In The Dark

Submerged in crystal seas, to escape the fervent embrace of the sun; treading velvety carpets of sand, and witnessing the dazzling tapestries of golden sunsets; spectating the matrimony of sun and horizon, one could say I've seen it all. 

Every seasonal escape I was bestowed from the imprisonment of school, I was often swept away into the arms of a foreign paradise. Tropical beaches, picturesque structures haunted by the memories stored within their walls, and flashing neon lights added yet another piece to the growing puzzle of my existence.

My parents; Dezzi and Quinton Martini, proudly bore the semblance of the perfect fairytale couple, and I aspired to be like them, to follow in the footsteps of their success. Our family was envied by many, our "perfect" life, and luxury coveted by thousands. Although, despite our glory, bad tidings seemed to shadow us wherever we went. 

One morning I came home to find my brother Ivan cupping his head in his hands; pallid appendages rendered bloodless due to something. The unknown beckoned to me, garbed in seduction as it toyed with the embryo of my curiosity, cultivating it through the art of suspense. I lusted to know what perturbed him so deeply, to decipher the core of his anguish and bestow his soul a sense of relief, by partaking of whatever burden that inclined him to taciturnity. He seemed unaware of my presence, as I perched beside him on the sofa, and sought to penetrate his thoughts with a probing gaze. 

“Ivan?” I spoke at last, as time trudged by, the ticking of the clock snatching away unborn words from my lips, and burying them in the graves of what-ifs, as I searched for something to stir the dormant spirit cocooned within the shell I identified as my brother. His head whipped up, shock radiating across his face as he looked at me for the first time since I’d sat down. “Earth to Ivan.” I chuckled. “What’s wrong? Did you flunk your test in literature again?” 

He rolled his eyes, prior to nodding his head, although I could tell by the hesitance in his movements, that he was withholding something from me; the failed test was merely a subterfuge concealing something deeper. My heart clenched as I pondered on how to cope with his deception, since when did he start keeping secrets? Secrets that he had to conceal within a lie? Rebelling against the sting of tears seeking to usurp my vision, I jerked away from the embrace of the sofa cushions, and sought refuge behind my bedroom door, my footsteps reverberating through the house as I fled from the sitting room, the once peaceful ambiance tainted by the pungency of his betrayal. Once I was safely housed within the womb of pastel green walls, could I give relief to the arousal of grief stirring the shards of my broken trust. 

What could be so terrible that my own brother could not confide in me? His heart had always been open to me, his woes and struggles penned in the ink that flowed from his veins. I had read every message, and shared his bliss and sorrows, yet today, there was a seal where none used to be, trapping his newfound secrets within, and shutting out the valkyrie, from the battlefield of slain hopes and dreams. 

I rested in my sanctuary throughout the remainder of the day, enthroned on my canopy bed amid a pile of pillows, dripping in the dew of my current depression, in which I refused to be relieved. Although I allowed for the temporary sustenance of a drug; the screen that carried a piece of my soul with it. The luminescence of my phone stroked my tearstained countenance with its ghostly glow, as I browsed through the archive of our past outings sprinkled promiscuously across social media platforms, allowing for the world to spectate the pinnacles of our life, in which we flaunted extravagantly. A group of birds adorned in the plumage of high society, dancing to attract the fingers of our mates, to support us through likes, clicks and shares, as they flocked to our personal accounts, enchanted by our performances, and ravenous for what was to come. 

A recent notification caught my eye, informing me of my brother's activity on his facebook account. My chest tightened at the sight of his name, and I proceeded to swipe away the notice, when my finger gained a mind of its own and opened it instead. My breath hitched when the words of his post captured my attention. 

Luxury and comfort, is nothing more than selfish gain, when the cost of such extravagance is gained through the transaction of human blood.

• Ivan Martini

My brother was a poet at heart, twisting reality into his own descriptive cadences was like second nature to him, although his muses lay in the crystal seas, and majestic matrimonies of sun, sky, and whatever garments were required to array the empyrean in its bridal splendor. Since when had he taken interest in the morbid affairs of humanity? I sought to read between the lines, to decipher any hidden messages woven into the seams of his words, yet I could find nothing to satiate my burning curiosity, seeking to be fertilized by the essence of hidden knowledge. I read and re-read the enigma in vain, wondering what on earth my brother was trying to convey. 

“Bianca? Are you in there?” My mothers voice penetrated the intercourse of my thoughts, followed by a knock at the door. 

Scrubbing my face with my shirt, I approached the door, hoping that any traces of depression would remain undetected as I admitted her into my chambers. 

“Hey mom. What’s up?” I strained a smile. 

“Pack your bags cause we’re going to Malibu.” My effervescent mother bounded into my space and plopped herself on my bed, her beautiful countenance untouched by the wrinkles of age, as she eagerly awaited my response. Sometimes I theorized the possibility of her really being a teenager posing as my mother.

“W-What?” I stammered, trying to wrap my head around the information. “Malibu?” 

“Yup!” Her eyes shimmered. “We’re going to be taking the private jet there tomorrow, so pack whatever you think you might need, cute beachwear, fresh underwear-” 

“I’ve got the picture mom.” My cheeks flushed hotly as I swerved toward my closet, and rummaged for my favorite suitcase set, decked in pastel rainbows and cute little unicorns. Some people may consider it childish of me to still enjoy the simplicity of childhood treasures, since I was bordering the age of seventeen, but no one knew of the precious memories that infused the very material of that luggage. It was to be an heirloom that I would someday pass down to my future children, when I took them to the old haunts brimming with remnants of my younger self, rendered to a phantom of memory running alongside the little versions of me that would carry on my legacy. 

Once I had retrieved the desired items, I then began the tedious mission of piecing together cute ensembles that would enhance the vessel and bedazzle the onlookers. I had a reputation to uphold, being the favored and only daughter of my attention-crazed parents. My mother spectated as I tried on different outfits, oohing and aahing as I cat walked across my floor as if I were a model on the runway, inducing pleasant laughter that coerced me into a state of bliss, much to my dismay as I would have preferred to resume to my sulking state upon the absence of my mother. But Dezzi Martini had a way about her, her bubbly presence demanded the felicity of others, and exorcized any demons of sorrow lurking about. 

Upon consummating the ritual of packing, I sprawled beside my mother on my queen-sized mattress, both of us convulsing with drunken mirth. 

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The procrastination of my depression ended upon the cusp of newborn dawn. Like a tidal wave, it crashed down upon me, melting away the bliss of last night, when my mother and I had spent more time laughing together than discussing our plans for our vacation. I couldn’t erase my brother's words, branded onto my mind, as if possessive of my mental state. Emerging from my bed, I peeled off my pajamas, and slipped into the ensemble I had laid out the previous night; a creamy button-down shirt, and a pair of slim jeans. Upon finishing my daily routine of hygiene and feminine care, I descended to the kitchen area to pour myself a bowl of cereal. Normally breakfast would consist of more than just cereal, but my parents hurried us through our meal with a sense of urgency, and despite the cheerful smiles pasted across their features, I could sense something lingering beneath the facade; fear. 

But fear of what? 

After breakfast, my brother and I were packed away into our private jet, along with our luggage. Ivan immediately pulled out his earbuds and tuned out the world around him, aborting my hopes of basking in his company on the way to our destination. Feeling neglected, I copied his example, and withdrew to a world of my own, one where Ivan and I were still on speaking terms, where secrets were unheard of between us, and where his heart remained forever open. 

Closing my eyes I reclined in my seat, the phantom laughter of my brother and I sweeter than any lullaby, as I rode the magic carpet of fantasy, into a world where blissful dreams were reality, and sorrow a mere shadow of curiosity as to what lie beyond the enchantment of happiness.  

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By the time we arrived at our hotel, I was ready for a luxurious soak in the tub, and a nice meal to make up for the skimpy breakfast I'd barely enjoyed due to the morning rush. Ivan and I were to share a suite. I glowed at the thought, I would have plenty of opportunities to confront him for whatever it was he was concealing. Although first things first, I needed my bath. The embrace of the warm water would no doubt deplete the stress of depression and heartache. 

Stepping into the bathroom, I began to undress when I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to pack my shampoo. Taking a deep breath, I resisted the urge to slap myself, I hated forgetting things. Lucky for me, my mother never forgot to pack hers. Plucking a towel from a cabinet near the door, I wrapped it around myself and poked my head out. The room was empty. Ivan must have gone exploring by himself again. Pouting at the thought of him leaving me behind, I sprinted across the room, and peered into the hallway. 

It was nice and empty, save for the stray workers scurrying about with food carts. My parents' suite was adjacent to mine, an accommodation that I was suddenly grateful for as I stepped away from the privacy of my room, swaddled in nothing but a towel. 

I raised my hand to knock, when the angry voice of my mother rendered my limbs to stone. Angry and my mother had never been in the same sentence, yet the agitated female voice was unmistakable for that of another woman. 

"We have three months to approach the target, people are going to get suspicious when Zachariah Hennesy turns up dead, and we suddenly go missing." 

"We'll make it look like an accident, like all the other times." My father's voice was calm and collective. 

"I don't know how much longer I can live like this Quinton. I'm tired of having blood on my hands. I want us to be a normal family."

"We are normal." My father argued, his tone steady and unwavering. 

"Normal isn't lying to our kids about what we really do. How do you think the kids would feel, if they knew that their beloved mother went around killing people for a living?" 

It suddenly became quite difficult to breathe. It felt as if a noose had been placed around my neck, and was slowly depriving my lungs of oxygen with its fatal embrace. I couldn't be hearing them right, this was some kind of joke, a mistake. 

"They will never need to know." My father's voice broke me away from my reverie, piercing through my heart like a bullet, from the barrel of his lips, ignited by the lethal powder of his words. "We will die and be buried as the parents they've always known and loved." 

A set of footsteps approached the door, my instincts said to run, but my heart said to stay, to question their words and elucidate the possibility- no, the fact of it being a misunderstanding. The doorknob twisted, yet my feet remained rooted to the floor. Surprise painted my father's countenance as he filled the doorway. 

"Bianca?" 

I slowly drew my gaze toward his, silently probing him for answers. Tell me it isn't true. I pleaded with my eyes. An orgy of emotions barreled through me, and at that moment, I wasn't sure what I should be feeling; sadness, anger, nothing. . .? 

Before I could comprehend what was happening, my feet were carrying me away from my parents suite, past mine, and through the hotel like a mad woman. My father called after me, I could hear the thud of his footsteps ricocheting through the halls, pursuing me. 

"Bianca!" 

I charged for an open elevator, its doors beginning to close as a mother and her two toddlers stepped inside. 

"Wait!" I shouted, getting the woman's attention. Her eyes widened upon sight of my wild appearance, an intercourse of fear and curiosity mingling in her bright green orbs. The doors converged just as I managed to reach them. "Please! Let me in!" I banged at the elevator doors, panic lacing my voice. I looked behind me to see my father swiftly advancing upon me. 

I swerved to the left of the elevator, and made a mad dash for the stairs, the alternative for those who disliked elevators. I rushed down them as fast as I could, garnering the confused looks and arched brows of passerbyers. I managed to reach the last level when I tripped on the last two steps; the floor rose up to greet me as I embraced it with a painful thud. A shriek parted my lips as my ankle twisted along with my fall. 

"Bianca. Are you alright?" My father peered down at me from the second to last row of stairs. The comfort I had once felt when hearing his voice, subsided to that of an eerie chill. No anxiety tainted his calm features, as he slowly made his way toward me. 

"D-Daddy." I pulled myself up, my face contorting into a grimace as pain radiated from my ankle. "S-Stay away, p-please." I whimpered. 

"Everything's going to be ok." He replied softly, cautiously approaching me as if he were a hunter calculating the best way to corner his frightened prey. 

I lurched back, and one arm flew in the air doing the impression of a windmill, while my other hand clutched the towel to my breasts to keep it from falling down. My father lunged as if to catch me, and I shrieked for him to stay back, while bracing myself for the impending pain that would explode through me when my head hit the ground. Although I never made it to the floor; a pair of arms caught me from behind. 

"Stay away from her." 

Ivan. Tears stung my eyes, as I spun around and clung to my brother as if he were merely a mirage, a phantom to taunt my tortured mind. 

"Why don't we all go back to the suite and have a nice talk?" My father proposed, seemingly unfazed by his son's behavior. 

"I know what you are." Ivan retorted. "We can't just talk, when all you've done is lied to us this entire time. Bianca deserves to know." My brother's voice began to break. "Don't let her find out the way I did. . ." 

For the first time, my father's expression morphed into something else; pain. His lower lip began to tremble, although he fought the urge to steady it into a firm line. He waited for the small stream of people to disperse from the area, before settling his gaze onto me. 

"Bianca I-" 

I flinched as he raised his hand toward my face, as if seeking to caress me. Although he withdrew it before Ivan could slap it away. 

"-I'm sorry." His chest rose as he breathed in deeply. Averting his gaze, he blinked a couple times, his eyes shimmering in the overhead lighting. 

I suddenly tightened my grip on Ivan as my dad approached; my brother's arms tensed, as he wrapped them protectively around me. My heart flipped when my dad lunged, Ivan swore, and braced himself for an attack, but none came. My dad barreled past us, and into the lobby, the doors swinging out before him as he sought refuge in the open air. 

Ivan and I stood rooted to the floor in weighted silence, molested by the palpitations of our hearts, roaring fiercely in our ears. I snuggled against my brother for warmth, my skin crawling with gooseflesh; penetrated by a chill in the air. 

"Bianca. . ." My brother spoke at last. His voice thick and low. 

"Hmm?" I looked up at him. 

"There's something you need to know-" He paused to inhale a gulp of oxygen, letting it infuse his lungs like nicotine, to ebb away the stress of his tidings. "Our parents. . ."-His voice trembled.-"th-they're. . . assassins."