A/N: Sorry it's been a long time . . . I have no excuses. :/

Beauty is a Beast

Letters

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We search for hours. We check the library, bookstores, Vella's college, interrogate her college friends, and visit the café she was likely to haunt early in the morning before falling back asleep in the back corner, a book across her lap.

Vella wasn't at any of these places; nobody knew where she was, either. My family, Derek, and I go to the police station and tell them everything we knew. It is as if she has vanished.

Upon returning home, I desert the rest of my family and run straight to my room. I shut the door behind me and collapse in the corner farthest from it, letting loose the tears I held in all morning in a desperate attempt not to panic.

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I cry and cry, rocking back and forth, hoping for Vella to miraculously come in and ask me what was wrong.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen.

After tormenting myself all morning with gruesome thoughts of what had happened to my sister, I refuse to think about it anymore. I just try to think of a place where she could actually be. I lean my head back, against the cool, smooth surface of my painted wall.

Had she gone to France on some strange whim to see her father? But that didn't make much sense; she had planned a trip and visited him not too long ago. It couldn't hurt to check though, could it?

I stand up, a bit cramped, and rush to Vella's room. Surely she had her father's phone number somewhere on her desk, right?

I pause outside the door and take several deep breaths. I run a hand through my hair, collecting my wits and preparing myself. I hadn't been in there since this morning, and – Oh, oh! What if Vella came back while we were out? Maybe we all just missed each other by a few minutes!

I hurriedly open the door, already speaking, because I am absolutely positive that my sister returned.

"Hey, Vella, where were you? I was really - "

I stop speaking abruptly, because nobody is listening.

Vella isn't there.

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I deflate. My heart sinks. My stomach drops so far it must've hit someone on the ground floor below.

The tears start to prick the back of my still-sparkling-from-my-last-cry eyes again; my nose starts to tingle and my throat tightens. My rosebud lips start to quiver. I had been so sure . . .

Very suddenly, I take a deep breath and stand up straight. No, I'm done crying. What was I going to do? Call someone? Was it Vella's father? Right. I was going to call Vella's father.

I step quickly over to Vella's desk, and stare.

It is, I'm assuming, what could be called an "organized chaos." I peer around several different tipping piles of papers, notebooks, and large books (some in different languages), only to find a rubber-banded bundle of pens, pencils, and highlighters, all of varying sizes.

I sigh, and then sniffle, because Vella's not here to cast annoyed glances at my useless sighing. I open the drawer in her desk to my right, and find several tiny notebooks. One of these must be it.

I cast aside one that's labeled Addresses, a small purple one entitled Business Phone Numbers, and finally come across a little yellow one with pictures of our family on it. It's exactly what I am searching for: Family Phone Numbers.

I flip through to the "E" section for "Étoile", Vella and Estee's previous last name, and dial the number with the phone that's resting precariously on my sister's desk.

Here goes nothing.

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He answers in French. Only natural, of course, and I reply in the same way. My sister's father seems like a nice man, and I don't want to cause any more worry. He asks how Vella is, and I skirt around the topic, ending with a "Sorry, I actually dialed the wrong number, I meant to call my mère . . . " I don't know that he necessarily bought that.

Nevertheless, Vella's dad says he hopes we're well and says good-bye. I hang the phone up with a sigh.

Well. That did not turn out according to plan. I am dangerously close to tears again, when someone calls softly from the doorway.

"Ace."

I feel the tears pool at my eyelashes and look through their watery lenses to see Derek.

"Oh, don't call me that." I wail. "It reminds me of Vella." Even though she hardly calls me that anymore, Vella came up with the nickname. I blink, and though I do not want it to happen, the tears race down my face and roll down to my chin.
"Sorry." He apologizes guiltily, maybe because I am crying.
"S'all right." I mumble thickly, and move to sit down on Vella's bed.

And then I see it.

"Derek." I say, my voice hushed.

"What?" he asks, obviously not seeing what I am staring at. I point to something just under Vella's pillow, peeking out ever so slightly.

It's a slip of paper. I dart forward and snatch it; I'm afraid it may disappear.

"Is that -" Derek starts.

"Yes." I breathe. Because stapled together are not one, but three pieces of paper. The first two are the notes Vella had received; the third is a note from Vella herself. I shriek in delight. Finally, there is something that could help me. I grab a confused Derek by the wrist and drag him downstairs with me, to the kitchen where Papa and Estee are speaking in lowered voices.

They seem just as confused as Derek when I arrive, beaming. I hold the paper up triumphantly.

"This," I begin, "is from Vella. I haven't read it yet, but maybe she left a note saying where she went." I announce brightly.

They all grow excited, telling me to read it aloud. I comply, and clear my throat from all my previous crying.

"Dear Acelynn,

You wanted to figure out what it means, so I'm leaving it here for you. Hidden, sort of, just in case of – Nevermind, I can't tell you that. I know you can do this, Acey. Please, you have to . . . you're the only person I know who can and will do this for me. I made a mistake, Acelynn, and I hope you don't make the same one . . . then again, you might. It's called a fatal flaw for a reason.

However, I can tell you this:

Follow the address, and you find me.

I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you, you shouldn't do it, but they – Oh, I can't say that either.

Anyway, Papa, Maman, and Derek – I love and miss you all, but it must be Acelynn. Please, you can't come with her, or go in her stead, I'm sorry, truly. They ma – Bother, I'm going outside restrictions again. Look, one last thing:

Acelynn, don't forget your photo shoot.

Love from,

Vella

We sit in silence, stunned, thinking and pondering and wondering about Vella's little letter. Finally, it sinks in.

"Eeep! My photo shoot!" I squeal, checking the clock. Then I flush, because my parents and Derek are staring at me, and I realize I just sounded quite selfish. Oh, but I need to look stunningly beautiful for Arty's shoot! Apparently, my family has not had the same reassurance from Vella's note as I have.

"Look," I explain hurriedly. "There's no need to worry. I'll just go down to the address –" I wave the paper with the address on it. "Tomorrow, or tonight, even, and go get Vella. It's not a problem, really. I know where she is. It may take time, but I can get her." I shrug nonchalantly. There's no need to worry; obviously, now that we know where Vella is, and that she's fine, we can easily get her back. What kind of world do they think we live in? Goodness.

"Now, Acelynn we don't know for sure that she's –" Papa started lecturing, but I cut over him.

"Yes, I do. It says so right here. Vella wouldn't lie. Look, can we talk about this when I get back? I need to go."

"What is the matter with you, Acelynn? I don't underst – " Derek starts angrily, but Estee puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. She speaks to me, her voice quiet and even.

"We will talk about it when you return. Go to your shoot." The way my stepmother speaks, so cold and stiff, is the alert of her disappointment in me and her sadness of Vella's whereabouts.

I swirl around and leave the kitchen, then the house, angrily slamming the door behind me. I realize I've forgotten my jacket; it doesn't matter, I decide, since I will only be walking from various buildings to my car. I won't be in the cold long.

I slide into the driver's seat of the car, and slam that door, too. I sit a moment and pout.

I finally found something with Vella's whereabouts. I know that I have to go, and excuse me if I try to put things back to normal so that I don't have to dwell on any of the things that could be happening to Vella. I'm as worried as the rest of them, possibly more so. Vella is not only my sister, but my best friend as well. So sorry, Derek, if I'm not living up to your expectations of crying and wailing and bemoaning my horrible existence and my sister's terrible fate, but I've had enough crying for a few days. And yes, Estee, I will go to the photo shoot and have a wonderful time being vain and petty and pretty, because the last thing I want to do is sit and come up with various creative and downright nasty things that Vella might've been through.

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A/N: Sorry, I wanted to put the photo shoot in this chapter but it didn't really work after Acelynn's little tirade. Please R&R!