June 7th, 1995

1:15 AM

Sarah shuffled onto the front porch, dripping wet, carrying her luggage behind her and haphazardly shutting the door. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it out, spraying water against the wooden boards of the porch floor as her leather jacket repelled a constant stream of water droplets; forcing them onto the floor. Heaving a great sigh she pulled herself upright, jumping slightly at the thunder that rumbled in a backdrop bassline against the crescendo of rain to lightning. Her weary limbs were, at the moment, not up to the idea of carrying her all-too-heavy luggage into the house and locating her room amidst the certain chaos that would greet her in her parents' new home, so she simply made a beeline for the door.

However, taped in the upper portion of the right window of the double door, was a white note, slightly crumpled by the author of the piece. It was harmless enough, figured Sarah, simply some directions to where the house keys were if the house was locked, or that there was pizza or something about how her sister was excited to see her, some bullshit like that.

But it wasn't.

Dear Sarah,

I'm really sorry I can't be there to see you, but its impossible right now.

Please don't go digging around to find where I've gone. I really don't want /Mom and Dad/ [promptly scratched out, and replaced with the following word] anyone where I've gone. Trust me when I say its better this way.

We'll see each other again some day. Don't be worried.

I love you.

- Cos

Sarah glared at the offending piece of paper, a sudden feeling of dread overtaking her as she angrily ripped the paper off the door and crumpled it up into a tight ball, stuffing it into her pocket as she began fiddling the handle.

Of course it was locked. It didn't look like there was anyone home, either, so she was on her own.

Not feeling the energy to make an attempt to break into the house, she searched the porch in hopes of finding a house key, and deciding that she'd probably end up sleeping on the porch if she didn't find one. She grumbled at the slightly sticky soda cans and mumbled "Bloody hell, Cos'" under her breath as she kicked them to the side.

Just her luck it would be in the most obvious placed, and the place she'd check last.

After muddling around and checking under the bench and the chairs, and inside the potted plant, and even "ugh, gross" inside the soda cans, she opened the small cupboard.

"I can't believe we still have this old thing." Sarah mumbled to herself, picking up the mouthless, black button eyed little plastic monkey with glasses too large for its head and a gaudy red and green Christmas scarf wrapped around its neck. Somehow, the label $5.99 still hadn't fallen off after, "What like, ten bloody years now, yeah?".

The key was right beneath it. It wasn't even hiding it. It was more like a half-hearted attempt at hiding and object.

"Yeah, real subtle guys. Couldn't you have at least hidden it under the damn Christmas lights?" she thought as she jammed the key violently into the door, fiddling around with it until it opened. She quickly shoved herself into the house, pulling off her sopping wet jacket and throwing it haphazardly on the floor, leaving it to pool a small puddle onto the floor. The lights flickered on automatically with her sudden presence, giving her a full view of the foyer.

"I cannot believe they still have unpacked boxes." Sarah thought to herself as she kicked a stray box labeled "Front Hall" out of the way. There was an invoice on the side desk next to the washroom in a manila folder. "What's the point of keeping a single slip of paper in a bloody manila folder?" Sarah thought as she scanned the invoice. "Seriously, they've been here since bloody August and its been almost a bloody year, and they still have these bloody boxes everywhere." She flipped the folder closed. So much had changed within the year she had been gone. And, Cosima…

She shook her head and gave herself a light slap, heading into the washroom to wash her face off. "She's probably fine. Cos' knows how to handle herself." She thought to herself, almost a mantra created for self-comfort, wiping her her face off with the sleeve of her shirt. The downstairs washroom lacked a towel, but was supplied with a shitty writing mag dated a few months ago. "Of course dad would have some shit like this. Would he get mad if I used it as a towel?" she smirked to herself.

"Bloody Cos' is gonna make me stay up all night lookin' for what happened to her, isn't she." A pair of trophies, with the stupid name Alison Duncan engraved on them. The good child. Alison. The perfect one. Oddly, the one who was always on ends with their mother, but that didn't matter much now. The centrepiece of the bookshelf was a neon colored figure of the Eiffel Tower. The vibrant blue and neon green topped with pink was glaringly shouting at her to stare at it. "That's definitely Cosima's. I cannot even imagine Alison getting something like this." Sarah snickered, pulling open a drawer to the right and promptly ignoring the obviously displayed Holy Bible in the shelf.

"Jesus bloody Christ, tone it down with the obnoxious suburban mom, will you?" Sarah plucked a note from the drawer, written on pink and violet floral paper, in eloquently written floral.

Dear Aynsley,

It's so good to hear from you again! All this new house business sounds like quite the adventure! Remember the little dorm room we shared, freshman year? When we were miserable, fantasizing about our dream homes? I always said I wanted a cozy little suburban home, something simple, not too extravagant, I set some low bars…

And now look who got herself a mansion in the woods! Somebody up there likes you! I could use some of that magic. Send me some Lotto numbers, I'll play them! Seriously.

But I shouldn't be complaining about this nice split-level we've had since Bob got transferred to the Bay Area. We just got new vinyl siding. Jealous yet? Let me know if you want to trade places…

So how are the girls? I heard Alison got herself a scholarship to a university in the big city. Good for her! And Sarah? Off on some grand European tour, I hear? Speaking of jealous…

Write back soon!

I miss you, roomie!

- Chastity

"Man, I remember this 'burb bitch from back when we lived in that crummy little place. What a nosey twat she was." Sarah scoffed and slammed the drawer shut, crumpling the note and tossing it behind her back. She reached for the door handle leading into the left hall, fiddling with the handle as it seemed jammed. After a few seconds she gave up and realized it was locked. "Who locks the HALLS? I think they've finally lost it."

The closet was bare. Filled with a theatre jacket, some stupid Berkeley High School jacket, with a dolphin mascot, and a board game. Arkham Horror. "Yeah, this is Cos'. She always loved that Lovegood bullshit. Loveless? Lovenot? Whatever."

A lone card was tucked away behind a drawer next to the front door. A gaudy yellow card with a cocker spaniel wearing sunglasses on the front, titled 'Have a DOGGONE cool 17th birthday! - Uncle Donnie'. Sarah pulled open the top drawer and tossed the card in, noticing a slip of paper with rough directions. "Looks like mom's route to the theatre for work." Sarah noted, glancing them over before moving on.

"I'll just look around before I go to bed." Sarah noted as she looked at a worldwide timetable. Sarah's departure; 7/6/94 Fight 881 12:10 to London. It was from last year. Why they would keep it around, especially in a new house, she had no clue.

More interestingly enough, there were three recorded messages on the answering machine, all recent, next to a scrawled note that looked fairly old.

Cos -

Scott from the old neighborhood called. He wants to come back to see the new house. Call him back.

Sarah snorted. She remembered Scott. A socially awkward boy with a dorky smile and a pair of thin-rimmed wire glasses. He was cool enough. You know, for a total virgin loser dork.

Mom! Scott is a TOTAL WEIRDO. The only reason I ever hung out with him in the first place is he had a Nintendo when he was little.

"Good old Cos'. Always straight to the point." Sarah smirked. She missed the little dork. With her thick rimmed glasses and loose ponytail. She clicked the answering machine, listening to whatever popped up. She assumed they were all by her, probably. Maybe.

"Cosima? Cosima? Cosiiiiimaaaaaa… Cosima! Hello? … Cosimaaaaaa!" a voice rang out. A foreigner. The French accent was glaringly obvious, and her pronunciation of Cosima's name was… Unique. She put emphasis on the 'i' rather than the 'o'. It sounded… Right, when the voice said her name. The machine beeped, declaring the end of that message.

"Cosima? S'il te plaît… Où es-tu? J'ai besoin te parler…" the voice was shaken, almost hysterical. Despite having stayed in France, Sarah didn't know a lick of it. "Please be there…" the message ended with. "What the hell, Cos'?" Sarah stared at the offending machine, the little green 3 flickering in and out of existence.

"Yeah, uh, hey mum. So I've got my ticket home and its pretty late and all, so you don't have to go pick me up. I'll figure out someway to get home, yeah? Fee said he'd probably be available, but I'll probably be home late and all that." Sarah looked down at the machine, currently reciting the last message she had left. She immediately cleared the machine of all its messages, wiping it clean of whatever incriminating evidence had been left on it.

Wherever Cosima had gone, she obviously didn't want to be followed.

And so Sarah vowed to get rid of all evidence she found.

August 20th, 1994

Dear Sarah,

You know its been kinda hard since you left. Ever since Alison kinda, y'know, took off to university. Something has been going on between her and mom too. I don't know what it is because I know if I'll ask they'll probably both bite my head off. You know how it is with them.

So basically I'm just in this big old house with just mom and dad. I think I'm gonna keep this journal to make a tally of how long it takes me to go completely insane. I wish I could vent to you. But I have to make due with this journal, so I'll just pretend its you.

And it'll be just like talking to you.

Right? There must be some sort of psychological benefit to writing "Dear [insert name here]" into a journal or diary. Like pseudo-therapy? Or or or… Like some kind of way to trick yourself into thinking you'll actually read these, you'll actually get these, you'll actually find them…

Sorry, I got kind of off track.

A-Anyway! New house. We've been here for like a couple weeks so far. Since August first? Maybe. Something like that. We still haven't unpacked all the boxes. I feel like some of them are just gonna hang around, perpetually filled to the brim of random bullshit.

I guess its nice to move though. You know I never had any friends, really. Alison was like, the social butterfly. And you had all these cool friends like Felix and Tony, and that guy Art. He was cool. Instead I had Scott, who probably only latched onto me because we were both neighbors, and both had no friends.

I guess its just the way it is.

At least I have my books. And like, X-Files and all that.