PROLOGEN TILL DEN NYA PRETTY LITTLE LIARS-BOKEN. 
LÄS INTE OM DU INTE VILL FÅ MASSA SPOILERS PÅ VAD SOM KOMMER HÄNDA I BÖCKERNA. !

Have you ever done something so shameful, so shocking, so unlike you that you wanted to disappear? Maybe you hid out in your room all summer, too mortified to show your face. Maybe you begged your parents to let you switch schools. Or maybe your parents didn’t even know about your secret—you ran away from them, too. You were afraid they’d take one look at your and instantly know what you’d done.

A certain pretty girl in Rosewood carried a secret around for nine long months. She ran away from everything and everyone—except her three best friends. When it was all over, they swore they’d never tell a soul.

But this is Rosewood. And in Rosewood, the only way to keep your secrets is to have none at all…

That summer in Rosewood, Pennsylvania, a picturesque, wealthy suburb about twenty minutes from Philadelphia, had been one of the hottest ones on record. To escape the heat, people flocked to the country club pool, gathered around the local Rita’s for extra-large strawberry Water Ices, and skinny-dipped in the duck pond at Peck’s organic cheese farm, despite the decades-old rumor that a dead body had been found there. By the third week in August, though, the weather suddenly turned autumn-like. Boys broke out their hoodies, and girls donned their brand-new, back-to-school Joe’s jeans and puffer vests. A few leaves on the trees had changed to reds and golds overnight. The Great August Cold Snap, the local news called it. It was as though the Grim Reaper had come and ripped the season clean away.

On a chilly Thursday night, a beat-up Subaru cruised down a dark street in Wessex, a town not far from Rosewood. The glowing green clock on the dashboard might have said 1:26 AM, but the four girls inside the car were wide awake. Actually, make that five girls: best friends Emily Fields, Aria Montgomery, Spencer Hastings, Hanna Marin…and a tiny, nameless baby Emily had given birth to that morning, who was crying her head off.

They drove past house after house, peering at the numbers on the mailboxes. When they approached number 204, Emily sat up straighter. “Stop,” she said over the baby’s cries. “That’s it.”

Aria, who was wearing a Fair Isle pullover she’d bought while on vacation in Iceland last month—a vacation she dreaded to even think about now—steered the car toward the curb. “Are you sure?” She eyed the modest white house. It had a basketball hoop in the driveway, a big weeping willow in the side yard, and cheerful flower beds under the front windows.

“I’ve looked at this address on the adoption form a million times.” Emily touched the window. “204 Ship Lane. This is definitely where they live.”

The car grew quiet. Even the baby stopped crying. Hanna glanced at the infant next to her in the backseat. Her tiny, perfect pink lips were pursed. Spencer looked at the baby too, then shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious what everyone was thinking: how could this have happened to sweet, obedient little Emily Fields? They’d been Emily’s best friend since sixth grade, when Alison DiLaurentis, the most popular girl at Rosewood Day, the private school they all attended, recruited them all into her new clique. Emily had always been the girl who hated badmouthing people, who never instigated a quarrel, and who preferred baggy t-shirts and sedate sleepovers to tight-fitting skirts and naughty rounds of Truth or Dare. Girls like her didn’t get pregnant.

A palpable tension rippled through the car. Although it was always on their minds, the girls had promised each other never to talk about Jamaica again. It was supposed to be a getaway to forget about Real Ali, the diabolical girl who’d killed her twin sister, the Ali they all knew and loved. Last year, Real Ali had returned to Rosewood and tried to pass herself off as the girls’ old friend, but it was later revealed that she was the new A, the girls’ text-messaging tormenter. She’d killed several Rosewood residents, and her master plan was the murder the four girls, too, bringing them to her family’s house in the Poconos, locking them in a bedroom, and lighting a match. But things hadn’t turned out as she hoped. The girls escaped, leaving Real Ali trapped in the house when it exploded. Even though her remains had never been found, everyone was positive she was dead.

But was she?

The trip to Jamaica had been a chance for the girls to move on with their lives and deepen their friendships. Once they got there, though, they met a girl named Tabitha who reminded them of Real Ali. She said things only Ali knew. Her mannerisms were chillingly like Ali’s. Slowly, they became convinced that she was Real Ali. Maybe she’d survived the fire. Maybe she’d come to Jamaica to finish off the girls as planned.

There was only one thing to do: stop her before she got revenge. Just as Real Ali was about to push Hanna off the rooftop deck, Aria intervened and Ali fell instead. Her broken body had vanished before the girls got down to the beach to see what they’d done, probably swept away by the tide. The girls oscillated between feeling relieved that Ali was gone for good…and horrified that they’d killed someone.

“No one will ever know about Jamaica,” Spencer growled now. “Ali’s body is gone.”

By the sixth message, Gayle had figured it out. “This was a set-up, wasn’t it?” she growled. “You had the baby and you left, didn’t you? Was this your plan all along, bitch? Did you plan to scam me from the start? Do you think I give out fifty-thousand-dollars to just anyone? Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m going to find you. I’m going to hunt you and that baby down, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Whoa,” Aria whispered.

“Oh my God.” Emily flipped her phone closed. “I should have never promised her anything. I know we gave it back, but I should have never taken her money in the first place. She’s crazy. Now do you guys see why I’m doing this?”

“Of course we do,” Aria said quietly.

The infant started to whimper. Emily stroked her tiny head, and then, steeling herself, pushed open the car door and stepped into the chilly air. “Let’s do this.”

“Em, don’t,” Aria opened her own door and grabbed Emily’s arm just as Emily toppled against the side of the car, clearly in pain. “The doctor said you shouldn’t strain, remember?”

“I need to get the baby to the Bakers,” Emily pointed woozily to the house.

Aria paused. A truck horn honked far in the distance. Over the sound of the car’s chugging engine, she thought she heard a brief, high-pitched laugh.

“Fine,” Aria decided. “But I’ll carry her.” She grabbed the baby seat from the back. A distinct smell of baby powder, lotion, and new skin wafted up to greet her, bringing a lump to her throat. Her father, Byron, and his girlfriend, Meredith, had just had a baby, and she loved Lola with all of her heart. If she looked too long at this baby, she might love her just as much, too.

the final installment of the STUNNING prologue! check out http://www.prettylittleliars.com for chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4!!!

Emily’s phone rang again, and Gayle’s name flashed on the screen. She dropped it in her bag. “Come on, Aria.”

Aria hefted the baby seat higher into her arms, and both girls staggered across the front lawn. Dew squished under their feet. They narrowly missed a sprinkler head jutting out of the earth. When they climbed onto the porch, they noticed a cheerful wooden rocking chair and a ceramic dog dish that said Golden Retrievers Welcome.

“Aw.” Aria pointed to it. “Golden Retrievers are awesome.”

“They told me they have two Golden Retriever puppies.” Emily’s voice shook. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Aria watched as a million emotions passed across her friend’s face in a split second. She reached over and squeezed Emily’s hand. “Are you okay?” There was so much to say, but no words with which to say it.

Then Emily’s expression hardened again. “Of course,” she said through her teeth. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the baby carrier from Aria and set it on the porch. The baby made a squeak. Emily glanced over her shoulder and looked at the street. Aria’s Subaru idled at the curb. Something slipped into the shadows near the hedge. For a split second, she thought it was a person, but then her eyes blurred. It was probably the drugs that were still racing through her system.

Even though it made her incision hurt like hell, Emily bent down and pulled out a copy of the baby’s birth certificate and the letter she had scribbled down shortly before going into the hospital and tucked it into the top of the baby carrier. Hopefully, it explained everything. Hopefully, the Bakers would understand and love this baby with all their hearts. She touched the baby’s forehead, letting her fingers trail across her impossibly soft cheeks. Her heart felt like it was bursting into a thousand pieces. It’s for the best, a voice inside her said. You know that.

Emily pressed the doorbell. Within seconds, a light flipped on inside, and there were two sets of footsteps. Aria grabbed Emily’s hand, and they hobbled for the car. The front door opened just as they were putting on their seat belts. A silhouette stood at the threshold, first looking out, and then looking down at the abandoned baby seat…and at the baby inside.

“Drive,” Emily growled.

Aria zoomed into the night. As she rounded the first corner, she glanced at Emily in the rear-view mirror. “It’s okay.”

Hanna placed her hand on her arm next. Spencer twisted around and squeezed her knee. Emily crumpled and started to sob, first quietly, then in huge, heaving gasps. Everyone’s hearts broke for her, but no one knew what to say. This was yet another devastating secret in a long list of secrets they had to keep, along with Jamaica, what happened to Spencer at Penn, what happened to Aria in Iceland, and what happened to Hanna with that car this summer. At least A was gone—they’d made sure of that. What they’d done might have been terrible and devastating, but at least no one would ever know.

They shouldn’t be so sure about that, though. After all that had happened, they should know to trust their premonitions, to treat to those phantom laughs and rouge shadows with the utmost of seriousness. Someone had been there that night, after all. Watching. Studying. Plotting.

Someone was dying to use all of this against them.