by Abigail Cole
The battery is extremely low, flashing red but the screen lights up long enough to show I have hundreds of missed calls, voicemails and messages. Using my thumb, I scroll down the list getting the gist of every message despite flicking through quickly. Even Avery’s name in amongst them, making my appetite flee completely. How dare she ruin my breakfast when I’m over here, doing my own thing. Pushing the tray further down the bed, I toss the phone onto the bed as I rise. Crossing the room butt naked, I walk into the ensuite for a cold shower.
Why does she have to crawl so deeply beneath my skin, taunting me with the life I could never have? I didn’t want her as an adopted sister and I definitely don’t want her as my fucking twin. I want her in the most forbidden way, making me the monster of the century. Literally no better than the bastard that hurt her as a child, which is why I’ve decided I can never see her again. Pretend she doesn’t exist so I can actually move onto someone else, someone perfectly uncomplicated and available.
Stepping into the spray, my body barely registers the freezing temperature the dial says it should be. My skin feels taut and numb. After working a lather into my hair, I continue to wash my body with the remaining suds. Unnerved by the lack of feeling anywhere, I start to scrape my nails across my skin in various places to try to find a spot where I’m not completely desensitised. Giving up, I wash out the shampoo and exit the cubicle. The mirror hanging opposite shows red scratch marks covering my body, some deep enough to draw pricks of blood. Yet I don’t feel a thing. My eyes are bloodshot with haggard bags hanging darkly beneath them, my whole face appearing aged despite the fact I’ve never felt better. Wrapping a fluffy towel from the warming rack around my middle, I go in hunt of fresh clothes.
The wardrobe is full of dry-cleaned items in plastic sleeves filling the top rail and rows of smart and casual shoes lined along the base, fortunately all in my size. Ignoring the various fancy suits, I reach for a white polo and the only pair of dark jeans. Once dressed, I rub the towel over my dripping wet hair until it’s in a damp mess. Smoothing it back with my hand, I head to the drawers and shove some socks onto my feet before leaving the room.
Practically skipping from my assigned room, I hop up onto the golden banister and slide all the way down. Landing on both feet at the bottom, I raise my arms above my head and puff out my chest like an Olympian. Rachel walks through the hallway, clapping enthusiastically. My lips curve up into the wide smile that appears whenever she’s around. Offering her my arm, the shoulder height brunette accepts and I escort her to wherever she is headed.
Rachel must be in her sixties, the ease in which she carries herself around the mansion speaking of years of service here. Beneath her white apron, a black dress sits on her rounded frame, featuring baggy short sleeves and a white collar. Her feet are in black, flat pumps allowing her to move about the house silently.
“Why don’t you spend some time in the games room today?” She asks, leading me past yet another unused living area. This one has a deep red corner sofa in front of a vast fireplace, filled with logs and begging to be lit. The east side of the mansion is much bigger, featuring a massive dining room, ballroom, library, indoor gym complete with pool and sauna, even a home cinema. One day I’m going to own a home like this I’ve decided, paid with money I’ve worked my ass offfor and earned myself.
Pulling me to a halt in front of a black door I’ve yet to explore, Rachel pushes down the handle and reveals the goods inside. Black out curtains are drawn, the space only lit by long blue bulbs trailing the edges of the ceiling. In the centre, a black and red gaming chair with an attached metal footrest is fixed to the floor. I’ve read about the new 4D Turbo simulation chairs, but I hadn’t realised they’d been released yet. The wall beyond holds three large screens, a low cabinet beneath holding various game consoles. On top of the surface lies a range of equipment from controllers, headphones and a VR headset.
“Holy shit! My boys would love this!” I yell, swiftly moving to grab a controller and leap into the gaming chair. When Rachel had said ‘games room’, I’d envisioned a poker or ping pong table, but this is epic. How have I been here two days and I’m only being shown this room now?
“Well, it’s all for you my dear. You can have everything you’ve ever dreamed of if you side with us.” She whispers close to my ear from behind. Her fingers soothe into my hair, gently caressing me as I switch on the PlayStation. The screens light up with a surround view of the war-style game I’ve chosen, a vibration sifting through the chair beneath me at the first sound of gunfire. “I’ll bring you some snacks,” Rachel promises as she leaves me to it.
Speakers all around the room immerse me fully into the game, the overhead lights flickering in time to the bullets and bombs landing all around me. The first round I merely stand in the middle of the battlefield, sacrificing myself as the other online player’s target practice. Each time the chair vibrates, I enjoy the one sensation my skin has felt so far today as well as marvel in how hi-tech every element of this room is considering the house’s owner is almost on his deathbed. Reaching for the headset and slipping it over my ears, I soon find myself welcomed into an online team where I can begin to show my real gaming talents.
∞∞∞
“Get out the way you stupid mother- “
“Wyatt my dear, Ray is ready to see you now.” A soft voice in the doorway pauses my shouting but also puts me off so my character on screen is shot clean through the head by a sniper. Dumping my controller onto the surface and spinning, I see Rachel has changed into a casual denim jumpsuit, announcing the end of her shift for today. She delivered homemade pizza to me earlier, amongst the bowls of popcorn and crisps that kept appearing. The sun is no longer trying to seep in around the curtains and I stifle a yawn. Silently promising to come back and spend the night in here, I stand and stretch before following Rachel to Ray’s office.
After being permitted entry, I stroll into the room and take my seat like last time. Once again, only the lamp lights the room but I reckon Ray is deliberately trying to project a menacing vibe.
“My apologies for not calling for you sooner, my life has always been... hectic - for lack of a better word. I do hope you’re enjoying your time here with us?” I hum and nod, sitting on my fidgety fingers that are itching to get back to the PlayStation. The outline of Ray’s sinister grin catches my attention. “Have you thought any more on my proposition to join our family?” I shrug, the scent of a recently smoked cigar making my head a little woozy.
“Meh, why not? It’s not like I have another family waiting for me.” A stab of guilt strikes my heart at the mental image of my Shadowed Souls. I made them my family when my own failed me. But realistically, how long are they going to stick around? After college, we’ll all venture into our separate jobs, make new friends, promise to stay in touch but the time between calls and meet-ups will get longer until eventually, they have their own lives. Wives and kids, and no room for me.
“I like you Wyatt, I’m starting to think we should have approached you years ago.” A croaky cough across the table turns into a heavy splutter as a wrinkled hand reaches for a glass of whiskey. Slowly downing the glass’ contents, Ray sighs and murmurs ‘that’s better.’ Damn, this guy is so cool.
“What do you want with me exactly? Surely I’m not here just to eat your food and enjoy the amenities of your home.” Ray shakes his head slowly, an evil glint to his pale eyes.
“Whether you choose to join us or not, I’ve brought you here for what you deserve. The truth. I’m about to tell you everything Nixon has ever kept from you. Your whole life has been a lie, son, but I have the power to set you free.”
Avery
Kneeling down in the soil in my denim shorts, I stare up at the tall honey blossom tree at the edge of our property. My mum would bring me down here on sunny days like this, to sit beneath the pastel pink canopy with a picnic basket and woollen blanket. The dirt surrounding the trunk lies in a perfectly neat circle, as I requested of the gard
ener last week.
Opening my tote bag, I pull out a small metal spade and begin to dig. Working my way further into the soil, I make a cylinder shape around three-foot deep from the surface before I’m satisfied. Placing down the spade, I reach into my bag and pull out the long urn I had intended for mum. The biodegradable container was to be planted with the seeds of another honey blossom by the three of us in our own personal ceremony, far from the cameras and tabloids. I’d hoped this would have given Wyatt the closure he clearly needs and would have bound us all closer together. Surrounding this tree with mum safely beneath it, we could have finally been the family she’d always wanted us to be. But it’s too late now.
Opening the urn, I look through the items I’ve spent all morning collecting to fill it with. A pathetic attempt to recreate her aura really, but I needed to do this for my own benefit. In all this time, I haven’t had the opportunity to say goodbye properly, especially since Wyatt robbed me of that chance. Her ruby teardrop earrings are delicately placed on the fabric of her favourite teal and gold scarf. The photoshopped picture from Nixon’s office showing her cuddling me with Wyatt curled around the edge. I can’t see the other items stuffed in the bottom but I know the page from her favourite book, Henry James’ ‘The Portrait of a Lady’, a ticket from our last musical, and wedding ring are down there.
Securing the lid tightly in place, I slide the container into the hole I’ve created in the earth and begin to cover it using my hands to push the soil back in place. I haven’t prepared anything to say, but the moment seems to need some sort of speech. The wind has eased and the leaves in the tree have stopped rustling, the garden around me waiting in silence for my next move. I can almost feel a presence beside me as I stare of the mound of dirt.
“Oh, mum. I’m probably talking to myself, but I have to believe you’re around me. It’s the only way I’m getting by at the moment. I want to make you proud and be all the things you’d dreamed for me, but I don’t think it’s possible. I think we’re both going to have to settle for me being satisfied with how I am now. Placid. Content.
I have been broken for so long, it was only you that made me whole. When you were holding my hand, life came so much easier. No one other than you and Meg saw the real me, but she’s not around either at the moment. Everyone expects me to just move on, forget about you and look to the future but it’s so much harder than they realise. Especially when Wyatt is in such denial about his own feelings. I really wish you’d told me the truth, not that it would have made much difference. You were my mum in all the ways it mattered; I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me what my heart already knew.
I’m sure you’re watching me from the other side, I need something to believe in. One day we will be together again, somewhere our souls can run freely. Until then, I pray that you rest peacefully.”
Taking the last object from my bag, a decorative plaque, I push the pointed end into the heap. The black granite shines in the sunlight, gold letters etched into the stone. Her name is scripted beautifully over the inscription “The tears in my eyes I can wipe away but the ache in my heart will always stay” with golden roses either side. I sit a while longer staring at the bark in front of me, remembering the way she would drop everything to simply hold me every time I needed a hug. No words were needed, she would comfort me silently with her actions.
A large shape rustling against the bush beside the stone wall makes me jump to my feet, fear leaking into my bones as I realise I’m out here alone with nothing to protect myself. A guard in a dark navy uniform raises his hands defensively and mutters an apology before walking back the way he came. Leaning against the thick trunk until my heart stops racing, I glance around the open space stretching before me. Lush green covers the lawn all the way back to the mansion, ideal for the marquee summer parties mum would have been hosting around this season.
Each year, a huge white tent would in in the middle of the grass kitted out with a temporary dance floor and small orchestra. Cream covered tables displaying an array of fancy French delicacies and filled glasses of champagne would line the back, for all those posh snobs that can’t afford to put on a pound but drink like sailors. As an adopted teen, I’d hated those fundraisers for the various orphanages the Hughes donated to. Although I understood the cause better than anyone, these were the only times I felt like my adoption was a power move to promote their charity work as I was paraded around in gorgeous summer dresses and dainty jewellery.
The only saving grace was Meg, who was also forced to attend and dress in similar attire. There’s a framed photo on my vanity from such an occasion when we were 15. Meg and I are wearing matching white halter necks adorned in a sunflower print and my mum standing in the middle, hugging us into her sides. Her dress is stunning, a fitted black maxi dress with pink lilies floating across the bottom and a thigh high slit. The sun is shining brightly upon the three of us, mimicking the glow of mum’s wide smile. Even though I hadn’t wanted to pose for it at the time, that has to be my all-time favourite photo – the two people I love most in this world in one single image.
Collecting my bag from the ground, I blow the plaque a kiss goodbye and trek back across the grounds towards the mansion. It’s a beautiful summer’s day, warm enough to brown up my tan but not too hot that I’m streaming in sweat. There’s not a cloud in sight in the flawless blue sky. I ignore the multiple guards lining the wall, trying to pretend there’s not still a threat out there somewhere. Surely if they still wanted me, they would have tried to attack again by now – but we can’t relieve the guards until we have news from the police they’ve been located.
Rounding the pool house, every window teasing me with the darkness inside, I hear the repetitive sound of a basketball bouncing. Throwing my bag onto the sun lounger Wyatt always favoured, I walk over to the high fence surrounding the basketball court and watch Dax dunk the ball into the hoop. Regaining control of the ball, he dribbles up and down the court while I enjoy the view far too much.
Wearing blue shorts, white sneakers and nothing else, I drool over the rippling muscles covering his abdomen. With each twist of his deeply tanned body, his chest flexes in time with his rounded biceps. Even the hardness of his calves are affecting me as he runs across the tarmacked surface. His icy blue eyes catch sight of me, halting his solo game as he catches the ball and walks towards me.
“Have you been staring at me for long?” He cocks a brow, looking down on me through the gaps in the fence. I feel the blush lining my cheeks but hope I can pass it off as slight sunburn. Dax rests his fingers on top of mine, that are poking through the metal separating us.
“Of course not, I noticed your game kinda sucks considering you play on a team.” Throwing his head back on a laugh, his huge blonde afro bounces around his face wildly. Retracting his fingers with a slow stroke against the lengths of mine, he beckons me to enter the court.
“You have the talk, but let’s see if you have to balls to back it up, shall we?” Bouncing the ball towards me as I enter, I catch it easily with a smirk. Dribbling the ball in a circle around him, I stop when we are face to face again and give him a cocky smirk.
“Did you really think I lived in a mansion with its own personal court, and never practised shooting a ball?” I mock, turning to throw the ball towards the hoop. Bouncing off the backboard, it slips into the net with a satisfying ‘swoosh’. Grinning to myself that I managed to pull that off in his presence, I don’t hear Dax move behind me until his whisper breathes into my ear.
“No using the backboard in my rules.” His hands smooth around the front my t-shirt, holding my flat stomach as he presses his body against my back. Suddenly hot for a very different reason, I focus on keeping my breathing even which Dax makes really difficult by running his tongue up the shell of my ear.
“Are there any other rules I should know about?” I manage to ask without a quiver to my voice, needing a moment to compose myself. Shifting his hands, one trails up the inside of my arm before coming
to rest lightly across my collar-bone while the other winds around my body to hold my hip in place.
“No more rules, but if I catch you using that backboard again, travelling with or carrying the ball, there will be punishments.” He breathes seductively, grinding his groin against my ass. In the next second, he’s halfway across the court retrieving the ball while I’m left clenching my thighs and really wanting to do any and all of the three things he just told me not to.
Never one to back down from a challenge, like the one shining in his eyes, I step between Dax’s smirk and the hoop. Keeping my eyes focused on his body language, I notice a slight jerk in his right knee. Following my instincts, I lunge right while he fakes left and steal the ball from right beneath his huge hand. The shock on his face makes me laugh as I step out of his grasp and shoot the ball straight over his head. The orange sphere circles the hoop twice before dropping through the middle.
Collecting the ball, I round the court while bouncing it beneath my palm to resume the position Dax was just in. Pretending to yawn, he stretches one arm behind his head while the other hand trails down his washboard abs to the waist band of his shorts. Pushing the material down slightly to reveal a hint of blonde curls nested underneath, my mouth goes dry at the display. Biting my lip hard enough to split it, I do what any logical, rational person would in this situation.
Throwing the ball into his gut, Dax grunts as I retrieve the ball from the ground and continue to make my way to the hoop. Lifting the ball above my head with one hand to aim, Dax plucks it from my grip and chuckles as I attempt to get it back. Lowering it back into my reach, I try to swipe it but he’s too fast for me, twisting around to shoot the ball straight into the net.
Running towards the ball, Dax grabs my waist and tosses me aside so he can get there first. “No fair!” I shout, not that I’m surprised. Every time I’ve seen the guys play ball together, they always play dirty. But if that’s the way he wants it – I’m about to make this game fricking filthy. Heading back over to the fence, I grip the hem of my t-shirt and pull it over my head. Luckily for me, I spent the first half of the morning practising ballet so I’m still wearing a black sports bra that really enhances my cleavage.
