Among the Missing
Emily Fields stalks into the lobby of the Springhill Mental Hospital flanked by Wren Kingston and Jason DiLaurentis. She marches determinedly to the desk, the boys a few paces behind. “We’re here to pick up Alison DiLaurentis,” she announces.
The woman at the reception desk doesn’t even blink. “Not without permission, you’re not.”
“We need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Jason insists.
“That would be Dr. Rollins.”
“Ah,” Wren says, shooting her his most charming smile. “I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem there. He’s the primary reason we’re interested in removing her from this facility for her treatment, you see.”
This leads to a frustratingly long period of sitting outside the director’s office, waiting to get in to speak with her. Wren passes the time by flirting with the nurses. Jason’s phone never leaves his hand as he types out emails and text messages trying to get his business back in order. Emily stares out the window, thinking about Alison. About whether she means it this time, or whether it would be just one more time of Alison wringing Emily’s heart like a sponge. Squeezing until it’s nothing but a dried out hulk.
Reluctantly, she lets herself consider the answer to Alison’s question about whether she’d been happy in California. Of course she hadn’t been. She hadn’t been happy, really happy, since before her father’s funeral. Her mind drifts back to her first visit to the fertility clinic, the question that the counselor asked about whether she wanted to have children of her own someday. For all that she’s tried to put her feelings for Alison firmly in the past, she still hasn’t forgotten how readily Ali’s face came to mind in that moment. Her promises about them being a family echoing hollow in Emily’s ears.
And then she sees Alison herself being led down the hallway, a beefy orderly clasping her arm. When she comes closer, Emily sees that one of her eyes is puffy and bruised. All of Emily’s uncertainties drain away as a surge of protectiveness courses through her. She’s on her feet before Jason even looks up, rushing to Alison’s side.
“What happened?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Alison says, trying to shake off the orderly. “Although I’d better if this oaf would quit manhandling me.”
The orderly ignores her, keeping his grip on her arm as he leads them to the director’s door.
Emily, Jason, and Wren follow them inside, to find Dr. Rollins already seated in one of the leather armchairs. The director is standing behind the desk. “I’m Dr. Yang,” she informs them. I understand you wish to remove Mrs. Rollins from our care?”
“Look at her!” Emily declares, resting a hand on the small of Alison’s back. “We’re checking her out of here today. Immediately.”
“There was an incident last night,” Dr. Yang explains. “She had a breakdown and attacked her husband.”
“She hit me over the head,” Rollins adds, almost smiling at their surprise. “Knocked me out and tried to tie me up in a closet before the night shift supervisor discovered she was missing from her room.”
“How did she get out of her room?” Wren asks mildly. “Just wondering, of course. Since you are a secure facility.”
“She took my pass key,” Dr. Rollins frowns. “I was looking in on her.”
“He was trying to strangle me,” Alison explains, sounding annoyed.
“Enough with these wild accusations,” Rollins says. “This goes to show how agitated she is. How desperately she needs to be medicated and monitored. I’ve switched her patient status to reflect involuntary commitment. You can’t just check her out as if this were a hotel.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Yang agrees. “Dr. Rollins is her husband as well as her psychiatrist. The decision rests with him.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Alison protests.
“Is this the way you run your hospital?” Wren inquires. “I believe it’s generally considered inappropriate for a doctor to be involved with his patients. At least, that’s what I hear.” He shoots a sidelong glance at Alison, stops just short of winking. Emily steps on his foot, hard.
“Also,” Jason says, sliding his phone into his pocket, “I’m her next of kin. We have new information about their marriage. The paperwork was never filed by the officiant. I’m her brother. Legally, I’m still her next of kin.”
“Is this true?” Dr. Yang asks Dr. Rollins, who’s staring at the three of them murderously.
“And I have Power of Attorney,” Emily announces. “We’re taking her home.”
“Not so fast,” Dr. Rollins says, smoothly. “I’m afraid Alison is still delusional and highly unstable. She’s a danger to herself and others. She has a documented history of mental disturbance dating from the time she was fourteen years old. She fabricated an elaborate tale of kidnap which hindered the police investigation into her disappearance. She’s pathological. She’s not well enough to be released without being under the close supervision of a qualified medical professional.”
“Elliot, I’d like you to meet Wren Kingston,” Emily says. “Dr. Kingston. He’s treated Alison before.”
Rollins tries to keep his composure, but it’s a losing battle. “We don’t have times for whatever childish games you’re playing at. Alison signed herself into treatment here. It’s no longer voluntary. She can’t leave.”
Jason is texting on his phone again when Emily smacks his arm. “Focus,” she hisses.
Just then the office door bursts open, and Peter Hastings enters in a cloud of expensive smelling cologne.
“Sorry for barging in,” he says, tugging on the sleeves of his power suit. “My son tells me there’s some difficulty regarding his sister’s release?”
Jason gives Emily a subtle thumbs up gesture as Peter continues. “I’m sure, given the respective claims of Ms. Fields and Mr. DiLaurentis, as well as the fact that Dr. Rollins is not legally married to this young women, and the assurances of Dr. Kingston,” he says, pursing his lips as if saying Wren’s name leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “the legalities couldn’t possibly be in question.”
“Well -” Dr. Yang says. “We may need to consult with our legal staff to-”
“To find out that I can easily be back here in thirty minutes with a court order?” Peter asks. “Or to consult with them about the liability issues related to Dr. Rollins attacking Ms. DiLaurentis while she was under your care?”
“Are you trying to threaten us?” Dr. Rollins asks, standing up. “Into releasing a mentally ill woman - putting her back out on the streets against our best medical judgement? Because I don’t think that would look very well to your wife’s constituents, would it?”
“It’s funny you bring up my wife,” Peter says, arching an eyebrow in the same way that Spencer does right before she moves in for the kill on the tennis court. “Because she is very interested in proposing legislation that would lead to more oversight and regulation of privately run psychiatric facilities. Especially ones that receive such generous tax abatements from the state government.”
“They might also be interested in this,” Emily suggests, pulling the photo of Charlotte and Dr. Rollins out of her purse and flinging it on Dr. Yang’s desk. A trusted staff member with a clear pattern of using his position to take advantage of the women in his care.”
“Yes,” Dr. Yang squeaks. “Well. It seems these young people do have everything in order.”
Alison shrugs off the orderly’s hand triumphantly.
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Twenty minutes of paperwork later, Alison is cleared to leave, and Dr. Rollins has been led off to the Human Resources office by security.
Alison hasn’t let go of Emily’s hand since hearing that she’s free to go. “We’ll just be a minute,” she tells Jason. “I want to pack my things.”
She leads Emily back to her room and closes the door firmly behind them.
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Outside in the hallway, Wren catches sight of a particularly attractive looking nurse making the rounds with the medicine cart. “I’ll just be -” he gestures in her direction as Peter gives him a look of undisguised contempt.
“Thank you,” Jason tells his father.
“I’m glad you called,” Peter responds. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Jason - I hope you know that I’m here for you.”
“There is something,” Jason says, drawing himself up to his full height. “You can tell me about Mary Drake.”
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Alison’s room feels close and small, Emily feels some of her indignation fading, being replaced by a lump of nerves gathering in her throat.
She busies herself finding Alison’s oversized tote from the closet, tossing it on the bed.
“You don’t have to do that,” Alison says, a little awkwardly.
Emily turns around and sees that the puffiness around Alison’s eye is turning into a deep and purplish bruise. “He tried to kill you,” Emily says softly.
“But he didn’t,” Alison says, the faint trace of a smile ghosting across her face. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
“Don’t,” Emily says, brushing the hair off Alison’s neck to examine the raw marks on her skin. “It’s not funny.”
“I know,” Alison admits. “But it’s over now. I found Charlotte’s journals. Elliot showed his true colors. You came storming in here and got me released.” She looks at Emily through downcast eyelashes.
“I don’t want to go back to that house tonight,” Alison tells her. She puts a hand gently on Emily’s shoulder. “Maybe we could get a room at the Radley? We could talk all night if you want. Or not talk. Order a big room service breakfast in the morning. My treat.”
“Ali -”
“Don’t say no,” Alison says, moving closer and resting her head against Emily’s shoulder. Emily puts an arm around her protectively.
“I’m not saying no,” Emily says, shyly.
Alison smiles victoriously, slips a hand around the back of Emily’s neck and leans in to kiss her.
Emily kisses her back, overcome by the smouldering electric charge that always comes from being with Alison. Emily is taken aback by the fact that Ali doesn’t taste like Jungle Red lipstick, then she realizes Alison isn’t wearing any makeup at all. It’s as if there’s nothing standing between them anymore, not now that Ali is tangling a hand in her hair eagerly, kissing her with so much intensity that it’s as if she is really certain this time. It’s new and it’s real and it feels intoxicating.
“I never stopped loving you,” Alison says, earnestly. “I’m not running away this time. I promise.”
Emily lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. “I’ve loved you since I was fourteen years old, Ali.”
Alison kisses her again, lightly. “I’m so glad you never got over it.”
They’re interrupted by a loud crash outside the door. Emily reluctantly breaks away and goes to check on the source of the noise. Alison trails after her, unwilling to let go of Emily’s hand.
Jason and Peter and standing a little distance down the hall, talking with serious expressions.
The medicine cart is on its side as Wren kneels next to it trying to scoop up displaced pill bottles and patient charts. “I’m terribly sorry,” he’s saying to the nurse, “Entirely my fault, of course. Perhaps I could make it up to you with dinner?”
The nurse is crouched down and facing away from Emily as she shakes her head, and Alison is quickly tugging Emily back into the room as Wren perseveres.
“Are you sure we haven’t met? I never forget a pretty face.”
“I believe that,” the nurse deadpans.
Emily’s neck whips around at the sound of her voice. It can’t be. But she rights the cart and stands up, her face clearly visible for the first time. Emily senses Alison tensing up behind her, but she’s too shocked to tear her eyes away.
“Oh my god,” Emily says, sinking against the doorjamb for support. “MAYA?”
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Spencer’s phone rings just as she’s emptying a dust pan of debris into the trash. She sees that the call is coming from the Rosewood PD and picks up immediately.
“Four words,” she says. “Illegal search and seizure.”
“Spencer?” Lorenzo Calderon’s voice asks, puzzled.
Spencer coughs. “Sorry,” she says. “I was expecting someone else.”
“Clearly,” Lorenzo says, sounding less than amused. “Where are you? Are you alright?”
“I’m at home,” Spencer says, cautiously. “Why are you calling, Lorenzo?”
“Were you driving your car this afternoon?”
“No,” Spencer says. “Did Melissa run over a puppy or something?”
“Your sister was driving?” Lorenzo asks, sharply.
“Yes,” Spencer replies. “What is this about?”
“Your car was found abandoned on the side of Route 6.”
“Where’s Melissa? Is she okay?”
“There was no driver found at the scene. Just the unlocked car, and - I’m afraid there were signs of a struggle.”
“What kind of signs?” Spencer asks, her insides going cold.
“The entire front seat. It was covered in blood.”