During their morning debrief, Hanna presents this new conundrum to the Liars. She’s afraid her blood might be on that anklet because “A” is always doing evidence voodoo behind their backs, but Aria goes, “Come on, Han. It’s not like ‘A’ could siphon off your plasma without you knowing.” But Hanna’s like, “Let me introduce you to a little thing called Adrenalized hyper-fucking-reality, Aria. Case in point: Emily Fields, right here. She disappeared for two hours one night and woke up in 1954 without an inkling about how she got there. I mean, maybe she took a ride with Jenna, or your kung fu hobbit buddy with the shrinking heart, or maybe she even robbed Ali’s grave. And girl doesn’t remember a damn thing.”
Frustrated by the fact that the Liars still won’t acknowledge that “A” is literally capable of all the things, Hanna bounces.
There is a surprise waiting for the Liars at Rear Window and that surprise is Alison DiLaurentis’ doppelganger, CeCe Drake or the Cape May Drakes. Aria goes, “Excuse me, stranger, but has anyone ever mentioned you look just like the dead girl that keeps dying in this town like Groundhog Day?” CeCe Drake gives Aria an up-down, sniffs, says, “Unicorn-skin boots, inside-out jeans, vintage coffee can as a purse, literal pixie dust as perfume. You must be Aria Montgomery.” She introduces herself as Ali’s long lost friend, the one with whom she shared that “intense” summer before she was killed, and presumably also the one she abandoned Spencer for in last week’s flashback. Apparently she’s working at a new boutique in town, and the Liars are free to shoplift there any old time they want. “It’s the friend-of-a-friend five-finger discount,” CeCe says, winking and whisking herself out the door.
Aria’s like, “I mean, even their posture and mannerisms are the same.” Emily agrees. “I got the feeling from her that I sometimes got from Ali, that she was looking straight through my shirt and perving on my tits.”
Rosewood High. Aria breezes into her mother’s class, but pulls up short when she sees a cocktail dress on display. Ella explains that she’s got a date, some fellow she met on that sex offenders database Rosewood uses as a dating website. She thinks of asking Aria for some fashion advice, but then remember that she’s Aria, so she smiles sweetly and tells her to scram.
Out in front of the school, in plain view of the hundreds of students that are whizzing to and fro on their way to class, Spencer is constructing an elaborate 3D Matrix of Ali’s whole entire world. Like, yearbook pictures, Facebook posts, candid shots taken with a telephoto lens, polaroids from childhood vacations, newspaper clippings, a grainy photo of Ali the fetus inside her mother’s womb. Lines criss-crossing willy-nilly, connecting photos to events and events to A’s lair. Maps of Hilton Head, Philadelphia, the airfield where she used to take flying lessons, and now Cape May. You want to know what it would look like if Christopher Langan was a stalker? Just like this.
Toby slides up next to her and goes, “Maybe I should become a suspect in Ali’s murder again. Maybe then you’d pay some attention to me.” Probably, actually. Sorry, little Boo.