Rosie

Rosie by Mariam Maarouf **** Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011 by Mariam Maarouf

Smashwords Edition License Note This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. ****** Prologue Dying -once Alessandra’s dream- was now her most dreaded fear; knowing that who you want to be with weren’t unreachable as you thought they were would do that to you. He stood there, his hair drenched in the pouring rain, his usually kind-looking eyes vicious, and his black, shiny gun in his confident hands, waiting for the perfect chance to send her soul to the most unknown place –the afterlife. She took a shaky breath as she scanned her surroundings for an escape, but found none. Old thoughts of surrender tempted her like candy did to children; it had been her wish for a while, why not take the chance while she had it? Life -that complicated thing. One day, it took you to the perfection of happiness, with every meaning it might embrace. The other, it drove you to the limits of despair. The balance, however, was what made life either a paradise on earth, or a living hell. And a living hell was what they had found themselves tied to with the steel chains of their trap.

1

The sun shone down the magnificent calm blue water of the Mediterranean, watching it as the wind threw gentle white sprinkles of waves on the awaiting shore, completing its journey to the fragile September leaves, forcing them down the clean Korneish road of Alexandria, Egypt. Somewhere in the classy neighborhood of Kafr Abdou, way inside the beautiful city, stood Damien Theophilus in his apartment’s balcony, enjoying the light breeze that was the leftovers of what used to be wind. He wished it could blow away his worries, but it had always been beyond the simplicity of some fresh air. His sister, Princess Alessandra, was sleeping in her small room, and to be awoken in a few minutes for their first day of school. For almost seven months, he had to deal with her with great care, like she was a piece of the most fragile glass ever created. She used to be stronger, like a normal fifteen-year-old little royalty, but the tragic loss of their parents drove her to a place where responding was the greatest gift. His mind drifted back to the last time he had seen their parents, right before the battle. La Pacifica, their island, was under the threat of invasion, and a battle was what it took to insure its independence, and also all it took to separate a royal family. “Take care of her,” his father, Damien Theophilus Sr., had pressed as they left, not knowing where they were heading. Since that day, he had promised himself to be responsible of her; be her father and brother and everything she needed. But her mind didn’t seem to agree, and four months were spent worrying over the last bits of her sanity. She had gotten better, more alive, and maybe—just maybe— she was coping with what happened. He never allowed himself to mourn; he knew he wouldn’t be able to get a hold of himself. He had always believed that his parents, even if not on the same earth he was living on, were somewhere else, and he hoped it was a better place. The rectangular, slick black mobile phone released a quiet melody that was set to wake Sandra up. Normally, after Beethoven played on the background of a sunny day, she would wake up with a grin. Yet today was different—she wasn’t looking forward to school. She groaned loudly and searched blindly for the snooze button, or maybe she could press ‘stop’ and get back to peaceful sleep. But then Damien would wake her up and ruin that. After a maximum of three seconds of deliberating, she sat up in her bed just in time for Damien to knock on her door. “Come in,” she murmured sleepily, her tone just loud enough for him to sense it was granting. He pushed the door open and peeked inside. “You’re awake? Oh, buon giorno, Sandra.”

Italian was Their Highnesses first language, while English was their second for diplomatic reasons. The little island, located just in the middle of the Mediterranean, was a mixture of Greek and Italian origins that formed the best combination—a kindhearted, Italian-speaking civilization. “Buon giorno, Dam,” she mumbled, rubbing her aquamarine eyes, the only thing besides skin tone that would make anyone think they were related. “Come on, get up; we’re going to be late for school,” he pulled his lips upwards in an attempt of an optimistic smile, while deep inside he was waiting for her to relapse once again. This wasn’t a good idea from the very beginning. We should’ve waited longer, he thought. She leaned on her back and flipped lightly on her right side, burying her head in her soft pillow. “Do we really have to go?” Mentally preparing himself for a breakdown, he answered. “Of course; we had been taught responsibility, Alessandra,” he reasoned, “We owe them that much, don’t you think?” She reluctantly sat up again, messing the delicate pink silk covers that covered the heavy quilt and looked down at her small hands. “I know,” she said and he registered a good start, “I’m just worried, I guess.” He crossed the room in two easy strides, sitting down beside her and flipping on the lights’ switches that were beside her bed. “I miss them, too,” he said, straight to the point, “But that’s how life is.” She took in the sight of her room–mostly decorated in pink, her favorite color, and blue—to distract herself. “Are we going to be here forever?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. “For the rest of our lives?” It was one of those questions that Damien always found a way around; part of the ‘keep-her-sane’ plan. A sigh escaped his lips. “Do you remember our mother’s words for us before we left?” Part of her heart stung at the mentioning, but she kept on normally. “Wherever you go, be safe,” she quoted her mother, Queen Cascadia Theophilus. “I guess that sums it all,” he exhaled, a tad relieved, “As long as we’re safe…” She pulled her head towards him to kiss his cheek hastily. “And we are, aren’t we?” Another question he had been avoiding; nothing about their safety was certain. He regretted he ever brought it up. He rose to his feet, looking down at her with a smile like he had never heard her speak. “You’ve got exactly forty-five minutes,” he noted, “Be quick, please.”

One advantage of her room, you could always run out of it quicker than a paper falling on the floor. She stared at the closed door, blinking. But, her mind now processing everything simpler than before, just to keep her living with a slight shade of happiness covering her life, she didn’t stop to think twice about how he'd ignored her and walked away; she simply jumped into her fuzzy flip-flops and dragged herself to the bathroom, stopping to stare at her reflection, her hands on the cold, back marble surrounding the sink. Under other circumstances, Alessandra would’ve looked angelically gorgeous; her light brown hair, bluish green eyes and rosy cheeks used to make the definition of beauty and youth much simpler than anyone would’ve ever thought. Right now, though, with her cheeks pale and her eyes holding faint black bags, she looked ghastly, like something turned her life upside down –which was exactly her case. She shrugged it off and pulled out her hair ribbon, loosening her pony tail, knowing it would be back up before she walked out of there. It had been a while since she let herself feel pretty, as any other girl her age should be thinking. She could’ve been thinking about make-up, clothes, TV… If only it never happened.

Across the apartment, in Damien’s room, he stood, checking his wooden drawer. Where were the passports? Where were the passports? Oh, here they were. He pulled out two midnight-blue passports that held their fake identities and flipped them in his hands, just feeling their weight. He bent on his knees in front of the drawers and opened his passport, the small document that would dictate his new life for him. His new name was Daniel Goodwin, just in case Alessandra slipped and called him by his real name. He was eighteen-years-old, as his real self was, and he used to live in the United States of America –New York to be exact. He had the briefest idea of this state; only what he saw on television and on the internet. Only God knew how the Major got hold of these papers. Just before he stood up, he took a quick glance at his sister’s passport. ‘Rosalie Goodwin’, checked. ‘Fifteen-years-old’, checked. Perfect. Flipping again through the drawer’s contents, he glanced at a formal picture of the four of them standing together, like the perfect family they used to be; the responsible father, King Damien Theophilus, the loving mother, Queen Cascadia, and their

teenage children, a little boy with slight freckles and coal black hair, matching his father’s, and a younger girl with a smile so broad that you might think her cheeks were going to pop. He inhaled deeply, memorizing their faces once again like he did every day and pushed the drawer back, standing up and ready to go.

Sandra looked down at her uniform, checked her cell phone and money and went straight to her brother, who was waiting in the living room, staring at the ceiling. “I’m ready,” she announced, “Are we going to wait for the Major? Or…” He turned to her automatically. “Of course we are,” he said, “He’s the one with the driving license.” “When do you get yours?” “I don’t know yet,” he replied, “I legally can now—but I don’t know about the law here concerning foreigners.” “Mm,” she murmured, shifting in her stance. “Is he –?” She was interrupted by the birds’ twitter—the door bell. Turning to the door’s direction, behind her, she was outrun by her brother, who answered the door immediately. The wooden door with the golden-colored knob squeaked lightly, revealing a tall, well-built, middle-aged man with dark blond hair and dull blue eyes. His name was Marcello Ricci, the Royal Head of Guard and the current legal guardian of the two once-royalties. His name was also Richard Goodwin, Rosalie and Daniel Goodwin’s 'surviving uncle'. Bowing his head ever-so-gently, he greeted his masters that were, in some twisted way, his responsibility, not the opposite. “Good morning, Your Royal Highnesses,”— he paused—“Are you ready for school?” Damien glimpsed at Alessandra, making sure she was still standing there, before nodding to the Major. “We have half an hour,” he commented, “How far is the school?” “Fifteen minutes, more or less,” he estimated, “The car is in front of the building, shall we?” Damien and Alessandra nodded together, both grabbing their almost-empty shoulder bags and getting out of the flat as the Major held the door for them, closing it right after they were standing in front of the silver elevator of the dimly-lit building.

“Of course,” Marcello started, “You are aware that I will have to call you by your… first names in public, aren’t you?” Damien was about to speak when Alessandra did. “I don’t see why we should keep the formalities anyway,” she said, “We’re no more the Prince and Princess, Major.” It was probably the longest sentence her lips had allowed for months now, and it took both men by surprise. They paused a minute, freezing, before they continued the conversation normally. Marcello smiled kindly. “You will always be the Prince and Princess,” he whispered, “Maybe even one day, you’ll return back to your kingdom.” Damien almost scoffed at him, but kept his discipline, while Alessandra suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Returning back to La Pacifica was officially stated impossible, even admitted once by the Major himself; he was the one who had all the connections with the island, and had insisted he would take charge of everything. Damien never bothered to check after him; trust was something the Major had gained rightfully back when he really was the Head of Guard; the King had trusted him with his flesh and blood, what more evidence was there to prove? Alessandra took a minute of silence after his words, recalling the day her parents had to take the most difficult and easiest decision at the same time. “This island is too precious to be sold,” the King had said, his green eyes glowing with rage, “La Pacifica will always stand still; no one will ever take my third child away from me.” “It’s precious to all of us,” Cascadia had breathed, “But this is a battle we can’t afford; you know that.” “We can keep our kingdom safe. And I don’t care how much it might cost us.” The little girl winced at the memory, her brother unnoticing. By the time they made it to their Mercedes, she was calm once again, the memory fading bit by bit. * Even at 7:45 a.m., the whole school was under the mercy of the warm sunlight. Students were scattered all over the parking lot and inside the school, the tea rose color of their t-shirts making them seem like huge, tall droplets of strawberry milkshake. Some leaning on expensive cars, others holding their notebooks and socializing with the rest, and some lost in the vast place, wandering around. The quiet turning of the Mercedes to the parking lot didn’t prevent it from being the spot everyone was looking; other cars were as classy, but this particular one was new to the Modern International School. As it stopped and two, obviously foreign,

students stepped out of it, the girl fixing her pony tail nervously and the boy leaning down to whisper something in her ear, it was all explained, and everyone got back to their business, except maybe for the curious thoughts and light murmurs; but those were nothing out of usual. “Your class is ten-B, okay?” Damien pressed, “Mine is twelve-C. In case you need anything, I have my cell phone.” It was noticeable in his tone how worried he was; letting her out of his eyesight was new to both of them, especially now that they were practically depending on each other’s presence. She nodded her head. “When will I see you?” “During break, at 11:45,” he answered, “Excuse yourself out of class if you need anything.” She sighed. “Dam –Daniel,” she quickly corrected, “I’m going to be just fine.” He inhaled irritably. “Just promise me, please.” “Promise.” “Great. Meet me there,”—he pointed at the entrance of the building—“As soon as the bell rings. Be careful.” He was being so overprotective, she thought, it wasn’t even reasonable. He had crossed the line of caring long time ago, maybe he would have some friends here –get a social life. It didn’t bother her that he cared for her, really, but sometimes she wished if he could give her some space to breathe. It wasn’t selfish of her, was it? He took a deep breath, knowing that he had prepared himself for this quite a while ago. He didn’t feel so reluctant about the idea last night, but now that it was real and happening, he couldn’t help but feel like she was his responsibility, and risking such thing was inexcusable. She could take care of herself, couldn’t she? “Rosalie!” he called after her as she jumped on the stairs. She stopped mid-track, taking in the information. She knew she was Rosalie, that her fake name was Rosalie. But it wasn’t who she was. That would take some time to get used to. “Yeah?” He was going to tell her to take care again, but thought against it. “Never mind.” She cracked an amused smile, knowing what he was going to say. This wasn’t as bad as she thought, right? Wrong.

Jumping, she turned to the short girl who had just tapped her shoulder twice. “Hi,” Short Girl said, her wide chocolate brown eyes the most obvious feature about her. Well, that and her height. Alessandra coughed away the lump in her throat. “Hello.” “You’re new here, right?” “Yes.” “Well, can I show you around? You won’t find your class alone,”-she paused-“You don’t know where it is, do you?” Sandra had to blink to comprehend what was happening, but she didn’t find Short Girl annoying. She blamed herself for acting so surprised. “No, I don’t.” Good; longer answers are good. “Great!” Short Girl exclaimed. “What’s the – Oh, I’m Salma by the way. Salma Khaled.” Alessandra gave her a small smile. “I’m Rosalie Goodwin. And my class is ten-B.” Salma grinned broadly. “Good, you’ll get to meet Deema as well.” There’s a Deema? Sandra thought, God, I hope this day passes. “Come on,” Salma encouraged, “The class is upstairs, third door on the left.” * “…Then the atoms collide together and voila! The reaction happens! Of course, every reaction needs energy to break the bonds of the reactants, which is –” Mr. Harrison was cut off by the bell. “We’ll continue tomorrow. Have a nice day, class.” Sighs of relief filled 12C as the teacher made his way outside, and Damien collected his stationery and threw it tiredly in the shoulder bag, not really caring if it was thrown on the floor and probably extremely dusty by now. Who would’ve thought school was so boring? Surely the lessons at home weren’t like that. But again, he didn’t have to sit for hours straight receiving information from teachers. “Dude,” Jimmy put a hand on Damien’s right shoulder as he stood up. “Are you coming? We’re playing football in the playground downstairs.” “Maybe in a few. Got to see my sister.” “Sure, Danny,” he said, “I’m taking Mark and Omar and heading straight there,” Jamal added, “Oh, and it’s not really football; it’s soccer. Sorry; didn’t remember you’re American.”

That was a close one; he knew it was soccer before his colleague said it was; after all, he wasn’t American, was he? His accent disagreed, but he knew the truth. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, walking out of the class with the other boy. “See you.” Stepping on shattered pieces of paper and almost tripping on a backpack someone had dropped beside the stairs, Damien made his way to the entrance where he had left his sister this morning. She was standing next to two girls; one was veiled and about her height and the other with long brown hair that was tied up in a messy ponytail. It was obvious they were chatting lively, something that had him confused. Talking to strangers was a phase he didn’t think she would reach so soon, let alone conversing amiably with two of them. “Rosalie?” he didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but his confusion was evident. “Come here, Daniel,” she gestured to him, satisfied. He approached the three of them slowly, as if his white sneakers weren’t fast enough for a normal-paced march. As soon as he was there, she rested a hand on his back, the nervous knot in her stomach relaxing a little. “Daniel those are my friends; Salma and Deema,” she introduced, her eyes glowing with pride, meeting his for a short millisecond. “Girls, this is my brother, Daniel.” There was progress.

2 Light gray smoke blew out of the expensive dark brown cigar several times before the man sighed deeply, blurring the dull yellow light of his lamp. Everything was getting out of hand –crossing the red lines. For months, he had been able to stay well-hidden, and now, the slightest risk of the unveiling of his true identity was a risk he was not, by any means, willing to take. His job had taught him to have eyes in his back, but this certainly required more. He needed more eyes to get the whole photo. But where to find them was the biggest bump in the road. Obstacles had always slowed him down, as they did to anybody, and they varied every time; in reason and shape. This time, however, it wasn’t just an easy, solvable problem. Sure, it was solvable, but the how to the way of solving it held an enormous share of the trouble itself.

He needed someone very close, yet extremely far. Close in distance, and in knowledge, and far regarding suspicion. Very professional, he decided, and discreet to the maximum. He couldn’t have anything less than perfect. Perhaps working in a small group was my biggest mistake. Perhaps it was, and perhaps it was the only way he could have achieved what he achieved; he was a single step away from his ultimate goal. But that idiot had to ruin it, didn’t he? He had to go and be all loyal and faithful, like a dog. Exactly like a dog; seduced by a stranger, following him with its tongue all over its chin, drooling over the bait, but when the bait was its, it would gracefully return back to its owner, with all the pride in the world. Stupid, drooling animal, the man thought. No, no. He was not as clever as a real dog; at least real dogs followed until they actually got the bait. The bastard ran back even before he could get a taste, or even a glimpse. Promises were broken, plans were aborted but they were exactly where he wanted them. A few moves wouldn’t hurt, would they? A life-shattering little accident, maybe, or a bullet shot somewhere close, just for the sake of pure, undisturbed fright. The though sent a jolt of pleasure through his body. Yawning loudly, he put the cigar aside, taking in a deep breath, feeling the aroma of tension that surrounded him. A plan was all he needed –a mistake-proof plan. Mistakes could result in his death. Now, he wouldn’t want that, would he? He was born to make a change, and he would make it, and maybe also live an old dream of his –why not? Pretense was tiresome, and pretending he was someone he wasn’t, maybe had been, but wasn’t now, and would never be, seemed to pull down his already-heavy eye-lids. “In the morning,” he began, licking his lips before bringing back the cigar to his mouth, “I shall decide.” Alessandra “I’m sorry to hear that,” Deema sympathized, her eyes breaking contact with mine. Fresh air filled my lungs as I inhaled sharply; my feelings about my parents’ loss were probably the only thing that wasn’t fake in the relationship between me and my school friends. Little time did my parents spend with me and my brother, yet they managed to occupy a magically huge place in our hearts; the love we held for them was deep and unconditional. Everything they had done for us, we appreciated. Every moral they had

taught us, we engraved in our memories. They were the people who deserved gratitude for making us who we were now –responsible young adults. Hot, fresh tears formed in my eyes as I remembered how we lost them. Time was unable to heal the wounds their departure from this world had caused to me; it was still incomprehensible that they were completely gone. I distracted myself by taking in the relaxing scenery around us. The school playground was as spacious as I would imagine an American Football field. Its design was more than simple; just a football (soccer) field surrounded by a walk-path and six wooden benches, three at each side, that were decorated by different graffiti paints made by probably every student who sat there. The rest of the sports fields were in their own building, but soccer seemed to have its own popularity; students were allowed to play it during break time. All we had to worry about during those fortyfive minutes of the day were the random, unprofessional kicks of the dirty ball. Salma had noted that the thrill the possibility of being hit in the head causing us internal bleeding, a concussion or a coma was part of the enjoyment of the never-enough break time. Making friends here, as I discovered during the last week, is easier than counting to ten; once you're introduced to someone, the whole school miraculously knows who you are. Being the foreigner helped spread the word as well, I was sure, but I could never bring myself to say that everyone here wasn’t pretty welcoming. Deema Tareq, the veiled girl who was listening to music on our first day of school, was on the top of the list of my friends here, right next to Salma Khaled. Her copper brown eyes were framed by thick, black lashes that rested on her pure white skin whenever she closed her eyes. Deema was Salma’s best friend since birth, and the only one Salma fully trusted with everything, she had admitted. Yet, to my surprise, her personality was nothing like Salma’s; although she was also relaxing to be around, sometimes she zoned out in another universe, a universe that looked like it brought her more misery than satisfaction. The reason she did that was a complete mystery to me that I wasn’t compelled to know; for a reason, I wasn’t close enough to her and for another, I felt like she wouldn’t like to speak about it. Nobody was fond of expressing the reason their life wasn’t as good as they wished it would be, in my opinion. Glancing at my left, Hanna’s unnaturally blond hair caught my vision, reminding me of her presence. Her tan complexion and hazel eyes gave her the ability to dye her hair blond, but it was never convincing enough for me. She was looking down with a concentrating frown at the black phone in her wristbands-accessorized hand, texting or networking as usual. Usually, you might glance her way and find her laughing silently, or pouting at the screen –no need to panic, someone was just probably chatting with her. When she was ‘sober’, as Deema had put it, she was a funny and lovable person to be around. “Not now,” she muttered to herself –or her phone. “Damn.”

“What?” Salma asked, snapped out of the trance she fell into after I’d finished my speech about my parents. “We’re not going to spend our next summer in Paris as Dad has promised,” she whined. Salma stared at her before breaking into laughter. “Seriously? Since when do you travel abroad during summer?” “Since Dad told us we will.” “Well, they all do,” Deema interrupted, “Wonder if I’m really going to get a car after grad.” “Why wouldn’t you?” I asked; her family was financially capable. She smiled and cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. “You’re a girl,” she thickened her voice, “You’re too young to be driving.” “You should really stop imitating your dad’s voice. You suck at it,” Salma noted. “Besides, give the man some credit; he’s more open-minded than that.” Deema shrugged, dropping the subject. “Was it Hussein who told you? Oh, wait, no, he’s with his friends over there. Who told you, then?” “It was his online status,” she explained, her eyes widening before narrowing into tiny slits. “Why hasn’t he told me?” “You should talk to him about it,” Salma suggested, “Case closed,” she decided, clapping her hands with a grin. “Now, who wants some milky chocolate? I have a lot.” Salma always had chocolate with her. It was probably the reason she was so hyper. “Me!” Hanna answered quickly, raising her hand. We laughed as Salma got out her bar and broke a piece for her friend. “Any other volunteers?” I smiled politely at her. “I just ate my lunch.” She then looked at Deema who said, “Oh, no. I’m not falling for those babies again.” Salma chortled. “Chocolate is not what made you gain weight, Stupid. I mean, look at me!” She pointed at her slim body, “And I have one every day!” Deema cracked an amused smile. “Honey,” she started, “You move like a busy bee in their honey-sucking season,” she commented. I muffled an amused laugh and Salma rolled her eyes.

“That’s better, you know,” she told her, “I get to eat the rest of it all alone,” she ate a chunk as she finished the sentence. One thing that I loved about them that, relaxed, I could joke or just observe their own real sitcom that was on air every single day. But at the same time, they all had this warm, serious side that never ceased to amaze me. The bell rang, announcing the end of our brief break. Everybody groaned. “I’m so not going up now; it’s still 12:20! We have ten whole minutes,” Salma stated. “Come on, Rosie. Let’s go.” “You’re seriously no fun, Deema,” Hanna muttered, “What would happen if we waited a couple more minutes?” Deema rolled her eyes and stretched out a hand for me. “I actually want to go home as soon as I can,” she said, “Detention won’t be really…delightful now.” Salma snorted. “We never have detention,” she announced proudly, “It’s all about your grades –teachers love us.” Deema looked at me. “Bad influence,” she mumbled, pointing at her friends, “Come on,” she repeated. I stood up, sensing my pockets to make sure my phone and money were there and joined her as we paced slowly towards the stairs on the farthest left of the playground. After spending about a whole minute just counting the tiles on the ground, I glanced at Deema’s expressionless face, tugging a stray hair behind my ear as I spoke. “You don’t have to do that, you know. Speak English all the time, I mean.” She smiled gently at me, squeezing her mp3 player every now and then. “It’s more than okay, Rosie,” she reassured. “It’s like we’re studying English the whole time,” she elaborated. “Much better than speaking in half-Arabic, half-English, believe me,” she finished with a grin. “Half Arabic, half English? How so?” Shrugging, she explained. “We’ve been speaking English since we were in kindergarten. So sometimes we just can’t fully express ourselves in Arabic –even though it’s our first language, which makes it kind of a shame— so we use English, or sometimes even French to express ourselves. So it’s really better just to speak one language at a time,” she said, “Plus, why not do it for a friend, right?” Friendship had more value than anyone would’ve thought. Why wouldn’t you talk in a certain way for a friend? It didn’t make any sense not to, but it still didn’t make any sense to me why they would even bother. After all, they’d known me for about a week –less than a week; just four days. I shouldn’t mean anything to them, why would I? I was nothing special, nothing remarkable. I didn’t deserve it.

I wasn’t even honest with them. All I could manage right now was to pull one side of my lips upwards in an attempt of an appreciative smile as we strode up the stairs, heading to the class immediately after we were up. The smell of dust mixed with chips filled the air, and students were scattered carelessly in the class; some looking out of the window that had a very ‘delightful’ view on the school’s bus parking lot, others finishing off their snacks, while a few girls were splashing expensive perfumes on their clothes, explaining the flowery fragrance that topped over every other scent. I snatched my pencil case out of my white book bag as Deema walked to her place. Today was the first time I would learn about the Egyptian National Studies, even though I didn’t know I would even learn it, and it was also the first time I would meet that teacher. She was here a couple of seconds later. Shorter than Salma, she stood beside the comparatively-large white door, sending a malicious glare towards the boys as she entered. This very glare, I assumed, could make lions go hide. She ran her hand through her long black hair and sat down, greeting us in Arabic. We all sat down, the screech of the chairs on the ground the only obvious sound. She cocked her head to her right as she took in my foreign appearance. For a second, I wished I was invisible. “You’re the American,” she mumbled. I nodded. “You don’t have to attend the class, by the way, you can’t take the tests unless you know how to speak Arabic, which I guess won’t happen until next term, right?” I nodded again; my Arabic classes were going to start next term. “Then, you’re free to go.” I nodded for the third time but didn’t go anywhere; it wasn’t polite to leave the class right now, was it? She rested her head on her hand as she continued looking at me, “And by that I mean go. Now,” she instructed and I blinked twice in surprise as I stood up and rushed out of there, not caring to push back my chair as I did. This woman was surely weird. I could hear the muffled laughter from the class and the loud shouting that followed. Good thing I didn’t stay there. I walked through the white hallways that were framed by a single row of dark gray lockers on my right and three windows on my left, letting in the refreshing sunlight, a slim number of students rushing to their classes or simply ditching. I glanced the almost-full classrooms, with students following the lesson, doodling on their notebooks, talking to each other or sleeping –the teachers usually didn’t bother to wake them up; they never did. Look at them: bored, carefree, very different but happy. I just knew it. I mean, why wouldn't they be? They had everything – the family, the friends, their homes. Absolutely everything.

I was kind of enjoying my new life, especially now that I went to school and met my little group of 'buddies' (as Hanna called us), but the one thing I hated the most about this lifestyle was being so dishonest regarding my identity; they were open to telling me everything, and even if they didn’t, I was certain none of them had another name or a secret life like I did. They would do anything for me, and I wanted to give them something in return, to tell them who I really was. Alessandra Theophilus, not Rosalie Goodwin. I continued scanning the hallway, lost in thought. As the hallway took a slight turn to the left, towards the stairs, the bulletin board in front of me caught my attention with a bright picture in the middle –a picture of a classic piano. The piano was the instrument I preferred playing the most back when I was at home. I was taught the piano, the violin and the guitar. Piano was my absolute favorite, though; I loved the sight of the white keys contrasting with the little black ones, the magnificence of the notes…everything. Playing old classics used to be my everyday hobby. I walked closer to the little announcement, reading what it said: ‘Can you play the piano? Do you want to practice it in public more? Well, the school orchestra is what you’re looking for! Grab an application from the head office and come audition on Sunday, September 17th during break! [Auditions will be held in the grand music room. Third floor, first door on the right]’ The smile that formed automatically on my lips faded as I remembered one of Damien’s rules. I couldn’t participate in anything without getting his approval. But then I wondered for a moment; why would he object? It was something I loved. Besides, what harm would some music –some beautiful music—do? But he didn’t think about it that way. “Sandra,” he breathed when I asked him about it at home, licking his bottom lip nervously, sitting on the edge of my bed, his elbows resting on his knees, “Just no, alright?” I frowned in confusion, crossing my arms over my chest, almost comforted by the feel of my silk pajamas on my arms. “Why?” He put his hands on both sides of his stubborn head. “Because,” he answered, “I don’t have to tell you any reasons, Sandra. I just know what I’m telling you. No piano and that’s it.” “But, Damien–’’ I tried to object but he cut me off.

“Didn’t we agree before?” he said, not sounding mad at all –the complete opposite; his voice was pleading, “We agreed that whatever I tell you applies.” My eyes stung with the urge to cry, but I resisted it. “It’s what I love!” I defended, “The only thing I would have from home!” He winced. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t –no, you mustn’t do it.” My eyes widened at his words; how this being what I love prevented me from participating was beyond my comprehension. Why would he want to do this to me? Damien and I, unlike most siblings, were always on great terms. Why would he hate seeing me happy? Why on earth would he want me to quit the only thing that would bring me back the memories of home, the memories of Father teaching me how to play, the memories of Mother while composing new notes? “Sandra,” he whispered once again, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had rolled down my cheek as he stood up in front of me, towering over me. “Don’t cry.” “How could you?” I asked, my eyes narrowing at him, a lump forming in my throat. My mind tried to put together any memory of Damien trying to tease me for the sake of stubbornness, but couldn’t. Dam, my closest friend, did not act like that with me. What did I do wrong? “Damien,” I said sternly before he could speak. “I’m going to join it on Sunday,” I decided, trying to act stubborn; maybe it would work. He closed his eyes for a second and took a lung-filling breath. “You’re saying it as if it’s nothing,” he said, “While it’s –’’ I cut him off. “Why don’t you just want me to be happy?” I mused, my tone restrained. He balled his hands into tight fists, his knuckles whitening from the strength of it. “You make it sound like I hate you,” he accused, “You know how much I care about you, Sandra. You’re all I have left.” “So what’s ‘left’ is important to you,” I said, “Well, the piano is important to me, too.” “Even if we brought one right here I wouldn’t let you play it,” he said, “It’s not about the ‘exposing’ issue,” he began to explain, “You –you don’t know yourself as much as I know you-’’ I was about to object when he put a finger on my lips, hushing me, “— You’re too emotional. I can’t let you do this to yourself.” I stared at him with almost visible disbelief. “Do what?” I asked, “It’s just the piano.”

He shook his head. “You know it’s not ‘just the piano’ or else you wouldn’t have defended your case so much,” he reasoned, “If I’m ever stupid enough to put you through what you had gone through three months ago, Sandra, I’ll never be able to live with myself. You’re my responsibility, do you get that?” I stared at my brother for what seemed like forever before I looked down at my hands, remembering exactly what he meant. I couldn’t register anything that had happened during that period of my life; the world may have gone through disasters and I wasn’t aware. Or I was, but it was soon erased. All I could remember was that I was here, in Egypt, with my brother. The details of those months were something I would probably never know. I wasn’t sure how bad I looked but I was certain of how I felt: awful. “I’m sorry. But it was really –’’ “I know,” he mumbled as he stroked my hair, “You’re too young to go through this. I just don’t want to make it worse for you; I know it still hurts –even after all those months. Believe me, I do.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “So, if I promise you I won’t…be like what I was before,” I conditioned, “Would you let me do it?” He rolled his aquamarine eyes. “You can’t promise me such a thing, Sandra.” “I promise I’ll do my best, then,” I said excitedly, “Per favore, Damien.” “Let me think about it,” he compromised, “You still have the weekend –Friday and Saturday.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Grazie, Dam.” He just smiled and got out of my room without another word. I sighed contently and leaned back on my fluffy bed, staring at the ceiling that had little, colorful stars that lit a little in the dark. My brother had arranged them so they would form the first letter of my name –‘A’. Yes, he sometimes treated me like a little kid, but he had always been like that with me; it must have been because he was three years older. Damien was everything I had left, I realized, and the one who knew me best. Just thinking about the days and nights he had to plan, work and actually bear me while I was depressed - which was because we lost our parents- encouraged me to think of ways to repay him for being the world’s most incredible brother, but it wasn’t an easy task when I was hungry. I heard my stomach growl loudly after a couple of minutes of just gazing into pink and blue that was more visible as the sun started setting. I remembered then that I

hadn’t eaten anything since lunch which consisted of a cheese sandwich and a small box of juice. I got up and stretched my arms before opening the white door of my room and heading to the living room which I had to pass through in order to get to the small kitchen we had. The kitchen door squeaked lightly as I opened it, unveiling our kitchen in its green glory. I wasn’t the biggest fan of green, frankly, but it was just the kitchen. Back at home I used to have servants, and since we got here, Damien had been responsible for the food. He wasn’t that great of a cook, but we managed. I was taught the very basics of cooking before, but only tried it for real about five or six times. I opened our huge fridge and buried my head inside; looking for anything I could actually convert into something edible, hopefully. Fortunately, I found some leftover boiled macaroni from last night. I remembered that recipe one of the chefs used to always make for me and I loved it. He had told me the ingredients and method once… Remember, Sandra. A couple of seconds later, it clicked. I got out the minced beef, yoghurt, flour, red pepper and eggs from the fridge and grabbed a couple of onions from the yellow basket we had hanging beside the green cupboards. This should be easy. I got out a knife and a plate from the cupboards and began cutting the pepper to tiny squares. “What are you doing?” Damien asked with curiosity. I jumped in surprise and cut my thumb in the process. “You startled me!” I squeaked and he raised his eyebrows. I walked out of the kitchen to my bathroom where I washed my finger and searched for a bandage with all my medicine under the sink, in the plastic box. He followed me. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” “It’s okay,” I reassured, straightening as I wrapped the plaster around my finger. “It doesn’t hurt that much anyway.” “So, what were you doing in there?” “That recipe,” I said lamely, “The one with the yoghurt sauce on the pasta.” His mouth formed an ‘O’. “Weird,” he commented, “I just wanted to give you something.” I frowned and turned to him. “What is it?”

He grinned at me and handed me a transparent file he had been hiding behind his back with one hand. “Your music notes.”

3 Change in plans. Pulling the dark curtains away from the window, the man looked again, expecting to find a familiar face roaming around the place, waiting for the perfect shot to get him –the traitor. His scenario might have not been as mistake-proof as he thought it would turn out to be. It turned out that everything had a flaw somewhere. But this one couldn’t stand any flaws –a flaw in that field was deadly, and dead was the last status he wanted to create for himself. He owned enough temptation to drag anyone to cross the red lines –a saint to sin, he put it—and he used that advantage to attract as many straying bees as he could. His men were merely puppets in his fingers. Only one resisted it –the traitor. The dog! Damien Old habits die hard. I could observe how much progress she was making, and I had to admit that her relationship with her friends was what made her do that faster than I would have ever expected. Yet letting her have the one thing she had wished for wasn’t exactly easy. Her tiny fingers quivered over her lap as she took a deep breath before she hit the first note of her favorite classic, the Rondo Alla Turca by Mozart. The rest of the notes then flowed easily and her face turned from a concentrating frown to a relaxed smile. “My God,” Deema, her friend, breathed, “Wow.” The fast, challenging notes ended in about four minutes, taking away the tranquil aura it had created. As I had expected, mouths were sprung wide open, matching everyone’s eyes; Sandra had been a talented pianist since she was a little girl; it was something she had mastered professionally. Carlo, our cousin, used to make fun of how much time she used to spend practicing. We used to tease her about it a lot –whenever we saw her play it. She then ignored our comments and went back to creating her own melodies using her piano.

The old days. I had always missed them; the people, the place, the safe atmosphere –everything. But there was something extremely important that life had taught me; I should never look back at the past. What had happened had happened, and there was no force in the universe that could change it. Mourning over the lost days would only make the loss bitterer, and loads harder to forget. “Très agréable!” the teacher praised, “Where did you learn to play like this?” I glanced at her beaming face quickly, making sure she wasn’t going to slip. “Dad taught me back in the States.” She didn’t. “Well, thank you,”—she glanced at the paper in front of her—“Rosalie,” she finished, “Pass by here after school, will you?” The smile faded from her face gradually. “Uh. Yeah, sure,” she uttered and got up, walking away quickly to where I was standing at the door. “Rosalie,” I called quietly, poking her shoulder. She froze in her place and turned to me. During that time, Deema had stepped a few steps back, giving us a little space to talk. Did I mention I liked how respectful she was? Well, I did. “Oh,” she breathed, “Let’s go.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “What is it?” “What’s what?” “You’ll tell me later,”—because I wouldn’t make the same mistake again; I was smarter than that—“See you after school, okay?” “Sure,” she nodded, waving me goodbye. I knew that maybe –just maybe—I was being a tad overprotective or maybe overly concerned about my little sister, but you wouldn’t imagine being in my place, in my situation. You wouldn’t imagine having to watch the only person you had as family break down a bit every day. You wouldn’t imagine having to deal with your only, fifteen-year-old sister with the fear you might lose her any second. It was like she wasn’t even there. I was all alone. I needed someone to be there and tell me it was all right, that I didn’t have to worry about anything because, simply, everything was fine –everything was perfect.

She was the only person who could do that, and the only person who couldn’t at the exact same time. But I never let that beat me; I knew very well how to take care of myself, and I could take care of her. I owed her; I could’ve been there, I could’ve helped. I could’ve saved their lives. Guilt washed over me once again as I remembered how the three of us –Sandra, the Major and I—took off at the first danger notice. How come I gave in that easily? I had no idea. And why the Head of Guard left the battle to accompany the Prince and Princess was a mystery to me as well. But again, it might have all been part of a greater plan. A plan I had no clue of. “Daniel!” Omar called, “There you are. You missed the game today,” he commented as he approached where I was standing, right before the stairs. Wind gave another angry blow, matching the one it had blown this morning, sending in the particles of dust I so reluctantly sneezed off before turning to Omar. “Bless you,” he mumbled. I smiled at him. “Thanks,” I said, “And I’m sorry about the game; I had to—” “Your sister?” he guessed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” I breathed, “And that’s it, here I am.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So,” he began as we descended down the stairs. We still had five minutes before the break ended. Besides, we had a P.E. lesson right after break, so we would be in the playground anyways. “Mark has been talking…” he trailed off. “About?” “Look, I know you won’t really like to hear that, but I have to tell you; I know I’d like to know if I were you.” “You’re getting me worried,” I said, “What is it?” What was everyone’s problem today? “He wants to ask Rosie out,” he blurted, “And I just thought I would—’’ “You’re kidding, aren’t you? This can’t be true.” “It is, man, I swear,” he muttered as we stepped into the yellow tiles of the playground, “He told me so,” he mumbled, “Look, I know this is kind of normal where—”

I cut him off. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to happen.” And I was. Mark, as confident as he might appear, wasn’t the type of guy to just go ahead and ask a girl out –let alone his friend’s sister. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Getting into a relationship was the last thing Sandra would want –or need—to do now. “Where is he now?” I asked slowly, not quite sure of what I was going to do. Omar’s lips spread into his infamous smirk. “Up in class; he has some sort of a punishment or something.” “Well, then, I’ll talk to him later.” * “Tonight,” he said, “No, not even tonight; now. We have to get moving right now.” I couldn’t locate where my blood was –at all. “Ten minutes and the last bell will ring.” “That’s the most I can offer you,” the Major pointed out, “Remember that you still have to pack.” I heaved a sigh. “I know. Don’t be late.” “I won’t,” he promised, “But, pardon me, do not –at all- mention it to Her Royal Highness before I come to get you.” I frowned in concentration. “Of course,” I guaranteed, “I got it.” “3.10.” “Yes, of course. Goodbye now,” I finished, snapping my dark blue phone shut. Out of everything I had feared this was something that definitely stood out. Again, we were leaving. Again, we were escaping something we knew was dangerous. But this time, there were no lives to save except ours. I strode impatiently in the almost empty corridor, waiting for the classes to finally end so I could take Sandra out of here. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans before I headed to my locker and opened it. “Daniel, what are you doing out of class?” I hit the books with my fist, grinding my teeth together; startling someone whose nerves were wrecked was probably the worst decision Mr. Harrison had taken in a while. I licked my lips before I answered him. “It’s a free lesson; Mrs. Injy couldn’t make it today.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, then. Don’t forget to do your homework and bring your Organic Chemistry notes with you tomorrow.” There would be no tomorrow. “Sure thing, Mr. Harrison,” I smiled politely. He nodded again before he turned to leave. The distraction managed to get me to calm down smoothly, enabling more clearness to my mind. We’re going to get past this, I chanted mentally as I grabbed rearranged the books unnecessarily, It’s going to be okay. The high-pitched ringing of the bell finally announced the end of the last lesson. I let out a sigh of relief that wasn’t similar to the ones everyone was breathing and began scanning the hallway for Sandra. Glancing at the direction of her class, I saw her stretching her t-shirt to exceed her jeans line before she flipped her bag over her shoulder, using her other hand to fix her light brown bangs. Before I could follow her, she was already running towards the music room. Oh. I slowed my pace as I followed her, trying not to pay much attention to the dirt filling the air. I turned to the right, the already-dim light darkening as the windows grew farther than possible to allow light in. “You can join The Higher Institute for Music –the Conservatoire,” the teacher stated, her voice growing higher as I approached the class, leaning on the door frame, “They’d be very excited to have you,”—she handed Sandra a slip of paper—“These are their number and their address. Do tell me if you’re going to join –which I strongly recommend—so I can call them in advance.” Sandra was beaming the entire time. This was going to be harder than I thought it would be. “Sure, Miss…?” “Layla,” the teacher completed with a small smile. Sandra stretched her lips wider, excusing herself out of there. It was painful just knowing what I was going to tell her would destroy a dream she’d had for a while now –something she had truly wanted. It would just double the effect of the news on her. How I wished I could rewind everything. “Earth to the Prince of La Pacifica,” she whispered, her pearly white teeth matching the sparkle in her eyes. She was seriously making this harder than it should be. “Shush!” I breathed, my eyes slightly widening, “What are you saying?”

She rolled her bluish green eyes. “What, Daniel?” she complained. I rested a hand on her back, guiding her downstairs. “I was whispering,” she reasoned. I sighed. “I’m sorry.” “Is something wrong?” she asked incredulously, the smile reluctantly fading from her mouth. “Later,” I said sternly. She, as usual, just shrugged and let it go, walking down the building between the crowding, sweaty students in less time than expected. As agreed, the Major was waiting in the silver Mercedes, waiting for us. He was tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel when I snatched the door open for Alessandra before I slipped into the front seat. She slipped her bag from her shoulder, pushed herself forward, in the middle of the backseat, and eyed us skeptically. “What’s going on?” Nobody answered. Nobody even glanced her way. She rested her elbows on both front seats. “Let me ask this again –what’s going on?” As much as I hated myself for ever wishing she wouldn’t have snapped out of the depression she had went into, I was praying for her to have that peaceful ignorance once again. “I think we should discuss this later, Your Royal Highness,” Marcello suggested. “What’s the difference?” she pushed. Yes, I was evil. Blame me for not wanting her to freak out. “Per favore, Sandra,” I plead. She removed her elbows from the seats just to cross her arms over her chest and lean back in her seat, her eyes diverted to the windows and the sun that was brightly visible now, her expression turning from anger to relaxation in a blink of an eye. Thank you, God. * “What?” she snapped. “Packing?” she repeated, “Are –are we going to move again?” “We—”

I didn’t think she had even heard me; she shook her head almost violently, throwing her bag on the floor. “No, no, no, no,” she chanted, “Not again.” The dull yellow lights of the living room brought out how much her lips were rapidly whitening, and I could see how much her hands were trembling. I shouldn’t have wished for it. Holding her face between my hands, I noticed how cold she was –too cold it wasn’t normal, not even for someone who had just received terrible news. “Sandra, Sandra!” I called her, just wanting to snap her out of it, “Don’t panic, okay?” “We’re moving away after we finally settled in, and you’re telling me not to panic?!” she did an attempt of yelling but her voice was weakening, failing her miserably. I moved my hands to her shoulder to give her the equilibrium she was lacking. “We’re not moving for good, Sandra,” I reassured, talking slowly as if to an infant, “Just a couple of weeks, maybe –it’s Cairo –not far away from here,” I stuttered. “I have already taken care of your absence with the school,” Ricci interrupted. “Please, please,” she breathed, closing her eyes, “Tell me this is one huge joke.” “I’m sorry,” I apologized, “But it’s not; we’re going to be on the road as soon as our essentials are packed.” “Why?” her voice broke as she opened her eyes –her now-rosy eyes. To live any longer, to survive what our parents didn’t, because we were the only left royalty, because even our uncle and Carlo were dead, because we were definitely the next target. We weren’t supposed to be alive and breathing. “They’re looking for you,” the Major vaguely replied, leaving out details like how they already knew we were in Alexandria, and people were sent to track our moves. I had absolutely no idea how he knew something like that, but what mattered was that he did, and we had to get going as soon as possible. “You’re going to have to hide until they give up.” “You know what they want, don’t you?” She closed her eyes again, zipping her mouth shut. “Please make sure you have everything of importance with you –anything that might expose you if they got here,” he pointed out. Not now, Ricci, not now.

She suddenly became double as heavy; her eyes instinctively closed but her expression still not as peaceful as it should be. “Sandra!” I shifted my hands so I could fully support her as I dragged her to the couch. I had a feeling from the very beginning she should have been sitting. Her hair spread beside her head on the arm of the couch. “Major…” He didn’t reply as he handed me my bottle of cologne. I quickly snatched the golden tip and sprayed a little on my palm before placing it beside her nose. “No…” she mumbled, “Ma- no ’ose…Mamma” “Sandra,” I called quietly, trying my best not to sound too frantic. “Sandra, wake up.” After two long seconds of waiting –long enough for the wooden ground to hurt my knees as I sat on it—she fluttered her eyes vigorously, like someone had just spilled freezing water on her. “Damien,” she muttered, “Wh- What happened?” “You fainted,” I replied immediately, mentally thanking God, “I’ll go pack for both of us,” I announced, getting up, “I’m sorry, Sandra.” She'd never know how much I was. * I observed the sky darken gradually, slowly, from light blue to pitch black with only one constant factor –the clouds. The road to Cairo wasn’t considered long –around two and a half hours—but it didn’t seem like that since I was longing to get as far as ever possible from the place where danger was present. If it was only my life that was at stake, I wouldn’t have thrown much of a fit about the whole deal. But even if I had chosen to be some sort of a suicidal psych, I couldn’t put another soul into the equation. It wasn’t her fault I had failed her, and was probably the reason we were in the situation we were in. Trying to fix what I had done by giving up to the danger we were surrounded by was yet another way to fail her, myself and most importantly, our parents. One day, I, Damien Theophilus the Second, would avenge my family’s murder. And I couldn’t care less about the how’s or the when’s; all I could care about was the final result. This was more personal than a mere attack on our kingdom.

4 It had been a while since he felt the delicious weight of his .22 autoloader in his hands. The lined case that lied on his lap was now empty as the gun made it to his hidden holster. It was a shame how he wouldn’t get to use it for the purpose he wanted to use it for right now; everything had to take its designed course, and it wasn’t until later that he would finally announce his mission accomplished. Patience was something he was not, unfortunately, very good at, even if his history didn’t concede with it. But what had to be done, had to be done. Alessandra Sometimes when the world is being too harsh on you, you just escape to another one. For some people, it might be a world of imagination, fairy tales and fantasies, where far-fetched dreams come true. But for others, they just drift into sleep- the peaceful world of unconsciousness: the exact world I was enjoying right now. The fact that we might not come back again wouldn't kick in yet. I knew Damien had told me we would be back, but I honestly couldn’t believe him Yes, I trusted my brother with everything, but I was also aware he would sometimes only give me half-truths so he would not get a reaction similar to the one I pulled today. It was a blessing –fainting. I wasn’t usually a ‘fainter’; I panicked, screeched, and trembled, but very rarely lost control over my consciousness. Yet today it was different; I hadn’t been feeling exactly well the whole day, and it was all piling up – the nervousness, the worry, the anticipation, and finally the biggest blow of all. I hated the cold, creeping feeling of danger. It was literally sneaking into my insides, making me restless. But I somehow managed to ignore it for a while… “Sandra?” Damien mumbled, shaking me gently. I opened my eyes slowly, feeling how heavy they were. He was leaning from outside the car with his left hand on the back of the driver’s seat, supporting his weight. “Are we there yet?” I muttered groggily, fighting the urge to close my eyes again. Slow, rhythmic pain was hammering inside my head as I moved it slightly.

“Yeah,” he replied, eying me suspiciously before sensing my cheek with the back of his hand. His expression changed to that of recognition with a hint of relief, for some reason; his brows relaxed and he grimaced before muttering, “I knew it.” “What?” I asked, turning in my seat to get out of the Mercedes. He slipped his hand from my face to my shoulder, stopping me. “No, stay here,” he said, “Ricci is arranging everything with the hotel now then we’ll go to our suite,” he informed, “I should ask him about a doctor; you’re burning up.” “I am?” “You must’ve caught a cold or something,” he mumbled, “Or the dusty weather is irritating you –’’ “Stop it,” I warned, closing my eyes once again. He tittered without humor, “It’s just,’’—he flexed his hand like he was unable to express what he really meant—“You,’’—he sighed—“Don’t get me wrong, but –but I just can’t lose you.” “Damien…” I mumbled after a while, “Seriously…” I didn’t seem to be capable of forming meaningful sentences. Forget about the fever or anything that he might’ve thought of as an explanation for it –It was like he was speaking my mind on his lips. I knew what he meant by that; I couldn’t even dare consider my brother’s loss –not after what had happened, what we had gone through together. Damien, to me, was the only person I could depend on. A human being basically could not live alone. I had always thought of one’s soul as an imperfect creature; God had created it that way to allow the need to exist –the need to have relationships with other people in order to always run after the one obsession that had humanity seeking it on regular basis –perfection. Whether that relationship was between family members, friends, co-workers or even a romantic relationship, it was always people’s way to achieve flawlessness since they couldn’t accomplish it on their own. Our relationship was the closest thing Damien and I had to that goal most people tried to achieve. It couldn’t be broken under any circumstances; we had gone through more than enough experiences to form that unbreakable bond. Yeah, I was deep. I licked my suddenly-dry lips and leaned my head back on the backseat, taking a deep breath. “What’s taking the Major so long?” Switching subjects: always worked with Damien. For some reason.

Damien didn’t have the time to reply as the Major knocked on his window. He turned to him and opened it. “Is everything done?” Major Ricci nodded, “Yes,” he answered and handed Dam a card, “This is the key to your suite. They have the luggage there,” he said, “I’ll have to get going right now. Of course, the Mercedes will be here with you for the next couple of days –until I get back from Alexandria. The chauffeur will be here starting tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. You can move freely around the city –explore the Egyptian culture yourself all you wish but you have to be careful, especially when you talk in the presence of the driver, please. Other than that, you should survive easily; you wouldn’t need me. If you do, however, feel free to call me at any time as you already know,’’ he took a deep breath “Is there anything else you need?” Nothing less than professional. Damien shook his head, “No, thank you,” he said and was about to turn to me when he got back to the Major, “Um- Do you know how to reach a doctor now?” he asked and I rolled my eyes. The Major frowned, “I beg your pardon?” he mumbled, “Why do you need a doctor?” he pushed, still only looking at my brother. Damien glanced at me quickly before looking back at him, “Alessandra has a fever,” he explained, “I just need to get her checked.” I thought I saw the Major’s eyes sparkle for a second but I immediately blamed it on the lighting. He thought about it for a second, “You could ask the reception for that one. I’m terribly sorry for my ignorance,” he apologized. “I should have had that in mind as well.” Damien shrugged. “Okay, then,” he said with finality, “I’ll ask. Thank you.” Seconds later, Dam gestured for me to follow him out of the car. I nodded and unlocked my door, feeling the cold breeze hit me suddenly. It felt different than that of Alexandria; like it was getting inside my bones, forcing my body to shiver involuntarily. Damien took off his jacket immediately, handing it to me. “Wear it,” he instructed. He was ridiculous. * “Welcome home,” he rumbled sarcastically, obviously as annoyed as I was because of all this instability. We stayed silent for a while, just staring at everything around us; we were still grasping the new situation.

The walls were light cream, matching the sofa and the armchair that were on our left, facing the small television, and the lining of the back of the chair that was right behind me. It was getting like some sort of a habit –going to other places, running for our lives. It sent some kind of an electric shock through me each time we did it, though, like it was reminding me of the reason we were doing it, the reason we had to run for our lives to start with. It brought me down, but every time I thought of the whys, I had to stop my brain from lingering on the image of my lost father, my role model. The man who had sacrificed every thing he had because of the fountains of loyalty he had grown with for our little island that had the name which meant The Peaceful. I still remembered his warm emerald eyes and coal black hair, his tight embrace and consulting words. I didn’t even have the chance to tell him goodbye; he believed in victory so much that he didn’t allow us to say we were going to be separated. Well, here we were. Major Ricci’s words right after we arrived to Egypt kept echoing in my mind over and over. “They’re gone.” Something broke in me right then. I lost control over my balance, saved by the soft chair that I landed on. The scenery around me was hazy, and it took me time to realize I was tearing up. But it wasn’t the time to cry; everything was done and over…for good. This thought wasn’t helping with my latest decision not to cry, and my promise to be always there for my brother. It was enough he was worried about my fever that I had completely forgotten about. If he had to worry about another thing, I would be hurting him and breaking my promise to myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It all took short seconds. “Are you okay?” Dam asked, “Dizzy or something?” I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I lied and didn’t lie at the same time; I was fine regarding the aspect he was asking about, “I’m just a little tired.” My eyes were still firmly close. They felt better that way. Maybe I really was sick. “Okay,” he mumbled, “I’ll call the reception now.” * The next hour was relatively slow. The doctor said it was probably just a cold and that I should take something that began with ‘anti’ but I couldn’t catch the rest of the

name and some warm liquids. Damien left to get me the medicine. He still stayed silent the whole time, except for the few times he asked me how I was. He was stressing over the whole thing, I knew. I also knew the walk to the pharmacy nearby would help him clear his mind again. It was just his way to deal with problems. I had ordered the room service for chicken parmesan and soup before Dam left; he said he didn’t want anything to eat. I was now flipping through the channels on TV, waiting for the food or Damien, whichever arrived first. I rested my head on the arm of the couch and pulled the cuffs of my pink silk pajamas as tiredness kicked in slowly. I was about to give in to sleep when I heard a knock on the door. Awesome, I thought as I heard the much-anticipated “Room service!” I took the tray from the young waiter and thanked him politely, knowing that the price would be automatically added to our bill. He smiled in return and turned around as I shut the door behind him. Pushing the tray towards the couch, I enjoyed inhaling the sweet aroma of the parmesan cheese which had me drooling and my stomach growling loudly. I could imagine its taste in my mouth already. I licked my lips and sat on the couch, unrolling my set to get out the fork and knife. As I lifted the cover off the hot plate, I noticed a little slip of paper tucked under it. I frowned; I thought we wouldn’t pay now. I mean, what else would it be but a bill? I picked it up with the tips of my fingers and read the italic text. “Death? Why this fuss about death? Use your imagination; try to visualize a world without death! Death is the essential condition of life, not an evil.” Charlotte Perkins Gilman. My hand was trembling so much that I couldn’t read the quote again. Whether it was that or the fact that my vision was getting blurry, I didn’t know. I knew this wasn’t just a quote. It meant something deeper; I knew for sure hotels didn’t provide their residents with daily quotes. Someone must’ve put it there. Someone must’ve known where we were staying; they even knew what suite we were staying in. It sent chills down my spine to think they were here. It took me a minute to process what the quote itself meant. I didn’t even think before I picked up my cell phone and dialed Damien’s number. I crumpled the fine piece of off-white paper that felt like it weighed a ton and bit my lip, stopping the soft sobs that threatened to break through as I waited for him to answer. I dialed once, twice, thrice…and he still wouldn’t answer.

My head was spinning with drastic scenarios; they kidnapped him, or hurt him, maybe even –no, I couldn’t think of that possibility. I couldn’t think that they would…do what their message implicated. Or he just had to choose the worst possible moment to ignore answering his phone. I glanced frantically around me, searching for any clothes I could put on in my room. I would go search for him, even if he wasn’t late. I was still trying to call him for the fifth time when I heard the door screech lightly. I froze. “Sandra!” Damien called and I let out a huge sigh of pure relief. He was here. I got out of the room and looked at my brother, as fine as ever, maybe even a little more relaxed. “Are you okay?” I asked quickly, jumping over my words, “Did something happen?” He frowned and shuffled the small plastic bag in his hand. “No,” he said, “I just got the medicine,” he explained, “I wasn’t late. What’s wrong? What’s going on?” I just crossed the distance that separated us and hugged him, taking a deep, dramatic breath. “Never leave me alone again,” I muttered. He wrapped an arm around me almost hesitantly. “Sandra, what’s going on?” he asked suspiciously, “You were never afraid of being alone.” I just hugged him tighter. “They know we’re here,” I murmured, letting out another broken sob, “The –They’re here.” He froze as I pulled away, jetting his jaw. “What happened?” he repeated. “Did someone come here? Did you see anyone?” I shook my head vigorously, turning on my heels to search for the paper. He followed me, clueless, as I flipped the small cushions on the couch and searched around the suite like a maniac. “What are you looking for?” he asked after a while. I motioned for him to wait until I went to the room, where I found the crumpled piece of paper and handed it to him immediately. He scanned it, flipping it from side to side. “An empty paper?” My mouth dropped. “Empty?” I repeated, “It isn’t empty, Dam! Certo che no!” His frown deepened. “Sandra, did something happen or did –Have you seen something? Or did someone call? Did the Major call?” “No,” I answered, “The paper—the quote!” He raised his eyebrows, flipping the paper again in his hand, “This paper?” he asked, “It’s empty, sweetie; come look for yourself.”

I took it from his hand. It was still off-white, it was still fine, but it really was empty. “N-No,” I shook my head again, “It can’t be.” He put a hand on my forehead, “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, “Have you eaten yet?” I stared at him with disbelief. “You don’t believe me, do you?” His cheeks parted with a kind smile. “Sweetie,” he said, “You’re just exhausted; a lot happened today,” he mumbled, “Maybe you fell asleep and dreamt of that.” He couldn’t even believe me. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Go eat and take your medicine then go to sleep, okay?” I nodded absentmindedly. “I’ll go change then join you in a few.” I nodded again and hopped onto the couch, pulling the tray closer to me. My appetite wasn’t that great, but I was hungry nevertheless. There were three recently-dominant facts about me. One, I was emotional. Two, I had gone into depression. And, three, I was afraid. But I was not dreaming.

5 Red and blue lights reflected on the side-view mirrors of the red Honda across the street, along with the infamous siren, announcing their arrival. He smiled to himself, content with his latest masterpiece, lying breathless, lifeless in the dark alley. Very cliché, and absolutely accurate –the work of a professional. Part two was officially over, and there was only one more step –actually two, but they lied under the same title, so they could be counted as one—left. The tall teenager in the dark sweater walked hurriedly to the entrance he had left through a while ago, a shuffling plastic bag in his hands. Target one, marked. Damien I took another sip of my cappuccino, savoring the sweet yet slightly and delightfully bitter taste that managed to calm me down. A lot of time had passed since I had drunk any cappuccino that was remotely close in flavor to the one I was used to at home. “I love the brioche,” Sandra commented, “Very delicious.”

“I bet,” I mumbled. Having breakfast outside the borders of our suite was surprisingly redeeming; I didn’t think I would be able to go outside any time soon, especially after the note Sandra said she had received. She was everything but delusional, at least I believed so. And, even if what she had said was too unbelievable for me, I had to consider the option it was true; it was possible, wasn’t it? But the point that worried me was not the note –not at all; she was insistent, she wanted me to believe it so much that it was weird. Even before the incident, Sandra wasn’t the type of person to insist on a certain point once someone had disagreed with her; she thought it was useless. But this time, she believed in it so much she felt obliged to defend it. She really had changed. “Hello?” Sandra’s voice snapped me out of my short reverie. Her black phone was pressed to her ear tightly under her hair. I frowned, confused; who was she talking to? “Cairo,” she replied, her lips unconsciously twitching into an amused smile –a smile so different than anything I had seen on her face for a long while. Just then, I knew, for sure, who she was talking to. It must’ve been one of her friends –Deema or Salma or even that third girl, that blonde. What was her name again?—she always looked different when she came back from meeting with them, I noticed. She was so simply, and so miraculously, in a way, happy. I listened to her as she plotted her perfect excuse for her absence –for our absence— telling her friend how our uncle took us to Cairo to meet some old friends. I wished it wasn’t even half true. Then she kept on babbling about the nonsense they habitually spoke about; how X was kicked out of class, how Y got into a fight –that kind of nonsense. I wished I could press pause and take a snapshot of her facial expression as she chatted with who I knew later was Deema so I could compare it to before, and before the ‘before’, when she was still a little princess. It seemed like she had grown up, in a way or the other. Before Sandra could finish her phone call, mine buzzed in the pocket of my jeans. Knowing it must have been the Major –who else would call?-; I slipped it out and flipped it open without a second-thought, or even a glance at the caller’s ID. “Uncle—”

“Good morning, sir. This is Hossam Gaber of the Egyptian police, who is this?” For a second, my mind went blank, and my heart was on a marathon for its life. What should I tell him? How did he get my number? And why on earth would the police call me? I decided to play dice with my life and lie. “Daniel Goodwin, sir,” I answered, mumbling, “What’s the matter?” He huffed on the other side, and I heard a low “English” on the other side. “Do you know a person called,”—he paused—“Rich-ard Goodwin?” I needed time to think, but time was the last thing I would want to play with during a call of that sort. Every factor was taken into consideration, including any hesitation in my reply. “He’s my uncle.” “Then I have some bad news for you, Daniel,” he started, teasing my worn head even more. The cappuccino had evaporated from my systems already. “Your uncle was murdered.” What? * My idea of trying to relax wasn’t exactly wrapped around being near the old, sandy piece of desert with the legendary pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx, lying proudly, head up and nose absent, making that piece of land millions of times double what it would be worth sans the breathtakingly ancient monuments. But it managed to dull out that feeling I had inside. Murdered – the Major was murdered. The person who was supposed to be protecting us was their first prey here, and would not be the last. The first prey and the most experienced one of all – twenty years of military experience ought to have protected him from that fate. But now he was gone, and we were left alone. I let out a shaky breath, unable to form words, lost in my own bubble as the tour guide continued ranting about the history of the place, branching to the history of the whole country, succeeding in grabbing Sandra’s attention easily. She gazed at the horizon, dozing off. One thing about her was that the way she thought was predictable, to me, at least. I could tell by the narrowing of her eyes, that she was recalling something – La Pacifica, certainly; it didn’t need a genius to know that. It was all she thought about.

Ask me two days ago about that and I would’ve told you that it wasn’t healthy, and I might have even overemphasized on that particular point. Right now, though, it was a blessing. I kept on walking monotonously behind the group, just far enough to spot anyone in it or around it and, of course, in no less than a meter away from Sandra. How he couldn’t defend herself I didn’t know. He could have pulled out his gun, hit the killer somewhere to paralyze them for a second–anything. But then maybe he had lost his shape, even if he didn’t look like it. My leg felt tons heavier as I strode in Sandra’s trail, knowing what I had been hiding from the world now, since Ricci wasn’t here to be the only one in on it. Almost every hour I had to go check if the safety was pulled – I didn’t want my foot shot, did I? He told me that would definitely happen if it wasn’t pulled. It was, wasn’t it? I had to check. An ankle holster wasn’t very convenient, in my opinion; I would’ve preferred a shoulder holster instead; it gave me easier access. At the same time, though, it made its exposure effortless to anyone, especially Sandra; she would have seen it at some point, or even felt it while hugging me. It was impossible. So an ankle holster it was. “They’re so…big,” she mumbled, her arms crossed over her chest, swimming in the large off-white coat. “How many years did he say they built them in?” “Can’t remember,” I excused, “He kept babbling so much it was boring.” She tittered. “I know,” she said, trying to keep up with the pace of the group, “I was lost while he was speaking,”—I was right—“The whole atmosphere makes me feel safe.” I wouldn’t exactly say that. I coughed away the lump in my throat. “Yeah, safe,” I muttered incoherently. Welcome to Egypt, the motherland of safety and security. * Postponing the investigation I knew they wanted when they said they wanted to meet us didn’t make me any more prepared, yet I was better off doing this alone as Sandra slept. I’d told them we were on the tour already when they called. Thank God for hotel brochures.

“Here at the hotel, I guess,” I answered. You should be looking for the real murderer out there – have some common sense, people! “I never checked the exact time.” One of the two policemen – Gaber – sighed frustratingly, running a russet hand through his dark hair. “You guess?” I shrugged, lying back on the couch and pulling the careless kid card I knew would work. “I got the med for Sandra then got here.” It was absolutely pointless to help them figure out the killer for three main reasons: first, they wouldn’t find them, second, if a miracle happened and they were able to track them down, they would seem as innocent as a newborn baby, and third, I just didn’t want to blow our cover. “When did you go to the pharmacy?” Khaled, the other cop, spoke for the first time this evening, breaking the nervousness with his thick accent. I took my time to ‘recall’. “The doctor was here at about 8:30,” I mused, “Then I guess somewhere around –what?-nine?” Both of them exchanged a meaningful glance, deliberating. “Then, at about 9:15, you were outside, weren’t you? Where’s the pharmacy?” “A couple hundred meters away,” I replied instantly, inhaling deeply, “But, seriously, I’m just a kid – I can’t do it.” Khaled chuckled darkly. “Believe me, you can.” Silence. “How was he murdered?” I blurted out after a while. Gaber took a minute of thinking, licking the inside of his cheek before answering me, “Shot straight to the heart then his head was banged to the wall. Facial features are hard to recognize now – but here’s the picture. You should be able to identify him.” He handed me the piece of shiny, semi-hard paper coolly, as if showing me a picture of the newest amusement park in town instead of a dead, tortured corpse of my supposed uncle. I grabbed it reluctantly with two fingers, taking my time before I finally decided to look carefully at the picture. Gruesome, I immediately thought when I spotted the blood that covered the victim’s face. He was right; I couldn’t match him to the person I knew easily, but his hair color and clothes gave him away. He was lying on his back, helpless, dead. Nothing at that moment mattered –not his wealth, not his military experience, nothing at all. His time had come and it was

inevitable; nobody could do anything about it, and when our times come, we wouldn’t be able to stop it. I was just hoping and hoping: not now, not now. I couldn’t even locate the source of his blood, all I knew was that his face, neck and upper torso were drained to the maximum; it almost looked like it was a scene from a poorly produced TV show, with excess ketchup to spill all over the dead body. A chuckle was threatening to break, but it soon made its way back to the back of my throat. Soon enough I flipped the photo on its back, inhaling deeply as I tried to shake the image away, but it was stuck. “God,” I breathed. “Very accurate,” Gaber pressed, “Whoever did this has done it before.” I tried my best not to look guilty, or remember the several times I had gone hunting for birds with Carlo, and the memories of me shooting down the bird I wanted, no matter how small, with only one bullet. But this was different. Fervently hoping they wouldn’t search the Mercedes, I took a deep breath. “I see,” I mumbled, looking for an excuse to get them out of the suite before Sandra woke up; I needed to tell her that myself, and definitely not in the presence of the police. I glanced at my black watch. 6:30 p.m. “Well, is there anything I can help you with right now?” Gaber didn’t move a muscle at my obviously-hostile attitude, while Khaled frowned; narrowing his eyes the slightest bit. “We’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning at ten at the station for your official statements and regular paper work,” he informed. I didn’t miss the plural in ‘statements’. “Right now, though, I’d like to speak to your sister.” It was an order, not a request. I fidgeted in my seat. “She’s sleeping,” I excused lamely, “I’ll bring her tomorrow with me.” “How old is she, again?” Khaled asked, lifting his eyebrows a little. “Fifteen.” “I would prefer it if I talk to her now,” Gaber insisted before the edges of his mouth twitched, “You haven’t told her yet, have you?” I dropped my gaze to my hands on my lap, guilty as charged. I needed more controlled reactions. “Not yet, sir,” I admitted, “I—’’

I was cut off by the squeaky opening of Sandra’s door, her head peeking out of it, her eyes puffy from her sleep and her hair obviously not in place. I stood up immediately, alarmed, as the two of them froze for a second. “Miss Goodwin,” Gaber acknowledged, a victorious small smile plastered on his face. She frowned. “Yes?” “Sandra, go inside,” I found myself saying before I turned my head around to face the older one, “I’ll tell her.” Gaber nodded, allowing me to push her door wide open, leading her farther inside. “Are you feeling any better?” “What’s going on?” she ignored my question. I sighed, closing my eyes in a ridiculous attempt to pause time. “I just need you to relax,” I demanded, opening my eyes to watch her unchanged reaction, her eyes just full of questions –simply curious. I wouldn’t be so eager. “Sure. I won’t snap or anything.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re here because of Uncle Richard,” I explained, knowing they would be listening for sure; the door was open. “What about him?” I grimaced, but I had to break the news to her. This time, her relapsing was definite, and I had to deal with its consequences all by myself, without the help of Ricci, even if it was indirect. Just his being with us gave me the support I needed, and the reassurance that even though nothing would still be the same, we would carry on with our lives. Now he wasn’t here to tell me this, and I wasn’t sure if I could handle everything alone. I had to go through it all again; I had to see her new, thin walls crumble into little pieces. I had to watch her cry, and have absolutely nothing in hand to stop her. “They killed him.” A whole minute passed as her face slowly changed from neutrality to shock then to the most awaited fear. I forced her to sit on the edge of her bed as she stared at her hands, shaking her head gently. “Indistruttibile,” she muttered, “He said he was indestructible. He can’t be dead.” Sighing, I knelt down in front of her. “But he is,” I argued, “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

She didn’t reply. And not a tear formed in her eyes either. “Alessandra Nichole,” I said, whispering, “I promise you I will never, ever let anything happen to you. Trust me on this.” She looked at me, her eyes a shade lighter as they welled up with tears. “I do,” she crooked, her eyes scanning everything except my eyes, looking for diversion, “What’s that?” I followed her gape to my hand, where the photograph was still held loosely. Her hands found their way to the photograph, snatching it, and I did no move to stop them; if she was going to take this all, she was going to have to take it one shot. To my surprise, though, she didn’t gasp or even turn green at the sight. Instead, she frowned in concentration, analyzing the photo. “Look at this,” she panted lightly, pointing at the image. I tilted my head forward to see where she was pointing. Beside his head was a scrap of paper – a scrap of off-white, fine paper with large, bold black writing over it. Zero “It wasn’t a dream.”

6 The countdown had started, and soon enough, everyone will be in their right places, with ‘right’ defined as ‘the best way to serve the man’s purpose’. Every detail about the mess he had created was organized and planned, of course. Not a single blood mark on his clothes, not a fingerprint on the shell case of the bullet. Not that it would matter anyway; they didn’t have that kind of records of him here. He pulled out a slip from his pocket, admiring how it looked, waiting for the second he would use it, and the years that would follow. The black ink against the cream background created this delicious ebony and ivory contrast. He read it one more time before slipping it back into his silk robe’s pocket, satisfied. One Alessandra

The awareness – the knowledge – was as much of a curse as it was of a blessing. I wished I had gone into a coma, or even, maybe, simply died. For a second I didn’t mind that ending. I was sick of the life we were living, the tension that was choking us, the fake identities –everything. Death would be the only source for the kind of release that would work with my situation. I was never suicidal, or that pessimistic either. But sometimes life forces you to alter the way you’re going. Sometimes, you can’t control it; fate decides your path for you. It’s only God who knows where you’re heading, and how you’d go, yet, at the same time, it’s always up to you to look at your life the way you wish, which would decide its effect on you. For me, none of the angles I looked at life from seemed good. The déjà vu that hit us both when I spotted the little note, obviously directed at us, was enough to mess with both our heads even more than the investigation, and us being homicide suspects, had affected us. They suspected it was Damien who had shot the Major – which, in my opinion, was utterly and completely ridiculous – but they had, of course, no evidence. Plus, Dam had the perfect alibi; a receipt from the pharmacy and the cashier witness. I was a lot further down the suspect list considering my age and being physically incapable of even pinching a man of Marcello Ricci’s height and weight, but I was never off it since no one actually received my room service order and it wasn’t added to our check. Talk about professionalism. In a matter of three days, we were on our way back to Alexandria, not knowing what we would do next – not at all. Everything seemed to be uncertain for a while; I never liked that but it had been eerily calm since we got back here; a whole week flashed by and nobody contacted us, nobody showed up: no threats, nothing whatsoever. I refused to go back to school, though. I couldn’t bring myself to be alone for all these hours. Well, I wasn’t basically alone, yet I felt like I would be; without Damien right next to me, I couldn’t feel safe anymore. I wasn’t sure how he would react if something happened, yet the proximity was more comfortable. “It’s going to be fine; it’s a school crowded with people. They won’t be able to hurt you there,” he’d said, “It’s even more dangerous to stay at home.” Home. He’d called our apartment home. Home was something we had lost long time ago, and would never have back again, even if miracles did exist and we went back to La Pacifica. Home was more than just the setting; it was the atmosphere, the people, the safety. Our apartment was not home.

“Yes. Yes, I know. No. How did you find us? Of course, of course. Tomorrow morning it is, then. Everything, okay. No, thank you. Goodbye,” Damien snapped his phone shut, biting his lower lip as he stared at the armchair opposite of him. “Who was it?” “Someone called Mitch Anderson,” he said, not bothering to look in my direction. “Mitch Anderson?” I repeated, scanning my head for the name unsuccessfully. . “Says he knew Ricci,” he said, leaning his elbows on his lap and his chin on his palms, “And that he was the one who got him our papers, you know? The passport and such,”—he turned his head to face me—“He read about the case in the newspaper a couple o’ days ago and wants to meet us.” I snatched the soft pillow that was resting beside him and sunk in the couch, placing it over my lap. “So we’re meeting him tomorrow.” His left cheek was raised slightly in an attempt of half a smile. “Of course not,” he said bluntly, “I’m meeting him alone.” “But, Dam—” He shook his head defiantly. “No, Sandra.” “Why not?” “Because I said so,” he retorted. You’re too stubborn, I thought, and unreasonable. He’d always acted that way with me, and I’d always given him the right to do it – the right to decide my life for me – ever since we landed here. I wouldn’t deny it; I was enjoying not having to make any decisions about anything, and my head was elsewhere for a long period of time, but I wasn’t a kid anymore; I would let him take over his own authorities the way he liked – yes, including some issues that were related to me – yet he had to know that there was a thick, red line between what I wanted him to control, and what I had to control myself. Topics like whether or not I should be in on what was related to both of us were way beyond that specific red line. I thought about it, yet wasn’t able to let it out. Maybe I was getting strong enough to defy him mentally, but verbally…I didn’t think so. It was weird enough I was reconsidering his judgments to start with – unlike me. “Please?” was the most I could get out. He shook his head once again with finality, not moving an inch, and I just let it go – apparently, at least; I would have to discuss this with him. Later. But why didn’t I have a good feeling about this?

* “This,”—Salma tossed me a pink t-shirt from her closet—“With those pants– perfect!” “What’s wrong with my clothes?” “They’re too dark. It’s been more than a week, you have to let go of that cage you’re trapping yourself in!” I blinked. “They’re more comfortable?” I mumbled, letting my eyes roam around her room instead of looking into her accusing eyes. Her room was more spacious than mine and blunter in color as well; the walls were dark pink with bold apple green strokes, matching her blackout curtains and pillow cases. Her wardrobe, however, was a peaceful white. Its doors were an open scrapbook of photos of her with her family and friends with occasional marker captions around them. The bed was in the far corner of the room, opposite to her grand window, and right next to her ‘studying zone’ that consisted of a desk and a chair that were never used for their original purpose, I deduced from the accessories and makeup tools that were scattered all over their surfaces equally. This arrangement left her a space in the middle of the room which she had clearly called her ‘fun zone’ when she showed me around. You could spot the corners of her black laptop from its open case on the ground. If rooms really did resemble personality, she was one ‘funky’, random young woman. “You’re in my territory now, honey,” she said proudly, “And here you have to follow my own rules.” I guessed there was no way out of it, then. “Fine,” I grumbled, “But—” “Who’s ready for some girls only time?” Hanna chirped as she pushed Salma’s door open, throwing her colorful shopping bags on the floor as she did, grinning at both of us. Today, Damien went to meet the so-called ‘Mitch’ and had told me, very clearly, not to stay alone the whole time. Add that to the fact that it was Saturday – last day of the weekend – and voila. Of course, everything the girls knew was limited in the area of another accident – a shooting, this time – that got our uncle killed. They ought to have known sooner or later from the newspapers, so I had decided to tell them as soon as we got back to Alexandria.

“A shooting? This is Alex not Chicago – God!” Deema had breathed gently when she knew, and before I told her it was Cairo where the accident happened. On the other hand, they were following a different policy as they dealt with me this time; they were acting as if nothing had happened. Actually, they were trying, but they lost the equilibrium they needed; they sounded too excited and bubbly the whole time. I appreciated it, though. It got me confused the whole time, though, whether or not I was Rosalie. They knew me as Rosie, but that wasn’t the real me; she just shared my same physical appearance – nothing more, nothing less. Right? The Rosalie they knew interacted with them, lively, nonstop. The Rosalie they knew was just another girl, nothing special – especially not a princess. But I wasn’t that Rosalie. When I was with Damien – or just without them – I was much quieter, thinking solemnly about the leftovers of our royal origins that caused us trouble still – I was being me. Wasn’t I? “Hi, Hanna,” Salma hugged her briefly and kissed her cheek as she waved cheerfully at me, her bracelets jiggling, “Where’s Deema?” “Coming right up,” she answered, “So, let me set this straight, are we going to stay here till the time of the movie then go eat, or are we going to eat first then see the movie?” Salma shrugged. “Whatever. Deema decides.” “’Kay, I guess,” she mumbled, “What were you doing?” She threw herself on the bed, her legs in the dark skinny jeans and ballerina shoes flying exaggeratingly high, causing her to giggle. “I was just telling Rosie to go change,” Salma said simply, turning on her heels to stare closely at her reflection in the mirror, fixing her kohl with her little finger, her manicured nail creating no problem for her at all. “And she was going now.” Hanna smiled. “Cool,” she said, “Can I wear your coat, then, Rosie? You can take my sweater, if you want.” * “Que’est-ce qu’on va voir ?” Deema struggled to say, practicing her French for the oral quiz next week, as she had warned us. Salma rolled her eyes. “I don’t speak Chinese.”

“That’s French,” Hanna muttered, eying the movie posters around us, “And it means ‘What will we see?’ in English for Dummies. Mio Dio,” she whispered the last part, shaking her head with boredom. I froze internally for at least a couple of seconds, comprehending what I had just heard. “You speak Italian?” I said. She nodded quickly, her eyes jumping between a horror and a comedy movie, deciding. “Mom’s Italian, you know. How come I never told you?” Wow. One of my best friends’ mom was Italian. Italian. No, Sandra. No judging. At least she’s honest about who she, and her family, is. “And you totally got the blond hair from her,” Deema snorted, causing Hanna to lower her eyes specially to glare at her. “No,” she said with finality. “We should see the horror movie.” “I am not watching a film called ‘Under the Bed’,” Salma decided. “It’s either that or ‘Billy Dog’,” I pointed out. “No.” “Fine – then we just walk away without watching anything!” Hanna whined sarcastically, sighing deeply. After spending a couple of hours at Salma’s house, we finally set off for the mall – San Stefano – which we had to take the escalators three floors up in order to get to the cinema. “Okay,” the three of us muttered at the same time, ignoring the sarcasm in her comment. “Then, do you want to eat?” Deema asked. The outing was never about the movie, I thought, but just for the pure hang out – anytime, anywhere… That had food. “What about—’’ Salma started and soon enough the three of them were humming with suggestions that I had no way of participating in with my poor knowledge of the area, Hanna slumping her shoulders with defeat. After over ten boring minutes of choosing between a café and takeaway Chinese, they let me toss a silver pound to choose between them and we ended up deciding to hang out in a ‘small and cozy, café on the underground floor’ as Hanna had described.

Having to take three escalators down, we walked in two groups, me being with Hanna the whole time, which included having to stop every now and then just to window shop, and being told by Salma to meet her and Deema I the café whenever we were done, which I hoped would be very soon. “Check this one out,” Hanna said, pointing at another random dress at that shop – What was its name again? I lost count and concentration after the first five shops. I dragged my eyes lazily to the tight-fitting red dress on the mannequin, taking in its excessive glittering, which I personally didn’t comprehend. “Mhmm...” She turned to face me, using her puppy eyes’ power for the fourth –or was it fifth? —time this evening, accompanied with her oh-so-famous pout. It didn’t need a rocket scientist to figure what she wanted out. “Of course you can try it on,” I said lazily, “I’ll wait here.” “No, come,” she said, smiling playfully, “I want you to tell me if it’s worth using my emergency credit card or not. Pwease?” I had to laugh at her tone, nodding in surrender. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted, dragging me by my arm towards the store, the freezing air conditioner that hit us both suddenly making it useless for me to use my eyes to know we were inside. On both of our sides, clothes were rowed behind each other according to color and style, enhanced by the focused lighting on them. She scanned both rows with her eyes impatiently, until she finally found the silk knit jersey dress. After a total of about thirty seconds of listening to a foreign language I surely had to learn soon in order to be able to accommodate to the life here, we were striding towards the changing rooms in front of us, with all the bustle in that area. I, of course, sat on a couch outside one of the cabinets and waited for Hanna to be done. “It won’t take long, I promise,” she said, never taking her eyes off the dress as she shut the door behind her. I crossed my legs, putting a hand between them, under my left knee, and taking a quick glance on the clock on the wall. It was 4.30 p.m. already. Where would Damien be now? Time flew by so fast today, I decided, Damien’s ‘meeting’ was supposed to be three hours ago. Why hadn’t he called? I hoped nothing wrong had happened, and it was just that time passed with him as swiftly as it did with me.

Using my free hand, I snatched my mobile phone out of my sweater’s pocket, speed-dialing my brother’s number and resting the device between my shoulder and my ear while I fixed my sleeve’s cuffs. After three rings, he answered. “Sandra.” “Hey.” I hadn’t realized my heart pulse was accelerating except when relief washed over me. He was okay. “How was your day?” he asked when I didn’t say anything. “Good,” I said, “We’re having fun.” I could practically feel his smile as he spoke. “Where are you?” “San Stefano mall,” I said, “Are you at home?” “Almost,” he said, “Do you want me to come get you now?” I paused, taking my time to understand. “Are you driving?” I asked incredulously. He sighed. “No,” he said, “But I hired that driver from Cairo permanently, and going home doesn’t sound really good to me now. What do you say?” “Spend some time with us; we’re supposed to go grab something to eat first,” I suggested, “Come on—” At that exact second, Hanna emerged out of the cabinet, twirling in the crimson red dress that proved to be not as tight as it was on the mannequin –just the perfect size. It was sleeveless, with a round collar, flowing as any especially-designed pencil dress which’s edge cut her knee bone would flow. “What do you think?” “It looks perfect!” I said instinctively, “Any special occasions soon?” She shrugged. “I was thinking maybe Hussein’s grad – maybe you should get something, too…” she trailed off, frowning. “Daniel?” she whispered. I paid attention to the phone on my ear. “Oh. Sorry, Daniel. Are you coming or not?” He chuckled. “Sure. Give me fifteen minutes.” “Great,” I said, “See you.” “See you.” I snapped my phone shut. Hanna’s face reddened as she held her laughter. “You sure are easily distracted.”

“Maybe,” I said, “What were you saying?” “I was saying,”—she sat down beside me, testing the flexibility of the new outfit –“Aren’t you attending your brother’s grad? You should be shopping for something as well.” I rolled my eyes. “You never planned on that.” She smiled knowingly. “Or did I?” She tittered, “No, really. Are we going to look for a dress for you as well?” “I—” The shop assistant cut me short, speaking with difficulty. “Did you like the dress?” Hanna turned to her immediately. “Sure. I’m going to take it,” she said, throwing a glance in my direction. I shook my head. “And that’s it.” The shop assistant nodded, stretching her formal jacket, sitting down on a far chair, waiting for Hanna to change back, I supposed. “Let’s get a better look on all the dresses outside while she checks this out,” Hanna suggested, handing the woman the dress with a smile, “I’ll come with the credit card now.” The assistant nodded before turning on her heels, towards the cashier. I stood up reluctantly, following Hanna in her pink t-shirt flip between colors of dresses that were –intentionally, I assumed—not in a way similar to hers. “How about you try this one on?”—she was holding a simple turquoise, chiffon spaghetti-strapped dress —“It’ll bring out the color of your eyes.” I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. We weren’t going home tonight. “Where’s the coat?” I suddenly asked, paying attention to minor details now. “You were wearing it just before—” Her mouth formed an ‘O’. “It must be in the cabinet. Wait here, I’ll go get it.” She jogged her way back to the cabinet, taking less than a few seconds to snatch the black coat out of it and hold it in her hand. “Here!” she announced. “Miss?” the shop assistant called, making Hanna do a dangerous swirl on the slightly slippery floor, only to be saved by clutching to the clothes stand right next to her, thankfully not forcing it down. She froze for a minute before she straightened herself with an embarrassed grin, the assistant giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m okay,” she said.

“Thank God,” I breathed, “Slow down next time.” Three passersby were holding their laughter, but nothing else was out of usual. Well, except for that blue satin ribbon hanging from the pocket of my coat. “Hanna?” “Yeah?” “What’s that?” I approached her slowly, pointing at the ribbon. She frowned, picking it up with her fingers. “It’s a small envelope,” she replied, handing it to me, “It must be yours.” I took it from her, curious. I didn’t remember having anything in my pockets today when I gave her the coat. “Miss?” the assistant repeated, making Hanna roll her eyes before she excused herself to the cashier. I could see her in my peripheral vision searching her purse as I opened the loose envelope slowly, just to get out a fine piece of off-white paper. I read it thoughtlessly, not knowing what I was about to read. “What fate impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.” William Shakespeare.

7 Somewhere in the dimly-lit apartment stood a man, observing his reflection in the mirror, silent. Faces could hide robotically, heartlessly, all emotions, as much as they could show every flicker of thought. They were magical. He recalled the events of the twenty-six years of his life – of sadness, ambition, betrayal, hope, and even love. Those events built up the man he was today, and decided the man he would be till his last breath. And suddenly, the vagueness of the mirror, as he realized, wasn’t due to cleanliness. Somewhere in this apartment, beat a guilty heart – with the guilt of something that, at this point, could not be undone, or erased. Damien I wished I could press pause.

Everything, at that point, was beyond the point of confusion. People I wanted the most were not there, and people I had hoped I would never encounter popped right in front of me. Major Ricci’s death opened the doors of hell upon us. Suddenly, people were more curious than ever – newspapers were all over the incident, a downside of being a foreigner here in Egypt, I thought; people gave you double the importance you deserved. Well, I guess we were of more political importance than everyone thought we were, but that was off point. And then, because of the sudden ‘fame’ you got, people found you. And it wasn’t always a good thing. Actually, in our case, it was disastrous. Mitchell Anderson was disastrous. You could call it a hunch, maybe, or just an irrational thought, but something just felt off about that man. It wasn’t his appearance, or even way of speaking; it felt more like a psychic intuition to me, frankly. It was well expected that he would demand a certain amount of money, in any form, in exchange of his silence, especially after Ricci’s death. It turned out that the Major was constantly supplying him with cash – monthly, he explained, with reference to previous checks. The fact that he might have forged all this to get money never slipped my mind, but I honestly had no other choice but to comply. Yet, putting the blackmail aside, it didn’t seem like something he would want to see us both for. Why would he want to meet Sandra? It made no sense. I was going to meet him again. * Since last night, after the hangout at the mall with her friends, Sandra had been a little weird, or maybe I was looking at everything from a different angle now, I wasn’t sure. But if something was wrong she would tell me, there was no doubt about that. That was why I let her go to school today. She wasn’t even reluctant about it, which frankly worried me just the tiniest bit, but I was sure she would handle everything quite well. Nothing could go wrong in a place that crowded, could it? After I dropped her – actually, we dropped her – in front of the school, the driver took me to the nearest branch of the bank we dealt with – the ISB, where I was able to withdraw a good deal of money, about two thousand euros, that would be enough to shut Mitch up for a while, until I knew who exactly he was.

The weather was cold today and pretty foggy as well, making it almost impossible for me to make out anything but the outlines of the streets we passed through to get to the far corner of Kafr Abdou for the brief meeting with him. Childishly, I tried to doodle on my window with my finger, but it didn’t work; the condensed water was outside. So I spent my time leaning on the backseat, just trying to figure out what was going on in the streets, looking for the wooden sign of the restaurant he had told me he would meet me in. “Here?” “Yeah,” I said, straightening in my seat, “Yeah. Here.” Salah, our chauffeur, nodded professionally. “When I should come back?” “I don’t know,” I answered, “I really don’t.” * He sipped another sip of his tea latte, never losing the eye contact with me, the glum light framing his sharp features. He had tanned but slightly wrinkled skin that went with the light brown shade of his eyes, framed by thick eyelashes that matched his black hair -- the kind of look that would give you a sense of familiarity. He put down his cup. “How are you willing to pay?” I licked my bottom lip before replying. “Cash,” I said, “But here wouldn’t be exactly convenient, will it?” He pulled his lips in a knowing smile. “No,” he said, “I have a place where you can give me the money safely.” My heart skipped a beat. “Where?” His eyes scanned the whole place in less than a blink. “Here – Kafr Abdou,” he said, “It’s so calm, isn’t it? Charming,” he added, leaning his head forward a bit, “And safe. How much will you be able to give me today?” “Five thousand,” I said casually, glancing at my hands as I subconsciously rolled a piece of tissue paper, swallowing the lump in my throat. I shouldn’t have lied. “When?” “Right now,” he answered immediately, “If you’d like.” I glanced at my watch, it was half past ten. “Of course; two now, and three this evening. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. I rose to my feet, the chair screeching in the process, and turned towards the signs that led to the bathroom, snatching my mobile phone out of my back pocket on the way, dialing Sandra’s number. She answered after only one ring. “Hi, Dam.” If she was facing me right now, I would have raised my brow at her. “Careful, Rosalie.” Wind whooshed on the other end. “Sorry, I—” “Where are you?” All I could hear were the blowing of the wind and a couple of people chattering behind her for a few seconds. “The playground,” she said, “Next lesson is stand-by,” she explained, her voice quivering. “Where are you?” I repeated sternly. “Dam, I have to go,” she said, “I – I’ll call you later. Bye.” And, with that, I heard the familiar beep. I stopped in my place, in front of the door of the WC. What was going on with her? It was as if I needed any more reason to be worried. I hoped she was just in normal, harmless trouble – the only type of trouble a girl like her could get into at school. She was at school, wasn’t she? I cringed at the other possibility. “Can I help you, sir?” “Hm?” I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, no, thank you.” The dark waiter walked away indifferently. I pushed the door, stepping inside, just before I rested my hands on the sink, trying to calm myself down. Nothing was there to worry about. Everything would go smoothly; I would go with Mitch, give him the money, and follow him for a while for pure investigation, then go pick Sandra up from school perfectly well before we both go home hopefully better than we left it. I wished. I closed my eyes, feeling my lungs expand as I inhaled deeply before blowing a slow breath. It’s going to be okay. I pulled the door, making my way to the table again to find him standing, leaning slightly on the table, checking his watch.

“Shall we?” He pulled a smile before meeting my eyes. “Sure.” I picked the black bag that had the money from under the table before we walked in silence outside the restaurant, the chilly air hitting us, making me regret the sweatshirt I was wearing. By the time we made it to the first left, I was rubbing my hands together. Whether it was due to the cold or the fear, I couldn’t tell. “It’s not a long way there,” he said, breaking the silence, “How’s Alessandra?” I dug my palms in the pockets of my jeans. “Alright.” “Is she doing well at school?” My eyes were stuck to the ground I was walking on, never glancing his way. “She’s fine.” What did he want from her? “It must have been hard on her – what happened,” he said, “After all, she’s just a kid.” My legs were slowing down gradually, reluctant to continue. I tried to make connections in my head; connect him with someone from the school, someone we had seen before, even someone from La Pacifica. No one matched. All I could do was hum in agreement – or so I wanted it to seem. All he should be was just a counterfeiter; he forged papers, passports, signatures, leaked illegal products – only. He shouldn’t be involved in his so-called customers’ lives. Unless there was a reason he must be. We kept walking towards a darker part of the street, where the large trees laid their shadows and the buildings ended, making room for the villas. Two dogs ran by us, barking happily in the light droplets of the upcoming rain. “Here,” he said, stopping in front of a tall, glass gate. “Come on in, will you?” I tried to do my best to keep my face straight – not to show my inner fear – as he used a key to unlock the gate, inviting me in with a gesture of his hand. My legs felt tons heavier than they should as I took my first steps inside, ignoring the vast green garden, and trying to concentrate only on the rain that was pouring heavily now.

He scowled at the sky briefly, switching his attention back to my presence. “I guess the best place for this exchange would be inside,” he said, only a delicate shade of regret in his voice. “Can’t I give you the bag now?” He shook his head. “I need to check and count the money, you know.” “Sure,” I said, not moving an inch until he gestured for me to do so, walking towards the door of the villa. It was off-whitish-gray, if that was a color, and seemed extremely spacious, with two floors. The dimness and its old Victorian style gave me the creeps of a lifetime as I took my first steps inside. It appeared as if nobody lived there for a while, or someone did and was very discreet about it; nothing was out of place; everything was perfectly arranged; curtains were drawn close to each other, and short, mahogany tables and old sofas with not a sprinkle of dust on them. “Welcome,” Mitch said, clicking the lights open, “Would you please follow me upstairs?” My gut was jiggling, and that was the simplest way to express what I felt at that moment. But I had to collect my thoughts – concentrate on what I should do. As usual, my gun was safely around my ankle, yet it didn’t ease the fear one bit. I took a quick breath. “Why not here?” His expression flipped from tolerant to impatient in a blink of an eye as he sighed irritably, taking a few steps in my way. “Are you going to come? Or do I have to make you?”

8 Two strikes in one day. He was one lucky man. Alessandra I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. The first time I received a note similar to the one I received yesterday he couldn’t even tell me he believed me, not even after we saw the strap of paper beside the Major’s body in the photograph. He told me it must be something related to the crime scene investigators, or something just extremely random, and that I was most definitely dreaming before.

I tried to convince myself he believed me on the inside, but I was never sure, and I would never be. What difference would it make if I never told him about last night? We, both, wouldn’t run away or go anywhere; we had no guidance, and when it came to fighting, Damien had the same experience as me – which was zero. He couldn’t hurt a fly. Even though I didn’t tell him, I was still freaking out. “Deema, what was I just saying?” Deema opened an eye, looking at our Chemistry teacher from her position on the desk, half-sleeping, half-spacing out. “Me?” “Yes, you,” Mrs. Farida said, “What was I saying?” She untangled her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking emptily at her. Our teacher rolled her eyes before she told her to get out of the class. “But Miss—” “Out, now, Deema, please.” She sighed, pushing her desk before she walked out of the room, grumbling. Mrs. Farida continued explaining the chemistry of metals indifferently. A few seconds later, my phone vibrated briefly. I pulled it out of my pocket, unlocking it, opening the message I received. Come =P I rolled my eyes at Deema’s reaction but raised my hand to get the teacher’s attention. “May I go to the toilet?” * “Seriously, you’re crazy, Dee.” She leaned her head on the wall of the theatre. “She won’t look for you; you’re not the only one to do this.” I took a deep breath, guilty. “Are you sure?” “Positive,” she smiled proudly. “So,” I started, “Why did you fall asleep?” She pulled one side of her mouth upwards. “I—” She was cut off by the ear-piercing beep, announcing the beginning of an audio announcement straight from the principal’s office.

“Rosalie Goodwin, please come to my office now. I repeat, Rosalie Goodwin, please come to my office now.” My eyes widened, my heart skipping a beat. “Positive, Deema? Really?” * “Mrs. Zeinab, I am so—” I stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene. On one of the mahogany chairs in front of the principal’s vast desk sat the one person I expected the least to see here. Even in civilian clothing, I could perfectly recall his face. I wasn’t sure whether the chills I felt were from his presence, or the wind blowing through the large open window. “Miss Goodwin,” Officer Khaled greeted, standing up as the principal did. She leaned her full arms, covered by her blood red tailleur’s sleeves and the flowing scarf she was wearing, on the desk, looking warily at me. “Rosalie,” she commenced, “The officer would like to speak with you a little, is that okay with you, my dear?” I was still perplexed in my position, both of them looking expectantly at me. For a second, I wished I would have been called for detention. “Actually,” the officer said, turning to face her, “I would like to take her with me.” She frowned. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Khaled.” “I’m afraid I have an order, Mrs. Zeinab.” “Rosalie?” she called again, “Please have a seat.” My feet took two heavy strides to the chair opposite to the officer’s, my eyes fixed at him as I sat down, not knowing how I was supposed to react – just surprised or afraid as well? “What?” was what I managed to get out of my mouth. The officer grimaced, his eyes sympathetic. “We need you to recognize someone.” “Who?” He cracked a smile, probably just trying to calm me down. “A suspect.” I rubbed two sweaty palms together, trying to put everything together. The police had found someone who they suspect killed the Major. Mamma mia! At that moment, my phone vibrated in my jeans. I slipped it out immediately.

Daniel “Miss?” “Yes, Rosalie?” “Can I answer my—” “Sure, you can,” she replied with a motherly tone, “Go ahead.” I flipped my phone open with my thumb, putting it on my ear. “Hi, Dam,” I said, only to realize my mistake half a second later. “Careful, Rosalie,” he warned, his voice low. “Sorry, I—” “Where are you?” he asked. I threw a quick glimpse towards the officer and Mrs. Zeinab, who were arguing – apparently—as I spoke, so I lowered my voice to the minimum. “The playground,” I lied, “Next lesson is stand-by.” I hope that was convincing enough. “Where are you?” he repeated, this time with more emphasis. “Dam,” I slipped again, thanking God mentally they weren’t paying attention to me, “I have to go,” I said, “I – I’ll call you later. Bye.” And, with that, my phone was slammed shut, and I was able to make out what they were arguing about. It was insane and clearly risky to go with him, but, after all, what kind of harm could the police impose? Neither Damien nor I were suspects now, apparently, and all they wanted was a simple meeting with said suspect to say if I’d known him before. I had to admit, there was a little part in me that was curious; was it someone we knew? A spy? “Rosalie,” Mrs. Zeinab said gently, “Would you rather call your brother first or should I?” “No, no,” I said, shaking my head furiously, “I’m going to call him.” She grimaced, sighing heavily. “Okay, then, you may be excused now,” she said, “I’ll call the security to let you out. But, please, sweetie, do pass by my office tomorrow morning, okay?” she finished with a small, kind smile, which I returned favorably.

“Okay, Mrs. Zeinab,” I said, standing up and losing my smile as soon as I saw his face again. Should I run now? It suddenly doesn’t seem like a very good idea anymore… I stayed still in my place until he walked out of the office, holding the door for me to join him, his expression still – like a solid statue. Did they teach them that in police colleges? As soon as the door was closed behind us, he put a feather-light hand on my shoulder, just guiding me to the stairs that led outside. We kept marching in silence, the windows, trees and student cars flowing in my peripheral vision as we did, until we reached a black Toyota. I slid in gracefully, watching him do the same on my left. “Now,” he said after he started the engine, “Tell me how you’ve been for the past week.” “Good,” I answered, “I got back to school.” “I can see,” he commented, “But why didn’t your brother do the same?” I looked down at my hands, concentrating, flashing back today’s events… “Oh my God,” I breathed, which caught his attention. He glanced in my direction sharply. “What?” “My bag’s in class,” I whined and he let out a relieved breath. “Call one of your friends later,” he suggested, “Now, where were we?” “Daniel just didn’t feel like school today,” I lied, which was getting too often – I never used to lie, “So he stayed at home, I think.” “Damien, you mean, don’t you?” Blood found its way away from my head, my body frozen. “Excuse me?” I croaked, observing his face. He leaned his head to one side, his eyes on the road. “Your brother’s name is Damien, and you’re Alessandra – Alessandra Nichole to be exact.” My breathing got so heavy I had to close my eyes and concentrate on the process. In and out, in and out. How on earth did he know this? Ever since we came here, we have been extremely careful about that subject – we made sure not to call each other by our real names in front of anyone else but the Major, who was the only one to know about us. Well, he and Mitchell…and them.

Now it made sense; their suspect told them. They must have the right one, then. Who else would know such thing? “You don’t have to worry so much,” he noted, his eyes roaming over my sweaty face, “We’re just good at what we do.” I almost rolled my eyes at the obvious cockiness in his tone, but I held it back, along with the tears that threatened to form. “I need you to listen to me,” he said after a moment of silence, “I’m going to tell you what I do and do not know, and you need to correct me. Everything you say will be recorded, just so you know, and this whole thing is to collect the bits and pieces for the case –nothing more, nothing less—” I cut him off, my voice merely a whisper. “Are we in trouble?” He sighed. “I don’t know about that yet – it all depends on what you say,” he said, “Now, what I do know is your identity, and that you’re both of Greek origins, but, for some reasons, you’re not Greek citizens.” I breathed deeply. “We’re not.” He let out an irritable breath. “I already know that,” he murmured, “Where do you come from?” I zipped my mouth shut for a few seconds, considering the answer. “An island in the middle of the Mediterranean called La Pacifica.” I regretted it one millisecond later. “Mhmm,”—he paused—“Another thing that I know is that you, both, are important in some way – VIP’s, I mean,” he explained, “So important that you have people looking for you everywhere like they were looking for a straw in a haystack.” I wasn’t sure if I should tell him this as well; Damien wasn’t around to tell me if it was okay or not, and I just couldn’t settle my mind. It would be relieving to finally gush out everything I’ve been holding inside me for months even to a stranger that I barely trusted – the only reason I did, just a little, was because of his position—but, again, maybe it wasn’t right to reveal everything just yet. I wasn’t sure. “Who’s looking for us?” He licked his lips. “That would have to wait for a while,” he decided, “You didn’t answer my question – what are you?” I took another deep breath that proved to be utterly relaxing. “You never asked.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Just answer—”

“It would have to wait for later as well,” I decided, surprisingly calm now, my hands and face almost losing the sweat that accumulated on them before. “Okay,” he surrendered, “So where’s your brother today?” I bit the inside of my cheek, considering. “Well,” I said, giving myself time to think. I saw no harm; this whole conversation was turning eerily relaxing to me. “He is—” I was going to say that he was doing some investigations of his own, but I knew that even if the conversation relaxed me, and I was willing to say the complete truth about myself, I was in no position to tell him what Dam was doing; it wasn’t like he was forcing me to do so. And, even if, I didn’t think I would tell him either. “—just wandering around.” “Yeah,” he breathed, “I’ll have to ask him about that, then, eh?” I gave him a sly smile, looking out of the window – everything was so foggy today, and the pouring rain just made it worse. What are you doing now, Dam? “Um, officer?” He glimpsed in my direction, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?” “Can I call him?” He nodded absently, telling me it was okay. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and speed-dialed his number, pressing it to my ear. After a long time of useless ringing, I finally heard a voice, just not the one I was expecting. “The number you have called is not available at the moment; please try again later.” * “I need you to remember,” the officer said, making sure to keep eye-contact as he did, “He can’t hurt you – we just need you to—” “Identify him, I know,” I sighed, “Can’t I wait until Dam’s phone is available again so he can do it with me?” I couldn’t bring myself to go inside the guarded hospital room alone. I didn’t care if two intimidating armed men in the black uniform were standing outside, or that the officer would go in with me – Damien wasn’t there, and his phone was out of service, and this was all beginning to feel weird.

I had my happy time confessing all the secrets I never liked to keep to the officer, but I was not comfortable seeing someone that might be linked, even in the slightest way, to my parents’ murder. He shook his head. “His battery probably died, so you need to be at school at the time he’s expecting you to, which means you have to get this done – and quickly.” “He’s right,” the other officer, Gaber, I remembered, noted. “Because we need to have a little chat before you go back there.” Officer Khaled exchanged a very brief confused look with his partner that I could’ve missed if I blinked. “Fine,” I croaked, which was all he needed to push the white door open. The room was well-lit with the bright white florescent lamps, matching every other piece of furniture in there – the bed, the plastic chairs, everything. But nothing of those mattered to me at the moment; all I needed to do was see the face of the man that suddenly sat up in his bed, covering his face just to catch his breath, his awfully familiar curly, light brown hair dangling between his fingers before he sighed – a sigh so young and so short and so familiar; I felt like I’d known him for so much that I knew that he was going to run that hand through his hair before dropping both of his hands away from his face and looking at me. I was sure it was him, the one person I expected the least, I had to admit. But it was when I caught his dark eyes that I gasped, covering my mouth in the process. His eyes widened the slightest bit before cracking an exhausted smile, laying his head on the fluffy pillow behind him. “Carlo!” I whispered, “Mio Dio, what—how? You’re dead – he said you were dead!” Officer Khaled pushed me inside gently, slamming the door shut and standing, along with the other man somewhere behind me; my eyes were fixed on my dead/alive cousin. Carlo chuckled. “I’m obviously not, so,” he breathed, “Come here, Sandra,” he patted the empty space beside him, over the covers. “What—” Officer Khaled started, only to be shushed by his partner. “This is impossible,” I mumbled, “Impossible.” I remembered the day the Major told us he was killed, the day after he informed us that we became orphans. He was dressed in the same formal black suit, wearing the same mournful face. At first, I thought he was still mourning over our parents, but I

found out that he was certain of the death of Carlo and both his parents, but knew absolutely nothing about the rest of the family, according to him. Damien and Carlo had shared a special connection since they were infants. Carlo was like a second brother to me and was the eldest of the three of us, and the day I lost him was the day I lost my brother, not my cousin. I had to forget all about him, I had to convince myself he was alive somewhere else. But earth wasn’t the place I had in mind. He couldn’t be Carlo Theophilus. “Alessandra, cut the dramatic I’m-going-to-faint face and come over here.” But he was. I dragged my legs forward, towards him. His smile broadened a little more until I stood just beside the bed. “Sit down before you pass out,” he said, slowly, amusingly as he pulled my hand, forcing me to sit beside him. It all seemed surreal. For a second, I forgot about the officers, the hospital and everything else; I expected Damien to walk in on us, and my parents to call us hours later, telling us it was getting too late. I expected him to make fun of me or mention my obsession with the piano. I expected him to tell me to get him something then throw a pillow on my head as I did. For a second, the last eight months never happened. “You know,” he started, “I thought you’d be all grown up and tall when I see you again, but it’s just the same old boring you. I should’ve thought twice before coming here.” “I know, right?” I breathed, a sob escaping my throat as I wiped away a tear I almost didn’t feel roll down my cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. “Stop doing that, Sandra.” “Okay.” He scanned my face once again, taking it all in, never making a sound. I was too busy doing the same with his face myself. He was almost the same, with a skin a shade darker than mine, his dark brown eyes and his evident dimples. It was just the small scar on his forehead that was new. I guessed I stared at it for too long, because his next words were, “I fell on the edge of a table, and I don’t need a fourteen-year-old’s sympathy, you know,” he smiled. “Fifteen,” I corrected, “Last August.”

He shrugged. “So what? You’re still a short spoiled princess.” “I’m not short!” “What—you don’t care if I call you spoiled?” “I really don’t see why I missed your obnoxious self, Carlo,” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest, taking a deep breath that, this time, didn’t stop another sob from breaking free, forcing a couple of tears to do the same. All of this isn’t real; I’m going to wake up now and I’m going to miss every moment of the dream. This is just a dream. It’s just a dream. “Shush,” Carlo murmured, pinching my cheek, “Your eyes are going to be greener.” I had to smile at that. He had convinced me, when I was little, that crying makes eyes green, and that that was why his eyes were dark – like he never cried. I knew that at some point, he did, though. “They’re already green.” “No,” he said, “It’s that freakish shade that no one knows whether it’s blue or green, like Damien,” he noted, “Where is he, by the way? Is he okay?” “He’s fine, I guess,” I whispered, wiping my tears, “His phone is just,”— involuntary breath—“out of service.” He nodded, glancing behind my shoulder. “Now you need to calm down and,” he continued his sentence in Italian, “Don’t tell them just yet about you being a princess, they still think I killed him, you know. Wow, I don’t believe this man’s actually dead.” I nodded in agreement. “So what happened to you? Why are you here?” “Other than looking for you and your brother? This whole changing identity thing was not good for me, you know.” “I meant the hospital,” I clarified, “What—” “It’s just a stupid fight, okay?” he broke eye-contact, glaring at the ceiling, “A stab here and a bruise there – it’s no big deal.” “You’ve always been—” “Alessandra, it’s nothing,” he blurted angrily, “Niente.” I blinked. “Sorry, Carlo.” “So,” an impatient officer Khaled said after a long while of silence from his side, “How do you two know each other?”

Carlo nodded subtly to me, allowing me to answer. “We’re cousins.” “I see,” he said, “Miss Teo-py-los.” “It’s Theo-phi-lus,” Carlo spat, “Call her by her other name if it’s too hard.” I could guess there was a previous…encounter between them. “Well, then Rosalie,” he kept looking at my cousin, “We should get going now.” I took one last glance at Carlo. “I’ll come again, I promise,” I said, “And, next time, I’ll get Damien with me.” “You promise?” I nodded – something I wouldn’t have done if I’d known I’d break it soon.

9 Trouble trickled its way back to his mission so often it was unbearable. He lit another cigar, puffing out the expensive smoke irritably. This was more than just an ordeal. A wise man would retreat soundlessly now, a fool would go on with the steps he had already planned, but only someone absolutely insane would change his plan to make it quicker, but not in any terms easier. If insanity was a crime, he was as guilty as charged. But, to think about it, another crime wouldn’t make such a difference on his portfolio. Damien What’s death? I knew the dictionary defined it as the fact of dying – of ending one’s life. The meaning itself, however, wasn’t describable in simple words, or complex ones for that matter. For some it was the end of a long journey, filled with a hundred million different memories and billions of emotions making their ‘life’ complete, maybe not perfect but complete. For others, it was just the beginning of the real ‘life’, the one that would last forever, the same life they were looking forward to, or afraid of, the whole time they were alive and walking on earth.

I was of the last type of people who had no idea what death would be; I believed in afterlife, and in heaven and hell, but what would it be like? Peaceful? Painful? I had no idea. But I was semi-sure that I wasn’t dead. I could feel the dust under my fingers and shudder whenever a cold breeze hit me, but I didn’t have enough energy to flutter my eyes or cry for help. Everything seemed so heavy, even the air I breathed; it took me much more effort to do something that I didn’t think was ever voluntary. At some moments, I completely forgot where I was, or why I was there. But all I could remember clearly was when this happened. Mitchell got impatient with me, something I shouldn’t have caused, and stabbed me with a needle – and only God knew what was in that needle. Seconds could’ve passed since that, or maybe hours or even days – and months weren’t an unexpected option either. Who knew having a sense of time could affect someone so much? What I could register was that during the time when I wasn't conscious, I was worried. I knew, for sure, that if I wasn’t dead already, and if that wasn’t some kind of a transition phase, then I would die, and very soon. You could call it intuition, but I would call it realistic thinking; I had no mean of self-defense and he could control it all. I couldn’t comprehend, though, why he would leave me hanging, that again, if I wasn’t already in another, alternative world. It was, exactly, like being so, extremely tired. At some point, I thought I heard voices – people talking from a far distance, perhaps a wall was separating us as well, I wasn’t sure. At times, I heard my name slip, others I heard my sister’s and some times it felt like it was home all over again, as if I was just starting to wake up, lying peacefully in my bed and someone was being so inconsiderate, chatting with someone else behind my closed door. Hearing Italian flow in the atmosphere calmed me down, making me feel safe; like a long-awaited glass of water on a hot day. If it had been my brain hallucinating, then I was forever thankful for it. All I heard were bits and pieces though. “…but Damien is—” “He’s fine, trust me. He’s just asleep.” Was I asleep? I wasn’t sure. *

“No, no, don’t move,” Carlo instructed, gripping my arms to stabilize them as I fixed my eyes on the board, trying to mentally calculate the angle, which wasn’t the way he wanted me to shoot. He sighed. “Listen,” he said, releasing my arms, “Be spontaneous, if you think too hard you’ll miss it.” “Whose theory is that?!” “Mine,” he said simply, “And it works every time so just do it. What kind of prince are you?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “So somehow shooting far targets is part of me being a prince?” He slapped his forehead dramatically. “Mamma mia, Damien, you are impossible.” “What do you want me to do?!” I raised my voice a little, provoked, “Just shoot without even—” “Yes!” he said irritably. “Like this?” I straightened my right arm and pulled the trigger without caring where the bullet would settle, my eyes fixed on his face. The next thing we heard was a frightened squeak, followed by my father’s voice. “Damien!” “I didn’t tell you to do it,” Carlo raised his hands in surrender, “I never told you not to look.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You—” “Damien, come here right now!” I flinched, turning to face him as he approached us in our palace’s vast green lands, putting my hands behind my back, clearing my throat, before I marched slowly to him, Carlo being a silent witness the whole time. “What were you thinking?” he asked, looking past my shoulder, which confused me. I dropped my eyes to the ground, ashamed. “I’m extremely sorry—” “Don’t you think this will pass easily!” he raised his tone as he spoke, which was out of ordinary for him; even when he was angry he didn’t raise his voice at me, never in my life did that happen, except once, when I told him I didn’t want to be a king after him. I wondered if I hurt someone in the process.

God. The squeak. I raised my eye level to meet his, seeking answers. “What—” “He’s my only son. Don’t you even understand? How do I know he’s alright?” Son? I was his only son. I glanced behind me quickly to see if he was talking to anyone, but all I saw was green; not even Carlo was there. It made no sense at all. “Father—” When I turned back to face him, he wasn’t there. Instead, everything went black – like night fell in a blink of an eye, without any warning. The sky turned from baby blue to pitch black, the clouds disappeared, leaving only the gentle sparkle of stars to light up the whole place, and the trees wore a darker mask, making the inner spacing between trees a mysterious, almost frightening route. All in less than a second. My heart thundered in my chest, what was going on? Where was I? I shut my eyes in an attempt to figure everything out. Maybe this was all just a dream; maybe I was asleep after all. But it all seemed so real, like I somehow flew back to my home country, pulling time back with me. It took me a couple of seconds before I could decide to reopen my eyes; see where I was for one last time. This was insane. I forced my eyes to flutter open at the same time I heard a door slam. This time, I found myself in a dimly-lit room, but the light was enough for me to make out that I was on a king-sized bed, faced by a navy blue ceiling. I frowned; trying to comprehend what was happening was driving me crazy. Slowly, I depended on my elbows to sit up on the bed, a headache pounding in my head painfully, my eyes catching something move in my peripheral vision, causing my heart to race in surprise. But when I saw him – the one who was moving—I took a deep, relaxed breath. “You scared me,” I whispered, wiping my forehead tiredly before my breath hitched, a lump forming in my throat. I couldn’t move my eyes away from his face, afraid if I blink that he might disappear because this was all just confirming itself. It was a dream – definitely a dream. Only a dream would have something so surreal. Only a dream would make a wish I had in my mind come true. Only a dream would get me there without me being dead. Or was I? Was that afterlife already?

Was this room paradise? Or some form of a transition place? Transition – it sounded too ridiculous, but nothing else would fit. Unless we get back to the dream theory. Yes – a dream, because only a dream would rise the dead. Well, that and a mental illness or being ‘high’ on something, I wasn’t sure. But what I was sure of was that I wasn’t willing to shut my eyes – ever; if I did, he would disappear. Just like he did a couple of seconds ago.

10 Nothing’s going to change. He would achieve what he had always dreamt of achieving, even though circumstances were protesting against him. If one bird had flown away, there was still another persistently standing on the tree – slightly out of reach, but with the right tools and a sharp eye, he would get it done. It was a shame that the card he wanted to stick beside his victim’s body wouldn’t be beside the person it was meant to be beside, but, let’s be serious here; she was more important. If – when she’s gone, the road would be clear. Perfect. Alessandra The pavement beneath me was cold to say the least. I glanced at my watch – 5:08 p.m. – where’s Dam? Why didn’t he come? It’d been two hours since the officer dropped me in front of the school, telling me not to hesitate to call him if I needed anything – anything at all. I didn’t think I’d need him, yet here I was: lonely, bored and worried out of my mind, receiving either sympathetic, curious looks or dirty ones (that I couldn’t locate, actually), frustratingly angry at the lady who kept telling me his phone wasn’t available; I knew it was a recorded message, but still, negative energy had to go out somewhere. For a while, I thought everything would be all right again; Carlo was alive and home was an option. Let me repeat: home. Home. Home. Home. Where are you? Where are you? Damien not showing up was weird – out of place; even if he had something to do, why wouldn’t he pick me up first? Why wouldn’t he find a way to call? Did something happen to him? Did something go wrong? Should I call someone?

No. No, I shouldn’t; by calling someone for help, I was bluntly admitting that Dam wasn’t fine. I had to believe he was. I had to. He’s fine, he’s just late. He has to be. He’s coming now. As if on cue, the silver Mercedes emerged from the corner of the street. I shot up, smiling with relief. He was okay. Oh, thank God. But as soon as it stopped in front of me, my smile faded away. I opened the back door hurriedly, sliding in. Before I could ask the chauffeur, he spoke. “I waited for Mr. Damien where I left him, but he did not show up,” he explained, “I am very sorry for the delay.” “It’s okay,” I croaked, knowing there wasn’t anything else to say, placing my newly-retrieved backpack beside me, my pulse slowing down. Mentally, I prayed I’d find him home – a long, almost impossible shot, but also the only sting I was desperately clinging to. Please, God. Please, please. Can he be okay? Just okay, not necessarily perfect, but only okay. Please? What had I ever done to deserve this? Lost my homeland – check, parents – check. Did Dam have to join that list? What sin had I ever done? Without him, I was alone. Without him, I didn’t have anyone to go to. Without him, I was just another kid who had no idea what to do. He was more than just a brother – he was a parent – a leader. I couldn’t lose him. I had never believed, before, that life itself was unfair; simply because God was fair, and it didn’t match. How come God was fair, but life wasn’t? Was it our blurred, distorted point of views that made us imagine what we were experiencing wasn’t for the best? Or was it God’s way of teaching us the more important lessons behind it? However, when it came to instant thinking, I was ashamed to say that I might have lost that faith. Life, simply, wasn’t fair. Maybe I’d get my fairness at some other time, but right now, at this very moment, it was against me with all its might. The thought of calling the officer – Khaled – crossed my mind, but I saved that last resort for when I went home (and made sure Dam wasn’t, by some miracle, there); that was when I dialed his number. Yes, I knew I was getting myself into even more trouble; more contact with the police meant more involvement in my life which meant they would know the truth. My trust in Carlo’s judgment was the only thing that made this seem like such a bad idea, but abnormal conditions required abnormal reactions; I, even if I went through Dam’s ‘hidden’ papers, wouldn’t be able to do something except maybe get hurt. He answered after the first ring. “Hello?” His speech in English was enough proof to me that he knew who was calling. “I can’t find hi—Damien. He didn’t pick me up and he isn’t home.” I tried my best to

prevent my voice from shaking. A tip for the future: it’s not a very good idea; it just makes things worse. “Oh,” was his clever response. “Your cousin,” he said with so much distaste it was almost visible, “Is out now and on his way to you. I need you to listen to everything I tell you.” “Hm?” “I need you to lock the door, close the windows, draw the curtains and switch off as much lights as possible,” he started, “And do not open the door to anyone except Carlo, even though I prefer you don’t open it to him, either.” If he was standing in front of me, I would’ve glared at him. I didn’t get how they suspected Carlo of being a murderer! It was too ridiculous to even consider believing. What was with those people and suspecting innocents? “’Kay,” I breathed out, trying not to interpret the second meaning behind his instructions. He sighed. “I will get in contact with you soon, Your Majesty.” “It’s Your Royal Highness,” I quickly, automatically corrected; it was one common mistake I dreaded, “When did you know?” “Your cousin also can’t keep his mouth shut.” He was smug, and I could almost feel it radiating in the phone. “Please keep your phone charged and where there’s signal, Your Royal Highness,” he added seriously. “’Kay. I’ll wait for the call, then.” “Okay. Bye.” After I, robotically, may I add, locked myself in my own house, making sure my landline and wireless cell phone were in a condition where they would work efficiently, I grabbed my woolen covers to the living room and sunk deep in the couch, a silver file scratching my elbow slightly as I did. Thoughtlessly, I snatched it, opening it before I even checked if it was titled. Any clue would help very much now. In the file were many papers that I scanned quickly, only to find out that they were merely our previous, official birth certificates and a little piece of paper that I had to dig for. It was blue, or so I thought until I got a better look. It was the exact same paper I found at the hotel, but the only difference was that everywhere but the text was soaked in a blue substance. Chills crept down my spine, but not for the reason it crept before, at the hotel.

Damien believed me. I let the file fall from my hands, grabbing a cushion tight to my chest before I let it all out. My breath was caught in the back of my throat, my eyes itching to water away every memory, every pain, in an attempt to soothe me when no one was there to do so. This time, I let myself cry. I didn’t know whether I was crying for my parents, who faded away faster than cigarette smoke on a windy day, or my friends, whom I didn’t know if I was going to see again – laugh with again – or let go of forever, or my brother, the one person whom I could say mattered the most to me at the moment, the person who probably got himself hurt in an attempt to protect us. Or myself, the one whose world was crashing right before her eyes and she had nothing to do about it. Sobbing, I pulled the covers over myself, cocooning my body with its warmth and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, before flipping the covers away from me quickly, running to my room to grab my music player, pushing the headphones deep in my ear, and then I tucked myself back on the couch. I started playing the one play-list I knew I needed the most at that moment without a second of hesitation. My mother’s favorite classical piano pieces flooding its way to my heart, making me shut my eyes and just recall. I remembered the day she first taught me how to play Happy Birthday on my fourth birthday. Her hand was so much bigger than mine, guiding my fingers over the comparatively huge keys, telling me not to give up. I didn’t. I remembered when she was practically dragging Father to play her the song that they both danced to at their wedding, several years before, and he insisted I would do it for him. I blushed, telling him I wasn’t ready for something that advanced to play, but he told me he believed in my talent, and that five years of playing the piano should give me enough courage to do it. My heart swelled with pride. I remembered the day she was ill. The doctor said it was just an ordinary, seasonal illness, but I was depressed nevertheless. She told me, very seriously, that even if she did die, which was ‘irrational of me to think of then’, then I would have to live my life happily, freely. She told me that whenever I needed her, I didn’t have to see her in front of me; she would always be in my heart – part of it. That was something time proved wrong; it would never be the same.

By that time, the cushion was soaked in my tears, and I was far beyond the point of caring about it any more. I rested my head on it, letting music flow continuously, trying to keep my mind blank. Sleep soon engulfed me. The next thing I felt was the banging I heard on the door. I gasped and shot up in my seat, the headphones falling out of my ears, my heart in overdrive. What? Who? I tripped over the blanket on my way to the door, trying to stretch on my tiptoes enough to see who was behind it, but I needn’t. “ROSALIE!” Carlo’s very aggravated voice almost vibrated its surroundings. I flinched, opening for him, involuntarily stretching my arms after I did, yawning. “Where were you? I’ve been ringing that bell for the past fifteen minutes!” I sighed, trying to keep myself from falling asleep on the spot. My sore eyes felt more comforted closed, “I was asleep. Sorry, Carlo. Come in.” He grimaced, stepping inside and pushing the door behind him gently, taking in my very elegant look, and my perfectly drawn face. He frowned. “Did World War Three break, Sandra?” I shook my head. “Did someone hold a knife to your neck?” I rolled my eyes before I shook my head once more. “Then don’t you let a tear fall out of those pretty little eyes of yours again, okay?” “This isn’t something to joke about, Carlo,” I said bitterly. He flattened my hair, which I was sure looked hideous at that moment, pausing his palm on the top of my head. “That Khaled called me,” he spoke softly, “He told me everything.” I closed my eyes, this time hoping I would fall asleep standing on my feet, like a pony. “And?” “And I really think you should just not worry about anything and go back to sleep at the moment,” he added seriously, unlike him, keeping eye contact, before narrowing his eyes. “When was the last time you ate something at all?” “I think yesterday evening,” I frowned, “Or maybe this morning…” He cursed loudly. “Sandra, I want you in your bed this instant, and don’t you dare sleep before I get you something to eat.”

I was shocked by his behavior; he was ordering me around like I was his daughter not his cousin. I gave him the widest, goofiest smile ever. “What?” I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just—” “What?” he was getting angrier by the second, and I resisted the urge to cry again. “It’s not important,” I breathed, dragging my feet to my room. He had changed. * “Sandra? Sandra?” he tugged on my shoulder smoothly, brushing off my hair from my face as he did. I groaned; waking up was the last thing I wanted to do at the moment. When everything went wrong, all I wanted to do was sleep it off. I knew I wouldn't wake up to find that Damien suddenly reappeared, or that I would be smiling my cheekbones off, yet sleep tasted too delicious to abandon; it was like a drug – it gave the false sense of euphoria, but when you were sober, everything hurt twice as hard. “Carlo, no,” I groaned, refusing to open my eyes, “I want to sleep.” He exhaled irritably. “You can sleep all you want later; right now we need to get moving.” My eyebrows pulled together in confusion as I flipped on my back, cracking my eyes open a tiny bit. “Where are we going?” Was there a place on this planet that deserved waking up for in a middle of a great, dreamless – which made it great—nap? He bit the inside of his cheek before he answered me. “Home. That’s where we’re going.” I still couldn’t see his point. Carlo and his ridiculous, stubborn, wrongly-timed head can be, well, disturbing at times. “And why is that so important right now? Can’t it wait till the morning?” The only word that could describe the look he gave me was ‘funny’. “Alessandra, honey,” he started mockingly, “Look at me, I’m Carlo. You know? Your cousin who came all the way from home to find you?” That was when it clicked; he wasn’t talking about his house. “La Pacifica? We’re going back?” I retorted, “No; this is the last thing I want to do now.”

His mocking look turned to a ‘what-is-she-high-on’ stare, but I couldn’t care less about what he thought about my sanity. I was not going to cross the Egyptian borders. Not without my brother. “Sandra, we have no time for this.” “I really don’t want to go, Carlo.” One of his auburn eyebrows arched, his eyes doing more than a good job at delivering his very disturbingly confused thoughts. Instead of talking to me, he silently sat beside me on the bed, never breaking eye-contact. “Don’t you want to return to your family – your kingdom for heaven’s sake – again? What am I missing here?” I licked my lips, pushing my body upwards to face him better. “No, I do want to go back,” I explained, adding to his confusion, “But I’m not doing it without Dam, how can you not get that?” The side of his mouth pulled up in an attempt of a reassuring grin, I assumed, that miserably failed. “Damien will be back; I won’t dare step on that land without him in front of me.” “If you’re so sure,” I mumbled, “Then why the hurry?” “You have to go first.” “No.” “Technically speaking, yes you do. You’re more important than Damien when it comes to the throne right now.” “What throne? The country isn’t ours anymore, Carlo. What are you talking about?” The boy must have lost the last hopes of his mind; was it even called La Pacifica now? Or was it just part of the Italian territory? His mouth formed a perfect, finally comprehending ‘O’. “No, no, you got it all wrong,” he said, “Nothing like that ever happened. You just need to go back first because, between the absence of your father,”—I flinched—“and the official withdrawal of your brother when he said he didn’t want to rule, you’re the only official royalty left, and it’s my duty to get you back there safely, which isn’t going to happen if you don’t give up your irrational thoughts of actually—” “Carlo,” I stopped him mid-track, “Enough with the babbling! I’m not going back without Damien and that’s it, whether you like it or not.” He stared at me with dark wide eyes, his lips apart in shock, I thought. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, “But you have to listen to me: although not sending you

there would save me a lot of time that could be used to search for Damien, I can’t leave you staying here. We’re two, Alessandra, and I’m the only one I can trust to keep you as safe as possible, and I can’t take you with me – you don’t know what it’s like, Sandra; they’re monsters, they don’t care if you’re a little girl or that you’re someone they already know, if they felt like it would serve them best, they’d shoot you in a heartbeat. I’m much older than you, and I can pretty much protect myself, and Damien can, too, but you can’t, and you have to understand that. “Ever since this whole ordeal began and everyone’s life has been in jeopardy; everyone has to have eyes in their backs at every minute. You know what that feels like to be surrounded by danger the whole time: the fear, the what-if’s –everything. One minute you’re relaxed, the other minute you feel like half of you is dead already, and sometimes you just want to end this whole thing, but this isn’t the way life goes – not ours anyway. “And as if it isn’t hard enough to deal with the losses, you have to deal with the guilt and the mistakes, too. At some point, you crack, but then you regain yourself once again just for a higher purpose,” he paused, taking a deep breath. I didn’t think he was talking about me anymore. “After everything I’ve said,” he smiled faintly, “And the scar on my face, I think you should know by now that all I care about is to accomplish my mission. Alessandra Nichole, there is no way in hell you’re not coming back with me. I won’t allow it.” “Can I at least have one last request, then?” He hesitated before he nodded slowly, eying me suspiciously. “I want to see Salma and Deema,” I stated, “And I’m not allowing you on my island without your…” I thought about it, stretching my lips into a small smile, “target, Mr. Theophilus. Is that understood?”

11 Kids and their thoughts these days. He blamed the media for making them think they could reach the blue skies with a click of a button. This spoiled generation had to see how the older ones learned to get to their dreams the hard way. They had to go through the mud, the humiliation, the loss, the fear, the oppression – they had to live a phase when love wasn’t the theme, when you could lose your everything in a blink of an eye.

Stupid, stupid media. Damien “If he’s here, then why can’t I see him?” Mitchell shook his head, his eyes fixed to the ground. He’d been like that since he walked on me. How much I loathed being where I was, still in that villa, was indescribable. But what I had witnessed a couple of hours ago, when I was having this chaotic dream, drove the last bits of my mind to the land of no return. Nothing had changed about the way he looked, not his pitch black hair or his emerald green eyes that still held seas of worries. He was looking at me expectantly when I woke up, but stayed silent the whole time. If I didn’t know him, I would’ve said his eyes were sparkling with hints of tears, but I was certain that someone who held this courage and patience in his heart would never cry, even if the whole world united against him. A man with Damien Theopilus’ soul would never shed a tear. He was a king, for heaven’s sake! In a situation similar to this one, someone in my position would’ve said that their childhood memories flashed before their eyes when they spotted their father after months of suffering the consequences of living away from him. Yet when it came to my situation, all I could say was that everything solid that I had built my life on was crushed into fine powder. I had lived for a long period of time trying to get myself, and my sibling, to cope with our new lifestyle without Damien Sr. or Cascadia Theopilus. I had lived thinking that I was one of the reasons they got killed, that I failed them and my sister for leaving so instantly. I’d lived a lie. Silence saturated the atmosphere around us, choking me pleasantly. After I made sure that I was one-hundred percent awake and sober, I stared emptily at his face. In return, he never moved his lips – he never explained, he never apologized, nothing at all. I intended on asking him, on talking to him after a long time of silence – longer than the time we sat in that room across each other—but words were stuck before they reached my vocal cords. I didn’t give a damn about his excuse, I didn’t even think why, if he was alive, he left us alone, alienated in a foreign country for all these months. I stopped at the fact that he was actually outside his grave. And I couldn’t help but wonder about the what-if. It was something I’d spent days trying to solve, but never could; every time my mind lingered around that idea, I ended up giving it up because there wasn’t, and would never be, a science that woke up the dead. A bit after one’s heart stopped beating, and it was all gone – he would go

somewhere where no mortal could reach him while still on earth. But, somehow, he’d been right in front of me, within arm’s reach. What if that never happened? If that never happened, then we wouldn’t have had to sneak out of our own kingdom, throwing our dignity and royal ego in the nearest trash can for the sake of our safety. If that never happened, then I would still have a brother, a brother that was never the child of my parents – my non-biological brother of a cousin, Carlo. The one I owed so much, but never had the chance to repay. Why? Because someone decided his life should end, while that person never had the right to make a decision regarding something as sacred as a human soul to start with. If that never happened, then I wouldn’t have to observe my own flesh and blood wilt like a leaf in the fall just because she was too attached to her own parents – just because she was practicing her right as a child. It was her right to live in stability. Something she had long lost. She never complained, she never spoke about it bluntly – and that was the worst of it. She would stay silent, expressionless for hours. For about five months, eating was a task I had to force upon her, and I detested myself for every second I had to be harsh with someone who never even deserved it. If that never happened, then I would have been able to see my mother’s beautiful face every morning, wishing me luck before I did anything. If that never happened, then I would have been able to live somewhere where I could rightfully call home. But, now, home was mine and Sandra’s apartment, and we were each other’s only family. Why did all that have to happen now? Couldn’t we enjoy the luxury of stability for one straight year? What was my fault? Oh, dear God, what had I ever done? Take what I said back, if I couldn’t change what happened before, then I fervently hoped that he would never come back. We were stable the way we were, and we would stay like that without his interference – which would make our lives much more complicated. No, I wanted him back. And I needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

* Pierce Soterios De Luca Special Royal Forces I couldn’t trust my eyes when read on the little card Mitchell Anderson had given me, telling me that it would explain some of what was happening to me. At first, I thought this was just another forged document, but the royal print was something I had learned to recognize from a mile away, and I hadn’t heard of any successful attempts of forging something of that sort. “Your Royal Highness,” he started, “You must understand. I am extremely sorry for the inconvenience I’ve caused earlier today. However, that was the only way I could make you stay until His Majesty’s arrival. Please do accept my apologies, Your Royal Highness.” I’d nearly forgotten how formalities could give you such a headache. “I see,” was all I could get out of my lips, “Where is he now, then?” His hard expression never changed. “His Majesty, himself, despite our worries, has gone to take care of the problem that Your Royal Highness has apparently caused with the Egyptian police. May I ask what that was?” I frowned; the only encounter between me and the police here was during that investigation about the Major’s death, and, as far as my knowledge went, my sister and I had nothing to do with the crime itself except for the fact that he was our ‘uncle’. There wasn’t a problem caused, I thought. “I have no idea,” I admitted, shrugging, “What did he say?” “There was an officer who recognized His Majesty’s name at the airport.” “Wait, wait – are you saying they know who we are?” “I’m afraid they do,” he said, a hint of accusation in his tone, “Fortunately, and unfortunately.” “Why is that?” “Well,” he commenced, “Fortunately because that means you and Princess Alessandra can go back as soon as possible without any problems, and without having to go out undercover.” That confused me further, but I didn’t want to interrupt him. “—And unfortunately because of the reason they know you – the person you were connected with.”

My frown deepened. “Who?” “His Majesty’s nephew.” Carlo? “Carlo?” He nodded. “And –and,” I stuttered, my hand faintly shivering, “W-Why is it unfortunate?” Will that meteor shower stop banging my head? A sprinkle of dust triggered my nostrils, making me cough uncomfortably, missing the moment his face hardened considerably, his mouth set in a straight, hard line. “I’m afraid this is something I cannot tell you.” My eyebrows lifted. “I need to know,” I said, my voice suggestive. His eyes diverted to the corner of the room before he replied, restoring eye-contact, pressing his hands together. “He’s a traitor.” “A traitor?” I repeated incredulously, standing up, “How do you expect me to believe that, officer?” He remained seated, his head low. “What he did – what happened,” –he inhaled sharply, standing up, his eyes never meeting mine –“I am extremely sorry, Your Royal Highness, but Her Majesty passed away six months ago.” My heart twinged at the memory, yet I failed to interpret his words; what did Mother’s death have to do with Carlo? “I’m aware,” I admitted, much to his surprise, “But what does that have to do with my cousin?” “He,”—he paused, adding to my anticipation—“He murdered her.” I covered my face with both my hands, breathing heavily, slowly. “There must be some kind of a mistake—” “There isn’t,” he stated sharply, his tone low. “He admitted doing it a few weeks ago.” It was like telling me earth was squared, but worse; I was a million percent positive he couldn’t do such a thing even if he had the method and the chance – he was incapable of hurting anyone, let alone his aunt. Yes, he was skilled when it came to weapons – the way he could shoot down the tiniest bird in a flock without breaking a sweat was truly impressive.

But what would make him want to murder his aunt –my mother—so much that he would give up every moral he was taught? What could make someone like him do something like that? It didn’t matter; nothing about that really mattered now, because all I was able to see was red; I had waited to know who did this, and now that I did, regardless of who did it, all I wanted to do was send his soul where he sent his victim’s, very slowly, and very painfully. Every childhood memory with him, every flash of happiness or friendship even and every single bond between us proved to be exceedingly volatile, disappearing in thin air at the hint of betrayal. I needed to hear him beg for mercy, I needed to feel him struggle miserably –if my older brother lit a fire in all his ethics and relationships, then I should do the same. I still couldn’t fully comprehend it though, how could he? “Where is he?” I asked through clenched teeth, dropping my hands. “That,” he said, “I don’t know for sure, but he’s definitely within the Egyptian borders.” That just limited options to a million square kilometers – how convenient. The same million square kilometers Sandra was alone in. I dug my hands in my pockets, sliding out my cell phone, dialing her number immediately, noticing the clock. 09.50? She must be really worried by now. How did she even get back from school? Why didn’t she call me? The officer – or even Father – would’ve answered her… I pressed the phone to my ear, waiting for it to ring, but it didn’t. I glanced at the phone again to find my explanation: no signal. I walked out of the room silently, striding towards the blurry window at the end of the corridor, until it finally caught a signal and the line connected. She picked it up after two rings. “Daniel?” I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’s me,” –Why was she calling me Daniel now?—“Where are you? Are you okay?” “Um…I’m at home with Deema,” she answered, grumbling, “Are you okay? What happened?” “I’ll tell you later, but right now I want to meet you – why is she with you?”

One thing worse than my sister alone was my sister with one of her friends; I really did admire them, but I couldn’t trust them to act responsibly when alone. “Daniel, can you come home now?” “I don’t know,” I admitted, “But I have to get you, so I guess I have to.” “Get me?” she retorted, “Don’t tell me we’re going back – I don’t want to!” “What are you talking about?” “I’m not,”—she paused—“Wait a second. Deema, excuse me,” I heard shuffling and humming before she continued, “I’m not going back home if you know what I mean,” she mumbled into the phone. “What? Who gave you that idea?” What does she know? She huffed into the speaker. “Carlo said we’re flying to La Pacifica in a couple of hours, but I figured – why go back there? Did you know it’s never been part of Italy?” Nothing after ‘Carlo’ made its way to the processing part of my brain. “He’s with you?” “Carlo? Yeah. He came at six, I think. I saw him this morning – I have a lot to tell you, by the way.” “Answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Can you get out of there?” Silence. “Yes.” “With Deema?” “Yes.” “Great. I’ll meet you in front of the gate in five minutes, and make sure he doesn’t know you’re out. Where exactly is he?” “Your room,” she whispered, “Door’s closed. But why?” “Do you, or don’t you trust me, Sandra?” She heaved a deep sigh. “Five minutes. Don’t be late.” “I won’t. Take great care.” “I will, I will.”

I wished.

12 She’s out. He removed his .22 pistol from its silk-lined box and slipped it in his side holster, eager to trace his finger on its trigger—or even better: pull it—tonight. He felt like a hard-working student on the last day of his exams, excited to finally flip his last answer booklet over so he could taste his freedom. Tonight, if everything went as planned, he would taste the first sip of his success and freedom cocktail, and he couldn’t wait to do it. Alessandra It was as if someone relieved me from a thousand tons on my chest the second I saw Damien’s name flash on my mobile’s screen. Those hours that passed without him felt like weeks, and I couldn’t wait to see him again. It mystified me that he insisted I would stay away from Carlo as much as I could; he didn’t say it directly, but it was pretty obvious. What puzzled me even further was how he was aware of Carlo’s presence, alive and here, in Egypt. Where was he all that time? Loud, rapid tunes buzzed out of Deema’s phone, snapping me out of my reverie. She sighed, smiling before she stood up, fixing her green pullover. “Mom’s here,” she said, walking over to me, pulling me into a hug, “I’m gonna miss you!” “Me too,” I told her, now knowing I mightn’t be leaving, but it was what I had to tell her. It was a shame I couldn’t say goodbye to Hanna, Salma and everyone else in person, but both girls couldn’t go out on a school night; only Deema could since her mother had to do some shopping anyway, so spending an hour with me wasn’t difficult. We called the girls, and opened a live webcam with them, but it would never be the same as in person. I wished I could see them tease each other, laugh together and argue over the stupidest things ever mentioned one last, live time.

Internally, I promised myself I would never cut contact with those people – the best friends I had and would ever have. No one had a heart as pure as Deema’s, or a spirit as cheerful as Salma’s, or even a passion for all what’s new –and shiny—as Hanna’s. No one had a group of friends as awesome as mine. “I’ll come as soon as I can,” I promised, “I’ll even write to you – and you have my e-mail.” She broke the hug to raise an eyebrow at me. “The one you still don’t know how to check?” We’d just created it for the live conversation. I laughed. “Yep; that one.” “Okay,” she pulled her lips into a sweet grin, turning to snatch her handbag, “Keep in touch!” she yelled as she sprang towards the door. I followed her, making sure the door closed behind the two of us. “What—?” I hushed her, pushing her towards the elevator, pressing the silver button twice, as if it would come faster if I did. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. “Where do you think you’re going?” she whisper-yelled, the elevator’s silver door opening as she did. I stepped inside and pulled her with me, pressing the zero button. “I’ll meet Dam downstairs in a few,” I explained, exhaling with relief, my heart pounding loudly, guiltily. “Then why the sneaking?” I crossed my arms over my chest, pouting and staring at the floor. I wished I could tell her everything right now, but I knew this wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do. Sure, I would tell her later, when I’d offer her an official visit to my castle in La Pacifica. I could just imagine the look on her face – shocked and horrified with me, the one whom she told everything about her but only got lies, and more lies in return. She would hate me. She tapped my shoulder angrily. “Rosalie!” she whined, “What is it?” I tried to trap the tears forming inside my eyes as I spoke, but my voice came out hoarse anyway. “It’s nothing,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper so it wouldn’t croak, “I’m just messing with my cousin.” I was still gazing at the ground when the door slid open. “You are one heck of a very terrible liar, Rosie.” Was I?

I kept my identity, my real secrets and everything about my past a lie for about two months, and became a professional at it. I was disgusted with everything I hid, every moment I had to be dishonest with them, but I couldn’t be any more truthful. But even this wasn’t a good enough excuse for being the worst friend ever. The door started to close automatically again when none of us moved out of the elevator. Reflexively, I put my hand I front of it, the ‘laser-slash-infrared-slashsomething-that-keeps-the-door-open’ stopping it from going any farther and we both stepped out. “Deema, look,” I said, never daring to look at her face, “I’m sorry, okay? Just – don’t hate me.” “I’d never hate you, Idiot. I was just curious – and worried,” she explained and her phone released another ring tone, which made her groan. “Fine, Mom!” she mumbled before she told me, “Take care, hon. Love you!” “Love you, too,” I breathed, walking on her running trail until I made my way outside the building only to be washed in rain, making me hug myself protectively even though I knew I would get soaked either way, watching the car that picked Deema up drive away. I breathed in the cold air, musky and fresh for a second before I felt something tug my side. I froze. Whoever was tugging me was doing so with something solid – something I wouldn’t like to know what it was, honestly – and was using it to push me forward. My heart was leaping inside my chest, my limbs shivering, petrified. I didn’t even have enough courage to speak – to ask who that was all the way to the alley that we turned to. Where are you, Damien? I tried pulling myself together and screaming, hoping that some passerby would spot us and scare him (whoever he was) off, but the order from my brain never made it to my vocal cords when I needed it the most. He chuckled satisfyingly at my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck, intriguing both my gag and mortification reflexes. He ran a gloved hand through my dripping hair, patting me slightly before he twirled me, pinning me in front of him to the wall, the wetness and iciness of the tiles sending goosebumps through my body. The shadow covering us both and the haziness both the rain and my swirling head caused made it almost impossible for me to make out the features of his face. “Perfetto,” he mouthed, “Stay here.” Him? But how—?

I was perplexed beyond repair, and I just couldn’t believe my ears. How was that even possible? He took two steps back, his dark blue eyes fixed on mine, the upper half of his black-clothed figure covered in shadow, and his right hand caressing a shiny, coal black gun. “Just as I imagined it. Your face is absolutely priceless, Your Highness,” he smiled, taking a final step back, “This would have to do.” “But why?” I breathed, “You were—” He smirked. “Loyal? Faithful?” he suggested, “If you were going to survive any longer, I would’ve told you that you still have a lot more to learn about the world, little Princess,”—he stretched his arm, his pistol glistening as rain poured down —“This would’ve been much easier a few months ago,” he murmured. My breath was shortening more and more by the millisecond. “What do you want?” I wanted to snap, but ended up sounding like a whining, pleading cat. Why does he want me dead? I thought the Major’s eyes flickered with sympathy so fast I would’ve missed it if I blinked. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he elaborated, “If everything had gone right from the very beginning none of that was going to happen. “This should’ve been simple – you’re out of the country, there’re no King or Queen, then the army would’ve taken over, and that’s it – effortless, plain. “But that cousin of yours had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Couldn’t he just stay silent? If I wasn’t here I would’ve finished him like I told you he was finished a very long time ago – that traitor,” he purred, musing, “He had to come – he had to make a fuss and get everyone here.” I snapped my eyes shut, unnoticed tears rolling down my cheekbones, surprising myself by sobbing silently. Usually, before I went anywhere or did anything, I heard a certain feeling about it. I couldn’t describe it simply, but whenever a future plan was mentioned, I was able to feel if it was going to happen or not. Right now, though, I had a neutral sense about the whole thing, probably because I had no idea what death was; the idea of ending my life permanently, even though I strongly believed in it, was unimaginable. I thought it could be a relief – that I would be able to experience a life, an afterlife, sans the pain and loss. But now that everything was turning better, I wanted to run away with the remains of my soul; I wanted to crawl back to what was left from my family and homeland – my past. I wanted to live.

Click. Here it was –the beginning of the end. Shuffle. And I had no other options. Step. I took a deep, cold breath, mentally telling my brother how sorry I was, and how much I would miss him. Hope you get to survive, Dam. Shot. Everything went black. * Warmness enclosed me sweetly, sending jolts of satisfaction through my whole being, words that my ear longed to hear echoing around me, ensuring the safety I could feel. “Figlia mia…” Like a drug given to an addict who was deprived for ages, I absorbed every syllable of my father’s gentle, loving words, wishing I’d been dead months ago. If I’d known I could hear his voice again, feel his warmth again, I would’ve committed suicide long before Marcello Ricci shot me. It was as easy as breathing; I couldn’t feel a glimpse of any pain. Finally, I needn’t worry about issues I knew were probably worrying people who were alive right now; things like others’ death or the drama of this complicated, greedy world – I couldn’t care less; I knew that, someday, they would join me as well. Everyone knew it; everyone knew for sure that lives did come to an end at an unpredictable point. They knew that, decades from now, their greediness wouldn’t be helpful – nothing in this temporary universe would matter anymore – not the money, not the power, nothing at all. Now, for some reason, everything seemed effortless, like nothing mattered. I suddenly felt like a little kid once more, with nothing to worry about. It wasn’t quite how I’d expected death to be as I was certain that afterlife would be something extraordinary – indefinable by me; I wasn’t sure if I was going to heaven either. I fidgeted nervously, only to be restrained by a force on my left arm, pulling me closer to the warmness, knocking the breath out of me. “Shush…” my father’s voice cooed, echoing.

I wanted to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I could feel as if my eyes wouldn’t move so I put more effort into it, until, finally, I could see his face. His eyes met mine, filling me with so much emotion – intriguing every sense in me. This was definitely heaven, and the mortal suffering time was long dead, just like I was. “Are you alright?” he asked after a blissful moment of silence. I sighed happily, pulling the edges of my lips into a smile, enjoying the taste of my new life already, until another voice interrupted us. “Did she wake up?” Damien asked, making me jump to my feet, my pulse racing as I stared at my father sitting on my bed. Before anyone could say anything – rationalize anything – I closed my eyes, trying to put simple thoughts together. I wasn’t dead after all. And so wasn’t my father. He was alive. But he couldn’t be. He couldn’t be there; he couldn’t be where I was, because I wasn’t dead, right? I wasn’t dead. Dead people didn’t go back to their rooms when they died. I reopened my eyes slowly, hesitantly, only peeking. He was still there, standing up – moving. I could barely register my body shake, my breaths getting shallower; I was alive, and I couldn’t feel any physical pain even though I was shot, and my dead father stood right in front of me, but I wasn’t dead – I was almost sure. But I couldn’t be sure of anything any more, could I?

13 “Most of the change we think we see in life is due to truths being in and out of favor.” – Robert Frost. Damien Shivering, she shut her eyes. I stepped in front of her, holding her arms, keeping her still. “Sandra, sweetie. It’s okay. It’s okay,” I soothed, “Calm down.”

She shook her head, her breaths becoming more rapid and her body unbalanced. “No, no, no.” I grimaced, taking her outside her room to mine, where I told her to sit on my bed. She did quickly, her eyes still shut, small tears managing to escape, making me wince. “I think we should take her to a hospital, now,” Carlo suggested, making me ball one hand into a tight fist. “Stay out of it,” I uttered, getting on my knees in front of her, trying to snap her out of that. “Father is just—” “He’s dead,” she whispered, opening her glassy, aquamarine eyes, “This isn’t true.” “I think—” “Shut up!” I yelled, turning to him, hearing Sandra’s breaths become faster, shallower. He shook his head, turning around. “She’s getting into shock. I’m calling the ambulance.” I stood up, following him. “Carlo, I swear if you don’t—” “Stop it!” Father interrupted, “Damien, go to your sister. Carlo, call the ambulance already – she really does look like she’s getting into shock.” I gritted my teeth, marching back to Alessandra only to find her curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking herself back and forth repeatedly, murmuring lowly. Just like she used to. “Damien,” she whined, “He’s not alive, right?” It was bitterly ironic how she used to convince herself he wasn’t dead a few months back, and now she was trying to convince herself he was. My heart ached for her, knowing what would follow. She would lose it once again, returning to point zero. I wanted to punch someone. Deliberately, I took a seat beside her on my bed, hugging her close. “Sandra?” “Hm?” “Didn’t you want to see him again?”

She sobbed harder, tears racing their ways down her cheeks, on her pants. I ran my hand through her hair gently, noticing how her shivering increased, her lips losing color. I was wrong; this was worse than the last time. * “I would never hurt her, Damien,” Carlo grumbled, “Let me in.” I raised my eyebrows at him, clutching my hand to the door knob of Sandra’s green hospital room. “No.” “If I wanted to, I would’ve just let him shoot her today – or I could’ve just finished her while she was sleeping.” Finished her? My fist connected with his jaw in a blink of an eye, my mind not even processing the action. He took one step back, narrowing his eyes at me. “I can understand why you’re acting like that, but I have my limits,” he warned, “Now let me in; I just want to check on her, dammit!” “How can I even trust you around her?” He ran his hand through his curls, cursing. “You have no idea how hard this is for me – you know I’m not a murderer!” Sure, you’re not, I thought sarcastically, you just killed two people. “Blame me for not wanting my sister to end up like my mother,” I uttered, crossing my arms over my chest. His lips parted slightly, his eyes growing larger. “You know? How do you know?” “Does it matter now?” “No, no,” he shook his head, “Listen, Damien, I’m sorry – I know my excuses won’t make you feel any better—” “Try me.” Even though I was sure I could never forgive someone who had done something this brutal to the dearest woman to my heart, I knew deep down that I wanted to know why Carlo would ever commit a crime – and not any crime; it wasn’t only a treason, but it was also the most atrocious act he could’ve ever thought of. This person, until this morning, was my brother.

“Will you sit down, then?” he suggested, gesturing at the two white armchairs positioned opposite to each other, centered in the tiny waiting room that separated Sandra’s room from the corridor, giving her less noise and us privacy. We both sat down, looking at our feet instead of each others faces. “I was never willing to do it,” he said, “But I couldn’t help it; I came across some information in the middle of my training – you know how I’ve always wanted to join the Special Forces – and this information included gigantic amounts of money being supplied to Ricci’s accounts anonymously –from Swiss, England, Italy and Egypt under different names. It was obvious this was all forged, but the money was still in his accounts. “I began digging around him, and I told Pierce De Luca, who called me crazy, when I suspected this whole ‘Italy-is-going-to-invade-us’ play and told him nothing of that sort would come from the country we had the tightest relationships with, but he didn’t believe me, and neither did the King. “Nobody kept their mouths shut, and soon enough Ricci knew I knew more about him than anyone, so he cornered me and asked me what I thought about the invasion. I got furious and told him that I knew everything about his plans, while I actually knew so little, so he threatened me – he told me how the King told him to take you abroad himself in a few hours, and how he had people in La Pacifica as well who would kill me and my parents if I exposed him, and didn’t do what he would tell me. “I knew he could; I told him I would do whatever he wanted from me. He told me my first mission was to shut up, then he would tell me what to do. After you took off, I tried re-convincing the King, but he wouldn’t believe me. Ricci, then, got in touch with me and told me to kill him. “I couldn’t do it, at all, but I couldn’t tell him, afraid he might do as he threatened. I told him I would, but he had to give me a month to do it, which wasn’t okay with him; the next day, I found my parents dead, with a note that said that I had to do what I was told to, or else he would continue what he promised. “I could protect myself pretty well, but you, two, were under his mercy, and I would’ve been a fool if I believed, for a second, that he wouldn’t shoot you whenever he wanted. I got a handy gun from one of the soldiers, knowing that the Forces would suspect that and stop me before anything went out of hand. But that soldier didn’t tell them or the King, he made me follow him to the castle an hour after I took the gun – I thought he told them and they were going to ask me why I took it without official permission, but it turns out that the King wasn’t there, and the Queen was drugged and tied up. “He told me that he got orders from Ricci saying that she had to go first. I couldn’t believe it, so I tried to shoot him, but he was too fast – he hid behind her. That’s how I shot the Queen, Damien. I swear to God I didn’t mean to.”

I couldn’t get the picture out of my head; my mother, tied tightly to a chair, unconscious, her features peaceful, her wavy, mahogany hair flowing on her face and shoulders, covered in her own blood. “…I know you won’t forgive me, and I don’t blame you for it. But, please, Dam: you know she’s like a sister to me, I need to see her.” I wanted to answer him, but my lips begged to differ. I was rock-still, staring at my shoes, unable to work it out. You would expect me to get used to the banging of the Surprise Meteors, as I decided to call them, but, instead, every time one of them banged my head, it got a little through, until I was sure the next one would finally crack my skull. I replayed the events of the last twenty-four hours, putting bits and pieces together. They matched together – yes – yet they made no sense at all when I tried to match them with the past months. My head was swirling, but one thought was unchangeable; I wished I was the one who’d spilt the devil’s blood. A couple of hours ago, when I was supposed to pick Sandra up, some police officer had stopped me, asking for the rented car’s license and mine. Being on such a rush, I hadn’t thought of asking De Luca for the necessary papers, so it’d taken me some time to get through him and to the building. When I hadn’t found her waiting, I’d gotten out of the car, getting soaked in the rain, calling out her name like a maniac, and dialing her number uselessly at the same time, until I heard an ear-piercing shot, making me almost tear up with its implication. I’d skidded on the slippery sidewalk to the source of the sound, only to find my cousin, panting heavily, his hand frozen with his gun pointed out in the air, two bodies thrown on the ground, a crimson pool surrounding them both. My breath had hitched as my eyes absorbed the scene. The first body had been of a man with dark blond hair that was uncommon here, wearing a black outfit, and the other had been of the innocent little girl, with a face at least five shades paler than usual, and a trembling body that made my heart slow pace just a tad. Sandra was alive. All the other events after that flashed, getting me here, on a chair, in a hospital, with my sister bamboozled by the wacky turn that seemed to be a trend everything and everyone were following. Coming up with a good decision was way past my abilities now, it felt like whatever I did, or no matter how much I knew, I could never be sure that I got the whole picture.

“Fine, but I’ll come with you,” I agreed, taking the risk. His face lightened, breaking into a little less than a half-smile; just a twitch of one corner of his lips. “Grazie, Damien,” he thanked, his voice merely a whisper. I huffed some of the weight on my chest off, not knowing what to expect anymore. When it came to expectations, I’d learned my lesson, the hard way, and decided to wave the white flag once and for all. As some of its pressure was lifted off me, the air conditioner made itself more noticeable, bringing me to yawn with tiredness; after all, it was about three in the morning. “C’mon,” I grunted, dragging my feet to Sandra’s room, pushing her door open, Carlo soon following. Despite the dark beige color theme of the room, and the regulated temperature, it felt cold. Sandra was curled up in her bed, her hands pulling the covers tight around her, her mouth set in a hard, disturbed, line, sleeping. Right next to her bed lay the food tray, untouched; even the covering wasn’t moved an inch. I knew Father was outside the whole suite, avoiding the unlikely chance that she would wake up, see him again and go back to where it started; her doctor said that she needed to relax, and that she should spend the night at the hospital, just in case, and if she woke up physically healthy, she could get out, even though recovery would be far from that, I knew. The doctor, Muhammad, told Father and I that she would need to face the source of the shock that sent her to that state of mind. My father gave me a worrisome glance then, sharing the reluctance I felt towards the doctor’s suggestion, making us both delay this to the next morning, when she was bound to see him again. Carlo pulled a chair towards her bed, the screech cutting my trance short, taking off his jacket and placing it over her, making her immediately relax. I watched, leaning on the doorframe resignedly, as he gazed into her sleeping face, automatically jumping when he stroked her hair but stopping myself, saying that it was okay, that he wouldn’t hurt her. But if he tried, my gun was still in its holster. * I twitched stiffly in my seat, forcing myself to wake up as the annoying, bright rays of sunlight kept tugging on my eyelids until I gave in. It took me a second to realize where I was – in Sandra’s room, at the hospital. Yawning, I watched my sister as she played with her covers, Carlo’s jacket lying carelessly on the edge of the bed. She turned her head to me, her lips quivering. “D-Dam,” she called, her voice vibrating.

Without a flicker of hesitation, I rushed to her side, sitting on the same chair Carlo was sitting on last night. “What, sweetie? What is it?” She looked at her hands, her hair flowing on both sides of her face, hiding it from my view. “I still,”—she inhaled sharply—“don’t get it,” she whined. I pushed her hair aside, tugging it behind her ear. “What don’t you get?” Her eyes met mine, wider than usual. “I heard the shot, Dam,” she croaked, her brows lifting, “I thought I was dead.” I closed my eyes, pulling her close, a hand running through her hair soothingly. “But you’re alive,” I said, “Ringrazia Dio.” “You don’t get it,” she shook her head, “I’m – I was,”—she paused, wrapping her arms around me—“I liked it.” She liked the thought? Did she want to die now? Was that what she wanted? “You – what?” “I heard his voice,” she told me, “I saw Father’s face – it was so vivid, like he really was just inches from me.” “What if I told you,” I offered, “That you could see him again, huh? What do you think of that?” “Damien, I’m not a little kid,” she objected, “What are you going to do, really? Show me the pictures you hide in your drawer?” “No,” I stretched the word, “He’s right here. What you saw – it was real.” She snickered. “Dam, stop it.” “No, Sandra,” I insisted, “There’s no getting past this time; you have to listen to me —” “Stop it,” she kept repeating. “—I know how much this surprised you but—” “Stop!” she pled louder, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “—this is inevitable.” Her silent tears got through the fabric of my sweatshirt, each like a dagger where it landed, but she had to deal with reality. Unfortunately, though. “Per favore, Damien,” she mumbled, “Can you—can you leave me alone for a while?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. She nodded. “Okay, then.” She unwrapped her arms, pulling her pillow on her lap, resting her head on it. Before I could move, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I picked it up, not bothering to check who was calling that early; it was about 9 a.m., and if I knew Egyptians well, they had their own timings, and calling that early wasn’t the ‘normal’ thing to do. “Hello?” I said, standing up and walking out of the room, closing the door behind me. “Hey,” Mark greeted, “Where are you, man? We haven’t seen you in ages!” “Here and there,” I replied, “How’s school?” “Fine,” he said, “Is it true, what I heard? You, guys, are moving away?” Did Sandra tell someone? Deema, yesterday, maybe? “Yeah,” I confirmed, “It’s all sudden, we have to go.” “Just like that? We’re never going to see you two?” I never missed his plurals. “We have to,” I repeated. “Well, when?” “I don’t know,” I admitted, “Tomorrow? In a couple of days? It’s not set yet.” Hope you haven’t told them something else, Sandra. “O-k-a-y,” he dragged the word, “Where will you be today after school?” I sighed. There wasn’t a way out of this. “Look, the thing is, well,”—I paused, pondering—“My sister’s at the hospital now, so I don’t think—” “What happened to Rosie?” I brought this on myself. “Her blood pressure dropped last night, and she wasn’t breathing so well, so we called the ambulance, and here we are.” Simple and truthful. “Whoa,” he breathed, “Is she any better now?” “Yeah,” I reassured, “She needs to do some check-ups before getting out, though.” “Sure, sure,” he said, his tone low, “Hope she gets well soon – tell her I said hi.” I rolled my eyes. “Will do.”

“I’ll call you after school, then,” he decided, “Bye.” “Bye.” I slid the phone in the back pocket of my denim pants silently, noticing my father walk in. “How is she?” “Better, I think,” I mused, “I don’t know, really.” He grimaced. “When are we going to do it?” “Now, if you’d like – just give me some time to talk to her first,” I said, “Is that okay?” He nodded, and I pushed her door open once again. She was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. “Alessandra?” “Yeah?” she croaked from her position, not moving an inch. I sunk in the same, beige chair, resting my elbows on her bed. “You can’t avoid it forever, you know.” She smiled unexpectedly. “It did work the first time, didn’t it?” “But this time there’s no way around it, sweetie. We’re going back.” Fidgeting in her seat, she whispered, “Is he here?” to which I simply nodded. “Come,” she moved to her right, patting the empty spot next to her. “I will,” I promised, “I’ll just go get him first.” Father was more than delighted to see her again, but, as I was, he was reluctant. Once he stepped into the room, her aquamarine eyes were fixed on him. Two seconds later, he moved and sat down, on the tiny sofa opposite to the bed. I sat down beside her, and she grabbed my hand in hers, squeezing. After some time, Father broke the silence, the tension almost as evident as humidity in the atmosphere. “I missed you.” Her lips parted slightly, her voice never finding a way out of them. I leaned closer to her ear. “It’s okay,” I cooed, “He’s real – you know that.” He leaned his forearm on his legs. “What can I say?” he said, “I can’t be sorry enough, Sandra. What I did is inexcusable; look at you.” She squeezed my hand more, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re no longer the little girl I remember,” he lowered his tone, “The little girl that used to follow me around like a shadow and trip on her own dress,” he licked his lips, “You’re a different one.”

“H-How so?” she stuttered, her squeezes getting painful. “I don’t know,” he said, “But I know that if I could rewind the past year, I would gladly do. Everything that happened will always be my fault, and I will always be terribly sorry for it.” “Eight months,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “I had to live eight months thinking you were dead,” she continued using the same tone, taking us both by surprise, “I had to live eight months mourning when you were alive!” “Those eight months were spent searching for you,” he defended, “Your new names didn’t match the ones we thought you were covered under – you left us without a trace,” he added, “It was just recently – a couple of weeks ago—that we found out you were in Alexandria, and only a couple of days ago that we knew your names here. Not for a second that I stopped searching for you!” Silence. “Sandra, you ought to know that I love you,” he stressed, “You both need to know that,” he corrected, “And I would do anything – anything at all – to prove it to you.” I was out of words; I couldn’t tell him I’d completely forgiven him for what happened, yet there was a part in me that believed his words – the same part that longed to switch back to our old life again. She let go of my hand, crawling her way off the bed, just standing in front of him. He kept the eye connection between them open, waiting for her to do what she felt like doing. Hesitantly, she kneeled in front of him, taking both his hands in hers. “I love you, too, Father,” she mumbled, “Just,”—before she could continue, he had lifted her up and pulled her into a tight hug—“Don’t leave me again.”

Epilogue The spiky grass in the open field of La Pacifica’s Great Castle riffled under Her Royal Highness’ feet as she stepped out of the window of her dressing room. She glanced around her nervously to make sure nobody spotted her and forced her back to getting ready for the ‘welcome back’ ceremony. “Where was it? Where was it?” Her little hand twitched on the chiffon of her pitch black gown – the gown she should’ve worn ever since she heard of her parents’ death. To someone who had seen Rosalie, she would have looked odd with her hair raised in a high, elegant bun, framed by her sparkling tiara – like the Alessandra she was.

Once she remembered where her destination was, she sprung towards it, and pulled a rose as she did, knowing someone would soon report her missing, but she couldn’t care less.

The familiarity of the formal suit Damien wore was comforting, to say the least. He smiled contently, marching slowly to his sister’s dressing room. Although he thought it was ridiculous how she refused to let any of her assistants in that day, everyone made sure every wish of hers was granted after direct strict orders from the King himself, supported by the Prince. Despite all the choking tension that never faded from the atmosphere, home just tasted better than anywhere else – it gave him a sense of familiarity that he had missed deeply. Besides, who would hate having a prosperous life? Who would hate waking up every morning on a fluffy, soft bed by the twitter of birds and the aroma of fresh bakery? Who would hate being somewhere he could rightfully call home? As he walked, he savored the murmuring tunes of Beethoven’s masterpiece, clicking his fingers as he did. Relaxing. Isn’t that Sandra’s ring tone? Why isn’t she answering? Inside the room, on the pile of silks, taffetas and chiffons, lied Sandra’s black mobile phone, the name of the person that ached to hear her voice again flashing on the screen. Mark

QUEEN CASCADIA THEOPHILUS 4.12.2010 Hot, boiling tears rolled down her marble cold cheeks as she read her mother’s tombstone over and over, her memories of her more vivid than ever. Gently, she sat down on the muddy grass, her dress getting its own share in the process, and got out the pen and papers she had been holding from the very beginning, leaning on the grass for support. Mother, It has been a very long time since I’ve heard your voice, or felt one of your loving embraces warm my insides. I miss you.

Those last nine months had their ups and downs, and I wish I can find enough paper in the world to tell you all about them, starting from day 1 until this very day. Her eyes watered, one straying tear rolling down her cheek to the paper she was writing on, blurring some words. It’s the 5th of November today, and, as you can see, I’m back in our castle. They’re holding a ceremony for us this evening –but it feels weird to imagine not having you walk behind me down the stairs to the main hall, so I decided to give you a quick visit before they find me. Father will be mad, but I guess I don’t care now. He is trying to make it up to me and Dam, you know? He wants to erase the last months from our memories, but I don’t know if it’s possible. I know he’s here; I see him every day –but some wounds are just too deep to heal. I know: he didn’t mean to leave us all this time, but I also know he could’ve done something to prevent a lot of horrible things that happened to us. I still remember staring down at the barrel of the gun that might have sent my soul to God. Can you imagine that? Luckily, though, Carlo saved me. She winced. I love Father, though. I really do. I love him as much as a daughter can love her father, as much as the seas, the open oceans, the skies, the green lands, and everything in between. I still feel safe in his arms or when I just hear his voice. It’s overwhelming, really – maybe even addictive, and if rehab is what I need for that, then rehab is somewhere I’m glad I’m never giving a glance. And he still has that determination and faithfulness in his eyes. I can trust him, I can believe him, but I just can’t forget. Believe me, Momma, if I could totally forget, I would’ve. But again I wouldn’t want to forget my new life in Egypt. I’ve got to admit, it’s not the cleanest or quietest country –on contrary to La Pacifica –yet the people I have met are impossible to forget. One corner of her mouth curled up in a lopsided smile. They’re all so similar and so different at the same time. Their beautiful russet complexions contrasted with their pure, white hearts but matched their delightful spirits, filled with so much generosity and helpfulness that it triggered my regret to have to walk away from them forever.

Until this very moment, they don’t know who I really am. Maybe some day I will unmask my true identity to them; I know I have to tell them sooner or later, and I honestly prefer the ‘later’ option. There are Salma, Deema, Hanna, Mark, Hussein, and the list could go on forever. The closest ones to me are the first three, though. I promise that, some day, I’ll tell you all about them. Every second of this trip had its pros and cons, and those, especially, taught me several things. I even wrote a bit about that; these days, I spend too much time alone in my room; I don’t stand the concept of having someone remind me of what has been and what will be. The door lock is an invention some unrecognized genius has created, and I use it all the time now. So I came down to the idea of scribbling some thoughts to myself, maybe it’ll help relief the pressure. You know, Momma, life is far too complicated for people seeking quietness and safety. People are no longer what they show, no matter how much you think they’re true to themselves. Well, I’m running out of papers right now, and I hear someone calling my name. See you, Momma. Rosie The little girl heaved a vibrant sigh as she folded the piece of paper, burying it next to the tombstone. She was not delusional; she never was – she knew her mother could not read her letter now – yet it felt like she was speaking to her, reciting what her mother had missed of her life; she was sure that as much as she missed her lovely voice or tender touch, she did as well. With trembling hands, she untangled her tiara from her hair, staring at it, the calling voices merely a background. Her eyes hopped back and forth between her mother’s name and her tiara. A part of her told her to let it go – to bury it along with the note she’d written. Another part begged her to put it back on – to take the one thread left from who she had been and embrace it, to cherish the honor her family had awarded her with. Before she could make up her mind, she felt two cold arms wrap themselves around her shoulder, freezing lips pecking the top of her head. “You gave us a scare,” Damien panted, “What—?” He observed her muddy appearance, humming understandingly. Non-hesitant for a moment, he took the tiara from her hand, using his handkerchief to clean it spotless,

putting it back on her hair. He leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear, “It’s who you are, sweetie.” She closed her eyes, her lashes meeting her cheekbones, mentally disagreeing with him – never having the courage or will power to say it verbally. Instead, the Princess turned around and buried her face in her brother’s chest, silent. ## About the author Mariam is a 17-year-old editor, translator, student and above all – just a teen. She lives in Alexandria, Egypt, writes articles for school magazines and has been working in a publishing house for a couple of years now. Rosie is her debut novel.

Official website – http://www.mariam-maarouf.info Blog – http://www.mariamaarouf.blogspot.com Twitter – @mariamaarouf