Alister
A light sound of humming makes me open my eyes, pulling me out of my sleep.
Nora, my sister, stands a few feet away. Her back turned, pouring a glass of water on the coffee table. She's humming softly. I blink once. Then twice. There's a knife in my hand. Pointed at her.
What...?
I drop it like it burns. The blade clatters against the hardwood with a loud, jarring ring. Nora turns around, confused, her big eyes blinking up at me. "What are you doing?"
I stagger back and stumble onto the floor. The room spins as my chest heaves, heart racing.
What's happening? Why am I here? What was I doing? It's like I've stepped into a moment that doesn't belong to me.
This is my old living room—our family home. The same scratched floors, the same crooked curtain rod and the same smell of orchids. The clock on the wall is old but still ticking. As if counting the moments missing from my memory.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I remember arguing with Clara and she stormed off. I remember the papers on the ground. I think I was picking them up.
Then... nothing. Just black.
Nora's eyes flick down to the knife, then back up to me. "What were you doing with that?" she asks, quiet now. Hesitant. "And... why do you look so pale?"
I know that knife. One of mine. Why was it in my hand?
I tear my eyes away from it and look at her. "Nora. What happened? What am I doing here?"
She squints, tilting her head the way she used to when I'd lie to her about monsters under my bed to get her out of my room. "Are...you on drugs?" she asks, lips twisting into a frown.
Right. That would be the easy answer. I press a hand to my temple, trying to find clarity. I suddenly feel a sharp sting. Wincing, I pull my fingers away. They come back smeared with blood.
There's a shallow cut at the side of my forehead. But that's not what freezes me. It's my hands. They're covered in claw marks.
Thin, angry gashes running over my limbs. Like I fought something. Or someone. My pulse roars in my ears as I slowly start to connect the dots.
"No..." I whisper. I lurch forward and grip Nora's shoulders—not hard, but sudden enough that she flinches. "How long?" I demand. "Nora, how long have I been here?"
She stiffens, eyes wide. "I-I don't know," she stammers. "Just a few minutes? You came in and said nothing. Just stared at me with a bleeding hand. I was just getting you some water, and—"
I turn away, pulling out my phone. I open the tracker app and my eyes scan for Lev's signal—my breath catching the moment it appears. Why is it still there? At the same location where I blacked out.
My grip tightens around the phone. "Where are Mom and Dad?"
She looks up uneasily. "They went shopping."
I stare at her, then slowly get to my feet. "Don't open the door for anyone while you're alone. Not even for me."
"But… you're not a stranger." She asks worriedly.
"When people do drugs," I say carefully, "they can become strangers. They don't know what they're doing. Don't know where they are. They might not even recognize their own family."
That lands. Her face tightens, and she shrinks a little, nodding.
"Lock the door behind me." I quickly move to head out, but her hand darts out and grabs my arm.
"Wait, You're injured."
"I don't have time—" I try to shake her off, but she won't let go.
"Alister!" She clings tighter, looking like she's on the verge of tears, like always.
I click my tongue before reaching over, clutching the back of her collar, and lifting her gently off me. I set her down on the couch and move towards the first aid kit on the table.
"I'll take these, and that's it." I grab a handful of bandages and ointments. After I abruptly leave the house before she can stop me again, I try to think. Piece together the scattered fragments of logic and time.
So this is what's happening now?
The worst-case scenario has occurred—and I have no idea how to handle it. My body isn't my own anymore.
"It's a shame you woke up too soon."
Her voice slithers through the cracks of my mind like smoke. My teeth grinds as a spike of rage boils in my chest.
"I wanted you to wake up to a beautiful surprise. A painting of red, created by your own hands… using your own sister."
"Where's Lev?" I ask without looking at her. All I get is a muffled laugh. One that seems to echo between my temples.
"What about Clara?" I demand. She doesn't respond. The silence she leaves me with is heavier than any answer. I quickly pull out my phone and call her.
It rings twice, but she doesn't pick up. I check the time as I make it to my car.
8:16 PM. It was nearly 7:40 when I blacked out. I remember that much. That's roughly the time it would take to get here, to my childhood home. Clara's home is far. It would have taken half an hour or even more than that, depending on the traffic conditions at this time. I didn't go to her. I didn't go anywhere else except my house.
Yanking open the door, I throw myself behind the wheel. The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the driveway so fast the tires screech. The speedometer climbs with every second, the world outside smearing into streaks of color. I swerve and drift around cars, threading gaps I should not be able to fit through.
If I get pulled over, I'll be delayed. If I slow down, I'll be too late.
I wince as I rub the alcohol swabs over the claw marks and stick bandaids over them. I don't like how quiet the car feels.
The brass cage in the backseat sits wide open. Its latch dangles like a limp tongue. A half-eaten pack of cereal lies next to it. But it's the feathers that twist something inside me. They are littered across the floor mat in messy tufts.
"I told you not to shed in the damn car." I mutter through clenched teeth.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to organize my thoughts, trying to think about what Leora's control over me now means. How it could throttle everything I've planned. How she could hijack every next move and turn it into a massacre. What countermeasures I need. How to isolate me from the others before I lose control again.
But it's all static. Because the only thing on my mind is getting there. Getting to that place.
I reach the area where the tracker pointed. The place where I blacked out. I slam the door shut, practically launching myself out of the car, feet pounding pavement as I run.
I skid to a halt as I spot the scene.
Dead crows, littering the ground like fallen ash. Blood pooled around their limp forms while their feathers clumped and slashes covered their entire bodies. The smell is foul. Flies buzz over them, and a few stray cats tear into the carcasses with gleaming eyes.
When they spot me, they hiss, snatch up the dead birds in their teeth, and scatter into the shadows.
I zoom in on the tracker. It's close. Just a few feet away—inside a green trashcan near the wall.
Without hesitation, I rush over and kick the whole thing down. Garbage spills out in wet plops—soggy paper, broken glass, old fruit and wrappers.
I drop to my knees and start digging, not bothering with gloves or rolling up my sleeves.
I already know what I'll find. There's no need to rush. No need to get worked up about it. But I do. Because deep down, I'm still clingling to a useless hope that I'm wrong.
I finally find what I was looking for.
Lev's feathered body is curled awkwardly beneath a torn garbage bag, limbs bent at odd angles. His vacant eyes are wide open, staring blankly at the sky—or at nothing at all. His head is twisted too far to one side, neck limp like it's given up holding him together.
And worst of all, his choker is gone.
In its place, a deep, dark mark rings his neck like a lifelong burn that was only just torn free. A scar of ownership. Proof it had never come off. Not once.
I scoop him up, and his head lolls to the side like a broken doll.
"Where's the choker?" I ask, gritting the words out.
Leora is silent for a moment. Then she replies, unconcerned. "I think it got lost in the scuffle. But it tore, so it's useless."
I sit down with him, leaning back against the wall, the rot hanging thick in the air.
He's been nothing but trouble since day one. Always mouthing off and getting under my skin. Acting like a hostage with rights, like he had some kind of say in how things went. Incompetent, dramatic, reckless—more hassle than help.
And yet—
I glance down at his slack face.
He's quiet now. Too quiet.
My eyes move to the tracking device still strapped to his broken leg—just a cracked piece of plastic now.
I tear it off and throw it down the alley.
I look toward the spot where I fell unconscious—and there it is. Something broken, glinting under the alley light. The controller.
I stare at it for a second, registering the truth. So I did manage to break it.
Even as I felt myself slipping, there was this strange sensation. Like being forcibly pushed underwater. It was a split-second instinct. But it was enough. Enough to tell me something was off. That I had to act.
I'd hoped that with the controller gone, Lev would have made a run for it. Put some distance between us. Fled. But maybe he was afraid of the fake bomb inside him. That if he misbehaves, I'll blow him up. Still, he did put up a fight with his crows.
"He kept begging you in his last breath."
Leora's voice slices through the air. I don't look up—but I feel her presence before I see it. Then she materializes, trench coat swaying, white hair ghost-pale in the dimness. Her crimson eyes gleam as she looks down at me, hands in her pockets.
"You like that, don't you?" she continues, almost curious. "People begging you for their lives. To be let go. Apologizing over and over."
I don't answer. My hold tightens around Lev's broken body.
"I figured it'd be hard to kill him after you broke the controller. But the fool didn't even leave your side. Not even when you were out cold." She lets out a soft laugh.
I glare down at him.
You were stupid. Right to the end. Every moment you were around, I had to be on high alert—waiting for birds to peck my eyes out or for claws to tear my throat. You had chances. So many. I accounted for all of them. Every escape plan, every betrayal. But you didn't try hard enough. And stayed. Like an idiot.
"He was never allowed to speak unless spoken to when he was with his previous master." Leora starts, a smirk pulling at her lips as she surveys the carnage. "According to my friend, that woman let others do whatever they wanted to him. For a price."
I don't look at her. Don't speak. I close my eyes instead and try to hold onto a single thought, a clear one, one that doesn't spiral. But it's hard. Her voice just keeps bleeding in.
"I suppose… that explains why he didn't see you as a—"
"Leora…" I cut her off. "Shut up. The more you keep talking, the more I want to throw it all away and hand myself over to those people."
She frowns.
I meet her eyes with a sharp glare. "You said I was getting softer, didn't you? Then maybe I'd get too emotional and do something reckless."
She scoffs like it's amusing. Then disappears with a hiss of wind and a parting whisper. "One hour."
I don't know how long I stayed there. Time dulled into a thick haze, and I didn't care enough to fight it. I should've left. Found a place to think. To plan.
But here I was, wasting time with a dead bird in my hands. As if any minute now it'll wake up and say something ridiculous as usual. Finish that leftover cereal he left in my car, shed more feathers. Cling to Clara again, insisting the three of us hang out like friends.
I reach into my pocket and try calling her again. She still doesn't answer.
Suddenly, my vision flickers.
Not again. This must be her way of striking back. My breath catches as the hallucination drags me under.
It's another memory.
I'm small. Helpless. Held down by a boy twice my size, his knee digging into my chest. I can't move. My panicked cries falling on deaf ears.
Up ahead, two more boys laugh as they bring their wooden sticks down over and over again on a bulging rice sack. Each strike is met with a muffled, gut-wrenching sound. Something inside moves and squirms. I scream for them to stop, but they don't. The sack jerks, and red spots begin to bloom through the fabric.
Eventually, they get bored and leave. Just like that.
I crawl forward, hands shaking as I tear open the sack. The cat inside is barely alive. Bloody and broken. Wet, bubbling breath coming in short gasps. One of its eyes is swollen shut. I knew the vet's clinic was too far and it won't make it.
I snap the rubber band hard on my wrist once and close my eyes, trying to shut it out.
But the sound still comes. The sound of the bone snapping the moment I twisted its neck, putting it out of its misery.
I tug the rubber band again, twice this time.
The world shudders—and finally, I'm back to reality.
My heart's thundering, and my fingers twitch around the rubber band, but I don't snap it again.
There's no use pretending the past didn't happen. No use pretending this doesn't feel the same.