The spoon clinked gently against my cup as I swirled it, and the milk slowly disappeared into the dark swirls. Helen sat across from me, a little too relaxed, as if she'd never missed twelve years.
"So Theo is... still Theo?" My voice sounded casual, almost amused, as if this was nothing more than sibling gossip. Helen raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp but amused. "Oh, Claire, some things just don't change." Something tingled inside me, barely noticeable, a shadow at the edge of my consciousness.
"Does he sometimes loose control? You mentioned that Kira can be difficult right now." I forced a smile as if I didn't care. Helen sat back and took a sip of coffee. "Loosing of control is a strong word." She set the cup down, her nails clicking softly against it. "I'd call it passionate and caring." There was that tingle again, stronger now.
Passionate could mean anything. I turned the cup, feeling the warmth in my fingertips. "And Kira? How does she handle his passion?" Helen laughed softly and shook her head. "Claire, sometimes men and women are just too different. It's normal."
Normal. Another word that could be made into anything if you repeated it often enough. "Yeah." She shrugged. "Kira's starting puberty. You know how it is. She feels misunderstood, overreacts..." I knew that. I knew how to tell a child that she was imagining things. I also knew that it wasn't always true.
But Helen said it with a matter-of-factness, with a credibility that ate away at my thoughts. Maybe I was exaggerating.
Maybe it was just my mind looking for patterns that weren't there. Maybe this was exactly what Helen was saying... I took a deep breath, then put on a brighter smile.
"Say... could you take a few more days off? I mean, you've been away for twelve years. I'd like to have you here a little longer." Helen studied me for a moment as if she could read my face. "Claire," she said slowly, "it almost sounds like you're afraid to be alone."
I laughed, probably a little too fast. "Oh, come on. I kind of need my sister here with me right now." She tilted her head, a tiny giggle. "Of course." I knew she didn't believe me.
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I lay on the bed, my phone hovering over my face, my thumb mechanically scrolling through Theo's online profiles. The few I could find. But it was almost disappointing. Smiling group photos with colleagues, sunny vacation photos with friends, and polite comments under posts about professional successes.
Theo Gow - the seemingly perfect man. He looked impeccable in almost every picture. Suits that seemed tailor-made for him, a confident, warm smile that radiated the same poise in every photo.
Even the comments under his posts seemed to glib: "Best lawyer I know! I never would have gotten this deal without Theo!, A true professional - always fair and reliable!" It was disgustingly perfect.
It was all too staged, too glib. Where was Kira? No sign of her. Not a single picture, not a single comment, nothing. What kind of father didn't post something vague about his child? Even the most discreet parents had a little clue somewhere.
A blurry image in the background of a vacation photo, a "So proud of my little one" comment at the bottom of a post. And the way Helen put it, he had been the proud father figure for the past 12 years. Okay, stepfather.
But with Theo? Nothing. As if she didn't even exist. I bit my lip as I stared at the screen. Maybe it was normal. Maybe he was just a man who didn't put private things online and just a caring father who wanted to keep Kira out of the public eye. But then that gnawing feeling came back and took over.
Why couldn't I stop looking for something that might not even exist? I typed Theo's name into Google like I was obsessed like I could unlock some hidden secret. But the results remained the same-smooth reviews, no rough edges, no cracks.
Dedicated. Dependable. Competent. And once again, no sign of Kira. My head was buzzing.
Why? Why did everything seem so wrong? Where was she in this perfect picture? Why was everything so smooth, so unattainably perfect? I felt like an insect flying against an invisible wall, not knowing where it came from. I sat up and hung up the phone. My heart was pounding uncomfortably loudly.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe it was just my distrust that had driven me this far.
But the thought that I might be the one constructing this terrible story made me close my trembling eyes. Hadn't I made everything the way I wanted it to be? I shook my head, but the thought remained. The image of Theo as a perfect lawyer - as a perfect human being - began to take my breath away. I didn't know what to do with this image that was rising in front of me like an invisible wall.
Was I really paranoid? The resistance inside me grew, the dark voice that urged me to keep searching. I leaned back and closed my eyes, but the pressure in my head only increased. It was like a hook digging into my insides. And I didn't know how to get rid of it.
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Helen had been with me for two days now, and it felt as if we'd never been apart, as if someone had hit a reset button, erasing all the years, all the distance.
We laughed a lot - real, uncontrolled laughter that came from the gut as if an invisible weight had been lifted. She was my big sister again, my ally.
We sat on my living room floor with half a bottle of whiskey, the air heavy with the smoke from my slowly burning candles. My tongue was loose, my headlight. Helen looked at me over the rim of her glass, her cheeks flushed. "So, Claire." She grinned. "Tell me what's on your mind. I can see it in your face; there's something in your head that wants to come out."
I leaned back against the couch and swirled my glass. The alcohol was a warm wave in my veins, making my thoughts softer, and fuzzier, but somehow more honest.
"Levi," I finally said. The word hung between us for a moment before I continued. "I finally met him in person at a party the other night." Helen raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Oh." She laughed softly. "That's new. So? Something going on?" I twisted my mouth.
"Would you think I was a crazy bitch if I said I used Sam to get closer to Levi?" Helen made a sound that was half laugh, half surprise. "Okay, you need to explain that to me." I leaned forward, my voice a conspiratorial whisper.
"Levi was a cold fish at the party. And Samuel, his manager, was hot. And damn good for a quickie." I licked my lips. "So I took what I wanted." Helen looked at me, then let out a throaty laugh. "Claire, you're a real devil."
I laughed back, my cheeks glowing from the warmth of the alcohol, from the honesty that coursed through me like an electric shock. "So what's the deal with Samuel?" she asked, downing the rest of her drink. I shrugged.
"It's a great way to pass the time. But Levi..." My smile softened, dreamier. "Levi is different. And I want him."
Helen clicked her tongue, stretched, and took my glass from me, setting it on the table. "Then get him." "It's not that easy." "Yes, it is." She grinned.
"You just need him to yourself for a minute, and then," she mimed the world's worst pantomime kiss.
I laughed and slumped back, feeling my limbs sink into the soft surface of the carpet. Helen leaned over me and pulled me halfway up.
"Okay, come on, bedtime. Otherwise, you'll be a zombie tomorrow." "I'm not a kid." "Oh, please. You're completely wankered."
"So are you." I let it happen, letting her laughter carry me, the warmth her words left behind. She tucked me into bed, pulled the covers over me, and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. "Good night, little sister." I heard Helen's humming, soft and familiar beside me until it faded until the tones shifted and grew darker.
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The lid rattled slightly, lifting and releasing steam as if a heart were beating beneath it.
It smelled like someone had mixed blood with honey. I sat at the table. My hands on the wooden surface, were cold, rigid, as if they didn't belong to me. Helen stood by the stove. Her back was to me, her shoulders relaxed, and she was humming a jingle.
"You'll love it, Claire." Her voice didn't come from her lips - it came from the pot. Bubbling and muffled, as if from a closed mouth. I swallowed. "What is this?" Helen laughed. Her shoulders shook a little, as if amused.
Then she reached into the bubbling mass with her spoon, stirring slowly, pulling out threads of overcooked flesh, dark fibers that stretched hard like a muscle. Something floated to the surface. A finger. The skin had peeled away, revealing the bare, pale flesh beneath.
The nail was still there, slightly splintered as if it had scraped against a hard surface. Then another finger. A hand. A piece of forearm. They floated in the broth, turning slowly as if searching for something to hold onto. I couldn't breathe. Helen scooped the disintegrating pieces into a bowl with her spoon; the sound was sickening, a wet, sloshing splash. I stared at what she set before me.
Soft flesh, pale and cooked, with dark, congealed edges. A joint protruded as if the body had resisted until the last moment. "Helen..." My name was just a breath, a crack of voice. She pushed a fork toward me. "Eat, Claire." Her voice was soft, almost loving. "To keep you strong." I choked, but Helen just looked at me, with that slight, patient smile. "You hated him, didn't you?" The words crept into my head, seeping through my skull, settling into my thoughts like poisoned silk.
The smell grew stronger. I wanted to scream, but before a sound could escape, a hand shot out of the stew.
Wet, gray, the skin swollen, the nails blackened. The fingers grabbed my wrist and pulled. I felt the pull, felt it pull me forward, felt the hot steam burn my skin, and fill my eye sockets, my lips split as they touched the edge of the pot.
And then I woke up.
My heart was racing.
My room was dark, the air thick with something that shouldn't be there. It smelled of sandalwood. My breath was ragged, my body wet with sweat, as if the dream was still clinging to me.
But that wasn't the worst of it. That smell. It hung in the air, heavy and persistent, creeping into my nose, into my lungs, into every damn corner of my consciousness.
Beside me, I noticed Helen, her face relaxed in her sleep, her chest rising and falling quietly. I was sure the scent was hers.
Panic shot through me like a hot arrow. I reached for her and shook her roughly by the shoulder. "Helen! What the hell is that smell?" She jumped in alarm, rubbing her eyes with nervous movements.
"W- What?" Her voice was sleepy, confused. "Claire, what are you doing?" "That damn smell!" I sounded manic, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Where the hell is it coming from?" Helen blinked at me, still half asleep, then frowned. "That's my perfume? Claire, what's wrong with you?"
"Your perfume?" My head buzzed, and reality warped momentarily, becoming soft and malleable. "Yes." She sounded completely overwhelmed now. "I've been using it since I was a teenager. Claire, you know. What's wrong?" Her words slowly sank into me, seeping through the fragile layer of my panic
until reason reasserted itself.
It was just a dream. Just. A. Dream. My hands were shaking. My heartbeat still wouldn't slow down. But Helen was looking at me warily now, her gaze clearer. "Did you have a bad dream?" she asked, softer this time. I pressed my lips together and nodded briefly. A bad dream was an understatement, but I couldn't say it.
I couldn't tell her that I had just seen her cooking Theo's hands. He held the fork out to me. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Then I sank back into the pillows. "Sorry...I totally overreacted."
Helen sighed softly and lay back down, pulling the covers higher. "It's okay." Her voice was sleepy, but it sounded sincere.
Hesitantly, I turned sideways and moved closer until my forehead touched her shoulder. She still smelled of sandalwood, but now that I knew where it came from, it felt different. Familiar. I felt Helen move a little closer to me, placing a hand in my hair, soft, soothing. "Sleep, Claire," she murmured.