So, I've wanted to do this since about the moment I saw the episode "Now You See Me." It's got to be one of my favorites. *nods* So, I know this is probably going to be a bit sad. But, I can't help myself!

But here we have my first 'character death' fan fiction, ever! I hope I do the plot justice! *laughs to self* This will be posted in two parts if it goes as planned. Might be longer, actually, but I'm not sure just yet. ;) So anyway, this is going to be in first person, from Maggie's point of view. I'm MUCH better at third person, as you all might be able to tell, my beloved readers. But this is the best way to write the plot, as you'll find out in the end. I can't wait to see peoples reactions once this is finished. Yes, I have tricks up my sleeves. (P.S. - Spot one of said tricks, I dare you. Go ahead, you'll figure it out, first one to do so will earn themselves a 1,000 word one-shot by me. :D So find it, guess in a reveiw. It's really not hard, but if you can't, I'll let you know the trick in the next chapter. So hurry!)

And I just realized this song works pretty well with the song by Avril Lavigne, "When Your Gone." So I laughed when I remembered the song existed, because the title is the same, and it wasn't originally planned as a songfic. ^^ But now, if you want a song theme, that would be the song.

Enjoy, please tell me what you think! I take constructive criticism! Please review, thanks everyone!

Disclaimer: I don't own Unnatural History. Never have, never will.

. : P R O L O G U E : .

It's been a year. Well, actually, it's been 364 days, 8 hours and 11 minutes. It's about 4 am, and I've been Tossing and turning in bed for hours. The blanket had been discarded on the floor almost as soon as I crawled into bed that night. And the pillows lay scattered on the bed, none actually used to rest my head. The last thing my head was doing was resting. Within my hyperactive mind, thoughts were churning around like moving gears, and I couldn't get them to stop!

364 days, 20 hours, and 20 minutes now. I can't lay in bed any longer. The room feels Hot and stuffy, and I groaned, sitting up. The room was dark, lit only my the dim moonlight coming from the window. I know sleep is important, and that the history test I had tomorrow, uh, today, was as important as ever. Besides, I couldn't be passed without said sleep. Yet somehow, I can't let my mind rest. Tears sting my eyes, but I refused to let them spill over. With a sigh, I heaved myself from the bed, shuffling towards the dresser.

After several minutes of rummaging through drawers, sifting through clothes, shirt after countless shirt, I found it. A simple wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox, was hugged tightly to my chest as I closed each drawer again and returned to my bed. The desk lamp on my bedside table was clicked on, sending a bright ray of light that illumination the entire room. With shaking hands, trembling figures unlocked the box and lifted the top open.

The box was lined In a black velvet, and inside, lay more memories than thought possible. But my mind had those memories etched into my brain, so it was a tough call as to which won out in the end. On the inside of the box, things were stacked and stored neatly, a dusty smell entering the air as each was lifted, as though they had been untouched for a while. I knew that wasn't the case, however.

The first thing that lay at the top of the box, was a neatly folded shirt. It was Simple, a dark gray long-sleeve shift with three buttons running down a quarter of it, at the top. I hugged it close, the smell that still lingered on it was that of dust, and him. I could easily remember this shirt, and count off each time he wore it. It had to be one of the most stylish things in his wardrobe, but I didn't mind. Jasper gave it to me, a long with much of the other things within the box. I replaced the shirt on my bed, looking back into said box. Next, was the necklace. It was a simple leather choker-style necklace, with a long, silver rectangular pendant dangling from the center. The Chinese symbols ran down it, and I quickly realized they read "Fate. Hope. Love." The tears stung my eyes, and finally came tumbling down. That was it. As the tears streamed down my face, I suddenly lifted myself from the bed. It was 5:30 am, and I needed to distract myself. It hit me how much I truly wished he were here now to make me feel better. I never cried in front of people, but somehow, I'd make an exception for him. Just to get him to hold me for a while. . . So, I did the only thing that came to my cloudy mind. I took a shower.

The hot water succeeded In calming my suddenly aching limbs, and I stayed under it far longer than I thought possible. You should be conserving water, a voice sang in my mind.

Only I didn't. I emerged from the bathroom at 6:15, green robe wrapped tightly around my body. I made my way towards my bedroom again, finding a Sudden interest in the pictures lining the hallway walls. At last, I had no choice but to enter my room again. The box was still there on my bed, opened and waiting for someone to reach inside again. I sighed, sitting on the unmade bed. The next thing in the box was a variety of pictures. Of him, of me, and of Jasper, together, laughing, in trouble. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth at each one. Every single image captured held a special memory. And this times, the tears didn't come. I looked through the photos, the snapshots, and each time the smile on my face grew larger.

Then, the last item, tucked away at the bottom of the box, caught my attention. It was a Note, short and simple, but held so many emotions that I didn't want to relive. But it was today, and I had read this letter only once, I realized, through brown eyes blurred with tears. I didn't need the note, the words it held were singing in my mind even before I unfolded the yellowing page.

Mags,

So, Jasper was up late tonight, later than usual. Typing away on his laptop, and after a while, I asked him just what he was still doing up. He told me he was writing his will. Why a teenager needs a will is beyond me, but when I asked, he quickly shot back with, "The things you get us into, Henry, it just might be needed!" I laughed at this, but after thinking, he's right.

So I sat down and wrote up one, too. And, heck, I'm even writing this letter for you, but I doubt you'll ever see it. Which is a relief, since there is so much I need to say if I ever have to close things off for good. Things I want you to know. I just haven't got the courage to tell you in person.

Margret Winnock, I think I just might love you. And more than in a sibling kind of way. You're just so, magnificent. And I love you. I hope you can someday know this, and hopefully not through reading this letter.

There's only a few things I'd leave you, and one being my prized possession. It's my necklace, an original silver pendant from China. I won't bother telling you what it says, you'll be able to read it.

So, I'm through.

Love Always,

Henry

It was nearly 7 am now, and I rubbed my eyes. I hadn't gotten very much sleep, but it was to late to Think about that now. To late to think about anything, I told myself as I Realized I should be getting ready for school. The letter joined the other items on my bed.

It had been 365 days today, at around 7 pm at least. But today was the day. That very day I regretted, and would regret for the rest of my life. My hair had long since dried, and I quickly ran a brush though it, leaving it in it's natural, wavy state. I tugged on a pair of dark denim jeans, and before I reached for the dresser, my Eyes fell on the shirt laying on my bed. I glanced between the dresser, which was still in chaos, and the dark shirt, what was neatly folded on my bed. With a sigh, I pulled it over my head. It was a little big in the torso, but the sleeves were fine, hugging my arms. I pushed them up about a quarter of the way, and was about to leave the room, when the light hit the silver necklace on the bed. I lifted it up gently, holding it in front of my face. With A defeated sigh, it was placed around my neck gingerly.

The words printed on the page still bumped around in my head as I left the room. The Letter was that of unemotional Henry Griffin, practically pouring his heart out. To me. And that's what scared me the most.

I felt the same.