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it didn't look as if I'd been in there. I got down on my knees to push the box under the bed. When my hands grasped the bottom corners of the box, the corner pieces shoved inward and the lid popped up a few inches.
    Why, when I had been resolved to let this go, was the box opening now? I stared at it as I lifted the lid open all the way.
    Inside was a single piece of paper. I pulled it out as I stood up. I read over it in utter shock and disbelief. It slipped out of my numb hand and landed in the box.
    I had never seen that piece of paper before, but I knew exactly what it was. I stepped back shaking my head, fighting the whirl of nausea that came over me. Then I froze completely. Unable to shake my head, unable to breathe, unable to understand. All I could do was stare at the box and the piece of paper that just changed everything.
    For in that box was a death certificate. Mine.
    My life—as I understood it before—was over. I continued to stare at the mysterious box that apparently represented my demise, but I couldn't understand what was going on I knew I was alive. Even though I was having difficulty breathing at this moment, the fact still remained that I was alive and breathing. I'd never been a good actor, but if I was dead, then I deserved an Oscar.
    Maybe this had something to do with my mother leaving, and the death certificate was fabricated in an effort to deter any assailants. That made sense, I guessed. Now that I knew my mom had left when I was a baby and didn't actually die, it seemed plausible she would take the necessary precautions to ensure my safety in every way possible. Forging a death certificate could be such a precaution.
    Something bothered me, though. If my mom was an important person— powerful , as Melissa had put it—then why did she have to leave in the first place? If she had to leave, she could have taken me with her. And how could a simple piece of paper provide the necessary protection for me to stay while she still had to leave? It had to be part of some bigger plan. A plan that I knew nothing of and would not find out from Melissa.
    I bent over, picked up the paper again, and read over it, taking in all the details. The names and pertinent information were accurate, but when I got down to the cause of death, I frowned. That field was blank. I wondered why this field had been left blank when everything else seemed to be meticulously filled out. If this document was supposed to be passed off as an official death certificate, why was that field empty? It didn't make sense, but honestly, none of this did. I continued reading the document and froze when I saw the date of death. I had expected it to be some random date. A date that would've coincided with the timeframe of my mother's disappearance many years ago. But the date of death was not some past, random date. In fact, the date wasn't in the past at all. The date was the same as my birthday. My eighteenth birthday.

Chapter 4
    M y eyes grew wider as I fought back tears, not wanting to understand why this ominous piece of paper showed my eighteenth birthday. But reality hit me with a force so hard that I collapsed to my knees.
    This death certificate hadn't been fabricated to protect me. It was telling me I was going to die on my eighteenth birthday. The only unknown element was how that was going to happen. Did my mom know about this? Was she now coming back to stop it from happening?
    If Melissa knew about this, knew that I might die on my birthday, maybe she just didn't want to upset me by telling me. I needed answers, so I'd just have to figure out a way to approach her about everything without her knowing I was snooping in her room. I had to think logically, to look at this objectively. No one could predict the future.
    I put the certificate in the box and pushed it in place before showering and going to bed. I huddled under the covers, tossing and turning, and eventually fell into a slumber full of vivid dreams.
    One dream felt