Wilde Twins: Trilogy (Box Set)

By Jess C Scott

Follow THE WILDE TWINS in a twisted tale of love and loyalty. . .

A psychological thriller about a brother sister serial killing team--and their slow descent into amoral mayhem.

Book 1 PLAYMATES:

As kids, Tania and Trevor's unsupervised play time offers a lifeline to sanity amidst the chaos of family dysfunction. When danger threatens Tania, Trevor isn't willing to stand by and watch his sister get hurt. The instinct for survival is only rivaled by the killer instincts the Wilde siblings encourage in each other. Instincts that turn into a deadly game igniting their first taste for blood.

Book 2 BEDMATES:

As teenagers, the siblings pursue random hookup romances in an effort to distract themselves from two things: their propensity for murder, and the burgeoning sexual tension between them. What begins as harmless flirtation soon turns into jealousy and ruthless competition in a wild game of sibling rivalry, as Tania and Trevor seek to prove their undying love and loyalty to each other.

Book 3 SOULMATES:

As young adults, Tania and Trevor attempt a fresh start in terms of paying their debts to society. When the siblings both find themselves in unfulfilling marriages, they become increasingly drawn to each other for comfort and solace. The profound evil from their past is back to haunt them with a chilling reminder: *You can get away with this, again...*

Can Tania and Trevor trust each other with fighting their inner demons, or will they embrace their dark side to the bittersweet end?

***

Praise for Jess C Scott and her award-winning fiction:

-Reviewer Top Pick at Night Owl Reviews (2011)
-Readers' Favorite Five Star Award (2014)

"Rate this thriller high octane from the opening chapters and beyond!"
-- Clayton Bye, editor of The Speed of Dark anthology

"Tapping into a deeply dark and emotional subject matter, The Wilde Twins promises to develop into a spine tingling journey to unveil the human darkness within us all. Right from the start you know this tale is going to disturb you to your very core, so read on if you think you can handle it."
-- K.C. Finn, author of The Atomic Circus

"A chilling portrayal of two young siblings from a broken home who embark on a journey of bloodlust. Scott captures the pathos, the inner turmoil, and the cold logic of surviving childhood in a world without tenderness--with only the smell of cheap wine on its breath."
-- Charles Austin Muir, contributing author to Hell Comes to Hollywood (Stoker-nominated)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jess C Scott
• Release date: Apr 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310202698

Jess C Scott

Jess is a writer who's moved on to better things.She thanks her (loyal!) readers for appreciating her writing over the years.She continues to write lots of non-fiction these days. And yes, she still blogs in a range of different specialties.Jess was a participating author in the 2012 Singapore Writers Festival, and has been called “bold, daring, and always original” by The Arts House.

Book preview

[PLAYMATES]

Book One

* * *

Dedication:

To Billy (age 4) and The Kids.

Because every child should grow up in a healthy home environment.

* * *

All things truly wicked start from innocence.

~ Ernest Hemingway

* * *

PART 1: 9 Years Old

Chapter 1: Trevor

My birthday wish was simple: run away with my twin sister.

We were seated on the upper bunk of the bunk bed in our bedroom. The top bunk was mine.

Make the first wish, Tania said, since you’re older than me by two minutes.

Tania often reminded me of the fact. It was how we decided I’d get to be on top too.

She was lying on her stomach and resting her chin on her hands, looking at the starry night sky from our log cabin at Pleasant Lake.

I’d like to run away with you, I said, as I pointed out the brightest star. I didn’t know whether it was a star or planet, but I liked how it flickered with white, red and blue hues every night.

Where would we go? Tania’s big eyes were shining brightly. Do you know?

I shook my head. Somewhere faraway from here.

At least I was sure of that.

Tania gave a half-hearted smile. She gazed out the window as a gentle breeze brushed her soft hair against her face. I would like to be a movie star.

There was a loud yell from the living room then—Dad’s voice—and the familiar violent jolt of the sound of glass shattering. Someone had once again broken a bottle on the wall just outside our room.

Flinging the bottle, I whispered, even though our parents referred to it as daily wine time.

I moved a little closer to Tania when I saw her wince. No matter how routine loud sounds could be, they always affected her. A hint of frightened tension would go over her face, like she was just on the verge of breaking into tears at any second, even though she rarely did.

I wanna be a star—I wanna run away—I wanna be a star, Tania muttered, almost like she was repeating a chant. Run away with you. Yes. I would like that, Trev. I would like that very much.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:00 PM. Wine Time usually started at 6:00 PM and would go on as the sounds and yelling got louder and louder—Shit!—You bitch!—Whore!—the famous eff word—until Mom or Dad threw a bottle at the other person. It would be left to Tania and me to clear the mess and clean up the blood.

Tania and I tasted some of that stuff called alcohol, by the way, the day before our ninth birthday. We helped ourselves to one of the bottles lying around on the floor.

I poked my tongue out and made a face when I tasted it. It had a strange scent and taste and got me very thirsty very quickly.

"They’ll start throwing the bottle at us one day, Tania said as she bit on her nails. You see it on TV. Our parents are batshit crazy. I wish we could live like the Kazandjians."

Tania only said batshit in front of me or some of her friends at school.

Mom struck her across the face the first time she said it.

Nasty bitch running her mouth! Mom had muttered under her breath. And Mom’s Herculean foot kicked Tania out of the way as she stomped across the hallway towards the kitchen.

I was sitting on the couch when that happened. I was watching something about a porn star’s boobs and butt implants on MTV. I recognized the blonde sweet-faced porn star in some of Mom’s Always In Touch magazines that were stacked high on one side of the couch.

Tania crawled onto the seat next to me, folding her arms across her chest with a sullen look on her face.

Mom says ‘shit’ all the time, Tania snarled during an ad break. She spoke softly since Mom was pretty nearby, talking very loudly and cussing a lot over the phone. "And she doesn’t hit you when you say bad words."

Then I won’t say those words in front of Mom too, I said with a smile. Okay?

Tania nodded and leaned against me as we watched a masked man using a black marker to draw arrows on the porn star’s nose, face, and body.

I liked being close to Tania. I liked that we didn’t pick on each other. We knew we both didn’t want to. What did we have apart from each other?

In the mornings, we would sometimes gaze out at the colors of the sky at dawn, listening to the trickling sounds of the lake lapping the shore, or viewing the wonder of the sun rising out.

At the same time, I thought it was funny we lived in a place called Pleasant Lake, where the people around us often weren’t in a very pleasant mood at all.

Mom always had colorful pills and a vodka bottle in hand. She liked talking to herself and throwing random things on the floor or against the wall. Sometimes, she’d take Dad’s hand gun out and wave it around. She’d point it at us and cackle, Don’t worry, kids—it ain’t loaded... before tossing it back into the drawer where it came from.

She never did that to us when Dad or anyone else was in the house.

It must have had something to do with a back injury she had from a ski trip when Tania and I were six years old. That’s when the doctor gave her those white pills in an orange bottle, then she got more pills by herself from the store, and later on started to take them all together, washing it all down with a swig or two from the bottle she’d have in an iron grip with her right hand.

Mom was a beauty queen in her senior year of high school. She used to be very pretty. She started to dress more sloppy and pack on the pounds once she started staying at home more. I think she stopped combing her hair too. After that, her favorite pastime was walking around the house announcing she wasn’t going to bathe that day because she hated taking showers past 4:00 PM.

Dad sometimes said she could be featured on Ripley’s Believe It or Not for ending up this way when she actually was a former ed tech at Pleasant Point Community College, which was how she met Dad, who was an English lecturer.

He confused me too.

I would see him nicely dressed in the morning for work, looking every bit the studious professor he was. Black rectangular glasses, trimmed beard, ironed shirt, nice shoes.

Tania and I would sometimes see him at the college when he picked us up from school.

He was all smiles at his workplace, with a pleasant face and greeted all around by smiley faces. He was happy during the drive back home too—goofing around to the songs that played on the radio or whatever. Tania would howl with laughter with some of the nonsensical lyrics he made up on the fly. Like, he’d change the words I’ll Never Break Your Heart to I’m Gonna Breaaak Your Heart, or sing Sweet Dreams Tomato Juice to the tune of Sweet Dreams Are Made of These.

But he’d reach out for one of those bottles lying around the minute he set foot into the house. Very often, like clockwork, Tania and I would do our homework, then sit in front of the TV with our TV dinners, or go to our room with a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, as our parents had what they called their wine time.

So Tania and I had each other at least, in that Pleasant Lake house.

Later on, I still had simple birthday wishes.

I’d wish that my twin sister and I could have had a childhood.

Chapter 2: Tania

When Momma first hit me, I knew it wasn’t the last time she’d do it.

I knew because I could see how much she enjoyed it—inflicting pain on me, taking her unexpressed rage at the world or whoever out on me because I was the daughter and I couldn’t do anything against my mother. Each blow on me was a triumph for her, another successful venting of the inner demons that lurked deep within her disturbed self.

I’d stand in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at the red blotches on my arm that shouldn’t have been there.

Nothing I did ever seemed good enough.

I swear I could sense her looming, hulking presence at the doorway, where she’d be screaming at Trevor and me.

"Do Your Homework! she would shriek, sometimes slapping a long wooden ruler against her fat open palm, sometimes waving around that favorite hand gun of hers. She’d threaten us about slamming our faces into the computer desk" if we didn’t listen.

Momma was not a big woman, but I could feel myself shrinking and cowering if I dared to meet the gaze behind the thick reading glasses she had on all the time. It was a soulless gaze, burning with a wild hatred that shouldn’t be there in anyone who could call themselves a parent.

Those glasses made her appear a lot older too. They made Momma’s eyes look beady and broadcast the fine lines on her face.

You’re worthless and stupid, Momma would constantly remind me, with flecks of spittle from her mouth raining down the back of my neck if she stood near.

Momma sometimes rambled on about how I wasn’t wanted.

Piece of shit—I never shoulda had you—we only wanted one son! Where can I send you back? You’re a ho, watching TV with that little boy next door.

I had been watching TV with both Trevor and the boy next door since the boy’s parents invited the two of us over. So I supposed Momma thought little girls were all ho’s if they sat beside little boys.

I gathered from early on that Trevor was always better, always smarter. He was even born two minutes before me. So he was ahead of me right from the beginning.

One afternoon, I was watching a reality TV show about teenage runaways.

Trev! I called out, a little short of breath. Look! One day, we’ll be TV stars too.

He nodded, and we both swore on our pinkie fingers that we’d really do it one day—run away together, away from the small town backwoods forever—once we had figured out where we wanted to go and how we were going to get there.

Momma says I’m a mistake and that I shouldn’t have been born, I said to a few nights later. I watched a Netflix show on abortion today. Momma shoulda aborted me.

Think of Jesus, Trevor would gravely advise me.

Why?

He said, ‘Forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’ I bet Mom doesn’t know what she’s saying or doing to you. It’s the pills. They make her crazy.

I was smart enough to know she’d skin me alive if she saw the drawings I did of her, in her tattered nightgown muumuu clothes with the oversized glasses that gave her the evil alien eyes. My favorite part of the pencil sketches were the bold, squiggly dark lines which signified the crinkles on her face.

So I’d show the drawings to Trevor. We’d laugh. Then I would shred them up into fifty million tiny pieces and throw them away so Momma couldn’t piece them back together even if she was sober enough to try.

Momma was the one who taught me that humans are selfish by nature. The TV, Netflix, YouTube and the Internet, were my parents and teachers. I was sure Momma cared a lot more about her pills and drinking than she did about Trevor and me.

That hit me one day when I was watching the news about children who died in an orphanage shooting in Germany. I realized most people in the world were more concerned with how their hair looked that day—it was just too bad for the children who had died in the orphanage that morning. I knew.

And I could prove it with a flick of the remote, since I was just one channel away from a show called Perfect Hair 4-Ever, which featured the world’s top ten hairstylists battling it out to see who could create the best styles for ten ugly ducklings cursed with difficult types of hair to work with.

Another thing that hit me came about from watching the men Momma entertained during the day in our log cabin house.

It would happen once or twice a month, when Dad was out with his buddies and she needed more cash. She would sometimes wear glittery eye shadow and sheer, shimmery lipstick, just before they came. Then she’d shut the door and there’d be sounds for a while that even the TV on full volume failed to totally block out.

Once, Trevor and I managed to have a sneak peek because the door wasn’t properly shut. The image of Momma and the man was reflected in the antique, duck egg blue framed vertical swing mirror standing on the other side of the room.

The gilded mirror was a lot prettier than the image it reflected. At first, I thought it was two sweaty animals on the bed instead of two human bodies.

Momma was in a weird position—legs over her head, mouth open, the man standing directly behind and slamming his body up against hers.

They finished what they were doing soon after.

Fifty, Momma demanded when the man was getting dressed. She flicked the back of her wrist towards him.

I saw him take out a five-dollar bill from his wallet. He placed it on top of the bed.

"I’ve got kids to feed!" The desperate pleading in her voice, her face, her eyes, was fake.

Trevor and I knew what she said was just a lame excuse. She needed the money for her precious pills more than anything else.

My heart jumped a little when the man gripped her wrist tightly—Momma groaned and fell back against the bed when the guy kneed her in the chest.

That’s what it was worth, the man growled, standing at the foot of the bed. He had his hands on his hips, with his feet about a shoulder width apart. Go pimp your daughter if you wanna rake in the dough.

Trevor and I backed away from the door when we saw the man turn in the mirror’s reflection. He wore a dark brown cowboy hat and a leather jacket. We thought he was going to pull out his guns, point them and shoot in our direction for eying him through the door.

In our bedroom, I wondered why Momma would accept five dollars to be kicked in the ribs, after the animal thing on the bed where they both were doing something bad since they had no clothes on. Maybe it was something women did when their husbands were not around.

We heard Momma sniffling for a while, before she smashed her ashtray on the ground, shrieking at the man who’d already left for being a cheap bastard, no bullshit, I am telling you exactly what I mean.

Then she staggered towards the direction of our room.

"YOU TWO, Momma slurred. Her hand slammed against our room door, leaving her sweaty palm print there. She was half talking to us, half talking to herself. Stay here and I’ma tell y’all straight up and down not to tell your daddy when he’s home that anyone was here—you hear?"

Trevor was lying on the bottom bunk bed beside me. I hugged him once we heard the slam of the front door, and Momma’s beat up SUV screeching out of the gravel driveway to grab whatever the five dollars and a handful of coins could get her.

My lungs felt less tight as soon as Momma was out of the house. I felt a whole lot safer and better with Trevor’s arm around me.

Maybe that’s why Momma hits me, I said softly, aware of Trevor’s calm breathing. To prepare me for it when I’m older?

Trevor and I just lay there for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet which never lasted long enough.

I don’t like seeing you get hit, Trevor said. Why is it fine for her to hit one of her kids?

Because she’s our Momma, I parroted what Momma said to me whenever she was keeping me in check with her heavy hand.

She’s not a nice mom. Trevor was staring at the wooden boards on the bunk bed above us, lightly holding my hand in his.

Why not?

Nice moms don’t hit their children.

That was when I first realized Trevor was always there for me when I needed him.

He was the only person I could trust with anything.

He was my best friend. He was my everything.

Chapter 3: Trevor

We had a creative writing lesson at school, taught by a visiting teacher called Ms. Adams. Ms. Adams was an old woman with a very kind face and smile. She sounded the way she looked too.

H-A-I-K-U, she wrote on the blackboard. The teacher explained to us that it was a Japanese form of poetry, with three lines following a 5-7-5 syllable structure.

She wanted us to try writing our own poems. I scribbled something down about birds and squirrels, partly because those were the examples Ms. Adams shared with us, and partly because I still had that animal image of Mom and The Man in bed from the day before.

Tania slipped me a piece of paper once the class was over.

I kept the note under the table and had a quick glance at it:

My Brother

Always there for me

Always watching out for me

Always in my heart.

I grinned—I had a sudden flash of inspiration. I wrote Tania back a haiku I made up on the spot:

Runaway

Momma stays in her

Room. Dad is Jekyll n Hyde.

We should runaway.

We were reading an abridged version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde for English class. The first thing I noticed about the drawings in the book was that the characters’ faces looked quite a bit like Dad’s.

I kept the note in my pocket. I glanced over at Tania a couple of times. She showed me she kept my note in her jeans pocket too.

The haiku we’d written to each other acted like a heartbeat between us. The piece of paper was safe and sound in our pockets, keeping us closely connected for the rest of the school day.

Back home, there was a big U-Haul moving truck outside Peter’s, the boy who lived next door. That meant fewer neighbors around our log cabin.

We’re moving to another state, Peter’s mother said to Tania and me. Her cheery, bright smile reflected the bright yellow dress she was wearing, so full of warmth and joy. Heading down south where it’s warmer.

Tania and I stood on the gravel driveway, waving their family goodbye as their car drove off into the distance.

If I could drive, I’d go along with them, Tania muttered.

I nodded, digging a heel into the ground.

Maybe they found out Momma was a nutcase, she added wisely.

I was deep in thought with what to say to Mom about hitting Tania, and how it wasn’t nice of her to do it.

When we entered the house, Mom was seated at the table with a couple of her friends. A platter of cookies accompanied their Weekly Bible Reading sessions.

One of them was Susan, a woman with tanned, leathery skin who seemed to look a little darker each time I saw her. She reminded me a little bit of a dinosaur because of her bony fingers. The vertebrae on the back of her neck and spine would show whenever she sat a little hunched over at the table.

The other woman was Barbara—the chairs at the table were a little too small for her large frame. She was always wearing an apron like she was coming or going to something that involved baking, cooking or eating. She often did bring along freshly baked cookies or brownies. Tania and I would pounce on those sweet treats like bloodthirsty wolves attacking their prey.

Mom’s friends were around the same age as her. Mom was the most average sized. I thought she would look a lot better if it weren’t for the bags under her eyes, arm flab, and bad teeth which somehow reminded me of rotten apples.

The three of them were seated with their eyes closed. Their faces were raised towards heaven as they held their open hands out in prayer.

God loves you and your husband and He desires to bless and provide for the two of you, Mom said.

Tania and I would sometimes watch these women at the table, waiting for the miracles they prayed for to materialize in front of our eyes. The women sure believed in what they were saying, the same way a magician believed in the magic he was conjuring.

"I HATE DIVORCE, says the Lord God of Israel. It was Susan speaking this time, also with her eyes closed with bony neck and head lifted up. She was soft-spoken most of the time—except during Bible Reading time. For the MARRIED woman is bound by law to her husband while he is living; but if her husband DIES, she is released from the law concerning the husband."

So then if, Barbara seamlessly continued, while her husband is living, she is joined to another man, she shall be called an adulteress—but if her husband dies, she is free from the law, so that she is not an adulteress, though she is joined to another man.

Adultery, Divorce, Remarriage and the Unpardonable Sin, the three of them chanted, looking like an older, more tired version of the Charmed witch sisters on a vintage TV show. We will persevere. We are sinners if we divorce and remarry. We will go to hell for getting remarried.

They must have thought us dumb or deaf, but Tania and I heard their hushed voices about how Viktor AKA Dad was often very rough with Mom when they were doing it, till Mom was considering a vajayjay reconstruction. Mom said something about being his slave too.

Oh, Angela, Barbara said in a tone that said she knew just what Mom was talking about.

Mom always said doing it. Susan’s phrase was when Jim and I…you know. Barbara’s phrase was simply when we.

When we...what? Tania would silently mouth to me every time we heard that phrase.

Tania and I used to play a game where we’d try to figure out what it meant. Going to the store? Watching a certain TV show? Checking out a new car? The possibilities were endless.

We somehow knew what it was after viewing mom joining to That Man in her room that day.

And that for some reason, it was not to be mentioned or talked about, or Tania would probably be smacked across the face before we’d both be turned into Mom’s Slaves to do chores like scrubbing the sinks, toilet bowls and kitchen counters until they shone.

Hey, Tania whispered. We were playing a Call of Duty video game while Barbara was fretting about her fourteen year old girl being maybe pregnant when she…

Yeah?

Why does Momma only talk about Dad when he’s not around?

I shrugged. Tania liked to ask me questions that I didn’t know the answer to. This told me she probably was very smart to even think of such questions in the first place.

Do you prefer Mom or Dad? Tania asked, twirling some of her hair in her fingers.

Dad, I answered without skipping a beat.

Me too.

So we both felt the same, even though Dad was very rough.

That Man with the cowboy hat had been very rough with Mom too.

That’s where I first learned what being A Man was all about.

Chapter 4: Tania

Momma liked to dress me like the way she used to dress when she was my age—in girly dresses a lot of the time. If she bought me jeans, they’d be the cute type decorated with some bling on the back.

She never brushed my hair. Instead, she’d hand me the brush and say, One hundred strokes.

At first, I didn’t know what a stroke meant. I was holding the hairbrush, and watching an evil documentary on TV on a corporal type of punishment called strokes of the cane which made Momma hitting me look like a trip to the playground.

I was a bit alarmed as each stroke could crack the criminal’s skin.

Change the channel, dammit! Trevor snatched the remote from me and went up a couple of channels. One of the channels was airing an episode of Perfect Hair 4-Ever, and I just so happened to hear the gay stylist in the dark purple shirt telling the lady with baby-fine brown hair, Now, brush over just the ends your hair using a light, gentle brush stroke.

Oh, I said aloud, and slowly followed what the stylist was doing to the woman’s hair. Her hair color was similar to mine, though my hair was thicker and slightly wavier. I wished it could be as straight as the woman’s.

I followed Momma’s instructions too, counting up to a hundred. I found it made my long hair shiny and smooth. I wondered why Momma didn’t use the hundred strokes on herself, so that she could have beautiful hair too. In fact, I’d sometimes see clumps of it in the wastepaper basket. She did have lovely, long hair before she gave birth to Trevor and me. After a while it just looked like a frizzy mess all the time.

Trevor switched the channel again. We watched a rerun of the reality TV wedding-of-the-decade titled KIMI KAZA’S HEA: Happily Ever After.

I’m forgetting what this is all about! Kimi the socialite wailed in the video clip. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face looked fugly, like she’d been crying a river for the past few hours. If I don’t get this right, we’re going to be divorced in no time!

The words marriage and divorce were always used together, like they went hand in hand together.

Anyway, Kimi had already gotten a divorce sixty-six days into the marriage. So why were Trevor and I watching a stupid rerun of something that obviously didn’t go right?

Teng Teng Teng Teng, Trevor sang along to the tune of the Here Comes the Bride song as the reality TV star imagined floating down the red carpeted event in a wedding dress adorned with half a million dollars’ worth of gold jewelry.

I burst out giggling when Trevor hooked his arm in mine and said, Till death do us part, as we watched Kim teach her younger sisters the vows that would be exchanged at the ceremony.

During the ad break, Trevor got off the couch to go to the bathroom. Momma was in the kitchen brewing something with her friends Barbara and Susan.

I felt lost and alone. I didn’t know why.

There was something about Kimi, the reality TV star, that I both liked and disliked.

She looked pretty. I wanted to look like that too. Every girl did.

But I didn’t want to just look pretty. I thought there must be other things in life to do other than sit around and look pretty.

I wasn’t bullied much at school—I liked having lots of different girl friends to see what they were all up to. I mostly talked to girls after Momma called me a ho for watching TV with Peter. Trevor and Dad were just about the only guys I talked to, and maybe the principal if he said hello.

All other men were evil according to Momma. She didn’t say it, but I didn’t want her to hit me or call me a ho again for mixing around with boys. Oh, I knew what a ho was. Hoes were those types of girls on MTV who were always taking their clothes off or being drunk and spreading their legs wide open. A bit like what Momma was like, really. So I didn’t know why Momma would say ho! in such an angry kind of way when she was one herself.

I wandered into our bedroom and pulled out the wooden box of toys I kept under the bed.

Trevor and I had our own sets of toys, even though we shared our things and mixed things up sometimes. He had the trucks and Lego blocks while I had the dolls and dollhouse sets.

We often used the Lego pieces to build awesome skyscrapers and fantasy buildings we’d wish we could visit for real. That was much more fun than sitting around watching expressionless dolls in houses you couldn’t tear down and rebuild into something more fun.

I had some Ken and Barbie dolls. One was a mermaid tail Barbie, another was a gymnast Barbie in super short shiny blue shorts, and one was a Miss World Barbie in a maroon pink shimmery strapless ball gown.

The thing I noticed with my collection was that all the Kens and Barbies looked exactly the same.

The Miss World one reminded me of Kimi, because they both had long, very shiny hair that I couldn’t get my hair to look like even after two hundred slow, gentle strokes with the hairbrush.

There was a black Sharpie pen lying around on the floor. I remembered that show from the other day where the surgeon was drawing arrows on a porn star’s nose, face, and body.

I took off the Miss World Barbie’s clothes and drew arrows in similar spots. Little, little arrows. What I didn’t have was a surgeon’s knife like the one on the TV.

Was it painful, cutting a person’s skin with that cold, sharp blade?

I looked at the doll for a moment. Her face looked really ugly now with the black arrows. I tried to wipe the marks away, but couldn’t, because the ink was permanent.

So I colored two ‘X’ marks over the Barbie’s boobies, as Momma called them. I had seen a 19 year-old rapper from Jamaica at the VMA Awards on TV wearing that with a pair of gold pants which were very tight. So tight until her huge ass was almost splitting the seams.

Then I colored the Barbie in between the legs, because I had seen another popstar in one of Momma’s magazines with a blue sticker on that area. I don’t know why the sticker was blue. Maybe because it matched the popstar’s new hair color. Yes, that must be it.

Now you look even uglier, I remarked to Miss World-Now-Undressed-And-Like-All-The-Other-Barbies Barbie.

I placed the black pen on the floor, before flicking it with my fingernail hard across the floor, so that it spun away across the wooden floor from me. It hit the wall with a sharp thud.

I was suddenly filled with hate at the ugly doll—that was where I was going to end up, lying on a hospital bed unconscious with tubes down my mouth, if I wanted to be pretty like Kimi and the Jamaican rapper with the big butt, and everybody else who was on TV getting arrows drawn on their faces and bodies at a doctor’s office.

I grabbed the doll’s head. I ripped it right off. It took a bit of effort with getting the twisting angle right.

But I felt good when the head actually came off. Because it made me feel like I had won.

I might not have been the prettiest girl on or off TV. But I knew then that I wasn’t as ugly as the hideous doll.

I reached for a pair of scissors from the tabletop. The edge of the tip of the blade was perfect for slowly cutting along the jagged, arrowed lines on the beheaded plastic body.

Chapter 5: Trevor

I had taken a quick trip to the bathroom during an ad break.

But Angela—God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners—Christ died for us, Barbara said in the kitchen. It was a Bible Reading day.

I had a quick glance and noticed that Mom was seated at the table with her head down. She was slumped over without an ounce of energy or movement in her body.

Okay, I thought. Mom always told us that we were born sinners, and to be good so that we wouldn’t go to Hell. So maybe that’s why her friend was reminding her of that too. Yes, that must be it.

Tania wasn’t in front of the TV, so I figured she must be in our room.

Whoa, I said when I saw one of her doll’s heads blacked out with a marker pen. The Barbie doll’s head was beside Tania’s toy box. Tania had drawn some skulls and ships on the toy box to make it look more like a pirate’s treasure chest.

What? Tania shot back at me. She turned her face away slightly, acknowledging that I was there, but staying very focused on whatever she was doing.

What are you doing? I pointed to the red scissors in her hand. The scissorblades were long and narrow, and almost the same shade of red as the shiny plastic handles. That was a pair of scissors that would beat rock and paper every time.

I’m just doing what they do on TV, Tania remarked. I’m cutting into people’s skins and bodies.

Do you want to be a plastic surgeon? I asked. I knew which show she was talking about. We would sometimes dare each other to keep our eyes open during the close-up shots where the camera would zoom in on blood or fat or pus or whatever disgusting thing it was that was being shown on the screen.

Tania paused for a moment. Maybe. She made one more cut in the doll’s body before adding, I like playing with blades.

Yes, I knew that too because she always played with a blade when we played the Diablo 3 game online. I was more of the bow and arrows type of guy.

Is this because Mr. Snuggles ran away? I asked. Our adopted indoor-outdoor gray cat had run away again a few weeks ago. Mom did like shouting at that cat and kicking it out of her way. One of Mom’s friends left the cat with us because she didn’t want it anymore (she had gotten a mini pet pig named Petey).

No, Tania said. She paused her doll-cutting experiment. I would like him to come back though.

There, so I was right.

I got her to put the doll’s head and body back in the box so I wouldn’t need to keep staring at that headless body in Tania’s hands.

Are you going to do that to the other dolls?

I don’t know. I think I was angry with Kimi’s HEA show.

Angry? Why?

Tania gave a restless shrug. Because I want to be Kimi, but at the same time, I don’t?

You’re Tania Wilde, my twin sister, I said. Why would you want to be Kimi?

We were both quiet for a while.

You can be the bride, I can be the groom. I thought maybe that was what Tania meant when she said she wanted to be like Kimi. I heard Mom mutter to herself several times that every girl dreamed of their wedding day from the time they were born.

I locked my arm in hers and sang the Teng Teng Teng Teng wedding tune so we would have some background music.

Oh! I reached out for a black cat ring Dad had bought for Tania for her birthday. There. I placed it on one of Tania’s fingers.

And we would be…Tania and Trevor Wilde, Tania remarked with a shy smile. Oh, we wouldn’t even need to change our last names.

Hey, you’re right. Tania was great at noticing things I’d never see on my own.

We sat on the floor, leaning against the bed.

That was fun, Tania said with a grin.

I nodded. I wonder if Mom and Dad have any fun together.

Tania shook her head. I don’t think so.

Apart from reaching out for the bottle the moment he got home, Dad treated both of us quite well most of the time.

I still didn’t really know what to make of him. Why didn’t he do anything to stop Mom from hitting Tania? Surely he knew about it?

Did he want me to do something about it? Did he like Mom so much that he allowed her to do anything she wanted to us?

I knew Dad treated me well.

He would sometimes ignore Mom and Tania. He’d be reading the papers or doing something on the computer, Mom or Tania might ask him something, and he sometimes wouldn’t even respond.

But if I asked for something, he’d always turn around and talk to me, hear me out, or see what I had to say.

Was it because I was male while the other two people in the house were not? Did that mean I was better just because I was a boy? Why?

Fudge, I would say to myself whenever I got lost in my own thoughts. I had no idea whether I liked, feared, or hated either of my parents. Sometimes I thought they were both basket cases.

I never thought Tania was crazy. Angry like a cute punk princess, maybe, but not crazy.

Tania didn’t lose her mind the way Mom and Dad did during their wine time. She always had a reason for doing things. And she didn’t do strange things with strange men like the way Mom did.

Before I drifted off to sleep each night, I’d remember that haiku Tania wrote about and for me.

And I would feel that we were gonna be okay, because we had each other.

Chapter 6: Tania

TV time again on a Friday evening—I was watching a show called Pretty Woman about a pretty woman who fell in love with a good-looking man who bought her all sorts of pretty clothes and gifts.

Dad slammed the front door on the way out after Momma flung the bottle at him. After that Momma shut herself up in her room again. I could smell the cigarette smoke coming from her room. I think it was cigarettes. Something that made my throat itch slightly.

Dad’s arm had a cut from the bottle. As I cleaned up drops and smears of his blood from the floorboards, I knew what I’d do if I ever saw Momma about to throw a bottle at Trevor or me. I would pick a bottle up and throw it at her first.

I’d aim for her face too, to inflict maximum damage as one of the criminals on a police versus bad people show said in an episode a couple of days ago. The guy in that show smashed his girlfriend’s skull with a small Venus De Milo statue.

I didn’t know if a glass bottle could crack open a person’s skull that way. Glass seemed to be a lot more breakable. But I didn’t know if I had the strength to smash a person’s skull in the first place.

The man on TV looked like he was using a lot of force to kill his girlfriend. He looked a lot bigger and stronger than the girlfriend too. So I guess it was hopeless for her once he decided to attack her.

Poor girl.

But poor us, I wrote in the corner of a doodle where I sketched out the scene, if Momma starts bashing our heads with a wine bottle.

Trevor was lying on the couch with a coloring book on fantasy sea creatures.

Is that Ariel, the Little Mermaid? I asked. I saw Trevor coloring one of the mermaid’s hair a fiery shade of red.

Not sure. Trevor held up the drawing book so I could have a better view at the illustration. That’s you and that’s me—the King and Queen of the Sea.

There was a bare-bodied muscular man seated on a throne in the picture. A half-naked woman was at his feet, reaching an arm out to gently touch him below the chin. A dainty tiara held up some of her long, loose hair.

The woman was wearing some kind of robe below the waist, so her legs were covered. But she had no clothes on above, and she was seated sideways, so her raised arm covered most of her boobies.

I know Momma will say the girl is the bad one in the picture, I said.

Why’s that?

Because she only has half her clothes on.

The man is that way too, Trevor replied. Does that make them both bad?

That was a good question.

Maybe. I stared at the picture, imagining the both of us under the deep blue sea. But if you were a wicked king, I’d be happy to be the wicked queen beside you.

I imagined it for a moment. The first thing I’d do as Queen of the Sea was to flood that house so all of Momma’s pills and bottles would be destroyed and swept out to the lake.

Trevor and I went swimming with floats in the deepest parts of the lake, during the summertime when we took the kayak out with Dad. It was really deep.

You could bury treasure chests and dead bodies here, and nobody would ever find them... Dad himself said, pointing out the section to us with the kayak paddle.

Ever since Dad said that, I had my hopes with discovering a treasure chest, or some skeletons, or something like a severed hand or human head somewhere.

Trevor and I often walked around the wooded area near our log cabin at Pleasant Lake. We were both sure we’d find something one day. We were so gonna appear on TV to talk about it and show off the goodies we uncovered.

Out in a field, under a tree, by the roadside. Who knew what we might come across one day?

I’ll hollaaaa for a dollaaaa!

A high-pitched piercing squeal of a voice coming from the TV got my attention.

Hey, I pointed out. "She’s wearing the same outfit as Pretty Woman!"

The 3-year-old contestant on Toddlerz and Tiaraz was catwalking on the stage in an acid yellow wig, tight sky blue miniskirt and thigh-high leather boots.

The little girl contestant did a fast shimmy shake, so I followed what she was doing. I’d noticed in the past few weeks that my chest felt a little different—right at the area which Momma called boobies in older girls and females. It felt like there was a small coin behind each boobie area. It was a bit painful if I pressed on it.

I started touching and lightly rubbing that area. The slight pain started to actually feel a little nice, and there was a kinda intense, pleasant buzz in between the legs too, where that blue-haired singer had pasted the blue sticker.

Trevor was focused on his coloring, so neither of us noticed Momma coming out of her room and lunging at me once she saw what I was doing.

"You sinner!" Momma’s eyes were ablaze with the fires of hell itself. She grabbed my wrist just like the cowboy hat man had done with her.

Before I could move, she shoved me down on the sofa and slapped me hard across the face four times.

Mom! Trevor yelled, grabbing her arm.

I raised my arms over my face, though I was repeating to myself, I wish I could turn into Mr. Snuggles, I wish I could turn into Mr. Snuggles, so I could scratch Momma’s eyeballs out.

Hell, I’d have scratched her till the front of her face was ripped off. A gaping hole would be left in place of her nose that I was staring straight at.

Momma was going for more, but she pushed Trevor back.

Stay out of this, she hissed, shoving a meaty finger into his chest. Whoever strikes his father or his mother shall be put to death.

Trevor had left some red marks on Momma’s arm where he scratched her with his fingernails.

Go, Trev! I wanted to dare Momma and see if my brother would die if he continued attacking her. I would have smiled at Trevor if Momma hadn’t been so quick to grip me tightly by the wrist again.

You spawn of the devil, Momma sneered. Her dry, frazzled halo of hair was flying up and around the back of her head. You will not touch yourself that way—

What did I—

Say it. Say that you will not touch yourself that way.

Wha—

Say it.

Mom! I cried. I—

Momma punched me in the face. She hit me in the left eye, which sent the ceiling above spinning around.

Say: I will not touch myself this way, Momma commanded.

I’ll not touch myself this way. I was staring at Momma’s bulging bloodshot eyes and thinking I must have died and gone to Hell.

Now say: I discipline my body and keep it under control. Momma grabbed me by the back of the neck to jerk my head up. Look at me, Tania. Look. At. Me.

I disciple my body and keep it under control, I mumbled, as the small golden cross on Momma’s necklace hovered in front of my eyes.

Dis-ci-pline. Again.

I discipleen my body and keep it under control. I wished to God that he would turn Trevor and I into superheroes so that we could take down the enemy.

Lord Almighty. Momma’s head was thrown back, and her eyes were closed as she got herself into that Charmed sister Bible Reading mode. Teach this girl chastity. Teach this girl purity. For this is the will of God: that she abstain from sexual immorality, that she knows how to control her own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like those who do not know God.

I didn’t understand a single word that was coming out of Momma’s mouth.

But I knew that what I’d been caught doing was something Sinful, which meant it was Bad and Dirty.

Then again, my mind and body had their own thoughts.

So bad, it’s good, was their verdict.

Chapter 7: Trevor

I tried to help Tania but Mom still managed to box her in the eye.

I wished I was taller. I wished I was stronger. Then I could be a man who could protect Tania from harm and injury.

Mom threatened that I would die because I had struck her. My heart actually froze when she said that, and I kept waiting and waiting to wake up and find myself in wherever I was supposed to be once I died. Where did a person go when they died?

Mom kept making Tania repeat something about not touching herself. I didn’t understand so I asked Tania later that night what the whole thing was about.

Nothing, Trev, Tania murmured in the dark.

I was clever enough by then to know that nothing and fine nearly always meant that Tania was feeling the opposite: she was not feeling okay.

What were you touching? And how? I asked, swinging my body downwards over the upper bunk so Tania could show me.

She brought a hand up to her upper chest area. I was just rubbing over here because it felt nice.

And Mom hit you because it felt nice?

Yes.

Sorry I couldn’t stop her.

It’s okay. You still managed to scratch her.

I grinned. Too bad the police found Simon. Now I know we have to try harder with our plan to get away from here.

Simon was a classmate who had just run away from home. He’d ridden away on his bicycle. The police found him a short distance from his house. Simon was asking two adult females for directions to cross the border to enter Canada so he could visit his older brother in Toronto who he’d never seen before.

Get rich or die tryin’, Tania said, humming a tune.

Huh?

You said something about trying harder—it reminded me of that new song by 90 Cent.

Oh.

Hey, 90 Cent and their homies are always walking around without shirts, Tania said. Why can’t females do that?

I don’t know. I leaned back against my pillow with my elbows stretched out beside my head. Adults are strange.

I hate being a girl. I think people pick on you more.

I swung over the side of the bed again. I like you just the way you are. I like having a sister.

Tania laughed and rolled over to the side.

But I could see from the moonlight streaming in through the window that she had a happier look on her face now, which led me to drift away into sleep with a smile too.

That weekend, Mom went over to Barbara’s house on Sunday afternoon to bake a cake.

Stay in your room until Mom comes home, Dad said. He had been texting quite often throughout the morning, in between reading a book and watching a historical documentary on Netflix. Stay there with Tania, okay?

I nodded, thinking about what Dad wanted to hide. Tania was right when she told me that Mom and Dad always told us to stay in our rooms when they wanted to hide something from us.

I went into our room where Tania was coloring one of the drawings in that sea creatures book.

Dad told us to stay here, I reported.

Tania looked up from the coloring book. Obviously, she was very interested in what I’d just said.

He’s gonna do something baaaaad, Tania whispered to me. Just watch.

I looked out the window at the calm lake in the distance. I loved viewing the lake through the seasons. It was hard to believe this same lake could be totally frozen over during winter, yet clear and bright blue and shimmery during summertime.

That made me think of Mom and Dad’s marriage. What it had become was very different from how young and happy they looked in their wedding pictures.

It made me wonder if it was something I or Tania did that somehow made our parents fight all the time. I knew Tania got hit when she did something wrong, even though most of the time neither of us knew what exactly it was she did that was wrong. Mom never bothered explaining it to us.

Shhh… Tania whispered, bringing a finger up to her lips in that hush, keep quiet gesture the school librarian always used whenever students were making too much noise.

We heard a car pulling into the driveway, and what sounded like two girls’ voices.

—this is the house—

—ooh, pretty view—

We heard Dad opening the front door and stepping out to meet the girls.

I crept out of our room and made my way to the couch, where I could peek over the seat and spot the girls’ car through the window. If they were going to step into the house, I’d dash back into our room and keep the door closed to pretend that’s where Tania and I had been all the while.

They’re going round the house, I let Tania know when I saw the three of them turn past the right corner of the log cabin.

Maybe they’re entering the basement, Tania said. Dad removed the old basement door a few weeks back.

Dad had replaced the old rotten wooden basement hatch with new outdoor steel doors.

Let’s go see! Tania grabbed the binoculars that hung off the edge of her table.

What if Dad sees us? I stopped her for a moment, placing my hand against her shoulder to hold her back.

I’ll say we saw a bright yellow bird outdoors and we were chasing it. Tania was already walking out into the living room. "I want to see what he is up to. C’mon—we can go together."

I was a little nervous stepping out the front door, expecting ravens to come swooping down from the sky to snatch away the binoculars from Tania, or caw at us that we were going to be put to death for disobeying Dad’s orders.

I got a fright when Tania and I turned the corner, and the blackest raven I ever saw flew out from one of the surrounding pine trees. I jumped as the crow went across and over the roof of our house.

"Scaredy