Little Hidden Darknesses

If Leonardo Ariel could possibly have died of Werner syndrome as opposed to being murdered, why would the Vinsants have pinned his death on my mum? Maybe they knew about his condition, and decided to kill him before he died from it. Or maybe this was the answer to my mum’s letter. Her heinous deed. She had helped her suffering brother-in-law out of his misery, only to regret it afterwards. Only to be accused of murder by her family.

Her own sister.

And this confused me even more. Leonardo, as Lilith’s husband, shared zero relation to my mum. They were strangers, two people from different bloodlines and with very different genetics. What were the odds of them both suffering from Werner syndrome? Especially when I – my mum’s flesh and blood – failed to inherit said genes at all?

“Werner syndrome is terribly rare,” I recalled my mum’s doctor telling me. “It affects an estimated one to twenty individuals per one million. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that you don’t have it.”

And yet Leonardo did. Both Lilith’s sister and husband. Two members of the same family – unrelated by blood nonetheless – and on an island with less than a thousand residents.

So much for terribly rare.

I ran my fork through the caramelised pumpkin on my plate. My chicken lay untouched, much like my rice and gravy on the side, and bowl of apple pie smothered in custard. Blaire’s family’s special All Saint’s Day recipe – or so everybody told me at the buffet. It certainly didn’t look special, though, what with its floury texture and too much cinnamon. Whether or not its taste lived up to its name, I had no intention of finding out.

My visit to the cemetery – the open coffin of the man whose death had ripped my family apart – had yanked the hunger right out my throat.

I only loaded up my plate on account of Lilith insisting I did. Something about honouring everyone’s hard work and not appearing rude. Sure, because she set the perfect example of that. Lilith, the kind and considerate. The mere thought of it made me smirk.

“Blaire went through a lot of trouble, Eira,” she had told me, despite roaming about the buffet with barely two carrots on her plate. “Including the senior citizens who had helped her.”

You mean the only three on the island? “I got it. Thanks, Lilith,” I had replied to make her stop.

After I had amassed an entire plate of food, Lilith showed me to a table reserved only for them.

A part of me expected her to watch me eat as well, however she and Genevieve – apparently too elite to dine with the rest of us – were courted off to the all-important reverend’s table in the centre of the square. And suddenly the reserved table turned into the kids table.

Great.

Absolute bliss.

“Eira,” said Freya across from me, “why aren’t you eating?” She dabbed around her mouth with a serviette, then tucked it under her plate and picked up her glass of sweet rosé. She swirled it around in one hand, then took a tiny sip, her eyes glued on me through the glass.

My fork screeched against the plate. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, that’s odd. You weren’t hungry this afternoon either.” They had tried to stuff me with Genevieve’s infamous cottage pie and biscuits – even after Branka had warned me against not being able to fit into my dress this evening. “Are you feeling under the weather?”

“Here we go. Let the small talk commence,” muttered Branka, her mouth full of sourdough bread. I watched her reach for Freya’s rosé, who swiped the glass from under her hand.

“Watch it,” she warned, something teasing in her voice, “you know you’re still underage.”

Branka growled at Freya. She gathered her knife and stabbed it into the block of butter in the centre of the table. “You can’t blame me for trying.” She sliced off some butter and slathered it on the remaining half of her bread. Then, she switched her focus onto me. “And Eira probably doesn’t want to eat, because she’s afraid we poisoned the food.”

“No,” I lied. The thought had crossed my mind, of course – considering I had no idea what they wanted with me – but they didn’t need to know that. “It’s just, seeing your dad tonight ... it reminded me of my mum when she died.” A saltiness filled my mouth and I put down my cutlery.

“Do you miss her?” Freya asked. Her expression softened to such a degree, she almost came forth sincere. Almost. Her brows were still too sharp, and her eyes still too shadowy.

“All the time.” The words emerged as a fast and breathy gasp. I brought my serviette to my mouth and held it there, breathing in the musky smell of my dress that had soaked into it.

Not the smell of my mum, but her room, the mansion and its old wood and incessive amount of candles and incense. The same overpowering smell she likely had to live with.

“Don’t worry,” Aillard said next to me, and I nearly jerked when he put his hand on my left shoulder. He smiled, and for the first time I noticed his teeth, long and thin and sharp. Almost like fangs, but less supernatural-looking. “You’re a part of the family now.”

“He’s right,” Freya added, much to Branka’s annoyance. “Which means no one ever has to die again.”

I dropped my serviette, right into a pool of gravy. “What?” I asked, abandoning any attempt at taking the serviette out. I was finished eating, anyway. “What do you mean by that?”

Branka and Freya shared a glance – the type that made my skin crawl and my throat dry up. I waited for them to speak, to finally admit to their crimes, but suddenly a wave of music – violins and cellos and flutes – swept across the square and shattered the moment.

Freya and Branka shared another glance, this one without any depth – any little hidden darknesses – and their faces softened into those of sweet and innocent young adult girls.

“Finally, my all-time favourite part of the festival!” Freya declared, clapping her hands together. “Come, Eira, let’s dance.” She got up and gestured for Aillard to haul me after her.

I expressed little resistance as he did so, my mind still jumbled from how close I had been to exposing them. If only this damn music didn’t start up. If only Freya had spoken faster.

Aillard shoved me into the rapidly growing crowd on the edge of the square by the fountain, where the band had positioned themselves. I recognised them as Mike from the laundromat, May from the book exchange, and Henry from the motel, all dressed up in old, colonial attire.

“Come on,” Freya shouted above the music, “get into the groove!” Honestly, I doubted she had gotten into it herself. She moved her feet to the violin’s strokes – fast, short and pitched – but did nothing with her hips or hands. Nothing except adjust the seam of her dress.

Branka, on the other hand, knew how to loosen her hips. She swayed them from side to side with such fluidity, I couldn’t help but be mesmerised by her. Almost to the point of forgetting her rotten personality. If only she didn’t make it so easy for me to remember.

“Just look at you losers,” she cried out. “Neither of you have got any rhythm!”

“Oh, just shove off, Branka!” Freya jeered.

“Gladly.”

Then, Branka let Aillard pull her to the centre of the crowd, there were everyone swooned over them. I watched them dance for a moment, so confidently, casually – everything the Vinsants weren’t – before an itch at the back of my head made me whirl around.

Freya was gone, swept away by a guy with as little dancing talent as she had. But I still wasn’t alone. Lilith stared at me from across the square, one of only several people who weren’t either dancing or gathered by the wine table. I swallowed, unable to hear the music anymore. My body moved, but I doubted to the right beat. To the right speed, even.

A warmth flushed my face. The same warmth I had felt every time the fog started to approach.

Every time I had touched it.

My distress must’ve been visible on my face, as suddenly both Genevieve and Lilith got up. They glanced sideward at the forest, prompting me to do the same. The fog, no longer stagnant, had started to move, to slowly creep closer. And this only freaked me out more.

“Eira,” I saw Lilith mouth at me, “calm yourself.”

But I couldn’t. Not when they were both staring at me, scrutinising me with their secrets and lies. Not when this stupid folk music screeched at the back of my head, and the cool evening air had been replaced by the foggy breaths of everyone dancing around me.

Laughing.

Singing.

Celebrating.

Unaware of all the damn lies. Unaware of what had been going on right under their noses. Murder. Manipulation. Prejudice. A noxious combination that had somehow convinced them all to stay. To essentially trap themselves on an island the size of a sand grain.

The moment the fog tumbled over edge of the square, both Lilith and Genevieve set off toward me. I reversed into the crowd, a wall of warm, writhing bodies, only to be rubbed up by hands and limbs and faces. As much as I hated it, I had to get away from them.

I had to find Alejandro.

“Eira!” came Lilith’s voice in my wake. I spotted her and Genevieve entering the crowd, their faces screwed tightly in disgust. They followed me all the way to the wine table on the other side, upon which I upped my pace. I thought I could do it, convince them of my loyalty, but I wasn’t an actor. Too much had happened for me to simply forget. Forgive.

I had to get away.

I had to –

In the act of elbowing Blair, she tripped forward and slung her wine – a full glass of dark burgundy – through the air. I managed to slink past the greatest splash, and turned just quick enough to see the curtain of red splattering all across Lilith and Genevieve’s fronts.

Their dresses were ruined, and their hair and faces even more so. A flock of townsfolk at once set upon them, blocking them from my view, allowing me to finally make my escape.

Not as gracefully as I’d have liked, but nonetheless effective.

For now, at least.

A smile crept around my mouth as I dashed across the square and down the lane of trees, all the way to the alley next to the laundromat. I smiled, not in joy, but in relief. Relief and utter exhaustion. A single day with the Vinsants had drained me of all my energy. Had confused me more than I ever thought possible. Especially now, what with the fog retracting again and my face cooling down. With the feeling of being oppressed leaving my body, thus freeing me to run like never before in a dress and strapless sandals.

“Eira,” I heard a voice in the shadows ahead of me.

And then I saw him: Alejandro. On the corner of the laundromat. He had taken off his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I looked at him for a moment, stunned. Absolutely taken aback. From an awkward, goofy boy, he had transformed into a man.

A chunk of golden-brown hunk.

“Alejandro,” I said, surprisingly out of breath. “You’re here.” And I couldn’t help myself: I hugged him.

“What the heck,” he said, staggering back. He didn’t let me go, though, and let me hang on to him until I had regained my breath and let go. His face was close to mine, his cheeks rough with an entire day’s stubble. It concealed his patches a little, making him look different.

Good, but different nonetheless.

A nervous chuckle escaped my lips. “Oh, sorry. I just struggled to get away, and when I saw you –”

“It’s okay.” Alejandro took my hand into his, startling another laugh from me. Our fingers interlaced and he squeezed, just before he hauled me off into the moonlit alleyway.

“You’re safe now,” he said, and all my qualms faded away.