As we make our way back outside, I turn to Elijah, "You did it."

"Did what?" he didn't notice.

I look him in the eyes when I tell him, "You picked up the book."

"Holy shit," he realizes, somewhat proud of himself.

The celebration only lasted a few seconds before we started to hear Alice's agonizing screams coming from inside the house.

"Elijah!" she yells. "Where did you go? Please, come back!"

I'm sure his heart is being pulled in two ways, but I could see that he was fighting back the feelings of running to her.

"Let's go," he says before getting the chance to do otherwise.

"Okay," I reply with a small affirming smile.

We decide to go back to one of the few places we knew where we felt safe, the cemetery. Even with Frank still missing, to me, it was kind of like my second home. My body is here, how could it be otherwise.

"I don't even know what page to look at first," Elijah sighs heavily.

"The last one?" I warily suggest. "It's probably the one with our names."

"Yeah," he agrees, "it's the only thing that makes sense."

As we sit down on the ground and prop ourselves up on the back of a couple tombstones, I decide to take the book because I seemed the most prepared out of the both of us. Elijah looked like he was about to shutter at the fright of this old eroding hunk of paper.

I take a steady hand turning the pages a few at a time until in crisp dark writing our names appeared in front of us.

"That's her writing," he says pointing to his name, "Alice's."

"And mine?" I ask. "Do you know who wrote my name?"

He takes a closer look at it, doing a double-take, with his brows furrowed. 

"It looks so familiar. I- I just can't pinpoint it."

"It's okay," I tell him, in the hopes that he doesn't get worked up over it.

He fixes his eyes back to his name, "Alice was right."

"Huh?" I question frazzled.

"Look," he says pointing to his name, "there's pencil smudges. She erased Rebecca's name just as she said."

"You didn't believe her?" I ask surprised.

He rolls his eyes towards me as he sets his back further against the gravestone, "She's my sister, we lie to each other all the time."

"About what?" my curiosity takes over.

"It's just sibling things."

"Well," I state, "I don't have any siblings."

"Then you're shit out of luck," he laughs.

"Fuck you," I say joyfully punch his arm."

When we both go silent, I knew that I still had something that I couldn't let lie with the dead.

"I'm sorry," I apologize out loud.

"You don't need to keep doing this," he groans. "It's in the past."

"What past?" I point out. "It was literally yesterday."

"Pffft," he blows.

"Seriously," I sternly try to keep his attention. "I should have told you about your funeral, and I should have told you that I thought that I had figured out a way to get out of Saint Rose High."

"I get it," he smirks at me.

"You do?"

"Hell no," he plays me, "...ok maybe a little."

I try to keep my chuckle low.

"Hey?!" he says perking up. "Where's Frank?"

"Oh yeah," I forgot to tell him, "I have no fucking clue."

"What?!"

"The asshole just vanished," I say shrugging my shoulders.

When he doesn't speak up, I notice him almost lost in a trance, his eyes glazed in thought.

"What is it?" I cautiously tip-toe myself around the subject.

"Do you think he could be in the book?" he looks quizzically at me.

I meet his gaze, "Frank? ...Maybe."

I turn back to the pages spread on my legs and turn them back one by one, scanning every name as closely as I could while Elijah watched over my shoulder.

"I don't even know what name to look for," I tell him, somewhat overwhelmed.

"What do you mean?" he questions. "Look for Frank."

"That's not actually his name," I confess warily, "I just didn't want to keep referring him to the creepy dead soldier in the cemetery."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah," I nod. "You didn't actually believe me, did you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he goes on in the midst of this betrayal.

Again, I slouch my shoulders up and down, "I don't know. He didn't blatantly have a name on his uniform. That should have been your first red flag."

"Gosh," he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his eye, "you're just like my sister."

"In a good way or a bad way?" I say poking fun.

"Just..." he says reaching out to my legs, "give me the book."

I relinquish it, letting him take a look at it for himself.

His head moves from side to side and down the pages upon pages of names and dates, until a few minutes later when he stops, staring intently at a lead.

"This!" he shouts and I move closer. "I know this name."

"You do?"

"1945, Gloria James," he tells me, "there's a picture of her on the wall in the library at school." 

"How do you know that?" I question.

"She's absolutely beautiful, how could I not?" he jokingly snarks. 

As we stand up, I unimpressively cross my arms in playful annoyance.

"You're pretty too..." he tries to wiggle his way out of his predicament, "I just-"

"See me like a sister? Me too bro," I say tapping his arm while I walk by him.

"Where are you going?" he says nudging the book in the place where we had just sat.

I roll my eyes over the horizon, "Aren't you going to show me?"

"You want to see it?"

"Well, duh," I lift my eyebrows. "Now, are you coming or what?"

I stretch out my hand and knowingly shake it to try and get him to come.

"Fine," he says catching up to me and grabbing my hand.