You guys blew me away with seven reviews in less than twenty four hours! So I figured I'd go ahead and post this today. Thanks to Fun With Typing, Mr Tea The Dino, RHatch89, karma3825 (aka Guest, haha), and nick2951, and to laurenjauregui for reviewing for the first time. I love getting new reviewers and I'm glad you like the story! So here we go...the big one. I don't plan on continuing every day updates because I don't want this story to end too fast, but don't forget to review - I can't wait to read what you guys think of this one.

Chapter 33

I replay Hanna's message in my head over and over as I stop at a red light, drumming my fingernails against the steering wheel. Somehow, Alison was buried that night. And whoever this Mrs. Grunwald person is managed to get her out. So whose body is currently in custody? And what really happened to Alison that night?

There's construction going on by the future apartment complex to my left. As the traffic inches forward, I lean my head back against the seat and turn to watch. I really didn't need this addition to my problems. I still have no idea where my sister is, and it's already after six o'clock. Why can't crises happen on different days?

Almost without thinking, I pull out my phone and read over Hanna's text again, my stomach flipping, as always. I don't know why I keep reading it, like I'm expecting it to suddenly change, for it to suddenly read that Alison really was killed that night. That would mean that I never really saw her, that I was hallucinating and am possibly crazy, but it might lessen my problems a little.

I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, out of my reach. The traffic light turns red again, and I groan in frustration, knocking my hand against the wheel. All I want is to go home and pretend my life is normal for at least half an hour.

There's digging going on in the big area of dirt beside the road. Workers in bright orange jackets and yellow hard hats are holding shovels, tossing aside dirt and stones. Suddenly desperate for fresh air, I roll down my window, just as one of the workers strikes his shovel into the ground.

The sound that it makes as it connects with the dirt is unmistakable. My hands let go of the steering wheel, dropping into my lap. I am aware of my heart speeding up, of my head beginning to pound, and even possibly of a panic attack setting in, but I can't focus on any of that.

Because all it took was that one sound to send me back to a memory that has been long buried.

…

For some reason, I was so psyched to go to high school that I could barely sit still. It was almost twelve o'clock the night before Labor Day, around the time I usually went to bed, and I felt like I had just had a whole pot of coffee.

"Viola," my dad called from where he sat on the couch, reading a book. "I think it's time you calm it down." He smiled as he said it, though, and I knew he wasn't really mad. My dad was barely around anymore, always flying off to some other state for some business conference or training session. But he always made sure that he was home for our first day of school. For some reason, it was important to him.

And this year it was important to me, too. I bounced up and down in the chair across the room one last time, then finally let myself fall back. "Tuesday can't come fast enough," I said gleefully, picturing the outfit already hung carefully in the front of my closet for the first day of school.

My dad grinned at me over his book. "Viola Vanderwaal, actually excited about going back to school? I think I need to take a picture."

"It's high school, Dad," I told him, rolling my eyes with a smile as I grabbed a peppermint out of the little bowl on the coffee table. I popped it in my mouth and spoke around it. "I can't wait. We got our schedules in the mail last week, and Macy and I have lockers right next to each other."

"Just one more day, sweetie, and you'll officially be a high school freshman," my dad said, turning a page in his book and frowning deeply. "I'm not sure I like the thought of that."

"God, tomorrow's gonna go so slowly," I groaned, something that I'd never before said about the last day of summer, just as my mother walked in, her brow furrowed and a worried frown on her face. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"I'm getting a little worried about your sister," she admitted, pushing the curtain aside and peeking out the window. "She didn't mention that she'd be out this late."

I frowned, examining my nails and thinking about this. It was a little weird, now that I thought about it. I couldn't remember the last time that Mona had ever gone out with friends. Actually, I wasn't even aware that she had friends, considering Alison DiLaurentis had spent the past school year turning everyone against her.

But a few hours ago she had walked downstairs and announced that she was going out. Not where she was going, not when she would be back, just that she was going to meet "a couple friends." If I had made a similar announcement, I would have gotten the third degree. But I think my mother was just so happy to see her oldest daughter actually going out that she barely batted an eyelash.

I had been a little worried the whole night, actually. But what did I know? I went to the middle school, not the high school. Maybe Mona had some secret friend that I knew nothing about. Unlikely, but I didn't think it was my business.

My mom frowned at me, releasing the curtain just as a flash of lightning lit up the sky. "You don't know who she went out with, do you, Viola?"

"No," I said earnestly, standing up and brushing my hair in front of my shoulder. "I have no idea." But I thought for a moment longer, suddenly remembering my sister mentioning the name "Jenna" to me a few times, most likely referencing Jenna Cavanaugh, who lived down the street. Just two months ago, she had been blinded by her own stepbrother, Toby, in a horrible accident, and had just come back home last week.

I wasn't really sure if Mona and Jenna were necessarily friends, but that was the only possibility that I could think of. "You know what?" I said, and both my parents looked over at me. "I think she might be at the Cavanaughs' house."

"You mean Toby Cavanaugh?" my father asked, sounding horrified. "That can't be true."

"Not Toby," I reassured him, shaking my head. "He's away at juvie, remember? I think Mona might be friends with Jenna, though…I can walk over and see if she's there."

My father nodded, but my mother looked unconvinced. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you going over to that house."

I shrugged, heading for the door anyway. "Your other kid might already be there," I reminded her. "And like I said, Toby's long gone. It's not like I'm gonna get blinded. And anyway, I want to see Jenna, see if she's doing okay."

That last part wasn't true – I'd never spoken to Jenna in my life – but the thought of the freshly-blind girl was enough to convince my mother. "Okay," she said slowly, glancing out the window once more. "But come right home. It's late."

"I will," I promised. "It's summer, Mom. Live a little!" Then I slipped out the door, into the dark night, before she could change her mind.

I started for the sidewalk, planning to walk down the block to Jenna's with the streetlights giving me at least some light. But I was only one house down when a pair of headlights swung onto the street, and I squinted, recognizing a police car headed toward me.

"Dammit," I grumbled, glancing around frantically. Technically, the curfew in Rosewood was midnight, and according to my phone, it was now quarter after. I wasn't doing anything illegal or even bad, but the last thing I wanted was for my parents to find me being questioned by the police.

The squad car was too close for me to risk running back to my house, and the Cavanaughs' was definitely too far away. The Hastings house, however, was right in front of me, with a clear path leading to their backyard. All I'd have to do is cut through their yard and head back for the sidewalk, and I'd be in the clear.

Squinting in the dark, I pushed through a hedge and darted around the side of the house, only stopping when the barn in their backyard came into view. I grimaced, realizing with a sinking feeling that Alison was having her end-of-summer sleepover that night. I only knew this because she had taunted Mona about it just a few weeks ago.

The last thing I wanted was to run right into Alison or any of her friends. Ali had never scared me – I mostly stayed off of her radar, aside from the few times I caught her messing with my sister and told her off – but I still wanted to avoid explaining why I was sneaking through Spencer's backyard in the middle of the night.

I crept around to the side of the back porch and peered over at the barn. I could see a candle flickering inside – wow, stupid – but aside from that, it was completely dark. They all must have been asleep.

Relieved, I was still careful to be quiet as I walked around to the backyard. The Hastings property was huge, but when I made it to the other end, I was shocked to discover that there wasn't a clear path back around to the front. The back porch wrapped around to the side, and I could make out one, maybe two figures standing there. I definitely couldn't risk being seen.

I glanced back toward the barn, wondering if I should go back the way I came. The cop car would definitely be gone by now. But now the barn doors were facing me, and with my luck, someone would probably come out just as I was passing by.

Okay. So maybe Alison did scare me. A little.

But it was fine. I'd just cut through the DiLaurentis' backyard instead. Ali wasn't home. And judging by what I now knew about Jason, he was probably passed out drunk somewhere.

I turned sideways and shimmied through the hedges separating the two yards. The back porch partially constructed my view of the yard, so I moved carefully around the side of it. Just before I walked right under the porch light, I spotted two figures in the center of the yard, near where the construction for the new gazebo lay.

I leapt back before I was spotted, squinting to make out the figures. The taller of the two stood with her back to me. Long, wavy blond hair hung down the girl's back, somewhat hiding the yellow tank top that she wore.

Alison? What was she doing standing in the middle of her backyard, and not sleeping in the barn with her friends? I crept closer, peeking around the side of the back porch and making sure to stay in the dark.

I turned my head, focusing on the smaller girl, who was walking slowly, almost uncertainly toward Alison. I could see the outline of a shovel, probably left behind by one of the workers for the gazebo, laying on the grass in front of her, and I wondered for a moment if she was going to trip on it.

But then the girl leaned down and picked it up, moving much faster now. I was just beginning to get alarmed when a burst of lighting struck the sky, lighting up the whole backyard, and I got a clear view of who I was looking at.

My sister.

"Mona?" I whispered, barely making a sound as she paused, weighing the shovel in her hands and taking another step closer to the still unmoving Alison, her ponytails bouncing slightly.

I knew what was going to happen. There was only one outcome for this situation. But I couldn't put the pieces together until I watched my older sister, in one fast, angry motion, raise the shovel and step forward, bashing it into the side of Alison's head.

Ali's knees gave out at the same time that I felt mine buckle. We both fell, but the only difference was that Alison crumpled to the ground, facedown on the grass, while I dropped to my knees, my arms wrapping around my stomach.

Mona took a step closer to the motionless Alison, then looked up, glancing around before taking off, thankfully running around to the front of the house instead of toward me.

I couldn't breathe. I just watched my sister – my sweet, shy sister – whack the most popular girl in school over the head with a shovel. An actual, cliché shovel. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Alison, lying on the grass, not moving. Could she actually be dead? Could someone actually die from being hit with a shovel? It sure looked like it.

I had to get home. I had to get home and pretend like this never happened. No. I had to get home and tell my parents exactly what I just saw. No. I couldn't do that…could I?

My head felt like it was going to split open. Black dots swam in front of my vision. It was only when I stood up and was hit by a wave of both dizziness and nausea that I realized I was having my first panic attack since that terrible night at the party.

Only this one was way worse. The night of the party, squatting on the sidewalk, I'd thought I was going to throw up. But this time, I legitimately thought – no, knew – that I was going to pass out.

Literally gasping for breath, I ran, knowing that I had to get home before either someone discovered Alison's body, or I collapsed right on the ground. I pounded down the sidewalk, my vision growing narrower as I replayed that horrible moment in my head. The sickening sound of the shovel as it made contact with Alison's skull.

I knew that I would never get that sound out of my mind.

Somehow, I made it home and flung open the front door, not even bothering to close it behind me as I bolted right up the stairs and into my room. My narrowing vision spun, so badly that I actually had to physically reach out and feel around until I made contact with my bed.

I fell onto it, and finally gave in to the panic. I passed out.

…

Beep!

My body reacts before my brain, and I press my foot to the gas, my car jolting through the stoplight before someone can honk their horn again. As soon as I can, I pull to the side of the street and park, my hand flying to my mouth.

My head is beginning to spin again, and I close my eyes, breathing deeply until I calm down enough to think about this.

Until this moment, I didn't remember that. I didn't remember any of that. The last memory of that night that I've had all this time was sitting in the living room of my house, bouncing on the chair and talking to my father about my excitement over high school, and then of waking up the next morning, wondering why I never put on my pajamas.

I had no memory of going out to look for Mona. No memory of cutting through the DiLaurentis backyard.

And no memory of watching my sister kill Alison.

But no. That's the thing. She didn't kill Alison. Unless what I saw just a few hours ago was a hallucination, although I'm pretty sure that's unlikely.

Okay. I take a deep, shaky breath, gathering my thoughts. So Mona hit Ali that night, enough to knock her out but not enough to kill her. Someone must have come across her body and buried her, thinking she was dead. Then Mrs. Grunwald came along and pulled her out, very much alive.

The thought that my sister is not actually a murderer makes me a little less terrified, but it's not enough to slow my pounding heart. I knew that Mona hated Alison. She cried to me over how much she hated Alison.

But I never thought she'd be capable of something like that.

I close my eyes tightly, a few tears leaking out. I can't believe I've gone two years of my life keeping that memory repressed. I thought that sort of thing only happened in books and TV dramas, people forgetting terrible events until something jogs their mind.

Right now, I feel like my whole life is a soap opera.

...

Congrats to laurenjauregui for being mostly right about the flashback! Next up, Viola, completely fed up with everything, decides to return to "A's" lair, determined to figure out who "A" is at last.