work.”
“Where did Jenna get that kind of money?” Spencer asks, suspicious.
“Jenna was the contact, not the purse strings,” Caleb replies. “The money - and it was a lot of money, Spencer. Enough that I could have new clothes and hot food and a fresh start. But it wasn’t coming from Jenna. The money - it was put up by Melissa.”
“No,” Spencer says, flatly. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why would you do anything? Why would you stick around and pretend to be helping us all those years?”
“I wasn’t pretending. I mean, at first - yes. But once I got to know Hanna -”
“Got to know her as more than a mark, you mean.”
“Once I started to have real feelings for Hanna, I called it off.”
“She caught you. She knew you gave Jenna the flash drive in that owl.”
“And she was so mad - how could I tell her the truth? That I copied all the files on Emily’s phone? That Coach Thomas gave me your computer to scrub? That I rummaged through Hanna’s dresser drawers for a flash drive?”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” Spencer says, disgusted. “I trusted you! We all trusted you! We thought you were on our side!”
“I was on your side! I’ve been on your side for years! I did everything I could to help you!”
“Except telling us the truth.”
“I was stupid, okay? For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere. I didn’t want to risk losing it! And the N.A.T. videos didn’t have anything to do with ‘A’. At least, not then.”
Spencer bites back an angry retort, tries to force herself to stay calm. “What do you mean, not then?”
He sighs. “They caught more than kid’s stuff on those cameras. And now that we know about Mary Drake - it might be important now.”
“We saw the N.A.T. videos that Alison stole,” Spencer frowns. “They didn’t have anything to do with Mary Drake.”
“She wasn’t the only one who stole some of their videos. She copied some from Ian’s computer, sure, but you stole the mother lode without even realizing it.”
Spencer stares at him in confusion, waiting for him to continue.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why Melissa still had that essay on her computer? Seven years and two computers after she took Russian history?”
“No,” Spencer whispers, her voice small.
“That paper was the window dressing. The file itself was a secret drawer chock full of the N.A.T. club’s dirtiest dirt. That’s why everyone was so sure one of you had the files that Alison made off with - how else would you have known to look for more?”
“I didn’t,” Spencer says, clearly blindsided. “I had no idea. About a lot of things, apparently.”
“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, approaching her carefully, as if she’s a wounded animal. “But this is how important you are to me. If we’re ever going to work things out, we can’t have any more secrets.” He fishes a flash drive out of his pocket. “I made a copy. For insurance. You should take a look.”
Spencer takes it from him, flinching a little at the feel of his fingertips against her palm. She closes her fist.
“No more secrets,” she repeats, woodenly.
“Spencer,” he says. “You know me. I am who I’ve always been. Someone who cares about you. Who wants to help you and protect you.”
“Why were you so angry? When Mona showed up at the Lost Woods Resort?”
Caleb’s mouth turns down at the sound of Mona’s name. “You know how I feel about her. She’s crazy and unbalanced. And always working her own agenda.”
“So it had nothing to do with Hanna?”
Caleb’s eyes narrow to a pained squint. “She told you.”
“She told me about Miami.”
“Mona took advantage of her. My plane was barely off the ground! She swooped in and seduced Hanna when she was vulnerable!”
“That’s not the way Hanna tells it. You’re jealous, Caleb. You were jealous that night. Either you’re lying to yourself, or you’re lying to me.”
“All I can do is tell you how sorry I am. For everything. I’m trying to earn your trust back, but you have to give me a chance.”
“Do you love me?”
“What?”
“Do you love me?” Spencer asks, insistently. “Because even before the plan went south, I told you how I felt about you. I was honest about my feelings, and you didn’t answer me. I need you to be honest with me now.”
Caleb hesitates, so slightly that another woman might not even notice the pause of him drawing breath, the slight reluctance before he meets her eyes. Spencer notices. Once this is all over, she thinks, she’ll come back here and burn this stupid shed to the ground.
“I was falling in love with you,” Caleb says, honestly. “A little more each day.”
“But you weren’t there. You’re not. And we don’t have any more days left.”
“Don’t say that.”
“There’s no way to fix this. I need you to love me as much as I love you. I need you to not be in love with my best friend. Neither of those things are possible right now.”
“Spencer, please -”
“I need you to leave. Go back to D.C. or New York or Casablanca. You can’t stay here. I can’t be with you and be constantly wondering if you’re thinking about her when you kiss me! That’s not fair to either of us.”
“We’re in this together,” Caleb insists. “I can’t just walk away!”
“If you stay here, you’ll come between us. If you ever cared about me, or about Hanna, you have to go.”
Caleb runs a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to turn out.”
“I know,” Spencer tells him. “You were right. You did help us.” She opens her hand to look at the flash drive, thinking about the scar on his abdomen, the way Hanna screamed as he got loaded into the ambulance. “This is the last thing we need you to do for us. The most important one.”
Caleb wipes his eyes furiously with the back of his hand. “I get it,” he says, hoarsely. “I do. I won’t make you ask again.” He shoulders his knapsack and gives her a long look. “I guess this is it, then.” He puts an arm around Spencer’s waist to hug goodbye, and then she’s standing on her tiptoes to kiss him one last time. The kiss is salty with tears and the taste of lost hope, the tang of regret heavy on their tongues.
“You can always call me,” Caleb promises. “Anytime. Anywhere.”
“I know.”
He can’t stand to say goodbye, so he just opens the door and walks out. Spencer watches until he’s out of sight, then sinks to the floor and starts sobbing. She cries, feeling more broken and lost and alone with every heave of her chest. Eventually she takes a deep breath, then another, bringing the storm of emotions back under control. Slowly, she gets to her feet and starts walking resolutely back towards the house.
She sees sunlight shimmering on the shards of broken glass the moment she emerges from the treeline. She breaks into a run, arriving at the barn door with her heart in her throat and her chest heaving. She’s already too late, she realizes, examining the broken pane about the door handle.
The interior of the barn is in complete disarray, drawers are strewn across the floor, the couch cushions sliced through so that heaps of stuffing are poking out, her jewelry box is smashed to pieces and all the evidence from the bulletin board, all of Charlotte’s diaries, even the Springhill visitor logs - it’s all gone.