This is so good! I can't wait to read more.

Part the fifth:

I spend the rest of the day kind of sullen, angry at myself for angering my aunt, and angry at Aunt Madin for doing nothing to answer my question, except for stating the obvious. I know I should at least try to cheer up, but for some reason I just don’t want to. Maybe I am doomed to become one of those cranky grandmother ladies. I can hardly even laugh at my own joke, just a weak chuckle. I decide to try writing, even though I’m at a kind of depressing part of my story.

I grab my notebook and start reading about a page before I left off:

Amelie was shaking. It was cold and damp in the prison cell, but by now she was used to it. No, that was not why she was shaking. She was shaking because of the news Arly had just brought her. The words circled through her head… “Ransom costs a lot… paying off debt… it should take about a year.” Arly had looked so sad when she told Amelie, so she figured a year was a long time. She really had no knowledge of any time intervals, and she had been in the cell for so long she couldn’t tell how long it was.

“Arly will come back,” Amelie whispered into the darkness, hugging her knees to her chest. “Arly will come back.” That was her only source of hope in this dank, dark world. “Arly will come back.” She fell asleep silently sobbing, muttering the words, again, and again, and again. She knew in the morning the rough guard would bring her food, and let her go to the bathroom. But for now, she was a silent, pitiful pile of rags and tears and soft words and harsh beatings. For now, she was asleep, as peaceful as she would get.

The morning dawned clear and bright, but of course Amelie couldn’t see the sun. She woke up early, rubbing her eyes to free them of the gritty tears from the night before. She stretched her arms as far as they would go, yawning. She wondered what was for breakfast. Probably a pile of cold oatmeal or grits, like usual. Maybe they would add a cup of lukewarm tea, or maybe a glass of briny water. That would be all she had to drink for the day. If they didn’t bring it with breakfast, they would bring it later, with her other bathroom break in the afternoon. Right now she was in a cheery mood. Later she would remember Arly’s ominous words.

She thought the cell was very misused. It was a fairly large space, but they kept her chained up in a tiny portion of the room. She had tried asking the guard to free her, at least for a little bit, but he had refused. “We don’t want you escaping to who-knows-where,” he had said, shaking a fist at her. Now she was getting weak and sickly, barely able to walk to and from the bathroom by herself.

The sound of rattling interrupted Amelie’s thoughts. She frowned to herself. She wasn’t an amazing judge of time, but usually she awoke well before breakfast. Either she had awoken  late, or the guard was early. She tried not to let her confusion show, because the guard would beat her at any sign of a question. She squinted at the door. Silhouetted by bright sunlight that hurt her eyes, she saw a figure … much smaller than the guard. She finally let curiosity get the better of her. “Who are you?” she asked in a slightly raspy voice. 

Once he got out of the light, she saw clearly that he was smiling at her! That is odd, she thought. Nobody smiles at me except Arly. “I’m Adrian.” He set Amelie’s tray in front of her. “The Warden’s son.” She assumed he meant her normal guard. The Warden. That did sound like him. 

To her surprise, Adrian sat down next to her. “What are you doing?” she asked him, her voice slightly normaler. “Giving you your breakfast,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, like it was obvious. “But-” Her voice broke as she tried to think of what to say next. “Why are you sitting down?” Adrian shrugged, and something that might have been a blush crept onto his cheeks. “It’s more comfortable than standing up.” They sat there for a length of 5 or 10 minutes, before Adrian awkwardly stood up and exited Amelie’s home.

It starts off fairly depressing, but she ends up making a new friend. It’s kind of hopeful, especially since I’ve never had a friend before. I’ve been homeschooled my whole life, so I don’t know how. I start writing, and it gets depressing again, but for some reason I feel much better than I did before. I end up going to sleep faster than I ever remember before.

By the way, I tried writing the story she's writing (like, fully) and failed. XD

Number six:

The next day, I’m pretty sure Madin forgets about my confrontation. When I wake up, I hear her humming as she puts bread in the oven to toast. (Because she doesn’t have an actual toaster.) I wonder how that will come out. I’m still not entirely used to her crazy antics, and there’s probably plenty more that I still haven’t discovered. But I think I might be starting to like her, despite all of her quirks.

I don’t know if she’s figured out that we’re vegetarian or she just thinks we don’t like her sausage, but for breakfast we have the toast type thing (which actually tastes a lot like toast) and scrambled eggs. We’re eating off the dining room table today, because she had extra time to clean it last night, so our pizza grease isn’t there anymore. (She ordered it this time.) There isn’t as much tension today, but we still sit in silence.

Aunt Madin clears her throat as she’s going back to the kitchen to get us third helpings. We look up at her, startled. “I just wanted you to know, since tomorrow is Sunday, we are going to the local church.” Anyone else would say it in a small voice, probably blushing, but Aunt Madin is the epitome of confidence. Mom looks at her like Are you crazy? That’s what I’m thinking too. We’ve never been religious, and Aunt Madin doesn’t seem religious.

But it doesn’t seem to be up for negotiation. Apparently she has to work on Saturdays, because she gives us our food and disappears, just like she did yesterday.

“What was that about?” Mom wonders aloud. 

“Apparently she really wants to go to church,” I guess, chuckling softly. 

“No, not that.” Mom frowns. “The fast getaway. I wonder where she went.” Now that she points that out, I have to agree. I immediately assumed it was just work, but who works on Saturdays? 

“Maybe… I don’t know.” I give up without guessing. I’m not sure I want to know, anyways. But Mom’s not deterred. 

“Let’s see if she took her car.” She pushes her chair back and gets up, leaving her food untouched.

  I shrug and get up, because I know Mom will probably give up if she took the car, or think she solved it if the car is still here. For some reason she’s really into mysteries like this, so by now I know her style. If I don’t come along, she’ll come back and drag me into it. 

We peer out the bathroom window, the only one facing the driveway. Aunt Madin has one window facing each side of the house. If I didn’t know she hates heavy lifting, I would have thought she built the house. As it is, she probably looked really hard for this house. 

“I . . . don’t see the car,” Mom says, looking disappointed. I want to ask her if we can get back to eating breakfast now, but that would be rude.

“Maybe she … went to go hang out with friends from that church of hers?” I suggest hesitantly. 

“Could be,” Mom murmurs. She shakes her head. “Well, let’s think about it over breakfast.” Knew it. I think. Well, she didn’t exactly give up, but close enough. But I think her excitement has rubbed off on me. I actually want to know where Aunt Madin went.

I'm currently a lot ahead of this and . . . wow, I had almost fogotten about that argument. 

Part . . . uh . . . I think this is the seventh, or maybe the sixth, I don't know:

Aunt Madin gets home about an hour later. I search her for any indication of what she could have been doing, but she just looks like she did when she left. Satisfied that at least she hasn’t been doing something, like, illegal, or bad, I try to talk to her like nothing has changed. But Mom goes straight for it.

“Where have you been disappearing to?” Mom demands. “It can’t be work, because today’s Saturday. It can’t be grocery shopping, because we already have plenty. And don’t say you were just taking a walk, because I know you only go out for fun on Tuesdays.” Wow, Mom thought of everything. I think. Aunt Madin actually looks a little scared. 

“Well, I have … friends at the church, and they wanted … bananas. And we have plenty, so I decided to give them some,” she stammers, and I’m pretty sure she knows how weak that excuse sounds. I don’t know if she’s lying, but it sure sounds like it.

I look around the room, trying to come up with another topic to talk about. Then I see it. “Aunt Madin, I didn’t know you have a cat.” I turn around to point at it, but now that I actually study it, it’s not actually moving. “Or . . . an extremely realistic painted ceramic cat.” 

“Oh, that.” Aunt Madin rubs her hands together, like she has a story that she wants to tell.

“For my 15th birthday, my parents planned a surprise party.” Mom rolls her eyes, but she can’t help smiling. 

“Oh, this story.” 

“They took me to the car, and then tied a blindfold around my eyes so I couldn’t see where I was going,” Aunt Madin continues, “I remember being very hungry, but I’m not sure why. Maybe I was too excited to eat breakfast. We got out of the car, and they led me into the shop. My parents said later that I was very antsy to know where it was. And then, they took off my blindfold.

“This is the part that Kat here,” She motions to the ceramic cat, “helps me remember. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw an already painted version of her on the shelf, and I fell in love. (If you haven’t already guessed, we went to a pottery painting shop.) In the shop, I found her, unpainted, and I painted her, I did a horrendous job, mind you, but it was still fun. As we were leaving, one of the storeworkers asked my mother if he could add some stuff to it. I remember her telling me later, over and over again, that I was so excited I looked like a little child when she said yes. And that is the story of Kat!”

I want to laugh. Aunt Madin is actually a decent story teller. And the story she tells is so silly, and hilarious, that she probably either did it purposefully, or has no idea it’s funny. “That’s a … nice story,” I say. I focus my attention back on Kat. She’s actually quite adorable, though I doubt that the store worker actually painted over her work, I bet he got a new cat and painted that one. “Can I touch her?” I ask tentatively, expecting to be refused. “Sure!” Aunt Madin says happily, like it’s her life ambition to get her niece to touch her prized ceramic cat. Maybe it is. Who knows, when it comes to my mom’s sister.

I reach out and stoke the orange figure, feeling kind of silly. It’s cold and hard, despite the illusion of being soft and furry. I decide it is much more pleasant to look at the cat and imagine what it could be, rather than touch it and feel the uncomfortable truth underneath my fingertips. So I withdraw my fingers and settle for looking at the statue, searching for imperfections. But I can’t find any, save for a smudge of brown here and there that must have been made to look like dirt.

And then the moment passes, and it feels normal in here again. I realize in a split second that after Aunt Madin told her story, the room got a kind of . . . I don’t even know what it was, but it was like we were all focusing on the cat and almost  . . .  worshiping it. That must be what a church feels like. I think. Everyone focusing on adoring their God, not on talking or anything else except who or what they’re learning about. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and notice Mom staring at me.

“What?” I ask, kind of indignantly. 

“You were just off in space, so I was trying to see what you saw out there.” Mom smiles. She had this period of last year where she was always trying to figure out what I was thinking. I wonder if she’s doing that again. 

“Just . . . things,” I say, not able to put my thoughts into words. 

“Ah,” she says. I think she knows what I mean by that. 

Aunt Madin suddenly bursts, with no warning, “So, what do you think we’ll have for lunch?” It’s totally random with no context, but it’s still a legitimate question, so Mom decides to answer it. 

“Maybe some sandwiches?” she suggests. 

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea!” Aunt Madin bustles off to prepare us some sandwiches.

And so we eat lunch without any of us remembering about Aunt Madin disappearing. Including me; I add this note afterwards.

Part seven (I think)

After lunch, I collapse into my bed. That’s when I realize everyone forgot about the matter with the disappearing aunt. Which, score for me, I arranged that, but it bothers me that everyone forgot so quickly. Even me! I guess we’re just distractible.

I go back and read through my story. It’s coming along really well, but for some reason I just don’t feel like writing, so I grab an actual book that I brought. It’s called Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library. My mom got it for me for Christmas or a birthday or something and I’ve read it tons of times. It’s actually really good, and I own the second book, too. I think there’s a third book but I’m pretty sure I haven’t read it.

The good thing about books is that they take a while to read. The bad thing about books is that sometimes you don’t have a while to read. I only get a few chapters into it before Mom calls up to tell me to come downstairs and talk. I’m not sure if she means about Aunt Madin or church or something else. I stretch my arms and yawn. I’ve been sitting in this position for a long time. “Once I finish this page!” I call back. I skim the page and then stick my bookmark in, eager to find out if Mom has any new leads. 

When I arrive in Aunt Madin’s living room, I find Mom sitting upright on the only furniture in the room, an old sofa. Her face is tense, and immediately I can tell it’s not good. I stand awkwardly, wondering whether to sit down on the couch or stay upright so we can face each other properly. “Sit down,” Mom says impatiently, patting the couch next to her. I guess there’s my answer. I plop down onto the spot she indicated, wondering why she’s in such a bad mood.

“Audrey, Aunt Madin said she’s forcing us to go to church tomorrow. If we don’t, she won’t keep willingly giving us food.” Oh. 

I suck in a breath. “We should just go, then. Try it out. See how it is.” I know Mom hates church in general, but I can tell that’s the answer she’s leaning towards anyways, and she’ll get there quicker if I encourage her. 

“I know, but…” She trails off. Of course there’s a but. 

“Mom, even if it is as horrible as the one you went to when you were a kid, it’s better than having no home or food. We can manage for a few weeks, and then when we get back home we can go back to normal,” I plead. She slowly nods her head. I take that as my cue to leave, and I hurry out of there.

I hope you like it! 

I read the first few parts, and they were great! I can't wait to keep reading!

TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Part nine:

The next morning Aunt Madin wakes us up earlier than usual by banging two pots together. I groan and roll over, but she doesn’t stop. Stuffing my pillow over my head, I try to fall back asleep, but the alarm has done its job. I’m awake.

I throw on a t-shirt and jeans groggily and head downstairs. Aunt Madin frowns at my outfit but doesn’t say anything. “All right. Once your mother gets her butt down here, we’ll be leaving for church.” 

I look at her quizzically. “What about breakfast?” 

She just rolls her eyes. “Already ate breakfast. Figured you wouldn’t want to get up that early.” I’m torn between frustration, anger, and amusement. On one hand, I’ll have to skip breakfast, the most important meal of the day. On the other, when you think about it, that’s really funny.

When we get to church, Aunt Madin ushers us out of the car and into the building. It’s not an especially large church, but it’s nice. It’s fairly new, too. I’ve never been to church before, because of Mom’s irrational fear of all things church. I’m totally new to the organ. I mean, I know what an organ is, but I don’t think I’ve actually heard it played before. It’s really pretty. There’s also a choir. A common stereotype of church choirs is that they are old women. This choir has mostly old women, but also old men and two young girls, about my age.

When it comes time for communion, Aunt Madin goes up, but she doesn’t force us to. I take careful note of how the people take the bread, in case she makes us do it in the future. The pastor encourages us to invite more people to go to church. After a quick glance at Mom’s expresion, I take it that we’re not inviting more people.

I hope you like it!

I'm so repetive I probably said that ten times already. 

TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!