by Stella Noir
He is standing over the body of his sister, the one whom he killed with a bullet fired from a gun by him. I remember the look of pure horror and such intense sadness on his face, it killed me. Not because I cared about Venetia, but because in that moment, I didn’t see a sad, sick man.
I saw a broken child, one who was never cared for by his family, neglected and forgotten by all but his sister. Nevermind the fact that she was only trying to use him. She was his only friend, his only solace. And now she died of his own hand, and I know from his expression Marc will never, ever get over this.
Then we’re all taken away and once again, life becomes a blur of hospitals, police officers, interviews and cameras flashing in my face for the final scandal.
The one to end them all.
Chapter 57
Venetia’s funeral is small. There’s only Dylan, me and the priest. They don’t let Marc out for the ceremony, and I know how much it hurts him to be unable to say goodbye to his sister, but I can’t do a thing about it.
Soon after everything that went down, Marc was declared criminally insane and placed in a psychiatric hospital. He was to be kept there for the remainder of his life.
But I can’t help feeling sadness, grief, at what happened to him. In more ways than one, he was just a victim – like me and Dylan. We were used and abused by Venetia, who only saw herself.
I lay a rose on her grave, and choose to remember her as the sullen, but sweet girl she was when we were teenagers. I remember her for the kind things she did, like discreetly letting me take some of her pads when I first got my period and had no idea what was going on. I remember her smiling at me when no one was looking, like we would always share that stupid secret. Her naivety, which was taken advantage of by Adam when we were children.
She was just as broken as the rest of us, but while we all picked ourselves up, she was determined to have her revenge, even though it didn’t make any sense.
“Goodbye, Venetia,” I say softly, stepping away from the grave as Dylan approaches it.
He kneels by her newly carved headstone, placing a bouquet of gardenias, her favorite flowers, on her grave.
“I will remember you for who you could have been,” he whispers, but the wind carries the words over to my ears and I smile sadly at his sentiment.
We wait for the end of the sermon, after which we link hands and walk away, out of the graveyard. But not all of our business is done yet. There is another sibling who needs some attention.
Getting in to see Marc is a struggle, and we have to get special permission to visit him. It comes in the day we bury Venetia, and we decide to go there right away. It’s a sweet gesture from Dylan, and as I watch him driving towards the psychiatric hospital, I realize this is the kind of man he is – the type that will always do the right thing, no matter what.
I smile sadly to myself, and when he asks me what’s wrong, I just shake my head.
We are shown to the visitor’s area, where Marc is already waiting for us. He looks awful, thin and ragged to the bone. He’s sitting in a corner, looking through the window. I don’t see restraints, which makes me scared, but seeing Dylan stride confidently towards his twin, I know I have nothing to fear.
The only person Marc wants revenge on now is himself.
“Hello, brother,” Dylan says softly as we sit down, and Marc gives him a blank stare. The brothers look at each other, and I see them again as what they could be.
A handsome, capable pair of siblings who could take on the world.
Instead, only one of them is that way, while the other has been broken down, piece by piece.
“Hello,” Marc answers, his voice so far away it makes me wonder if he’s really in the room with his mind, or somewhere completely different.
Dylan begins talking to him softly, patiently. He explains about the day we had, the fact that we went to Venetia’s funeral. This seems to bring some life into Marc and he even asks a few questions. What did we engrave on the stone that adorns her grave, did we place a statue for her. If we brought her gardenias.
Dylan answers truthfully and it seems to make Marc feel better.
But I’ve gotten good at reading emotions, and looking deep inside his eyes, I see all that he is hiding in his soul. I see his pain, the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching pain that will probably follow him until the day he dies, eating away at him.
And I feel for this man, who is really just an unloved boy. I wish things could be different.
Dylan can tell too, I can see it. We talk sadly, with a sense of finality hanging over us. We all know this is it, and there’s nothing else that can be said between the two brothers. I think all three of us are aware that this is mine and Dylan’s first and last visit to the hospital.
When we get up to leave, I see something breaking in Marc’s eyes, and the brothers look at each other awkwardly. Not knowing what to do, I go for the first thing that pops in my mind. I step closer to Marc and I pull him into a tight embrace.
His awkward position makes me question the fact whether he has even been hugged before, but before he can react, I move away and Dylan replaces me.
And after an initial awkward pause, I see Marc reacting to the hug from his estranged twin brother. Slowly, he raises his hands and places them on Dylan’s shoulders, and the two brothers – so alike, yet completely different – embrace one another, like they’re trying to make it all better. Make the world start spinning again.
Before that can happen, a nurse interrupts us and tells us we really must be going now. Dylan and Marc say their goodbyes, and we leave the hospital.
As we’re heading out of the room, I throw one look over my shoulder to see what Marc is doing when we aren’t looking.
He’s sitting in the same spot again, his eyes locked on us as we walk away. And seeing all that pain in them, I should know what would follow.
Because the next day, we get news from the hospital informing us Marc has committed suicide.
Just like that, most of the Rawlings siblings are erased from the face of the earth, and Dylan is the only one left standing out of the three of them.
Death and loss. So much of them around us.
It makes me happy to know that there is life growing inside my belly, making me believe that the world can make up for lost things, in one way or another.
I feel Dylan’s hands holding me from behind, clasped on my swollen belly. We watch Marc’s casket being lowered in the ground, their parents once again choosing not to show up.
I wonder if they’d make an exception for Dylan, or if they’ve written all of their children off entirely.
It surprises me that my parents come.
We were never close – my father was distant, my mother a tyrant. But seeing them in the cemetery, awkward in their dark clothing, makes my heart swell with happiness. Perhaps this will bring us together, and maybe my child will have at least one set of grandparents.
We say goodbye to Marc that day, and I watch my love bury another sibling, his tears soiling the grave as he kneels over it. Once again, he is broken, and it will be my job to put him back together.
But even if that’s all I spend doing for the rest of my life, it will be the right thing, because it means I get to spend the rest of it with the love of my life.
Dylan Rawlings.
He is brave and strong, just like always. He says his goodbyes, and even takes me and my parents out for lunch afterward. And instead of it being dark and gloomy, we choose to speak about the baby I’m carrying.
We discuss our want to have a big family. We talk about our puppy, Love, who brings us joy every single day. We tell my parents how we sold my house, and chose to move to the one where we lived when we were in the protection program.
They think it morbid, us returning to the place where everything went down. But the old house is being torn down, a beautiful new one being erected in its place. And I can already see myself working in the garden with Dylan, rocking our child to sleep in the evening,
and then making love to him.
My parents shoot out reasons not to do all of this, but my eyes find Dylan’s and we smile knowingly at one another.
Sure, it’s a strange endeavor for two people who were used to being taken cared for and served on either end, but we know we can do this together. We need time to ourselves, and we’ve already decided we will make our family a priority.
We tell as much to my parents, who are uncertain at first, but when they see us talking so enthusiastically about everything we’re going to do, they begin to understand this is something we need to do.
And we part in a good way, with smiles and promises of calls and visits.
This time, I know they will be true to their word, seeing the light in my mother and father’s eyes as they lock their gazes on my swollen belly. I stroke it protectively and I make a vow.
I will be the best mother I can be.
I will be the best wife, and the best daughter.
I will live my life for the fullest, to make up for all those who cannot.
*
Weeks later, a letter arrives in the mail. The handwriting looks familiar, and upon closer inspection, I realize it’s the same hand that wrote Venetia’s diary.
It’s a letter, addressed to me.
I hesitate for days, leaving the letter unopened on the table. I tell Dylan about it and he says to take my time with it. I do open the enclosed envelope, which tells me it’s a letter that was to be sent to me in case of her untimely death, so her solicitor finally fulfilled one of her last wishes.
Finally, one sunny afternoon, I feel strong enough to look inside the envelope.
I open it slowly, and several sheets of paper spill outside, covered with her handwriting. My hands tremble as I take them between my fingers, resting my eyes on her slanted, messy handwriting.
I begin reading.
Dear Lola,
Isn’t it ironic I’ve started this letter like that? All I’ve known for most of my life is hatred, and most of it was aimed at you. I blamed your anything and everything, and believed you were the source of all my troubles, when the truth might have been vastly different.
I was never the favorite of my family. It was Marc at first, whom I’ve sure you know well by now. But then, when he started having problems, the attention switched to Dylan. He was the prodigy, me and Marc completely forgotten.
I remember hiding in the closet as my parents would beat Marc. They believed they could kick his illness out of him, pound the sadness away, torture him physically until he would be normal and perfect, just like they wanted him to be.
Nothing worked, though. I’m sure you’ve seen Marc’s scars. He got them from his parents, the very people who were supposed to love him most in the world.
Turns out it was quite different than that.
I lived for those summers, visiting my brother, who was the only one that understood. Until Adam came along.
I was a teenager, you don’t have to tell me I was too young, too naïve – I’m well aware of it myself.
He touched me before I knew we were related by blood. I thought he was a friend of the family, and by the time we made love, I didn’t even suspect he was really our half-brother.
When he told me, I cried for hours in his arms. We had committed crime, incest. I felt disgusting.
He told me it would all be okay, we could get away with it. Today, I realize it was all a ruse, but I don’t want to believe it. You know Lola, sometimes the truth is just too much to bear. Sometimes, you have to create your own version of the truth, because the reality is too painful.
That is exactly what I did.
You became the reason everything bad in my life happened.
When Adam died, I blamed you.
I never told you this, but I saw what he did to you. I saw how he looked at you. I saw and knew he wanted to make you a victim, just like me.
And at first, I wanted to fight him about it, I swear I did. I didn’t want him to abuse you.
But I was green with envy. I was supposed to be the pretty one, the special one, the one he was interested in – not you.
And I let it get the better of me, until I could see nothing else than the hatred before me, painting the world in a different color.
I made you the reason behind all of my problems. It was your fault I lost Adam, and Dylan. It was your fault my parents alienated me, sending me off to boarding schools on the other side of the world. If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened.
I know I was lying to myself. But I don’t always know it. I guess today is a good day, because I can finally write this and tell you the truth. Tell you you are innocent, and I’m the messed up one.
I always was.
Lola, I ruined your life. And I never had enough – I wanted to see you destroyed. You were the symbol of everything that went wrong in my life, and I wanted you punished.
Today, in what you might call a sane moment, I want you to know it’s not your fault. It’s not mine, either. We’re all fucked up, messed with and wronged.
It’s our decision to be better than everyone else and set an example.
In that aspect, I have failed completely.
I turned Marc on the wrong path. Marc, my brother, whom I love more than anything in the world. He is all there is for me, and I love him like a mother loves her son. That sounds sick, doesn’t it? But the doctors told me he is like a child in many ways, and I guess I always felt the need to protect him.
Except I’m doing the exact opposite of that right now. I’m selfishly using him, and I’m ashamed of it.
I don’t know what I’m going to do to you, Lola, and I don’t know which one of us will make it out alive. I hope this letter, or this confession, finds you one way or another.
Don’t seek revenge, Lola.
Don’t be me.
Be the better person, and prove the world wrong.
Show them you’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside.
Please, Lola.
Chapter 58
It is only when I finish reading that I realize my eyes are filled to the brim with tears, which have been falling down on the paper, smudging the ink.
“Lola?” a voice asks from the doorway, and I whip my head towards it, my eyes finding my husband. I rush out of my seat and into his arms, and he embraces me gently but just strong enough to reassure me.
My heart swells with the pain I feel for Venetia, for Marc, for Dylan, for Matt … All of us, harmed by everything that happened.
I think of how it could have ended. God knows what would’ve happened had Venetia not killed my husband, had Dylan not killed Adam.
God only knows.
And I want it to stay that way. For once, I don’t drift off into my own dream world. I stay rooted in reality, and I don’t want it any other way, because if anything were different, I might not be where I am today.
And this, standing in my husband’s arms, his baby growing in my belly, is perfection to me.
I don’t need anything else, and I never will.
This is it.
Epilogue
1 year later
My husband calls out to me from the garden and I walk outside, clutching the giddy baby in my hands.
We’ve decided to call him Marc, which my parents immediately called obscene and told us a million reasons why we shouldn’t do it. But Dylan and I both agreed it was the perfect way to honor his twin’s memory.
We go to their graves often, and there is a steady supply of candles on Marc’s, and a fresh gardenia resting on Venetia’s. They’re buried side by side, partners and siblings even in death.
I don’t blame anyone for what happened. I decided not to dwell on it too much a long time ago, instead realizing both Venetia and Marc were deeply damaged individuals. It was not my fault they decided I needed to pay. I just wish I could have helped them in time to make all of this right … to see Matt alive and happy with another woman, to see Marc and Venet
ia happy and growing old, their friendship strong and unyielding.
The strangest things come out of tragedies, you know?
Like Matthew’s mother, who was once my biggest competition, but is now a regular visitor in our household. She absolutely adores the baby and coddles him way too much. I keep telling her she will spoil him rotten, but she always comes bearing gifts for him and he shrieks with delight whenever she’s around.
The puppy – no longer a puppy, but a full-grown dog – has come around, too. Love has grown from a nervous, twitchy pup into a protective dog who would protect Marc with her life and even starts growling at us if we raise our voices when we’re around the baby.
It’s idyllic, the life in this house. We take care of the chickens, we tend the garden and we’re pretty self-sufficient. I’ve invested a lot of my money and donated even more to charities that speak to my heart.
And one day, I had an even better idea. I suggested to Dylan that we start our own charity, one to help damaged children in need. We’re focusing on providing help for those who are afraid of seeking it out, be it because of domestic abuse or a mental issue. We’ve had enormous success in the past year and I know only better things will come of it.
As I walk into the garden, I think of all of this, but my mind is wiped clean as soon as I set my eyes on Dylan. He’s just as handsome as he was when we were teenagers, but it is clear he is no longer just a teenager, but instead a full-grown man.
I take him in, bouncing the baby on my hip. His broad, muscular shoulders, his skin tanned from working so much in the sun. His hair has been lightened by the rays, just like when we used to spend long days at the beach.
I smile, the love I feel for him making all other thoughts and worries disappear.
“There they are,” he says, wiping his dirty hands in a rag as he makes his way over. He’s shirtless, his broad pecks glistening with sweat from working outside. I don’t care though, and I laugh delightedly right along with the baby when he envelops us in a bear hug.
“My love,” he says softly, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. We exchange looks, and once more, our eyes speak louder than words as we look into each other’s eyes.