Kenton's Point Of View
My sister is alive.
The house is quiet. Practically pleasant.
Right now I'm sitting in Annica's room looking at all of the drawings that we've accumulated once again. The main thing that they all have in common is that they're all of dead people.
But all can really think about is the fact that the only person that I've ever spent so many hours mourning over, is alive.
I can't be any happier.
"Hey Kenton," Annica plops down beside me with two cups of tea in her hands. "Did you figure out some more identities of our mystery people here?" I guiltily slump my shoulders, "Not really. I've been kinda aloof about this. Sorry about that." But being her this just makes her smile, "Of course. You just found out that your supposedly dead sister is alive! I would be over the moon!" I let a toothless smile form on my face, "Yup. I guess I was frustrated at first because I felt like it was such a waste for myself to cry over a situation that never happened. And why didn't you tell me about the whole 'Oh I saved this little girl that ended up being your sister' sh*t?" My language off sets her, "Um. First off, language please. And second I had no clue that she was your sister. So don't use that card on me! Got that young man?"
Young man? She sounds like my mom!
"Well sorry . . . Mother." I joke. She shoots me this look, "Mother? I am not your mom. That would just be awkward. And speaking of moms you look nothing like yours."
"So? Some kids don't look like their parents."
"How 'bout your dad? You don't look like him either?"
"Nope. Not even close. And don't start thinking that I was adopted."
"But I seriously feel like you never came into this world through your mom. I don't believe it. C'mon you're like 6ft.5 and your mom looks like she's 5ft. 2. Big difference there!"
"But my dad."
"He's 6ft. I'm just guessing."
"Yes. You're right. Happy? My height could've skipped a generation. I probably got that from my dad's parents, but I don't know 'cause my grandparents don't want anything to do with my dad. And even if they weren't my parents who'd you suspect them to be?"
Somehow this last sentence makes me pause for a second, my memory immediately going back to the drawings. The only one that irks me is the one with the woman on it. Annica said that she looks a lot like me and now that I think very carefully I'm nearly a spitting image of her!
"No." I state simply out of the blue. Annica scrunches up her nose, "What? I didn't say anything!" I clamp my eyes shut, "Did you think that the woman in the dead drawings was my mom?!" I glare at her as she slowly chomps down on her bottom lip, "I may have . . ?"
I sigh, "Annica, it's my family. Let me worry about whether I'm adopted or not. Is that clear?"
She blows a couple of stray hairs out of her face in defeat, "Okay."
And after she says this the room falls into a deep silence. This causes my heartbeat to hike up a few notches and I find myself struggling to keep still. D*mn, maybe I should take a pill right now I'm feeling a bit more moody than usual.
"Hey Kenton?" Annica puts a hand on my knee.
"Yeah?"
"Can you follow me downstairs?"
"Uh . . . why?"
She gives me this look that stops me from further questioning and I follow her down the stairs and through the French doors to the living room. Much to my surprise she sits down on the couch and pats a spot on the cushion beside her indicating that she wants me to sit there.
"What's wrong Princess?" I sit down beside her and put a hand on her thigh, "is something wrong?" She doesn't respond and looks up at me, "Remember when I flipped out the moment you mentioned the study, our first day here?" I raise an eyebrow, "Yup. How could I forget? You literally had something short of an anxiety attack." She swallows, "Yeah. The whole story would probably piece everything together for you. Like the library situation, my hatred for my mother, my relationship with my brother and my dad's death."
Wow. The story that could literally tear her apart about just thinking about it is finally going to be revealed to me . . .
And so she continues, "I don't know . . . Wait. I need to do this."
Deep breath.
In.
Out.
"It started on a cold day. My brother and I's 9th birthday to be exact . . .
===
Mom and Dad's shouting stopped around half-an-hour-ago. I'm pretty sure they're still arguing somewhere in the house.
I don't know what's wrong with me but I keep crying. Maybe it has something to do with Dad taking away so many needles with my blood in it.
Is it because I'm scared?
Outside the snow is really coming down hard. I wonder if it's because Mom is mad. The room always gets colder when mom is angry. Dad is always the calm one in their arguments. And they've been doing it. A lot.
I can feel Carter sleeping heavily right now. Twinstinct, is something that Kenton would call it, when my brother and I would know what the other is doing or thinking.
I wish Kenton were here right now. I like it a lot when he's around. I feel safe. He always knows how to make me laugh.
The wind still howls outside.
This whole problem that's happening with my parents is making me nervous. Maybe I can try cheering them up. They always said that me and Carter were the best things that happened to them besides meeting each other so making I can make them happy again.
So I get out of bed and open the door. Nobody's down the hallway and the door of Mom and Dad's room is still open with the lights off, telling me that they're not there.
I go downstairs, more cold coming in through the front door. Brrrrr.
I get the feeling that they're maybe in the kitchen because that's usually where they argue but they're not there either. And there is only one other place that I know that they'd be in and that's Dad's study. The small dark office area where it's usually off limits.
There's only one way into the office and that's through a secret passage way in the fireplace. So I go on my hands and knees and pull back the window thingy that makes sure that no soot comes spilling out of the fire pit. Then I press the warm red brick in the bottom left hand corner and it flips over to show a scanning drawer where I pluck out a piece of my hair and put it on and it recognizes it as me by something Dad called D-N-A. Making the bricks open up like a mouth of a hungry monster and showing a metal tube that you crawl through!
I push away the dirt that's still warm and go through the tube that leads to a pulley system and lower myself down like the way Dad showed me one day. It's a bit scary but I can handle it. And when I reach the farthest it can go I find myself facing another scanner but this time for my foot. And it opens up another door and I crawl through into the dark room, seeing my parents standing right there in the dim light of Dad's desk lamp.
With Mom holding something dark thing in her hand facing it at Dad.
"Vot do you think that will help?!" Mom yells loudly. Dad stands there. Terrified. "It will help, Zhanna. Just put down the gun, please."
I see the papers in his hands shaking like crazy and I notice my brother lying unconscious by the foot of the desk.
"Carter?" I murmur and both of them turn their heads to see me by the secret entrance. Neither of them say anything until Mom decides to speak up and this smile on her face sends the room temperature plunging.
"Annica, my little flower vot are you doing up so late?" She tilts her head to the slight while raising up an eyebrow. I watch her hand move from her side and onto Dad's chest like she does after she hugs or kisses him. But this time it seems creepier.
I stand up not really understanding what's happening and look at Dad who's mouthing something to me but I can't understand.
I stand there like a statue and watch as mom says something to dad but not in the way that she usually does. I know what's happening isn't good but I can't move.
My feet are glued to the floor and I can already feel Mom's cool attitude starting to turn into something else.
This finally makes my feet unglued and I become air and shove myself between my mom and dad, turning back into my solid state. I kick my mom's belly and she stumbles backwards.
This makes her mad and she shoots the ground by my feet and I scream, jumping out of the way. But this doesn't help and she lifts me up by my hair and tosses me against the wall and kicks my stomach with so much force that I feel like vomiting.
The room spins and all I can see is Mom staring down at me. The gun still in her hand. I feel a cold sheet of ice beginning to crawl over my skin and it's crushing me into a snowy cocoon. "I'm doing this for you."
And this is when she turns to face Dad, holding up the deadly weapon.
I see the trigger being pulled and the bullet drilling a hole into my dad's brain . . .
===
". . . and that's the last thing I see before authorities come and drag that demon of a woman out of the building and their attempt to bring us to the foster centre when S.O.L.O. managed to intervene. I must admit she was putting on quite a convincing show. She was screaming like a deranged woman about how she didn't kill her husband and that her kids shouldn't be taken away from her under such circumstances. And since all the evidence pointed at her she was put under observation in the local mental centre which really is just a prison. And she's probably still there now."
She looks up from her focus point in the floor and I see the glossy sheen of tears in her eyes. I can't help but wrap my arms around her shivering figure and I feel that I'm the only thing keeping her from falling.
Her sobs are raspy and it almost sounds like she's been doing this for so long that her body has lost all energy to do it. The tears team up like a giant wave in her eyes before they spill out onto her cheeks and from her chin, onto her lap.
"Carter was right. Carter is right! It was all my fault. I could've done something but I was so scared! I couldn't move! I couldn't do anything! I was so . . . so useless." She covers her face with her hands, the traces of redness growing on her cheeks still visible.
My hands tug hers away from her face and she turns to look at me.
"Why can't you see it Princess?" I look at her somberly, "you look at yourself like this pathetic useless thing that nobody cares about. You have so much to live for. You're like 10 times stronger than you think you are, no wait. Make that 100 times. You have gone through this torture and haven't let it get to you. You may think it has but it hasn't. Gosh, Annica Clark you are a hero. You stand up for others without even knowing them! You put your life out there and still you manage your emotions like a boss! Me? I just let it all out at anybody in any situation. It takes a stronger person to control them, and you are that person."
I brush my long, pale fingers down her face. Her striking sharp features feeling extremely soft under my touch and I gently place my lips on her cheek, stroking her back.
We stay in this position for what feels like a while until she speaks up after her moment of silence.
"Can I trust you?"
I pull my mouth away from her skin, "Is that a rhetorical question? Of course you can."
She nods, "Okay. I want to show you the study."
===
I can't believe I'm in here.
I amble over to the surprisingly small, oak desk and inspect the little content that's on it. A lamp and a framed photo.
The lamp casts off a hazy golden light, causing a reflection to disturb the image inside the frame which sits opposite to it on the desk, face up.
Carefully I pick it up; dust flitting off.
I wipe the excess off with my hand and look at the 3 faces that look back. Well, the 2 faces that looked back to be exact. The other one was submissive and asleep.
It was a photo taken when Annica's parents were at the hospital. I would say that it was when the twins were born but there were only 3 people in the photo. I notice the sweat glands that were still on their mother's face, her hair plastered onto her cheekbones. Their dad was sitting right beside her on the bed and on his face was a heavy set frown. His expression nearly identical to their mother's. The only difference was that her glossy eyes were heavily rimmed with a red hue, showing that she was crying. She was only holding 1 baby and suddenly fear soaks into my veins.
"Something wrong, Kenton?"
I look up to see Annica folding her arms across her chest. The spooked look still prominent in her eyes.
I notice her gaze flicker back from me to the dry patch of blood on the floor. The reminder of her dad being shot in the forehead lies right in front of us and now I know the horrifying story behind it all.
"Um . . ." I awkwardly look down at the carpet and turn the photo down. Annica stays standing there, glaring back at me. "Kenton," she says warningly.
Before I even know it she gently takes the photo from my hands and looks at it. Her expression doesn't change and she simply lets the frown on her face sit there. "What's so shocking about this? It's just my dad, my mom and brother."
I scrutinize her face for any sign of realization or shock that she's not in the photo but there isn't any. "Wait," she pauses, "I think I know why you're freaking out. I'm not in the picture. Is that true?"
I nod soberly.
"Okay. That makes sense." Then an added, "Thank you for your concern."
My face becomes pinched, "You're welcome. But do you mind me asking why you weren't in it? Er . . . if you know, that is. If you don't wanna tell me that fine -"
"You want to know why I wasn't in it?" Annica's blue eyes widen in size. She just looks up at the wall behind me as if remembering something, "I was apparently having problems directly after my mom gave birth. For your information unlike most twins we weren't born premature. Carter and I were born on the day that Dad predicted we would. Carter was 10 pounds and I, 3. My brother had to steal most of my energy to develop that massive brain of his nearly killing me in the process."
I nod my head slowly inhaling this, "So they had to immediately put you in the ICU to make sure that nothing was permanently damaged. That is the reason why you're not in the picture and you're parents look more on the down side. Got it." She nods, "Yup. If it weren't for my powers I would be long gone by now."
"Mhmm," I swallow. Completely engrossed in what's she's telling me, my never ending curiosity getting the better of me, "Do you know where your father kept his notes about this project involving your blood?" Annica looks at me as if I'm a psychopath, "Um, no. He was always secretive." I furrow my brows, "Rats, there has to be some answer somewhere!"
I crouch down on the floor and start opening the drawers of the desk. Although my actions don't please my friend and she jerks my arms away, "Kenton Simmons. What do you think you're doing? Going through all of my dad's things?"
I look at her, feeling only a vestige of guilt, "You said that you're dad extracted blood from you multiple times right?"
"Yeah . . ."
"Well did you ever wonder what his project ever resulted in?"
A pause.
"No. Does it really matter? My dad was trying to help other people." Anger is starting to rise in her voice. And it takes quite a bit to get her angry.
But I am no coward.
"By using you," I state boldly. But apparently today I can't keep my mouth shut, "Now I can understand why your mom shot him."
And this truly throws her over the edge and she jerks her hand back, ready to slap me but I don't even flinch. Her face is scrunched up and her eyes are already glistening with tears. And just when I'm ready for a searing pain to strike my face her hand falls to the ground helplessly.
"I can't do this," she murmurs to herself. Then to me, "Why would you say something like that? My father was a good man." My response is a terse smile, "I know. Your dad was an amazing man and proof is sitting right in front of me." I look pointedly at her, "And I know that his intentions were pure. But being the genius he was wouldn't you want to know how he was handling your blood? Like what was the ending product of his work? Do you even know?" Her reaction isn't immediate but she's beginning to look guilty, "No. I never really knew what ran inside Dad's head nor his office. I guess your right about the result part."
"So you'll help me look for your dad's notes on the project?" I ask, a bit too hopefully. But much to my surprise she bites her lip and responds with a, "Yes."
So we begin to open up the many files packed away neatly inside in order by Fibonacci numbers to be exact: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21 . . . etc.
Smart. Yet also. Odd.
"Hey Princess?" I cock my head at Annica and she looks up at me from her position right up against me.
"Yeah?"
"What year did he start taking blood samples?"
"Um . . . I was 8? Yeah, 2005."
"Thanks," I flip to the newer stuff closer to Mr. Clark's death date.
And there. I see a slim file inside marked Search of the Holy Grail tucked away with the smallest amount of papers you could imagine in an experiment folder.
I practically feel my fingertips burning with excitement and worry at the sometime with this piece of scientific craziness in my hands!
"I found it."
Annica jumps, "WHAT!?"
I show her the file and she looks at it in alarm.
I open it up.
"Are you crazy?"
"Um . . . last time I checked? Yeah, I kinda am."
I turn to the file to see absolutely nothing. Blank paper.
"There's nothing on it," I hear Annica breathe from beside me, "Could it possibly be like the papers of the murder victims?"
No.
"It's not here because he didn't want anybody to easily figure it out. He kept it somewhere else."
"The picture frame."
"Wait you knew where he kept it all this time?" I shoot her a look.
But she just shakes her head, "It's a longshot guess. I'm not too sure." She stands up and picks up the frame and start dismantling it. And miraculously out pops a folded up piece of paper and she holds it up to the dim lamp.
"Yup, this is it. Project Holy Grail."
I stand up and walk over to her as she slowly unfold the measly parchment and there, smack dot in the middle is a big red stamp that reads: PROJECT FAIL.
All the other words just blur past like a time-lapse photography.
Subjects:InjuredCanadianSolders(30)
Substances: Blood (ADC)
Fatalities: 30
The picture that was taken from an angle showing all 30 unrecognizable soldiers on the back. It looked as if each person had a bomb placed in their stomachs and someone pressed a button to set them all off at the same time.
Flesh and blood everywhere.
I feel sick to my stomach.