Jae Ham
"Res, let's drink." These are the first three words I uttered upon arriving at my best friend's one-person apartment on late Sunday evening.
His green eyes watch my face cautiously. "Dude, is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I reply easily, leveling him with a taut smile. "Can't a guy visit his best friend to have some fun times?"
"With a big stash of alcohol?" he counters, looking doubtful as he runs his eyes over the plastic bag I'm carrying over my shoulder.
"It's beer and booze," I fire back scathingly as I push my way into his apartment.
"Still alcoholic," he mutters while closing the door behind him.
Penelope Day
Arrow is visiting his grandparents and he won't be back until tomorrow night so I have the apartment all to myself.
Standing under the shower head, I twist open the knob and feel the warm water cascade on my bare back.
For several years, I've lived alone. Ever since I was a child, all I could rely on was myself. Though surrounded by maids, chefs, and butlers, it did nothing to fill the large void inside my now icy heart.
In school, most of the students, even the teachers, indirectly treated me like an outcast because of my parents' occupations.
Weirdo was one of their nicknames for me. Freak was another. No one wanted to be my friend. I was always the last one chosen during gym class. The very few kids who bothered to speak to me was only because I was the top student and was the best bet to drag their grades up.
At lunch, I ate alone, sometimes in the bathroom, when all the tables were full and no one would offer me a seat. Whenever I got home, I ate dinner, finished my homework, and went to sleep with tears rolling over the sides of my pillow.
It didn't matter that I was one of the prettiest girls in school. No. My luscious ginger hair, oval-shaped face, slim figure, and feminine features did nothing to improve my social or love life, because at the end of the day, if that person wasn't for you, then why continue the relationship?
But then I met Jae and Res, leading me to meet Core, Chess, Cole, Knox, Cleo, Flair, and Arrow, nine people I never thought would remain friends with me for the long term.
As for Sage Heart..
DING DONG DING DONG
"Just a moment!" I call out. I close the shower, wrap a towel around my body, and carefully dry myself off before snatching my clothes from the hook nearby. After putting on a shirt and shorts, I drape the smaller towel around my neck as I march towards the door.
DING DONG DING DONG
Somewhat exasperated, I pull open the door without peering into the peephole.
Standing in the doorway are man and woman in their late forties. Both have short ginger hair, long black coats, and their lips are set in tight seams as their eyes gaze at me warmly.
I have a bad feeling about this. For one, their grins are insincere, and two, why would they bother to visit their only child after ignoring me forever?
"Let's cut straight to the chase, Penelope," says Nell Day crisply, her dark eyes pinned on mine. "Where is she?"
I scowl at my mother. "I don't know who you're referring to," I retort in a flat tone.
Orton Day's hard expression mirrors his wife's. He examines me disdainfully. "Stop playing dumb, Penelope. Your decision to stray from the field of science was absurd--still is--but you are still a Day, and all Days are smart and perceptive. You are aware of why we're here in LA."
"Of course," I say sarcastically, my smile full of scorn. "Because you missed me."
My parents glare at me, their eyes ominous and contemptuous. "Stop playing games," mom hisses in dark tones. "The Sara Chan girl." Her lips curl with distaste. "Where is she?"
"I told you, I don't know," I repeat, feeling totally frustrated at their persistence.
Dad reaches into his black leather briefcase and produces a big brown envelope. He brandishes it in my face. "Open this and it may jog your memory," he urges, wearing a malevolent smirk.
I rudely swat the envelope away, and it sways from side to side in the air for a few seconds before falling on the carpeted hallway.
Narrowing my eyes at my parents, I plant my hands on my hips defiantly. "This is a complete waste of my time," I seethe, glaring at them, mustering all the hatred into my voice. "If you're thirsty or hungry, you're free to eat and rest in my living room for a few minutes, since it is common courtesy to show at least some hospitality, even to unexpected guests."
I said that last part out of spite, because I once visited them before I began college, as a surprise, but they neglected me, like they always had.
Mom sneers at me. "No thank you, we didn't intend to stay long." She turns to dad. "Let's go, Orton."
It's only after they've disappeared that I'm able to breathe properly again. My gaze drops to the large brown envelope lying on the red carpeted floor.
Apprehensively, I squat down and reach for the envelope, straighten my spine, and gingerly flip open the flap, then pause for a minute. Inhaling deeply, I slide out the papers. I evaluate the contents, my eyes racing over the black and white text.
Though I had an inkling of what to expect, I can't help but gasp as I confirm what I had already known. The files and documents are mostly background checks on one person, but what garners my full attention are the two big, glossy pictures, which I hold in each hand for comparison:
In my left hand is a photo of a thirteen-year-old girl with shoulder-length black hair, bright orange eyes, and a terrified expression on her face.
In my right hand is a photo of an eighteen-year-old girl with long blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and a stoic smile playing on her lips.
To my surprise, my fingers are trembling as I stuff the documents back into the envelope, which I dump into one of my bedside drawers, contemplating whether or not to burn them.
Walking towards the vast window, I slide it open and rest my arms over the cold metal railing of the small balcony of the two-person apartment.
I gaze up heavenward, basking in the silent beauty of the moon and its glow amidst the black sky. For a fleeting moment, I shut my eyes, feeling the cold breeze kiss my skin, and I remember the last eight words concluding the letter I received from Sage this morning:
'The less you know, the safer you'll be.'
