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Chapter 45

I pull my jacket tighter around myself and glance back at the house one more time. Then I plunge into the woods, clicking on the flashlight.

It's been a week. A whole week since Thanksgiving, and since my world flew right off its axis.

My father's home. He spends most of his time sitting alone in his office, staring down at a photograph of the four of us at Christmas last year. He doesn't cry, because he never does, on the outside at least.

My mother does cry, however, and has for the past seven days, all the time. At first I tried to comfort her, but I wasn't very good at it. Now she cries mostly in her room, with the door closed, as if that will shield me from her grief.

Our first day back at school was today, and it was terrible. I got a few hugs and teary-eyed apologies, but for the most part no one really seemed to know what to say. I mean, really, what is there to say? "I'm sorry your sister was murdered and her body was stolen?" There's no Hallmark card for that.

At first I tried to remain optimistic. There wasn't a body. And when I checked the little refrigerator, it was empty. For some reason, either Mona or "A" decided to put the plan into motion early.

It makes me angry, especially if she knew and didn't tell me, but being angry is better than being consumed by grief, so I'll take it.

But it's been a week now, and I've checked the knothole in the tree every day. Nothing. No note, no letter, no indication that my sister is still okay. And it's starting to freak me out.

I walk confidently through the trees, used to this route by now. My footprints from yesterday are still implanted in the leaves. Once I reach the big old tree, I set the flashlight down and climb a little ways up to where the knothole is. Holding on tight to a particularly strong branch with one hand, I lean over and poke my other hand into the hole, digging around blindly.

It's empty, once again.

I let out a frustrated groan and drop back to the ground, landing with a thump and grabbing hold of the tree for support. Suddenly enraged, I kick it, a little too hard. Pain ricochets up my leg and I cry out.

Then a twig snaps nearby. I straighten up, the pain in my foot forgotten. A squirrel, I tell myself to calm my quickening heart rate. Just a squirrel, or a rabbit, or something.

Snap. Snap.

I turn around in a circle, my fear growing. I want to run, but the sound is coming from the direction that leads back to my house. I press my back against the tree, gripping the flashlight tightly, not sure if I should be feeling scared or ridiculous.

Then a large shadow appears in the same path that I used to get here, and all of my embarrassment flies out the window. Terrified, I hold my breath and click off the flashlight, holding it with both hands.

A hand reaches out, pushing aside a few branches, followed by a pair of legs covered by jeans. All of the fear rushes out of me at once when a boy appears in front of me.

"Mike?" I gasp as Aria's younger brother stops in front of me, his expression just as shocked as I feel. "What are you doing here?"

"Viola?" he replies, his voice filled with surprise. "I'm…what are you doing here?"

No longer afraid, mostly because I'm holding what could probably be considered a weapon, and he's holding what looks like a bag of candy, I step forward, frowning. "I asked you first. What's with that?" I nod at the bag clutched in his hand. "This where you usually come to have a snack?"

He gives me a strange look, and I'm not sure if he picked up on the sarcasm or not. For a moment, we stare at each other, motionless. Finally I raise my eyebrows and gesture for him to speak. I'm not leaving here without an explanation. There's something strange going on here.

Mike sighs, weighing the bag of gummy bears in his hand. "It's for Mona," he says finally, his voice low.

My mouth drops open but for a moment, no sound comes out. I should have come to this conclusion myself, I realize. The woods behind our house. The same tree. The candy. It all makes sense. "You know that she's alive," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

But he hears me, nodding, though he won't meet my eyes. "I burst in on her in her room a few days before Thanksgiving. I saw the blood. She told me about the plan with 'A,' to fake her death."

Wait. A few days before Thanksgiving? Bitterly, I cross my arms and say, "She didn't tell me that you knew."

"She didn't tell me that you knew," he shoots back, frowning. "I thought I was the only one she told."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I've known for a while. She said she'd leave me letters here, so I'll know she's okay, but…" I gesture hopelessly at the empty tree.

"She hasn't left anything?" he asks, alarm evident in his voice. He walks over to the tree, only having to reach up to dig around inside the knothole. I cross my arms, waiting for him to make the realization himself.

"I think something's wrong, Mike," I burst out, tossing the flashlight nervously from hand to hand. "Mona told me that she wasn't going to fake her death until December. Something made her speed the plan along."

"You think 'A' is behind this?" he asks, folding his arms, the little bag of candy crushed in his hand.

"They're behind everything else," I say with a shrug, pointing once more at the candy. "I still don't understand why you have that."

He hesitates, and I can tell at once that he's reluctant to share whatever it is with me. I lower my chin and narrow my eyes. This is not the time for secrets. Finally he shakes his head, speaking quietly. "We planned to meet here. Right about now."

"What?" I feel like I am going to pass out. I press my hand into the tough bark of a tree for support. "You've spoken to her?"

"No!" he exclaims, putting out a hand to stop me from flying completely off of the handle. I take a deep breath and relax, pressing a hand to my chest. "It happened before Thanksgiving. We argued for days about what she was planning on doing, I didn't think it was safe. Mona told me that she'd meet me here a week after she disappeared."

I check my watch. It's nearly seven. I wrap my arms around myself, a shiver shooting up my spine. I still can't shake the feeling of dread that's threatened to consume me ever since Thanksgiving. Even so, a new feeling is beginning to creep in. Hope.

Just a little sliver, but I'll take what I can get.

"I'll stay with you," I declare, reaching up to rub my nose, which has turned red in the cold.

Mike opens his mouth, not looking very happy at this prospect, but relents, sitting down with his back against the tree. "You think she'll really show up?" he asks as I take a seat on the wet leaves across from him.

I feel dampness seep through my leggings and grimace. "Think of it this way," I grumble. "If she doesn't, then we won't have to keep guessing. We'll know something's wrong."

He winces at my bluntness, but I shrug. It's the truth.

The next twenty minutes pass in an uncomfortable silence. I don't think that I've ever had a full conversation with Mike, and this isn't exactly the best place for a meet-and-greet. I'm too jittery to do more than jiggle my leg and try to ignore the fact that I'm sitting on a bunch of wet leaves in the cold weather.

I'm totally going to get a cold after this.

Mike's watch beeps, startling me, and he gets to his feet, throwing the bag of candy down onto the ground. "It's been half an hour," he says, his voice practically a growl. "She's not coming."

I scramble up as well. "You don't know that," I argue, though it's looking more and more likely.

He whirls around to face me, grabbing my arm. "Look at the facts, Viola!" he yells, and I reel back, alarmed by the anger on his face. "She went missing way before she was supposed to, she hasn't left you any messages, and she's not showing up."

I take in a deep, cold breath, pulling my arm out of his grip. "There are a lot of explanations for this. Maybe she's with 'A' right now. Maybe she can't leave yet."

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's been a week. You need to wake up and face the facts."

I'm suddenly just as angry as he looks. All week, I've tried to remain positive, and Mike has crushed all of my optimism in one day. "And what are the facts?" I snap, folding my arms and glaring up at him.

He glances back once more at the knothole in the tree, then looks back at me. "Something went wrong," he says quietly, "and Mona's dead." His voice cracks.

I stumble back. I was completely unprepared for that, and all I can do is watch as he shoves a branch out of his way, stomping back down the path leading to my backyard and out of sight.

I stare after him for a long moment, my heart thumping hard inside my chest. I know I should be angry. I should yell after him that he's wrong, that there's no way Mona could have been double-crossed and killed, that she's too smart for that.

But I lean back against a tree, feeling all of my energy seeping out of me as I realize all at once that he's probably right.

...

Poor Viola seems to have entered a dark place. Next, an old memory helps her new friendship with Mike grow.