"I don't know my saints, but I definitely know my sinners." -Tara Kole, NCIS
It wasn't a bad day, nor a good one. It was more of a lazy day - you know the ones, where you just lounge around with nothing to do, where you lie in your pyjamas watching TV with a tub of cookie dough ice cream and a coffee.
It was a 'me' day.
After Isadora had called somebody to dispose of the russians corpse, she immediately changed into her pyjamas. Black, of course, the edges finished with a trim of gold. And her rabbit slippers. They were pink though. What? They're classy.
The house was empty. It was time.
She strolled into the lounge room, a look of mock innocence on her face as she made her way over to the large stereo, a sleek black - what did you expect? - in the corner of the room. The speaker system ran through the entire house, with speakers hidden in places you'd never expect.
A press of a button, and the music began to play, with Isadora singing along. It couldn't be said that Isadora was a good singer, because, well... she wasn't. She followed after her mother. Her mother, Cynthia, was tone-deaf. She couldn't hear the difference between two notes.
Isadora however could, and had a brilliant sense of rhythm, yet she could not sing. Yes, she was in tune some of the time, and her velvety voice was inviting, yet she missed quite a few notes and had a small pitch range.
"Oh, well imagine,
As I'm pacing the pews of a church corridor,
And I can't help but to hear, no I can't help but to hear an exchanging of words,
'What a beautiful wedding!' What a beautiful wedding says a bridesmaid to a waiter,
Yes, but what a shame, what a shame the poor groom's bride is a whore."
Isadora sings as she strolls through the empty corridors, the music never dying down. Her barefeet skimmed across the dark wooden floors as her even darker curls flew behind her. A smile was upon her face as her fingers brushed against the walls, building from a walk to a run.
Ah, running.
She enjoyed the short thrill she got from running. The burn in her legs, the wind in her face - look at me, I'm making this a cliché with this description of running. The point is - she liked it.
A silk night gown covered her body, reaching all the way to the floor, making it right near impossible to not trip, yet somehow she did it. Even in the most uncomfortable situations, Isadora always moved with an eerie elegance, a haunting gracefulness - like a ballerina.
She threw herself down on the sofa, hair tumbling down afterwards. With a small sigh, she began to trace the veins on her arm with her finger. The song still played, as if it were attempting to drown out the dark thoughts swirling in the criminal's mind.
A knock on the door. Isadora groaned.
She reluctantly pulled herself up, gun at the ready as she made her way to the door. Pressing a single button on a remote, her steps were silent, her eyes thinned.
Everytime the door was knocked, it meant danger for Isadora. She had always associated the sound with a threat, without actually knowing why. A childish thought, although she was only really a child.
A soft hand was placed on the door handle, and Isadora stared at the two silhouettes, distorted by the glass. She opened the door.
And the two figures jumped on her.
-
A few minutes later, the three sat in the lounge in the residential area, an awkward silence hanging in the air. The first of the visitors looked around beaming, smiling encouragingly at the second, who was sitting uncomfortably, struggling to find something to say.
Isadora sat, scowling at the two older women, with a look of plain disgust on her face. She was elegantly placed in her chair, sipping a scolding hot coffee and enjoying the burning bitter taste.
"So, how are you, -"
"I know what you're going to say. And I don't go by that name anymore." Isadora cut her off before she could continue. Her face was pulled into a tight frown, dark lips pursed together. It was almost as if she were physic.
"Imogen, Emelyn. I would like you to leave. Preferably now." She says bluntly, not hiding her distaste.
"Come on, thats isn't the way to treat your sisters, Dora!" Emelyn teased, her smile turning into a smirk. It was clear that Emelyn was the oldest, the way she tried to keep everybody together. Key word - tried. She was the one, who as a child, had a sense of authority. She would be the one who took charge, who always used her age as an excuse for responsibilities. Imogen was the middle daughter, the cliché sneaking out at midnight, badass, rebel child - the one who wore fifteen layers of eyeliner with piercings all down her ear. The clique name is known as 'emo'. Isadora as a young child was the typical spoilt child, in pink frilly dresses and bows, and the kind of straight A, perfect child. You know the ones, they can do anything, and get away with it because of over protective parents. So; the nerd, the emo and the perfectionist. All the ingredients for a teenage fiction story. But this isn't a teen fiction.
"Do not call me Dora." Isadora hissed threateningly, leaning forward with her eyes thinned and a tone in her voice telling Emelyn she was not in the mood.
"Fine, fine!" She held up her hands in mock surrender, and the room returned to silence. The faces sunk back into the emotionless masks the trio wore everyday.
"Come on, come on!" A young Emelyn ran through the trees, jeans ripped and grass stained. She was a fast runner for her age, mainly due to the club she ran at every week. Or the intense swimming sessions she did three times a week. Basically, she was sporty. She must have been about 16 at this time.
"I'm coming!" Cried a slightly younger Imogen, aged 12, whose leggings were still - somehow - still in pristine condition. Unfortunately, sports were not her strong point. Art and literature were more her cup of tea.
"Wait for me!" A small shout from the youngest - Isadora, only 7 years old. Pink ribbons hung in the girls hair, flying behind her along with her mud stained dress that was once said to be white. This girl had more elegance with the other two, probably because of the ballet lessons she took and loved immensely.
You could tell they were sisters. All had pale blue eyes and long brown curls, except for Imogen, who followed after their father with black hair.
The trio reached their destination - a hill top sanctuary. Lanterns hung in the trees, lighting the small clearing. Trees surrounded half of it, whilst a large view of the sunset was visible in front of them. A little tent, with the door unzipped lay a few steps in front of them. They all made their way in and sat down, greeted with plumped up cushions and a large packet of crisps each.
"Woah!" Gasped Isadora, eyes wide, full of innocence and awe.
"Emelyn, why are we doing this? Mother said to be back at six, and it's at least quarter past!" Said Imogen, trying to seem like she didn't want to be there, yet she too was entranced by the surroundings.
"Sush, Immy. Look." Whispered Emelyn, pointing out across the view, pointing at the sun setting down over the horizon, reflecting in the shimmering mass of water that was the ocean.
"Is this where you've been disappearing to every day?" Asked Imogen, finally putting the facts together to see the big picture.
Emelyn nodded eagerly, proud of her work.
The trio watched the sun set over the ocean -a picture perfect.
It was a sanctuary, a haven. It was somewhere to be safe.
They couldn't go back there anymore.
Surprisingly, Imogen was the one who broke the silence. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't really a conversation starter.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" She asked, voice monotone. Isadora nodded. She knew Imogen already knew the way.
That just left Emelyn and Isadora.
"Can I call you Isa?" Questioned Emelyn, lifting an eyebrow, cheeky as ever.
A frown from Isadora gave her an answer.
"You don't just turn up, Em. You never do. We don't do Christmases or birthdays, let alone little visits every once in a while. God, we haven't talked for at least five years. And now you decide to turn up? Why? Has something happened to you two? Are you in trouble? No, because I know that you're to good for that. So what? What could possibly be so bad that you felt the need to visit me?" Isadora burst, blurting out a random stream of words at an unnaturally rapid pace.
Emelyn looked a little taken back: this wasn't the sweet little sister she remembered from her last visit. Then again, Isadora had been 18 at the time.
You're probably wondering whether or not Emelyn and Imogen know about the whole criminal ordeal. They do. So do their parents and grandparents, and cousins and uncles and aunts. They were a family of criminals. Virtually unstoppable. Tied so close together, that no one dared to betray each other. One family, owning an entire network. A family so powerful, that they could immediately silence an entire nation in a few hours.
"Sister, I know that we turned up out of the blue. I know that you hate us. But you need to know that we need you." Emelyn said softly, eyes wide and almost... pleading. Immediately, Isadora knew it was an act. Emelyn wasn't usually as kind as this. To her sisters, Emy was sarcastic, arrogant, with just a pinch of stubbornness.
"So. What is it you need me for?" Isadora leant back, arms folded across her chest. Looking utterly bored by the situation once again, she found herself tapping her foot on the wooden floor.
"A mission we've been tasked with. In America. We want you to go in our place." Emelyn stated, brief in her description.
"No." The answer came immediately.
"No?" Imogen lifted an eyebrow, leaning forward.
"I'm afraid we can't take no for an answer."
Isadoras eyes thinned, just as Imogen walked back in, unknown to Isadora, with a syringe in her hand. She walked forwards, still in her sister's blind spot until she was right behind her. And she jabbed it in her neck.
Isadora seemed to slow, her words still coming out, but more distorted. Colours and splodges danced around her vision as she attempted to stand up, only to fall back down again. Ringing started in her ears, and she couldn't hear what her sisters were saying. Thoughts were just clouds in her head. She couldn't make sense of anything. But one thought stayed in her head as she fell into the open arms of unconsciousness.
She had been betrayed, by her own sisters.