Alamort

44. Saint

R esting my head on my computer desk with countless open tabs, I absentmindedly squish my blue ball. Its pliable texture offers a soothing sensation. The tabs contain a mix of Priya’s texts, searches for her sister, and still photos capturing the man in black. I pause my squeezing, and like a vacuum, the goo inside the ball sucks back, regaining its normal circular shape.

It’s kind of strange the differences between the sisters. In siblings, there’s striking similarities they inherited from their parents, but Priya looks so out of place with her family. It could be she looks like her mother. Lacking the coldness that her mother carries. Some would call it ruthlessness, but I know better. Even pretty faces can’t hide the wickedness lying underneath. Malice’s attention to detail is rubbing off on me.

I throw my head back and let out a groan while staring at the ceiling. Everything is falling apart before our eyes. I understand why the twins are upset with me, but I’m not completely to blame. It’s Malice. As long as I’ve known about him, we’ve been on the same page. I never asked him how long he’s been here, but I remember he started chatting with me around the time I was almost 14. I don’t understand where the divide is coming from.

No matter how hard I try to talk to him, he consistently ignores me, withholding any information he comes across. He’s just gone silent, like he’s never existed. The part of me that has relied on him to be there when I need him feels abandoned, like I felt as a kid. My knuckles rub my chest where it aches from the memories it threatens to bring up. I want to demand answers. Why did he leave his phone out for me to find? I saw the cameras he placed in her room. That part I left out to the guys, in fear of them turning on me. They never have before. Maybe they would’ve understood.

Whenever I recall the intensity of Crew’s stare, my throat tightens. It hurts to think that even after all this time, he looks at me as if I’m someone new. As if he’s suddenly seeing me in a different light. He trusted me, and Malice broke that. All for what? My hands rip at my hair in desperation, hoping to pull out an answer. Just think. Think. I repeat to myself while smacking my hand against the top of my head.

Malice has never turned on me before. He’s a calculated, manipulative bastard. For some reason, Priya Carter holds his attention. Long enough that his impulsiveness hasn’t led to killing her or… hasn’t yet. It’s not her beauty, that would be too narrow minded for him, there’s always a bigger picture. On autopilot, my hands detach from my fisted hair and swiftly navigate towards the screens, where I effortlessly retrieve the camera feed he had cleverly installed in her room. There’s no code because, as he says, “I have nothing to hide.”

The cameras have a night vision feature that automatically activates at a specific time. Even at 04:00, her room is illuminated in a clear, grey and white hue. Angled perfectly at her bed. She doesn’t look too beat up as I thought she would from having Bennett strangle her on Wednesday night. River’s arms and legs are flung across Priya’s, like little animals snuggling together for warmth. It’s almost cute. Protective.

Time passes as I watch them sleep soundlessly without a care in the world. By studying her, I hope to decipher the hidden motives behind Malice’s actions. He’s only ever been obsessed with death, how to bring it, cause it, extend it. My lips pull back in a rarely seen sneer. And here he is, allowing her to breathe the same air as us, knowing what she did.

Maybe I’m totally misreading it. It could be that my father is alive, causing me to doubt everything I know. But that doesn’t explain how he would know she’s receiving letters from him before us. So many questions without answers. My phone vibrates with a notification, a group text for a meeting downstairs. The weight of anxiety settles in my chest as I make my way down the steps, my hands becoming clammy.

Are they going to push me out? Could Malice really ruin the bond between me and the twins?

The kitchen is quiet when I enter, my steps slow and cautious. No one lifts their head to acknowledge me, leaving me surrounded by an uncomfortable silence. Crew leans against the counter, purposefully creating a physical barrier between us, dressed and ready to go to classes. His arms remain tightly crossed over his chest with balled fists, the unmistakable “go fuck yourself” vibe emanating from him.

Clearing his throat, Bennett takes the lead, acutely aware of his brother’s simmering rage. His anger is a suffocating weight, longing to punish us for our deeds. The air is heavy with tension, so dense it could be severed with a blade.

“Regardless of whatever is going on here,” he gestures to the house. Meaning between all four of us. “We can’t allow any of these money hungry assholes to know there is a weakness. We keep a united front. So, with that being said.” He claps his hands with excited energy. “The Halloween party.”

He waits for a response and falls short, his face falls betraying the act he was putting on. We can see he’s trying to be happy-go-lucky when we’re clearly anything but. He purses his lips while leaning back onto the kitchen island in front of me.

“Okay, well, I’ve come up with the theme and have already made some calls, so everything is in order. I’m thinking about circus/carnival/Blacklight. What do you think?” He’d use any excuse to throw a party. Holidays, birthdays, even professional sport wins.

I smile, but it’s strained. They’ll both see through it. “Sounds good.” What’s the point in doing the fun banter we usually do? Ben gives me an eye roll, the leather of jacket his jacket creaks when he crosses his arms.

“Really, Saint? No snide comment?” He lets out a heavy sigh, then looks at Crew for input, but he still refuses to engage with us. Admitting it doesn’t make me feel like running away would be a lie. For the first time in a while, I find myself doubting that everything will be all right as long as we stick together. What a time for us to be pulling away. The only monster that’s worse than Mal is my father.

No.

The word monster is too gentle of a term to use for him. He would be the devil in the flesh, risen from the depths of hell, hoping to bring it here on earth. The sting in my eyes forces me to divert my gaze from the family I chose. I’m so alone.

“Is that all?” Crew asks Bennett, before storming off down into the basement. Probably to blow off steam, or his anger with me. I have that to be thankful for. He’s never once put his hands on me in a rage. I glance at Bennett to see him already staring at me. He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Fix it.”

My ears take a minute to adjust to the lack of sarcasm he usually aims at me. It’s well known between the three of us he doesn’t like me, he ignores me and at best, tolerates me. Crew thinks he’s jealous of our relationship. Specifically, that I took Crew away from him. To hear him say he wants me to fix things with his twin is a conundrum. Playing with my piercings, I find myself questioning his true intentions and reflecting on his expertise in manipulation. My head turns to observe him, taking in his upright posture, piercing black eyes. It’s only 7am, yet he’s already dressed as if he has somewhere important to be. Maybe this is affecting him more than I think.

“I can see those little wheels turning in your head. He’s my brother. If he hurts, I hurt. The way he’s showing that is his anger. Well, that’s all he’s good at showing. But you?” He lets out a low whistle. “You did a number on him. You were one of the first people he let in, besides me, of course, and whether or not you think so, you betrayed him. Malice did.” He grabs Crew’s car keys off the counter and makes his way to the side door. “Better you than me, though.” And there it is, the asshole sarcastic comment I was waiting for.

The door slams shut behind him. One thing that would make Crew happy is cleaning the house to his standards. I’ll start there and hopefully find the balls to talk to him before this gets any worse.