[ 22 ]

THE LAST TIME that she'd seen her sister happy was far too long ago -- they'd been all but children, the day before the Americans came. Sasha sat on the gnarled bench outside the house, her feet tucked beneath her as she pulled her dark hair over one shoulder, combing through it with careful fingers. With a wince as they caught a snag, she grinned as a familiar figure took a seat next to her, a sunburn peeking out of the collar of Petra's t-shirt as the hem dipped.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the tree behind them, the rustle of the greenery alerting Sasha of the cat's presence above them. She wasn't bothered, but the thought of the animal falling onto her head wasn't one that she particularly wanted. Instead, she turned to her sister, tying her hair into a bun. Summer in their village was always unbearable, despite the icy winters that rocked the small island of their country.

"Where were you now?" Sasha asked, moving her legs out to stretch in front of her. Closing her eyes as the soles of her sandals dug into the dirt, she waited for Petra to respond.

Petra exhaled, the wind tousling her brown hair. As the sun caught the strands, Sasha caught golden waves amidst the warm sienna. "Just around. Babushka asked me to bring her some peaches, didn't she?" she raised her hand, indicating a plastic bag, sagging under the weight of a dozen or so of the rosy fruits.

"You planning on sharing it?" Sasha smiled, feigning innocence. "You know, just for a little bit of a snack before dinner. It's healthy."

With a laugh, Petra swatted her away. "Fine. But if she finds out, you know what's gonna happen." Holding out the bag, she let Sasha take one before tying the two handles into a knot. "No more, though. We need to keep some for Babushka, and you know that."

"I'm going inside. It needs to be washed," Sasha announced, her thumb trailing along the fuzz-covered skin as she stood up, her flip-flops skidding in the dry-packed earth. Turning through the gates and treading lightly onto the stone path that led to their small house, she adjusted the straps of her tank top, where a tan line had already settled, leaving a strip of near-white skin next to freckled light brown.

Pushing through the magnetic curtain in the open doorway, which closed with a click as soon as she stepped inside, she slid off her shoes and left them neatly by the door, along with a few more pairs of discarded sandals. A short corridor led to a cramped kitchen, with a pot bubbling on the stove and a humming fridge. Drops of water left the tap every few seconds as she stood there for a moment, trying to remember why she'd come inside.

A moment later, Sasha gripped the peach in her hand, watching mindlessly as water poured down its sides. She dried it off with a cloth, embroidered flowers quickly becoming soaked as they came into contact with the droplets still clinging to the skin of the peach.

She took a bite, finding that the familiar taste of the fruit comforted her. Its sweetness made her think of summers like this one, when she spent days doing nothing, helping her grandmother around the house and wandering around the village with her sister.

The peaches weren't good in Semper -- they tasted cheap and artificial, like they were trying to taste normal but they couldn't quite reach it. Sasha missed home; not the rooms in Crux, with their blue-painted walls and laminate floors, but real home, where the sun glared through the curtains and the sweltering heat of summer loved to press against the windows.

[-]

Sasha lifted her head, meeting Narcissa's widened eyes for the briefest moment as she spoke to a rugged-looking man, evidently trying to distract him before he noticed her. By looks, she would've pegged him as Usnayan, but even from far away she could tell that he was speaking English, stopping every so often to take a gulp of his beer, foam frothing at the corners of his mouth. Sasha knew that she needed to get away. Biting her lip, she jumped as a white hand closed around her wrist, going into dark sleeves and a young woman's face.

She looked into Petra's eyes, but they were not the calm grey she remembered -- instead, they were like a storm, dark and chaotic and filled with deadly intent. When she spoke, it was in their mother's tongue, heavy, rich Usnayan that made Sasha's mind and mouth ache.

"Come with me."

Hearing her sister's voice sound so angry made Sasha want to stay in the parlour, but a quick nod from Narcissa told her to do whatever her sister was suggesting. As much as this side of Petra unnerved her, she was still her sister -- the same sister that had told her stories when she couldn't sleep and let her borrow her old clothes and sometimes made her gloves when her old ones became threadbare and hole-ridden. Petra was still her sister, and nothing could ever change that.

She didn't ask questions as her sister led her to a side hallway, only occupied by men smoking cigars, clouds of black smoke filling the narrow space. Holding back a cough, lungs burning, she tried to think of any reasons her sister might have for acting so strangely -- but if there was anything Sasha had learnt from the best speaker she knew, Finn, it was to keep her mouth shut when it wasn't the time to speak -- and now was definitely not the time.

Petra jammed an ancient-looking key into a rusted lock, the string looped around her wrist greyed and grimy, before pulling Sash into the room without as much as a clue as to what the hell was happening. It was only after she'd indicated her head toward two armchairs that looked like sitting down on them would make them crumble that she finally spoke.

"Alexandra."

It was strange for Sasha to hear her full name -- only her grandmother had ever used it. She liked the way Sasha sounded more, short and clean. Alexandra had been her mother's name, and Sasha was her way of separating herself from that. A clean break. No more memories; it was difficult enough to look into the mirror and only see her mother's face, nothing else -- she didn't need the name to remind herself of it even more.

"You're scaring me, Petra. Please."

How pathetic she sounded, pleading already.

But what else could she do when all she wanted was an answer?

"I'm going to keep this simple. You need to leave Semper right fucking now," Petra switched to English, with a slight hiss on her s, but otherwise completely perfect. It was nothing like the broken words she'd used when they had been reunited when Jasper had been there.

A shiver went down Sasha's spine, but she tried to ignore it, sitting up straighter than before and jutting her chin out, forcing herself to appear more confident. What did Narcissa do? She was always so sleek and arrogant but managed to act lazy, as if she didn't care. The thought of herself trying to act like that made Sasha want to laugh.

No, she had to find her own way of being confident.

"You can't just expect me to do whatever you say. Pack my bags and leave," Sasha said disgustedly, her nails digging into the arms of the chair. A spring bit into her thigh, but she didn't rearrange herself, instead studying their surroundings in an attempt to stop herself from staring at Petra.

There were no windows -- just a square room, four walls. Peeling wallpaper was scraped off in places to give way to graffiti, just tags and jumbles of letters, nothing holding any importance. The two armchairs were the only furniture, placed right in the middle as is if they were a centrepiece for this macabre display. Dust settled over the floorboards, and Sasha restrained a retch as she caught sight of what looked to be a dead rat in the corner, the buzzing light illuminating the flies swarming around it.

"You've grown some spine, little sister." Petra's lip curled unpleasantly, and Sasha bit down hard on her tongue, a bead of blood rising up in her mouth. Swallowing it, she forced herself to meet her sister's eyes once again.

"Why are you acting like this?" Sasha asked in Usnayan, but Petra only raised an eyebrow.

"There's a lot you don't know, my love. So bloody much. You think your precious Crux will save you, but they don't care," Petra's feet slammed to the floor, untangling themselves from their crossed position, and she leaned forward, seizing Sasha's chin with sharp-nailed fingers. "No-one is coming to save you. They were never going to, Sasha. Because it's me and you, and that's all there is."

"Why did you come here?" Sasha wrenched herself out of Petra's grip, standing up. Her thumbs looped around her pockets, and she braced herself, taking a deep breath of musty air.

"You've forgotten already? Hm. I thought you had more balls than that, baby." Petra's English was harsh and cold, with a sort of gravity that made it deafening despite her quiet voice.

"Stop it. Stop, stop, stop. I may be forgetting, but I remember one thing. Petra, this isn't you. What the hell is happening to you?"

Petra kissed her teeth, feigning thought. "Let's recall. I might not be the sister you know, but you can't say that you're the same, can you? We had such big plans, you and I. We were going to be the greatest things to ever happen to Usnaya, Sasha. Look what you've done now."

"Great things don't come through evil!" Sasha's voice raised an octave, cracking slightly. All she wanted was for Petra to come to her senses, start laughing -- maybe she was playing a joke on her. Maybe it was just a bad dream, and she would wake up back in her grandmother's house, the summer waiting for her.

But there was one thing that her sister had said that was true -- there would be no-one coming to save her. This was her fight, and her fight alone, as it had always been.

Jasper and Finn and Narcissa could never understand.

"Do they not?" Petra cocked her head, pouting with mock sadness. "Well, there goes every single achievement anyone has ever had. We need more idealists like you, baby. You're funny kids. Accept it -- people are bad. They've always been, they always will be."

She stood up, her hair rippling down her back in a tousled curtain -- just like that summer's day.

"But you? You think you're special, Sasha? Remind me of how many men you've killed?"

Sasha always remembered. Taking a human life, watching their eyes roll back in their heads and all the colour drain out of their bodies, wasn't something she could ever forget, not as long as she was alive.

"Four."

Petra scoffed. "Of course." Then, after a little moment, she seized Sasha's neck. "There were always four."

[-]

Drip, drip.

Water overflowed from the basin, but the figure didn't stop pressing down on the head, from which charcoal hair fanned out like a smudged halo. Little gasps for air could be heard, but a stronger push from the standing figure forced her head back underwater. Sasha snorted into the water, her lungs threatening to explode under the pressure of holding her breath for so long. But when she did, she found that she was not drowning. Instead, as water filled her lungs, she felt more alive than ever before.

And why would a dead girl lie?

The sound of the water almost drowned out the swish of the fuse being lit.

Almost.

[ end ]