Alister
The location I received from Clara points us to a house in another town. One hour away.
Last night's storm left puddles scattered across the cracked pavement, and the sky's still sulking in dull grays. The air smells faintly of wet earth and concrete.
As I walk towards the meet spot, I consider calling Clara, asking if she's already here, but the thought evaporates the second I see her.
She's sitting on a bench beneath a large maple tree. Her face, eyes closed, is tilted up toward the soft light filtering through the clouds. The lit cigarette between her lips tells me she'll never change her habits no matter what happens. Her arms are stretched along the back of the bench like she owns it, while her hair tousled by the breeze contrasts against the black dress that clings to her in a way that whispers elegance without effort.
"Grief looks good on you. You should wear it more often." I comment as I approach.
Her lips curve up. "That's an interesting way to say I look good in black."
Her eyes flutter open as she stands. "A pretty boy on the street gave me better compliments, you know."
"Is that so?" I say as we start walking. "I wasn't aware you were trying to get hit on. Is that why you're still wearing this?"
She snorts. "No, but it was worth it since I got to hear you say something remotely nice."
I roll my eyes and glance down at her as she stares at the cigarette between her fingers.
"Should I burn you too?" She smirks, inching it towards me. "Make it even?"
I can't tell if she's joking or not, but clearly she's never going to move on from that.
I offer her my palm, and her smirk falters. She sighs, looking away, and tosses the cigarette on the ground, crushing it beneath her heel. "You're no fun."
I try to suppress a smile as the distant house comes into view. Peeling white paint. A sagging porch. Curtains drawn even though it was only four in the afternoon. The place looked like it had something to hide.
"By the way, why did you come by bus? Don't you have your own car?" She asks.
"It's getting fixed up." I say without missing a beat.
"Liar." Helena's voice whispered in my ear. I ignore it.
Clara doesn't seem to notice anything. When we texted on the phone earlier, I thought she'd bring up Daniel.
How unsatisfactory it was. How long I had been imagining that moment ever since he piqued my interest. I originally wanted to paralyze him and make him watch as I cut his body piece by piece. But that would have garnered sympathy. I wanted the death to be humiliating rather than messy, much to Stephanie's disappointment.
I was sure Clara would bring it up. Either she really doesn't know I did it—which would surprise me—or she does know and simply doesn't care. She hated him too, after all.
Lily's still there, even though Clara knows everything—because why get rid of your double agent? They both think I'm oblivious, but I don't care what sob story Lily told her for mercy or how she saw a golden opportunity to double her pay and play both sides.
Nevertheless, when I picture Clara thinking she's clever and has me cornered—arms crossed, chin slightly raised, that smug little smile—I can't, for some reason, bring myself to ruin it.
But all she talked about was her curse worsening.
Sleepwalking to death.
I haven't faced that kind of compulsion yet, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time. We're slowly losing control of our bodies.
I wonder if the girls from her dreams died the same way. Walked themselves off cliffs, into traffic, into rivers. We need to start preparing for that possibility.
I take a few more steps before I realize something's off.
Silence.
I look to my side, and Clara's not there anymore.
I spot her standing back in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes locked on something ahead.
I follow her gaze, and my nose wrinkles instantly. An old couple is kissing on their porch—hands clutched tight like it's the end of the world and they're the last ones standing.
Disgusting.
I stomp over, grab Clara's arm, and start dragging her forward. "What is wrong with you, creep?"
"You don't find that sweet?" she breathes. "Love that stays strong even after many years." She says, like she just watched a masterpiece.
"No."
"Why not?" She shrugs. "Things like that are beautiful. It reminds me that not everything in this world is doomed."
"You mean to tell me you do this often?" I glance at her, incredulous. "How has no one reported you?"
"Relax. It's not like I was filming them." She smirks. "Today."
I shoot her a glare.
"Kidding! I'm kidding!" She throws up her hands in mock surrender. "Are you always this grumpy when someone brings up love?"
I sigh, walking a little faster so we can get to the house quicker. "Only when they don't focus on the task at hand."
"So...never been in love, then? I thought as much with—"
"Enough!" I snap, voice coming out harsher, but it does the trick, and she shuts up.
We stop in front of the house. Weeds strangled the garden path, reaching up through broken slabs of concrete like they were trying to pull the place back into the earth. The porch sagged in the middle, wood swollen from rain, and one of the steps creaked under my weight as I shifted forward.
Hope everything goes as planned.
I press the doorbell, and a chime echoes through the house. Then… footsteps.
I feel Clara looking at me, folding her arms across her chest. Then, with another glance, she knits her brows, lips turning into a flat line as she stares hard at the door.
Is...she trying to mimic me?
I can't decide if I find it insulting that she thinks that's what I look like or amused that her efforts to seem intimidating just make her look...well, the opposite of that.
The footsteps stop by the door. I imagine him standing on the other side, looking through the peephole, sizing us up.
After a brief moment of silence, the sound of locks disengaging fills the air.
Three locks.
This man must be an anxious type who worries about people breaking in...or breaking out.
As the door opens, a middle-aged man stands before us, his eyes narrowing as he takes in our presence. His face is weathered, with deep lines etched into his forehead, giving him a worn, weary look.
But his face is one I've seen before.
"Good afternoon, sir. We would like to ask you about your brother, Samuel. Who unfortunately passed away last week?" I ask and I can sense Clara's gears shifting beside me.
I didn't know it was the brother's house until now. Don't accuse me of withholding information.
"I'm sorry, I already told the police everything. I don't want to discuss this." He says sadly as his hand tightens around the door handle, preparing to slam it shut. But Clara springs into action and swiftly extends her arm, wedging her hand between the door and the frame.
"It's regarding the gems." Clara utters, and I hope to god she has a plan.
The man's gaze bores into Clara with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
He then sighs. "Come in." As he steps aside, opening the door wide, and his imposing frame becomes even more apparent. His flannel shirt and faded jeans can't conceal his slight athletic build. The glow of the interior lighting casts a golden hue over his rugged features.
He's strong.
I can sense him staring as I follow Clara into the house. I make sure to watch my back as we walk away from him and the door.
Clara, meanwhile, strides confidently into the house with her head held high. I catch a glimpse of her triumphant smirk as she glances back at me.
I scoff. No need to get cocky. I had a whole conversation planned for him to let us in.
As we enter the living room, I look around the interior, taking in the cozy, lived-in atmosphere. The place smells like sandalwood and something baking in the kitchen. My gaze wanders around the room, taking in the lavish decorations and expensive-looking artwork.
I wait for his wife to show herself and greet the guests, but she doesn't appear. Nor do I hear anyone else.
"How do you know about the gems?" He asks as he sits down. Clara and I sit opposite him on a worn, sun-bleached couch that reeks of smoke.
"From your brother. Now we need you to tell us where you got those from." She asks firmly.
"You met him? When?" He presses on. My eyes fall onto his finger, a dent where once used to be a wedding ring.
"I think it'd be fair if you answered our question now too." I tell him firmly.
The man's gaze lingers on mine for a moment. "We got them from a... business associate." He answers carefully. "Now answer my question."
"We met him outside a bar. He was blabbering something about you or running away with the gems." I quickly try to recall the news about him and the interviews. "But you never mentioned them in the interviews. Why?"
He sighs, looking dejected. "Look. He stole those gems from me and vanished. Why would I reveal that information? I know what he did was wrong, but he was still my brother."
Clara speaks up, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I mean, losing a valuable asset like that. Yet not even reporting it to the authorities?" It seems she caught on what I was trying to say.
A hint of unease dances across his face. "I didn't think it was necessary. Like I said, it was a personal matter."
I smile at him. "You're hiding something, aren't you?" I'm done with going around in circles.
His expression darkens, his jaw clenched in frustration. He abruptly gets up from the couch. "I think it's time you leave." He growls. Every word soaked in warning.
I instead lean back into the cushions and gesture to his seat. "Please, sit down." I say as politely as I can. "We're not finished. We haven't even gotten to the part where you lied to the police."
That tough mask slips just enough for me to see the flicker of panic underneath. "Wh-what are you talking about?" He stammers, though he tries to reel it back in. His composure is cracking like old glass. Clara's curious glance seems to bore into my skull.
"According to the news and interviews, the day your brother ran away from home was the day he died. You mentioned that you were out of the house with friends and had no idea your brother had run away. That you were shocked when you got the news that he had died in another town." I say patiently, savouring his anxious expression.
Before I could continue, Clara speaks up, trying to hog the spotlight. "But that's not true, is it? You knew he ran away with the gems. And you chased him. You followed him all the way to the other town, but you ended up losing him and went back home."
Relief floods through me. Good. She's steering it away from the implication of murder. Smart move. If he even thought we suspected him of killing his brother, this whole thing could spiral fast.
His eyes dart back and forth between us. "What proof do you have for this accusation?"
I open my mouth to speak, but Clara cuts me off once again "CCTV footage from a gas station. That's all the proof we need, and that's all the police will need to suspect you."
He sighs heavily and sinks back into his seat as he runs a hand over his face. "Just what do you want?"
"Information. Just tell us who gave you those gems, and we'll forget this ever happened." I say.
"Why do you care so much about the gems, huh? What are you—" Realization crosses his eyes and he looks at us with wide eyes, as he begins to piece things together. "Ah...I get it now. He must have given them to you. That explains what this is about." He then relaxes into the cushions, spreading his arms across the back. "Fine. I'll tell you what you want to know. If, and only if, you hand them over to me."
"We suspected this might turn into a transaction." I smirk and glance over at Clara. Our eyes meet in silent communication.
She slowly reaches into her satchel, drawing out a rectangular box, and cradling in both hands like a sacred relic. The very box that once held the cursed gems.
The man's demeanor shifts instantly. His eyes lock onto the box as if it's a long-lost treasure.There's no mistaking it—he recognizes it.
"That's… that's the one." He breathes before trying to stay composed. "Open it." he demands, eyes not leaving the object for even a second.
Clara doesn't respond right away. She adjusts the box delicately and places it on her lap. With a quiet snap of the latch, she lifts the lid.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, are two white gemstones, gleaming beneath the ceiling light.
The man reaches out slowly, palm up, fingers twitching. "Hand it over."
In one swift motion, Clara snaps the lid shut with a sharp clack, the sound echoing louder than it should.
"Information first." She says, clutching the box to her chest like it's a stolen child. "You don't get to make more demands."
The man's hand drops slowly. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue.
He exhales slowly, a breath of resignation, and leans back. "Fine. Here it is," he says, shoulders relaxing. "My brother and I were approached by this man named Keith. He wanted to unload some merchandise. It was a one-time transaction. He just showed up, wanting to make a deal, and presented us with that box of jewels. He didn't even bargain or anything." He continues, a note of disbelief still lingering in his voice. "We ended up with more of an advantage than we should've. He mentioned something about a curse, just to make them look more—"
"A curse?" I shoot forward in my seat, heart lurching. "What did he say?"
He simply shrugs. "I don't remember. But Samuel, who is...a bit superstitious, took it to heart. I tried to convince him it was nothing, but fear got the better of him, and he ran away from the house. I suppose you already know the rest."
Clara leans forward now, voice sharper. "Where does that man live? Keith. Do you know anything about that?"
The lines on his face twist in concentration. "I think it was somewhere downtown. Hilton Street. House No. 5. It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure that's where he said he was staying." He says, and I could tell he's done talking as he looks at Clara. "Now, the box?"
She rises to her feet and walks forward, stretching her arms out, and placing the box into his waiting hands.
I stand as well, brushing the creases from my jacket. "Thank you for your cooperation." I say, respectfully. "As promised, we'll forget everything. Your secret's safe."
We turn, ready to walk away, when the man speaks again.
"Sit down."
His face stays composed. He doesn't even look at us as he begins to lift the lid. "This isn't over yet."
I watch him carefully as he peers inside the box. He stares at the gems, picks one up, and his brows furrow. Then his eyes narrow to slits, something dangerous gleaming within them.
"You kids ought to know better than lying to your elders." He says grimly. He knows they're fake.
Instinctively, I pull out the knife and point it at him.
But I sense movement beside me and turn to see Clara pulling out a gun from her bag, before aiming it directly at him. She glances at me, and we both look at each other, dumbfounded.
She gives me a subtle smile before turning her attention to him. "Sorry, we lied. But I feel like letting you live should be enough payment."
She's bluffing again. Just like in the field. But this time, her hands aren't shaking. She's getting better at that part.
For some reason, I feel proud of her.
But the man's expression remains eerily calm, as if he was expecting us to pull out a weapon. "I know."
He looks at something behind us, but before I can react, a canister comes flying towards us. It hits the floor, and a hissing sound fills the air as white gas begins to spray out.
I try to see who threw it, but it's too late. The gas quickly fills the room, reducing visibility to almost zero. I feel a sudden drowsiness wash over me, my eyelids growing heavy as the sleeping gas takes effect.
I hurl the knife towards the man but it simply pierces the cushions. He is gone. I then hear someone fall to the ground beside me.
"Clara!" I yell, stretching out my arms in her direction. I try to move towards her, but my legs feel like lead, and I stumble to the floor.
I shouldn't have ignored it. The slight red indentation of a missing ring on his finger. Shouldn't have assumed he was having marital troubles and was alone at home. Should have paid more attention to the black smudges under his fingers, suggesting he was handling tools and machines and definitely not baking in the kitchen.