[tw: gore, blood]

THE NEXT DAY, Oren took us to see the Red Will.
And you wouldn't have guessed it.

The Hawthornes ditched us.

"Arlene, Avery." Alisa met Oren, Ave, and me in the firm's lobby. The place was modern: minimalist and full of chrome. The building looked big enough to host a hundred lawyers, but I didn't see another soul as Alisa walked past a receptionist and security guard to an elevator bank.

I let the conversation play idly around me as we went to see the will. 

On the third floor, we passed through another security checkpoint, and then, finally, Alisa led me to a corner office. The room was furnished but otherwise empty, with one exception. Sitting in the middle of a heavy mahogany desk was the will. By the time I saw it, Oren had taken up position outside the door. Alisa made no move to follow me when I approached the desk. As I got closer, the type jumped out at me.

Red.

"My father was instructed to keep this copy here and show it to you two—or the boys—if one of you came looking," Alisa said.

Ave looked back at her. "Instructed," she repeated. "By Tobias Hawthorne?"

"Naturally."

"Did you tell Nash?" I asked.

A cool mask settled over her face. "I don't tell Nash anything anymore." She gave me her most austere look. "If that's all, I'll leave you to it."

I turned at Avery and lifted my shoulders into a shrug, "She left us to it. Wanna get to work?"

Ave nodded and got to work we did. The red paper slid across the page as smooth as a puck on ice. The words flickering away and back the same. I noticed how Tobias gave practically nothing to his daughter. Same for Oren, the Laughlins, and the old hag.

And then we got to the good part.

To my grandsons, Nash Westbrook Hawthorne, Grayson Davenport Hawthorne, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne, and Alexander Blackwood Hawthorne...

As Ave ran the film over the page, the words disappeared—but not all of them.
Four remained:
Westbrook.
Davenport.
Winchester.
Blackwood.

And I was back in my body the first time I heard the will. That ache in my head, the ringing in my ears, and the buzzing in my body. The fact that I knew that these names meant something. 
Now to figure out what that something was.

As the film skimmed over Ave and my name, the words disappeared. There was no secret cookie for us, it would seem.
Bummer.

"Alrighty," I stood up straight and stretched my arms over my head, still trying to turn a blind eye to the hammering in it, "You gon' text your new Watson?" I grinned at my dear Ave.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed a smile, "No one can replace the Detective's Doctor and you know it." I chuckled at that and kept in a comment when she did exactly what I told her. I was about to follow Avery out but then my eye caught something.

The red film was on my name. On the later 'I' of Amira.
And I could see it.

I carefully slid the film ahead. Nothing, nothing, nothing—then the 'S' of Grambs. Nothing forward again. So I started moving it backward and I got an 'A'. Then when I hit Arlene, the letters showed:
'E'

'E'
'L'
'R'
'A'

"Ave," I fixed my eyes on the letters, swiping the film across Avery's name as well, just to be sure. Nothing, "Ya might wanna see this."

I could practically see the tornado of thoughts in her head when Ave finished reading, "They spell 'Realise' and an extra 'A'. A realization. Or maybe 'A Release'. An extra 'I."

"Or maybe," I blinked, "See a liar?"

"See a liar," Avery echoed back in a whisper. Her eyes ran across the red will and again, "See a liar. Who's a liar? Do you think Tobias Hawthorne is trying to tell us someone here is lying?"

I gently backed away from the will, as if it was a bomb just waiting for the wrong step and—boom, "But wouldn't that be too obvious?" I glanced at Avery, "Why leave such an open direction after such elaborate clues and riddles?"

This wasn't Hawthorne style.

It felt more apparent, impatient, and hurried. 
Like a restless child wanting to get the prize.

Standing there wouldn't do us any better.
I took Ave's hand in mine and made our way towards Oren. The walk was like any other walk. Legs moving, mind zoning out, and a psycho receptionist trying to choke me dead.

Wait... What?

I didn't even realize I had been forced down on the floor. What's with people pinning me around everywhere? The woman's eyes were no longer as bored and professional as before, oh no, they were frantic. 

Excited.

I could hear Avery's muffled screams and Oren trying to yank the woman off. But she was a lot stronger than she looked. My hands grabbed onto something and gripped hard. A weird moist feeling enveloped my fingers.
Yet they were completely still and firm. As if I wasn't being choked on the ground right now.

As if I was used to this.

"Remember," the woman's voice was brimming with a weird sense of anticipation and thrill, "Remember! See who you are." She screamed as Oren held her back, and yet there was a big, manic grin on her face.

And red trickled down her neck.

And red covered my hands.
Blood covered my hands.

I honestly started to question if Oren was protecting me from the crazy receptionist or the crazy receptionist from me. The gashes and torn flesh, red and wet, seared into my mind. But then it didn't. 

Because there were many flashes like these already there.

"Remember," screamed the woman a final time as Oren's men dragged her away. "Realize, Bambola Mortale!"

Had it been seconds? Minutes? Hours or years? When did we reach the car? When did Oren start having an argument with Alisa? When did Avery start yelling?

When did my neck start burning?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know nor remember what I said, thought, or felt. All I remember before the darkness engulfed me into a cold and melancholy embrace, was wiping Ave's wet cheeks with my calloused hands.

"Va tutto bene."

·······•✦•······

I was no one. I was everyone.

I was a little girl holding a gun.

There was something in front of me. It made a funny noise. Beg, it did. It begged for something I didn't possess.

Mercy.

I was one. I was two.

The blood was red and the blood was true.

I was covered with it and yet none of it I could call mine. 

That something in front of me was as big as a man. 
That something was a someone.

That someone was a man.

There was a man in front of me and there were men all around me.

None of them got the luxury of death.

None of them killed.

All of them who waited for it desperately.

Was I a little girl? Or was she a little girl?
Was I the one with the golden eyes and crooked smile? Or was I the monster who watched the scene and said not a word.

Not a word as the world turned black and a shrill scream echoed in the air.

A proud laugh. And a single sentence softly shared.

"Caccia, mia Bambola Mortale."

·······•✦•······

I have no idea how I managed to convince Avery and Oren that I was fine and didn't need an entire checkup and slash or clinic visit. I guess I impress even myself sometimes.

I did, however, need some much-required shut-eye. I chose to skip breakfast, even if my pit of a stomach grumbled unhappily. After that little episode, I doubt my appetite would want to come back from its luxury vacation to hell.

"Whoa there, kids. Where's the fire?"
I was back at the Hawthorne House, heading towards my bedroom, when he stopped me in my tracks. Nash. Cowboy.

"In the pits of the abode of death and the dead," I yawned, gently fixing my collar, and covering the red prints. 

"Avery and Arlene just came from reading a special copy of the will," Alisa said behind me. So much for her not telling her ex anything anymore. Well, at least she was wise enough not to run her mouth about the freak incident in the firm.

"A special copy of the will." Nash slid his gaze to me and then Ave. "Would I be correct in assuming this has something to do with the gobbledygook in my letter from the old man?"

"Your letter," Ave repeated.

"Don't worry," Nash drawled. "I'm sitting this one out. I told you, I don't want the money."

"The money is not at stake here," Alisa said firmly. "The will—"

"—is ironclad," Nash finished for her. "I believe I've heard that a time or two."

Alisa's eyes narrowed. "You never were very good at listening."

"Listen doesn't always mean agree, Lee-Lee." Nash's use of the nickname—his amiable smile and equally amiable tone—sucked every ounce of oxygen out of the room.

"I should go." Alisa turned, whip-fast, to me. "If you need anything—"

"Call," I finished, wondering how to conjure up a rocket to bring back Ave's eyebrows from the moon. Maybe NASA could help.

"You gonna tell me where you're headed in such a hurry?" Nash asked me again, once she was gone.

"Jameson asked me to meet him in the solarium," replied Avery.

I simply stifled another sleepy action and answered in one simple word, "Bed."

Nash hummed and decided to talk about giving eight-year-olds stock worth ten k, some games, their birthdays, and some shit. I was too tired to actually pay attention. What can I say, being suffocated by a maniac is exhausting especially if your head feels like being abused by a megalomaniac goat with a sledgehammer.

But what I did manage to catch was Nash's final words to Ave before she went towards the Solarium. For those who don't know what a solarium is, just imagine a fancy room with glass for walls. No privacy and certainly a very good tanning machine. 

Nash turned to me, making it his personal obligation to walk with me even if I didn't ask him to, "And what about you, Leena?" His tone was calm and curious, "What are you, the glass ballerina or the knife?"

"If I had to think about it," I looked ahead as my legs moved me, "Ave would be a glass ballerina. Gentle, beautiful, and gorgeous. Yet break her and trust me, it'll leave a nasty mark."

Nash's eyes narrowed, "Well, ain't that nice. But I was asking about Leena, not Avery."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," he opened the door and didn't bother stepping in. Arms folded around his chest, he leaned against the frame with his head tilted, "What are you Arlene Amira Grambs?"

The questions till now were who. Now it became what.

I took a moment before answering. A few images skimmed across my mind.
Red from her neck. Red on my hands.
I was a little girl holding a gun.

"Me?" I smiled. Bambola Mortale. 

"I would be a pretty, delicate dolly."

·······•✦•······

[ 𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 ]

Avery couldn't believe she had to do this. Just for some stupid answers.
Curse her Sherlock-ass mind for being so desperate that she had to stoop to this level.

"Look lady," She tried her best not to catch reveals behind the curtains of bubbles clinging onto the mother of Hawthornes, "I'm not giving you anything, I'm not doing anything with your sons, I'm not Abigail and if you have nothing to tell me or answer Jameson's question, I'm not wasting my time anymore."

Avery turned to leave but Skye's voice caught her. "You waltzed into my suite with my shirtless, grieving son by your side. A mother has concerns, and Jameson is special. Brilliant, the way my father was. The way Toby was."

"Your brother," Avery said, and suddenly, she had no interest in leaving this room. "What happened to him?" Alisa had given her the gist but very few details.

"My father ruined Toby." Skye addressed her answer to the rim of her champagne glass. "Spoiled him. He was always meant to be the heir, you know. And once he was gone... well, it was Zara and me." Her expression darkened, but then she smiled. "And then..."

"You had the boys," Ave filled in. Avery wondered, then, if she'd had them because Toby was gone.

"Do you know why Jameson was Daddy's favorite when, by all rights, it should have been perfect, dutiful Grayson?" Skye asked. "It wasn't because my Jamie is brilliant or beautiful or charismatic. It was because Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry. He's looking for something. He's been looking for it since the day he was born."

"He found her once," She downed the rest of the champagne in one gulp. "But when he lost her, oh gods," she giggled as if this was a drama show she was gossiping about, "that hunger? It turned into starvation. Grayson is everything Toby wasn't, and Jameson is just like him."

"There's no one like Jameson." In no way had Ave meant to utter those words out loud.

"You see?" Skye gave Avery a knowing look—the same one Alisa had given me her first day at Hawthorne House. "You're already his." Skye closed her eyes and laid back in the tub. "We used to lose him when he was little, you know. For hours, occasionally for a day. We'd look away for a second, and he'd disappear into the walls. And every time we found him, I'd pick him up and cuddle him tight and know, to the depths of my soul, that all he wanted was to get lost
again." She opened her eyes. 

And suddenly, there was a hint of something in them. Something Avery couldn't put a finger on. It seeped into Skye's voice as well, "That. And the fact that I'd always find him running back to her first. Then to the woman," a shadow loomed over the sky around her irises, "oh how he would stick to those two. How they all would. Even Daddy loved them before anything." Sly let out a bitter scoff, "And then on that night when all hell broke loose... when they lost her. And it started all over again. Trying to get lost and never be found."

Lost? Lost as in dead? Was this Emily or...
Sarina.
But who was the woman?
What happened that night when all hell broke loose?

"That's all you are." Skye stood up and grabbed a robe. Avery averted her eyes as she put it on. "Just another way to get lost. That's what she was, too."

She. "Emily?" She said out loud.

"She was a beautiful girl," Skye mused, "but she could have been ugly, and they would have loved her just the same. There was just something about her. And the funny thing was, they tried. Tried again and again and again. But they never could love Emily like Rina."

Skye looked out the window with glossed eyes, "Something about Rina that no other girl on the planet could have. She was a little tornado of thrill, joy, and love. And yet she was the most honest, daring, and considerate of them all." The woman looked straight into Avery's eyes, boring into her soul, "Emily was nothing but a shadow. A sliver and a murky reflection of Sarina. And my boys were desperate for anything. Desperate for her."
Bingo. Avery pushed away the knot in her chest when she heard Skye tell so much about Sarina. Desperate for her. Instead, she focused on the fact that she was talking about Sarina. So Sarina did exist and by the constant usage of 'lost' and past tense.

Ave believed that Sarina didn't exactly exist anymore. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
"You," Skye Hawthorne stated emphatically, "are no Emily. And your sister," there it was again, that subtle threatening tone. The Hawthorne tone, "Tell her something for me, will you?" she smiled sweetly.

"You do not turn into the same person," her smile dropped, "Just because you share the same name."

·······•✦•······