be Happy she’s gone, Honey. your better off. always Here for you. always been

I read it again; note the strange capitalization, the misspellings. ‘You said it wasn’t stamped?’

‘Right. It was in an envelope but I don’t even think it had our address on it.’

Not mailed, then. ‘Why would your mom throw this away?’

‘I don’t know. I think she thought it’s someone messing with us. But I … I wasn’t sure.’

‘Who do you think sent this?’

‘Well, I remembered what you said. About the handwriting. I didn’t even think of it until you mentioned it. So I compared, and …’

We’re looking at the same time and I’m waiting for one of us to deduce, to figure it out, and I’m looking at Roxy’s handwriting from the journal and the note and, no, those don’t match, but the note and the letter –

‘Holy shit, Ellis.’ I tie knots with my line of sight, and he’s right. They’re the same. ‘OK,’ I say, as if to ground myself, because I know this means something but can’t decide what. I look at him, making sure my eyes are properly expressing the seriousness despite the heavy yellow light in the attic. I say it for the first time, alarmed by my own certainty that I break out in goosebumps. ‘So whoever left the note in Roxy’s car is the same person who sent this letter.’

And then, thumping downstairs. Door opens. Shuts. My gut flips. ‘Oh no.’

As if on cue, Sylvia’s voice from downstairs. ‘Ellis? The flowers are nice, sweetheart, thank you. Are you upstairs?’

Ellis’s eyes are enormous, his voice no more than a hiss. ‘You have to go. Now.’

‘OK. How?’

‘Window.’

‘Window?’

‘Yes. Out. Window. Now.’ He eyes the sliver of window above us, on the slanted portion of roof. I swing open the window and all my limbs are seized by rigor mortis. It looks so far down. Ellis, between glancing wildly at me and the attic’s door, clocks my hesitation and says, ‘There’re slabs of roof all the way down! I’ve done it a million times. You’ll be fine. G-g-go. Now.’

My eyes well up with tears – why are they doing that? – my palms filmed in sweat, my brain a mass of barbed wire. I can’t move.

The footsteps are getting closer.

‘M-Mona, please! She’ll tell M-Mary Anne and we’ll be done.’

It’s so high. It’s so high. Why am I afraid of heights? What is happening? ‘I can’t. Ellis, I can’t –’

‘Ellis? Why are you in the attic?’

Ellis whisper-screams. ‘You have to go. She’ll never let m-m-me talk to you ever again.’