I hope you all had a wonderful, very merry Christmas! Thank you to everyone who reviewed:

Fun With Typing - One of my biggest goals as a writer is to make people really feel things through my writing. So I guess I succeeded! And that is all explained in this chapter.

RHatch89 - Thanks for your review!

nick2951 - Thanks! I'm glad that this was unexpected!

Mr Tea The Dino - I was so glad to see that you're back! I missed your reviews.

Diane61 - Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying!

Pinkpoodle8 - Thanks for the review! No, I don't think anything good is going to come out of this situation...

Again, thank you all! Please let me know what you think about this chapter. Also, I have a new poll up on my profile concerning what I should begin writing after this story is finished, so if you guys could check it out and vote, I would really appreciate it!

Chapter 51

I don't sleep well that night.

I mean, duh. A little over twenty-four hours ago, my entire life was ripped right out of my hands. Not just my life. My entire identity.

I'm not Viola Vanderwaal anymore, at least not when "A" is watching. I'm Bethany Young.

I roll over onto my back, my shoulder blades digging uncomfortably into the thin mattress of the cot. If this is what sleeping in the real Radley is like, no wonder it always seems so depressing. This sucks.

But I can't really think about that. I can't keep my mom out of my mind. Are my parents looking for me? They've surely realized that I'm gone by now, especially when I didn't come home from the Brew last night. It seems like ages ago, instead of just approximately a day.

Maybe "A" made it look like I was killed, too, I realize with horror, biting down on my lip so hard that I taste blood. Maybe no one's looking for me…maybe they all think I'm already dead. Oh, god. My parents probably think that both of their daughters have been killed. It feels like a fist has just slammed into my stomach.

I hear the familiar click of the door beginning to open, and I shoot up in bed, clutching the scratchy sheet to my chest and scooting back to the end of the bed, my hands shaking and my heart beginning to pound.

What is "A" going to do to me, in the middle of the night? Or, at least, I think it's the middle of the night. It's dark. It really should be dark all the time, now that I think about it – I'm underground, after all – but the artificial sunlight went out around four hours ago, if I've been keeping track correctly.

The door creaks open. I want to run, to push past "A" and flee, but I feel paralyzed with fear. And anyway, running won't help. There's nowhere to go.

Then my sister leans into the room, shining a flashlight on me. "Get out of bed and come with me," she says quietly. "We don't have much time."

My terror fades, but only into a sense of severe apprehension. Cautiously, I drop the sheet and jump out of bed, following her out of my room and down the hallway. "W-what are we doing?" I ask, my voice shaking just as badly as the rest of me.

Mona doesn't stop walking until we reach the end of the hallway, which then splits into two separate directions. She turns, looking me up and down, and before I can even ask, she flings her arms around me. "I missed you."

I gasp in surprise, then raise my arms, hugging her tightly. "You're not brainwashed," I realize. "You know you're not Alison."

"That's who 'A' wants me to be, so that's who I am when it's watching," she says, pulling away. I notice her use of "it" and realize that she has been here for over two months. What has she been through until I got here? "And you have to be Bethany," she goes on, gripping my arms tightly. "Anytime those cameras are watching, you can't be yourself."

"Or what?" I ask, my voice trembling. I glance around, spotting one of the shiny little black video cameras on the wall a few yards away, and jump.

Mona follows my gaze and shakes her head, not looking surprised at seeing it there. "Just trust me, Viola. I've been through things in the past few months that you can't even imagine."

I look once more at the camera, noticing that its red light is missing. Still perturbed by this, I say nervously, hopping from foot to foot, "Are you nuts? There's a camera right there, we're being watched right this – "

"The generator shuts down for three minutes every night," my sister explains, speaking so quickly that I can barely understand her. "Until it kicks back on, 'A' can't see or hear anything we do."

A rush of adrenaline surges through me at this. This is the best news that I've heard in a long time. "Then what the hell are we standing around here talking for?" I say, practically shouting with enthusiasm now. "Let's find a way out of here!" But even as I say it, I know it's hopeless – if there was a way out, she would have found it by now.

"Save your energy," Mona says, and even though I expected as much, my heart still sinks. "I've spent weeks running for ninety seconds in both directions. There's an old silo down there," she goes on, pointing down one of the hallways that branch off from where we're standing. "It leads to the way out, but you have to climb fifty feet up, and it's impossible to make it before the doors lock again."

"What's down there?" I ask, pointing down the opposing hallway. Everything around us is completely dark. I can't see a thing.

"It just leads to a big empty room," she explains. "There's nothing in it, but if you run past it there's a steel door at the end, and – "

"And what?" I ask desperately. The hopelessness of the situation is beginning to weigh down on me again. The walls feel like they're closing in, and the ceiling, too, like suddenly all of the dirt that must be packed above us is going to collapse.

"It's sealed, like a vault. There's no way in."

This piques my interest, I have to admit, and I probably would have asked more questions if I wasn't on the verge of a panic attack. My stomach begins to churn with nerves, and I press my hand to my mouth just as a quiet clicking sound interrupts my frantic train of thought.

"What is that?" I gasp, turning to stare at the camera. The red light still doesn't reappear, but I know it's only a matter of time before the constant surveillance returns.

"The generator's coming back on," Mona says sharply, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down the hallway. "We have seventeen seconds, come on."

I stumble on the hard concrete and regain my balance, running after her. She flings open the door to her room – or, Alison's room, I guess – and disappears inside, the door slamming shut behind her.

I cry out in alarm. It's dark and cold and the last thing I want is to be alone right now. But the clicking begins again, and I estimate that it's been about ten seconds since it began. I don't have much time.

And I don't want to find out what happens if I don't obey. So I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and rush into my new small, depressing home.

…

It's been a week and I'm going crazy.

Have you ever been stuck for seven whole days and nights in a tiny cell of a room with only an iron-wrought bed and a crooked little desk to keep you company? Where the most excitement of the day is walking into the teensy adjoined bathroom? Where bland meals are shoved through a little slot in the door two times a day, if you're lucky?

I hope not. Because it sucks.

I think what's really starting to get to me by the end of that first week is the silence. Aside from the maybe five seconds twice a day when a tray of food scrapes against the floor, there are no sounds in the room.

There are sounds outside of the room, though. At random intervals throughout the days, I hear scraping, hammering, pounding, coming from the hallway. It's faint, most likely behind a few closed doors, but that doesn't stop the fears and theories from running through my mind.

But I keep coming back to those four closed doors all around my room and Mona's. "A" is doing something in those rooms, I just know it. And when I think back to my first day here, finding the Aria, Emily, Hanna, and Spencer dolls in that stupid magic trick, I'm pretty sure I know what they're doing.

What it's doing.

It's getting easier to think of "A" as an "it" instead of a real person. I mean, don't get me wrong. "A" has always seemed omnipresent, like there isn't really a face behind that black hoodie. But now it's so much more than that.

I can't even fill the silence by singing or talking to myself. I'm supposed to be Bethany Young when it's watching. But I don't even know who Bethany Young is, aside from a blond girl who possibly knew Alison and was killed in her place. That's not really enough to go by when you're trying to live someone else's life.

It's only during those three minutes every night that I'm free to say and do whatever I want without fear of being watched. And I usually just spend those three minutes sobbing.

Because I'm not going to let "A" see me cry.

I'm still not sleeping well, but at least I'm sleeping at all, even if it is only for a few hours every night. I wake the morning of my eighth day in confinement to the feeling of sunlight on my face. For a moment, I keep my eyes closed, imagining that I'm home in bed, waking up on a Saturday morning. My mom's downstairs making pancakes, I have plans with Justin or Macy later today…

Then my eyes fly open and I regret everything I imagined. It just makes the reality so much worse.

I groan and sit up, holding the sheet to myself and glancing up at the camera, as I do every morning. As usual, the red light is glowing, blinking occasionally. I stare at it impassively, so tired that I can't even muster up much anger anymore.

Then the door flies open.

I gasp, jumping so badly that my back bumps against the iron bars of the bed. But once again, just like on my first day here, there's no one on the other side.

Not moving from the bed, I look up at the camera and raise my eyebrows. "What, the prison sentence is over now? I'm allowed to leave my room?" I meant for this to come out sarcastically, but my voice sounds tiny and scared.

One single chime rings through the room. That means yes, I guess, so I hop off of the bed, my curiosity – and my desperation to leave this stupid room – winning out over my fear of what could be out there.

I peer out into the hallway, turning my head to the left and right. "A" is nowhere in sight, and everything looks just as it did one week ago, except for one thing…all of the other doors are wide open.

Whoa. So I was right. "A" was doing something in those rooms. I can't decide whether I'm terrified or eager to find out what's in them, but my legs make the decision for me, carrying me straight across the hallway and through the door right across from mine.

As soon as I pass through the doorframe, I'm standing in Aria's bedroom.

Holy crap. Holy crap. I gaze around the room, my jaw hanging open and my heart thumping hard. Everything is the same, from the wooden paneling on the walls to the books on the shelf. I walk over to the dresser and pick up a picture frame. It's a family picture, though instead of Aria, Mike, and their parents, the family in the photo are four…mannequins?

Ugh. I drop the frame back onto the dresser, a chill working its way up my spine. This is so creepy. There are a few cardboard boxes on the floor beside the bed, all marked with Aria's name in that same disturbing blocky print, and I'm just stooping down to open one when I hear a door close in the hallway.

I straighten up, tensing in alarm. As far as I know, there are only two options for who could be out there, so I decide to be optimistic and go for the less frightening one. I open my mouth, ready to call out my sister's name, when I notice the red light shining menacingly from the little camera in the corner.

Wrinkling my nose in distaste, I call out hesitantly, "Um, A-Alison?" I clear my throat and try again. "Ali?"

Mona appears in the doorway, smiling in such an Alison-like way that I am momentarily taken aback. I wonder if she was trapped in her room just like I was. "Bethany, hey," she says with a little too much emphasis, like she's making sure I haven't forgotten who I'm supposed to be right now. "It looks like 'A' wants us to help do a little unpacking."

"Yeah," I agree, hefting one of the boxes onto the bed. I'm afraid to say more, because I have no idea how Bethany Young used to speak. All I know about her is that, according to her recorded therapy sessions from Radley, she apparently hated Mrs. DiLaurentis. And I can't figure out a way to work that naturally into the conversation.

Turning my back on the camera, I open the flaps to the box. Mona walks over to stand beside me, so close that our shoulders are touching. Quick as a flash, she squeezes my hand, then turns away, picking a necklace out of the box and frowning at it. "Aria used to wear this all the time, to try and get Noel's attention. I always told her it was ugly."

I force out a laugh, because if I don't I'm afraid I might cry instead, and reach into the box. My hand closes around something soft, and I pull it out cautiously. It's a frayed, ratty pig puppet, its pink fur matted and one of its eyes coming loose.

I recognize this thing. Aria used to carry this around for years in her backpack…until she met Alison, that is. I never really knew Aria, not until my sophomore year, but I could always tell that she seriously loved that thing.

I turn it over in my hand and spot tiny wording just inside the opening of the puppet. There, in messy, childlike stitching, are the words, Property of Aria.

My stomach flips. This isn't some copy. "A" stole the real thing. They stole one of Aria's most treasured possessions, right out of her room. Like it wasn't enough to recreate her bedroom.

And with that, something snaps inside of me.

The puppet falls to the floor and I whirl around, striding toward the camera until I'm right in front of it. Mona says something, sounding alarmed, but I can barely hear her over the sudden, deafening ringing in my ears. I'm so furious that for a moment I don't even think I can formulate words, but then they come pouring out.

"We are not your dolls," I yell, staring directly at the security camera. "And we are not some little puppets on strings that you can control. I am not Bethany Young, Mona is not Alison, and I'm done pretending to be someone I'm not just to appease some sick psycho who treats us like freaking animals!"

"Bethany, stop it!" Mona grabs my arm, trying to pull me back.

I shake her off. I don't care if "A" punishes me for this. There's absolutely nothing, in this moment, that could possibly be worse than this. "Knock it off!" I snap. "I am not Bethany. I am Viola, and you are Mona, and as soon as we get out of here – " I whirl around to face the camera again, practically shaking with rage now, "I am going to kill you. I don't care how, and I don't care if it kills me in the process, but I am not going to let you keep treating people like your pathetic little dolls."

I finally force myself to stop talking, my chest heaving as I stare up at the blinking red light on the camera. The silent tension in the room is so thick you could cut right through it with a knife.

After a moment, I brace myself and glance over at the empty door. Any moment now, "A" is going to burst in here and do something horrible to me, there is no doubt in my mind. As far as I know, no one has ever stood up to "A" like that, and I'm sure they're furious.

But the strange part is…I don't care. I feel great, like for the first time I didn't have to conceal my true feelings because really, how much worse can things get? As long as I'm still stuck down in this underground dollhouse, I don't care what else "A" tries to throw in my way.

It seems like hours pass as I continue to watch the doorway, my anger and satisfaction beginning to dissolve into confusion. If "A" was really going to do something to me, they would've done it by now, right?

I turn around slowly to face my sister. I don't trust myself to say anything, in case "A" is still watching, and anyway, my throat is completely raw from all of the yelling, so I just smile.

Mona shakes her head at me, her brow furrowing in confusion and also disapproval, probably. I turn away, walking over to the bed and opening one of the boxes, resuming unpacking.

We spend the rest of the day unpacking the cardboard boxes in each of the girls' rooms, every one filled with trinkets and other personal items. Every time I pull out something I recognize, like a bracelet of Spencer's or one of Emily's swimming trophies, I feel another surge of anger, but I keep my mouth closed all day, not daring myself to say another word. I already can't believe I got away with yelling at "A" like that, and I don't want to push my luck even further.

Hours must have passed before two chimes ring through the room designed to look like Hanna's. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and sifting through a box filled with what appears to be costume jewelry. "It's time for bed," Mona announces, the first time she's spoken to me since my outburst. "We have to go back to our rooms."

I can't remember the last time I've been so relieved. At the mention of going to bed, all the rest of my outrage turns immediately into unwavering exhaustion. "Fine," I mumble, and walk slowly into the dark hallway, turning into my little mental patient bedroom and falling right onto the bed. I don't bother to close the door, but I hear it click shut behind me anyway.

I'm asleep in minutes, and it's the best sleep I've had since I got to this horrible place. Maybe even the best sleep I've had in two years. And maybe that's why I don't notice what's going on around me.

Something must be, because when I wake up, I'm surrounded by dirt.

...

Again, please review, and drop a vote in my poll! Next, Viola tries to survive her punishment, and life in the dollhouse grows even more grim as some new additions arrive...