Ranissa, did you do this? I shout wordlessly at her.
Yes, Nikki, I suddenly developed the ability to stifle the world and chose this moment to reveal it. She cocks a disapproving brow as she crosses her arms over her chest. I mimic her expression, pondering if there might be some truth to her words. NO! Stop. Even if I could do this, I wouldn’t be able to keep it from you.
A tiny breeze singsongs like wind chimes, sweeping away the brochures, leaving one in between us. Neither of us moves, watching the thick folded stock paper dance atop the table. I swear the song harrumphs before flopping open the trifold and shoving it closer.
You think we should be freaking out? Like running from the house screaming in horror movie style, right? In a world of normal, we might, but I can feel what she feels and hear her in my head.
Normal left the building months ago.
Weird occurrences are a part of our weekly norm. Another “gift,” if you will, our ability to see what others choose to ignore.
A random lost spirit, an aura of darkness, or a sense of danger. Nothing harsh enough to make us want to do anything because—come on—this shit is freaky and terrifying, but it’s all there if you open yourself to see it.
We shared a womb, but our link runs deeper than sisters and more than twins. From our first lung full of air, we were inseparable to the extreme. Dad did the best he could raising infant daughters, while the other half of his soul laid cold in the ground.
It’s common for twin newborns to share a crib and move when they grow too big. What’s not is our trauma when he attempted to separate us to build individuality. We became inconsolable unless we were within touching distance. He moved us into one room; placing our beds close enough we could reach across to hold hands and never questioned our ability to comfort each other with a joining of fingertips.
Chapter Three
The first time I heard my sister speak in my head, I thought I’d cracked and my personality turned against me. I mean, when your brain calls you a boyfriend-stealing thirsty, ratchet slunt, you might need some good drugs and a better therapist. Being identical means her timbre and mine sound the same. Imagine my stupefied shock when my Freud-driven id grew claws and reaped vengeance.
Ranissa and I were at each other’s throats for months over a guy named Caleb Allen. Not unusual, right? Twin sisters taking an interest in the same pimply-faced, seventeen-year-old, wannabe man is not out of this world impossible, unless you’re referring to Nicole and Ranissa Nodens.
Psst… that’s me and her.
We might appear identical on the outside but my brainiac sis prefers her guys rough, rockerish, and troubled—with mommy issues—while I enjoy the smart, unnoticed, shy boy who is cute enough to gander a second glance and brimming with intelligence.
Caleb was none of these. He was short, pale, scraggly, and rude. Yet he tested our bond as twins and the cord of our sisterhood grew bleach blonde hair strand thin. When he entered our orbit, I didn’t see the troll. No, I spied with my little eye a smart, charming boy with a flop of chestnut hair hanging on his forehead, mischievous glinting green eyes, and a roguish smile I wanted to nibble on. Plus, he smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and melting vanilla ice cream.
He connived an assignment as Ranissa’s lab partner in chemistry while also worming his way to work with me on an essay in English. I stumbled on them together in the library. Heads bent near each other and laughing. Jealousy punched me in the gut, but I pasted a smile to my face and approached. Digging at a festering hangnail, I allowed the pain to keep me in check or else I’ll exploded from the envy eating my insides. At the table's edge, his decadent scent wafted over me like a weighted blanket, tamping down every speck of anxiety. This can work, Ranissa and I have shared friends in the past. I’ll just up my seduction game to ensure he keeps her in the compadre zone. My thoughts added to the calm and helped keep my voice from screeching.
“Hey, Caleb.” I finger waved with fake enthusiasm before meeting Ranissa’s glare. “Sis,” I greeted through clenched teeth.
“Hello, Nicole,” his voice danced between my ears like my favorite song. No one called me by my full name. It was always Nikki, but the way his lips formed each letter made my pulse soar. Were I not feeding on my addiction for him, I would’ve felt my sister's animosity. I’d known him for a handful of hours, yet he was all I saw. Visions of chubby babies, picket fences, and me awaiting his arrival from work with my hair coiffed and my apron pristine tangoed through my mind.
You’re wondering why warnings aren’t popping up, like a Despicable Me minion running around with a bullhorn and red flashing light screaming bee-doe bee-doe, right? Cause a minute in Caleb Allen’s swoon-worthy presence turned me stupid. I had moments of questioning clarity when we were apart for three hours, but within seconds of the clock strike, he’d call, FaceTime, or arrive. Even in the dead of the night, he never missed a check-in and I turned gooey all over again.
Like a devouring plague, our sisterly bond broke down and his vileness spread, festering into fighting over clothes, makeup, and television programs. All our commonalities twisted into opposition. We couldn’t even breathe the same air without a battle starting. Our house became a powder keg, with a lit fuse sparking a fiery path, burning brighter with each hateful barb from our lips.
Dad tried to referee but tapped out after the first week and confined himself to his room when we were home.
For eight weeks, hatred rotted our insides before the apocalyptic explosion.
Okay, yes, I tend to overdramatize, but it was still pretty fucking epic.
Before the boy-induced lunacy, we shared all things, and since we were the same size, we shopped in unison. Mixing and matching different pieces we could alternate between us. On a Friday night we faced off at our closet door. I narrowed my eyes at her robe-covered body and meticulous painted face, and she raised eyebrows at my towel-wrapped body and head.
No way we could both be going on a date with the same man at the same time. Maybe she found herself her own damn boyfriend, finally. A fissure of hope sprouted in my heart.
Tonight was our night, mine and Caleb’s. All my innocence was his for the taking. After days of denial, I’d be the happy cherry on top of his banana split.
My gawd, the memories of me for those fistsful of weeks is enough to make me want to stab myself in the eye with a pencil, but at the time I was in a blissful fog of lusty love.
Ranissa shifted hangers at one end and I at the other, knowing the perfect dress for the night; I hunted. We met near the middle at the same garment. A peach, 50s pinup-style dress with white satin trim around the breast, a matching belt around the waist—tied in an enormous bow above the butt—and peekaboo splits with matching shiny material down the skirt. Caleb wanted his woman proper, prim, and all kinds of Donna Mills on the outside but wild and crazy between the sheets. Well, once we got to the shagalicious part of our relationship.
It was the dress Mom wore on her first date with Dad. She was a classic beauty with retro style. Neither of us ever wanted to wear it because it was not our thing, but as young girls we spent hours staring at the smiling photo faces of our parents in their youth. Dad dressed down in jeans and a tee, smiling so wide his eyes crinkled and Mom wearing this dress with her hair swept back in an elegant French twist. Her blonde bangs dusted her eyebrows and wispy spiral strands touched her flushed cheeks. A halo of light hugged her body as though she were standing in front of a spotlight, highlighting her vibrant porcelain skin. She wasn’t looking at the camera, instead, her adoring twinkling eyes were locked on Dad. She held one hand on her stomach and gripped his elbow with the other. Dad said they took this before they left for their honeymoon. He requested this dress for her sendoff outfit because it was what she was wearing the night he realized she was his infinity.
Now we were here playing tug-o-war with the relic.
In all honesty, neither of us will fit in it because Mom stood a whole whopping five foot two. We s
hare her curving hips and ample bust, but we both hit a towering six feet earlier this year. She had petite bone structure and we were robust with wide shoulders and thick thighs.
“Your fat ass will split the zipper,” Ranissa yelled.
“My ass is the same size as yours, you Holstein,” I responded on a growl.
A crack of thunder shook the windowpane and lightning divided the sky, filling the room with a static blue haze. Vegas storms were rare, but we were too encumbered to pay attention.
She shoved my shoulder, but her pull on the dress tugged me forward. With my fist tight on the material I struck, grabbing a handful of her curled hair. “I don’t know what he sees in you,” I screeched.
“The same thing he sees in you, ya dumb bitch. We. Are. Identical.”
“Only in looks ‘cause you’re a stupid cow.”
Raging blood rushed through my ears, but I caught the tail end of the distinctive FaceTime ring. As it faded, it picked up again a few seconds later, but we were too involved to bother answering.
The seam on the dress tore and the wind thrashed debris against the glass. Ranissa let out an ear-piercing howl. You boyfriend-stealing, thirsty ratchet slunt, shouted in my head, but her lips never moved. The Caleb-enamored fog cloaking my brain dissipated and I couldn’t help but wonder why I was thinking horrid things about myself.
Stop. Stop. Stop. I shouted at myself, relinquishing my hold on the garment. Simultaneously my sister grabbed her head, also dropping her section.
For the first time in weeks, I noticed the crack in my soul as similar electricity splits the sky. I needed her. My mind slowly cleared and our bond bled in tatters between us. A heartache akin to death dropped me to my knees and tears soaked my cheeks. Through thick water drops, I stared at her blurry face and she was suffering the same agony.
The house creaked, fighting the torrential weather.
Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. We both sobbed, wobbling forward on our knees until we were wrapped in each other’s arms. The moment we collided, a loud click snapped in the air before silence descended.
No more storm, no more phone, no more anger.
Our bodies shook with hyperventilating joyous sorrow. I hadn’t noticed the dark depression I’d fallen into, until holding my sister shined love and light on my shadows. The holes dug in my soul fused. Unable to catch my breath, I couldn’t speak but my thoughts ran wild.
What have we been doing? How did it get this bad? Oh, crap, I missed you, Ranissa.
I missed you too, Nikki. My sadness consumed me and I couldn’t find you in the darkness, and after a while I believed you stopped trying to find me.
Wait, she wasn’t speaking out loud but I heard her crystal clear. Against my better judgment, I pulled back and met her wet eyes.
Can you hear me, Sis? I projected. Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline and her chin dropped.
Shit, shit, shit. Yes, I can. She answered at the same time the doorbell rang.
Our heads twisted Exorcist style toward the sound as the need for vengeance excited me. We’ll deal with this after we take out the trash, her voice hissed through my head. I nodded in agreement. We jumped to our feet. Grabbing each other’s hand without a thought, we stomped toward the living room.
Caleb Allen growled through my head as I sent the same sentiment back to her.
Hand in hand, we rushed down the hall to the front door. Together we yanked it open, meeting his smarmy cocksure grin. His eyes traveled down to where we connected and his smirk melted like ice cream in the Vegas desert. For the first time in weeks, we saw him in all his true nastiness.
“You sonuvabitch,” I shouted, reaching with my free hand to snag his shirt so I could drag him inside and interrogate him for answers. A curse pushed past his lips as he turned, fleeing so fast his body blurred.
Chapter Four
Caleb Allen vanished, but the ability to speak into each other’s minds, combined with sharing emotions, became maddening. Double PMS is enough to break the strongest woman, and we were mere teenagers.
Dad was glad we stopped fighting, but he knew something was amiss. Somehow the man who could never find his keys nor match his socks had moments of astute clarity that made you scratch your head. When he turned all Rain Man, he boggled our brains.
After a rather trying day of my sister’s ragtime crazy train of sadness and internal whining, compounding my cramps and bloating, he suggested we seek help by visiting Madam Sybil.
Why, you ask, would a father suggest a psychic over a therapist? Because our dad doesn’t only think outside the box, he sent it off for recycling.
But what the hell could it hurt? I mean, we shared this fracked-up ability to hear each others thoughts, I’d been seeing vibrant rings around people’s bodies, and I’d caught Ranissa talking to beings who were invisible. Our world was the definition of hell in a handbasket, so why not keep chugging on in the Fuckery Express?
When we arrived, her shop was the only place on the street not dilapidated and filled with the homeless. Lodged between what I supposed was a crack den and a strip joint, the vibrant purples and pinks of her large Psychic sign shined like a beacon under the scorching early summer sun.
My mind directed us to do a U-turn and get the hell out of Dodge, but a warm sense of welcome drew us to the entrance.
A bell over the door announced our arrival. Although if she were a true seer, she already knew we were coming. The second we crossed into this part of town; I questioned her ability. There weren’t bars strong enough to protect a business in this neighborhood. Yet here she was, all lit up like a circus tent.
Our father never steered us wrong, but pungent pot smoke hung in the air and a contact high was imminent. Yes, Nevada is a smoke it if you got it state, but this is absurd.
Ranissa tugged on my elbow. Stay or go? she whispered in my head.
“Stay, stay. My beautiful Nodens sisters. Come. Come,” a scratchy voice called from the back of the store.
We inched forward toward a round, multicolored cloth-covered table with a crystal ball positioned in the middle and three chairs at its edges. A beaded curtain hangs in a doorway, split open. A youngish wild-haired woman stepped through, yet she was not touching the draping.
At this point we should skedaddle faster than the roadrunner escaping Wile E. Coyote, because this was nuts. But if we went the traditional medical route, we’d be bound in straitjacket’s and placed in padded rooms. Either the calming effect of the marijuana or curiosity kept our feet planted.
“Sit, sit,” she welcomed, waving toward the chairs.
Hesitant we lowered into the seats as she held out her hands, palms up. “We don’t have all day, girls. Do you want the answers you seek or not?”
It can’t hurt, Ranissa conceded, giving Sybil her hand.
“Oh, it can and might but for today, no I won’t hurt you.”
Yes, now I was full of warm fuzzies. Cue the sarcasm. “How are you hearing what we think?” I questioned, flopping against the chair, crossing my arms.
“One of the few gifts bestowed upon me as with you. Though I’ve never felt it as strong before. You two are special.”
“Fine,” I huffed, laying my fingers in her hand, figuring she was too high to see beyond her nose. “Tell us what you see.”
“No can do. Your future is clouded and blocked.”
“Of course it is.” I yanked away, pushing to my feet. “Come on, Nissa. This is a waste of our time.”
“Wait, I can help with the overwhelming power of your bond.” She jumped from her seat, scurrying to the back and returning with two tiny bottles. One red, one blue, both resembling something a microscopic genie would live in.
If she turned into bespectacled Laurence Fishburne, I’m out of here. I will not be Neo to her Morpheus.
She handed my sister the blue bottle. “Ranissa, this is a dampener. It will lessen the magnitude of your shared emotion, unless you tell it otherwise. If one of you is in trouble,
project your fear and the other will feel it.” Next, she placed the red bottle in front of me. “Nicole, this is a whisperer. It muffles your internal thoughts as to not scream them into your sister’s head. You will still know her voice is there, but unless you tune in to listen it will be a murmur.”
“Don’t we each need to drink them both?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Your creation was unique, though I’m not authorized to explain how. You each drink one and the effects will cover you both. Your gifts are in the beginning stages, more will follow. You are vital to this world. For now, I suggest you accept your uniqueness, adjust to it. Analyze the oddities in the world. Those things surrounding us we refuse to acknowledge. You’ll know when it’s time to act.”
What the huh? Did anything she elucidated make the teensiest bit of sense to you? She said we’re special but what I heard was her polite way of pronouncing us extra with a side of batshit crazy and a hefty dollop of fucked up. I mean Dad was kooky and a bit loony on a good day and yes, we shared half his DNA, but this was a stretch into Psychotown even I wasn’t good with.
“Who exactly is preventing you from spilling all those mighty secrets about us?” I asked, cocking a skeptical brow.
“Nicole, there are many higher in ranking than me. Those who hold the answers you seek. In time they shall come to you and know you possess the ability to distinguish them from the herd. Take your potions. Our time has reached its end.”
Without another word, she escaped through the cloaked door. “Wait, we’re not finished.” I charged through the beads into what appeared to be a small storeroom. There was no exit, yet the weird woman vanished.
“Are you freaking kidding me? Where the hell did she go?” I grumbled.
Ranissa’s hand interlocked with mine. Accept the unacceptable. Let’s go home. Her voice soothed into my gray matter as she pulled me to the exit. Her calm wrapped around me like a fuzzy blanket, lowering the maxed-out level of my anxiety. I glanced at her face, seeing her nose and lips crinkled like she was trying to push out a fart, and in her hand was the empty blue bottle.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 81