A,N - Hey guys, hope you're still with us on this. We're sorry about the delay, but you know, crazy exams and the like. This chapter is pretty monumental anyway. Courtesy of Moondancing Millie (i.e. she wrote it), posted by me.

Mysterious Girl

The Revelation

Deception (noun) - 1. The act of deceiving or misleading

"Maria." I struggled to maintain my patience. "That is the latest issue of Vogue." Maria closed the magazine and studied the cover, a frown on her face.

"Oh my God," she gasped, tossing it aside. "You're right. But where has Marie Claire gone?" I rolled my eyes and nudged the magazine she was searching for under the nearest bookcase, before shrugging.

We were in Paul's library, searching for anything that might lead us to a conclusion. So far, we had nothing. And with a companion like Maria, it wasn't hard to figure out why.

"Maria," I said again, reaching over to dump a large volume in her lap. "We're looking through archives of Slaters in the media. We are not checking for an update as to whether ruffles are 'in' again or not." Maria pouted.

"We have evidence already, right?" she asked, not bothering to open the large book. "You and that Susie girl found that. So why aren't we taking that to Beaumont and O'Neil?"

"Because," I replied through gritted teeth. "It's not enough. It's only enough to confirm Paul Slater as a suspect. It doesn't prove that he is actually murdering these girls." Maria harrumphed indignantly before lifting up the dusty cover. She coughed pathetically.

"What's wrong with you today?" she demanded, after she had flicked through a few pages. "You've been in a bad mood all morning. Is it something I said?" I scowled.

"No." Being with Maria made me realise how much I missed working with Susannah. Maria sighed and gave up with the large book; instead she reached across my lap to collect a much slimmer book from the pile I had made several hours ago. As she was strewn across my legs, however, she started to giggle. I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"There's something vibrating in your pocket," she remarked, settling back against the bookcase and opening the book. "And I really hope it's your phone." I pulled a face; internally scoffing at the fact that Maria had really thought she could have that effect on me.

The lit-up screen told me that it was my madre calling, and I greeted her warmly. "Hola," I said, but on the other end all I could hear was a gentle sobbing and the sound of a nose being blown. "Madre?" I asked, concernedly. "Are you alright?"

"Hi, Jess." My sister Mercedes had obviously taken over the phone. "Can you come down to the coroner's office to meet us? As soon as you can?"

"Why?" I enquired, though my trembling fingers were a sign that I already knew the answer.

There was a long pause.

"Well," Mercedes answered, eventually. "They've found a body."

We sat as a group of eight and waited with baited breath. I sat with a sister on each knee and Maria on my right – though why she had accompanied me was anyone's guess. It was true that she was family – my cousin, of course – but she had been avoiding all familial commitments for years.

There were police officers everywhere, whispering quietly into their walkie-talkies or gossiping avidly with their colleagues. The atmosphere was unbearable as we waited for the body to be prepared by the coroner. The moment loomed closer – the second hand on the clock seemed to be broken, it moved that slowly – the moment when our fears could be realised.

And it would be Marta lying there underneath the sheet.

"Mr. and Mrs. De Silva?" My head, along with the heads of the rest of my family, jerked up when we heard our surname called. My parents motioned for us to remain in our seats, and we did so, watching as our mother and father disappeared through the door.

I dreaded the second they emerged.

They were in the office for a while – the silence that had consumed the room as my parents had risen from their seats was gone, and in its place was a gentle buzzing from the police officers, who had begun to chatter again. I eavesdropped upon their conversation, for want of something to distract me from the agonizing wait.

"Yeah," agreed one officer, deep in conversation with another. "This guy comes into the station down near the bay and tells us he saw two people up on a cliff somewhere." His friend looked intrigued.

"A cliff?" he echoed. "In this weather? Why weren't they down on the beach catching rays or something?"

The first officer shrugged. "This guy says it looked like they were having a lovers' quarrel. They were a guy and a girl – the guy kept trying to hold on to the girl, but she wasn't having any of it. They were getting nearer to the cliff every second, and in the end, this guy says, she just ended up over the edge."

My stomach somersaulted, and bile rose to my mouth.

"Didn't the guy try and stop it?" the second officer asked, incredulously. "I mean, he was watching it all happen but did he try and intervene?"

"Apparently not. All he was good for was a description of the girl."

"And?" the second officer pressed. The two cops turned to look at me, and I adjusted my gaze to the floor immediately.

"Well," the first cop began, sadly. "He said the girl was kinda Hispanic-looking." My heart sank, and my vision began to get blurred. Marta – it had been Marta.

At that moment, my parents emerged from the coroner's office, hand-in-hand. Their devastated expressions told me everything.

My sister was dead.

"Wait in the car," I growled at Maria, and I slammed the door shut violently. Maria jumped at the sound but remained stationary. I think she knew my temper well enough not to object. I had parked at the end of the driveway, subconsciously hoping that the cool air would cool my hot rage. But it was no use. I was angrier once I had reached the door than I had been as I left the car.

I rapped on the door once, my hands curled into tight fists.

He was going to pay.

Paul answered the door, dressed smartly in a suit that hinted at a designer origin. He smiled smarmily at me as soon as he recognised me, but I didn't give him a chance to say anything. I launched myself at him, knocking him to the floor, and placed my hands in a cup around his neck.

"You killed her!" I cried, and he stared up at me with panicked eyes. "You killed her, are you happy? You have ruined me, and my family."

"Jesse!" Susannah's frightened voice came from behind me. "Jesse, get off him! Whatever he's done, it's not worth it!" I didn't release my hold on him. Instead, I squeezed his throat tighter, and Paul tried to cough.

"You don't understand," I whispered, watching as his eyes grew in fear. "Paul killed my sister. This afternoon – there were witnesses. She was pushed off a cliff… and he did it." I punctuated my last three words violently shaking Paul's neck.

"No!" Susannah screamed. "No, Jesse, he couldn't have!"

I scoffed. "Querida, however innocent you may think he is, you're wrong."

"No," Susannah disagreed again. "He didn't kill your sister. He's been with me all day." The shock of her words made me release Paul immediately. He pushed me off him and rolled over, clutching his neck and gasping. I remained against the coffee table – where I had been shoved – and stared at the floor wide-eyed in disbelief.

"What?"

"He didn't kill Marta," Susannah confirmed.

"You thought I was a murderer?" Paul asked, incredulously. His voice was hoarse.

I nodded, numbly, incapable of speech. Susannah fell to my side, discretely taking my hand. But I was unable to feel her touch… my whole body felt lifeless.

Paul hadn't killed my sister. He was innocent – the one person I had been convinced was guilty. He hadn't committed the crime – and his disbelieving question could only mean that he hadn't committed the previous murders either.

But, I wondered, as Susannah tried to shake me back to life, who had?