Page 5 of Darling Sinners

Maybe Silas is right. Maybe everyone in that town deserves to die like Mother did. They knew. They allowed it. They even fueled her delusion by believing her lies. Revenge now seems like the right plan again, and I smile to myself as the last of my doubts drift away. I turn to my brother, and my eyes follow the line from his ear to his jaw. They stay on his beautiful lips a little too long before he turns to me, smiling. And now every doubt has vanished again, because I would go to war for this man. I would burn in hell for my brother. My fingertips trace the tattoo on my chest, the lines that spell the word Sinner.

“Yes, I would burn in hell for my brother,” I whisper, too low for him to hear.

4

Silas

Eight years old.

“Ungrateful children don’t deserve beds.” Mother’s voice jolts me awake as she grips my arm by force, yanking me out of my bed. My eyes find Sage’s sleep-filled gaze, locking with mine. A silent pact is formed between us for her not to say anything. She needs to let me take the punishment. There’s no arguing when Mother is like that. I can take it. She needs to stay quiet. Let me bear it. I can do it.

Mother is right about that. I am the stronger twin. The one who’s built to carry us through the suffering. Twins have a special bond—that’s what Mother has always said—and part of it is the need to protect one another. But Sage is small and fragile, and I can bear more of it. We share everything, even the punishments.

“Please, you are hurting me.” I try to reason with her anyway, even though I know I can’t avoid this. I know it’s better than Sage having to endure this punishment instead, even if she did the crime. I have to stay quiet. Let her carry on with what’s about to happen. There’s no way to avoid it.

I know exactly what has made our Mother so angry tonight. She has found the pieces of the broken plate Sage smashed on the floor earlier while doing the dishes. It was her turn to do the dishes, but she can barely reach the sink, and the stool isn’t steady enough to support her weight anymore. She can barely keep her balance on it. It’s a plastic one that’s meant for smaller kids, maybe between the ages of two and five. Sage, at eight years old, even if she is still thinner than she should be, is still bigger than a five year old kid. I don’t have this problem. I am taller and able to reach the sink now. Mother says that sometimes twins grow differently. Faster than the other one. She says it’s a sign. I will be a strong man, and strong men take responsibility for their mistakes.

“Mother, please, he didn’t do anything.” Sage’s soft voice comes from behind us as we reach the stairs of the basement.

I try to find a way to distract Mother before she takes her anger out on Sage, but I fail to be fast enough before she turns and slaps Sage across the face. My sister falls to the ground, her shoulder colliding with the wall behind her. I see her flinch on impact, and I know it’s the same shoulder Mother caused her to dislocate when she threw her down the basement stairs last month. It still hasn’t healed, and if she keeps hurting it, I doubt it will. I had to sneak into the basement that night and help her pop it back in place when Mother had fallen asleep.

I want to ask Sage if she is okay, but that will make Mother angrier, and I already know what’s coming. She grips my arm again and turns the key on the basement door to unlock it. She opens it and motions to me to move. I slowly go down the stairs, and she follows, leaving Sage still on the floor. When we are almost completely down, I hear steps from the floor above us, and I know Sage has run back into her bed. That’s good. Mother will probably forget about her until the morning.

She takes the key from her pocket and unlocks the iron closet—one of those closets meant to store garden tools and other stuff like that. But instead of tools, this closet is completely bare inside. No shelves or tools. Just the iron frame and a space that barely fits me anymore. Mother stares down at me, waiting.

“Go on. You know what to do.” I don’t argue. I can’t argue.

She won’t listen to me anyway. And if I do, Sage will be in my place before I can figure out a new plan to save her. She is afraid of the closet; the small space has always been the reason for her nightmares. I can bear it so she doesn’t have to. I take a deep breath and crawl into the closet. Mother locks it before I can even settle inside, and I curl myself in the corner. My back presses against the iron frame of the closet, and I bring my knees to my chest, hugging them before I place my head on them.

Mother’s footsteps creep in through the door as she walks up the stairs until I hear the sound of the locking door. The moment I know I am completely alone, I let myself go. Tears stream down my eyes. I am completely alone.

5

Sage

“We can still change our minds, turn around, drive away from this awful town,” I try one last time as we enter the town and head for Kyle’s big house on the hill.

We pass by houses decorated with spiderwebs and skeletons. Kids are already filling the streets, ready for trick-or-treating. The night is still early, but you can tell everyone is getting ready for a long one. I spot some familiar faces, and I try not to overthink when one of them matches one of the names on our list. He has his arm around a girl’s waist as they walk the same road we are driving on. I don’t recognize the girl, but I do recognize the rest of the guys surrounding them. They laugh and joke, and my eyes lock with the girl’s for a minute. She has that look in her eyes, the one you recognize if you have ever been manipulated by a man. It’s that dead look. One of a ghost. For a moment, our plan seems like a good idea again. At least this one will be spared from her asshole of a boyfriend if we complete it.

Saving a woman trapped in a relationship with a man that she loves but is entirely wrong for her seems almost noble. It’s as if we are helping her survive by killing the monster she shares her bed with at night. I like that idea. I wish someone would do that for me sometimes. Not always. Just the times Silas turns from the loving man he usually is to something mirroring Mother’s cruelty. It’s not often that it happens. Maybe a handful of times in the time we have been on our own.

We have been in love for so long. Too long for two people who are just starting life. We are only twenty, after all, yet it feels like a lifetime together. Probably because it has been. We grew up together, and even though it wasn’t until we were eighteen that we got involved in any other way than just being siblings, it feels like our reality barely changed. It feels like we were always connected so deeply that our love only reinforced it. And that’s the reason I don’t really wish someone would free me from him. Even the days he is more of a monster than a man.

“Sure we can, or we can actually grow some balls and finally take revenge.” Silas’s sarcasm isn’t hidden when he responds; it shines through like a lantern in a dark room, and honestly, he is kind of right. Revenge does need balls, and I don’t think I have any.

The closer we get to actually carrying out this damn plan to completion, I’m realizing more and more that I am not cut out for the life of a killer in a horror movie. I don’t think I qualify for one in a horror parody either. I can’t even play the helpless victim. I would die in act two, right after that stupid person who thinks separating from the group will save him. You know the one I am talking about; it’s usually the buff guy who thinks he can take the serial killer. I am not a buff guy, but I would make a lovely second victim.

I would die epically because, obviously, the second kill always has to be epic. The first one you forget quickly; the third and fourth you can predict, but the second is the one that will either make the movie or ruin it. And mine would make it one to remember. It would have been so awesome that people would talk about it for months after the release. That’s the type of victim I would be if this were a movie and I weren’t one of the killers. But it isn’t, and the knife strapped to my thigh is a pretty obvious sign that I am, in fact, one of the killers—or future killers, if we are being specific. And you should be specific in times like this.

Silas’s hand finds my thigh, traveling up and under my dress while he never moves his eyes from the road. The talent this man has for multitasking is annoying.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, not that I need an introduction to what he’s doing.

Silas has always believed that he can distract me with an orgasm. And he is right. He can distract me with an orgasm. That’s the problem. This man can whistle at me and say, ‘Come here, kitten. Spread your legs and let me eat you out,’ and I will purr, opening my legs like a good dog, waiting for my master. I am mixing up my animals here, but you get the point. Sage is a good girl for Silas, and Silas knows how to take advantage of that.

Right on cue, Silas’s fingers push aside my underwear and find my clit. He starts moving them in slow circles as his other hand stays on the steering wheel, and his eyes never leave the road. It’s impressive. He is focused, as if his life depends on this drive, and I am over here losing my mind already because this man knows what buttons to press. It’s my clit. That’s the button. And God knows how good he is at pressing it. I part my legs, allowing him more access; his hand moves a little lower.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” I argue with his silence, because Silas won’t talk to me. He knows that talking to me will achieve nothing. Besides, he is too busy finger-fucking me at the moment. His fingers move in and out of me in rhythmic movements, making my sense of morality drift away with each one. Maybe he is right; it doesn’t hurt to kill a few people. We have all done crazy things in the name of love before, haven’t we?