Twisted Shadows

The sharp scent of medicine and disinfectants inside the pharmacy was not enough to chase away the heavy stench of fear that had been creeping into my soul ever since that rainy night in Damascus. I stood behind the glass counter, reviewing medical prescriptions with a robotic, detached motion, but my eyes never left my laptop screen. My twin sister, Raghad—the one who shared my facial features and my heartbeats for twenty-seven years—had vanished without a trace forty-eight hours ago. She left nothing behind in her room except a torn cover of an old novel, and inside it, a small note written in her trembling handwriting on a rush: (Kinda.. The shadow chasing me sleeps in your bed!). The blood froze in my veins as I read the phrase for the thousandth time, trying to comprehend the terror hidden behind the letters. At that exact moment, the chime of the pharmacy's glass door rang, announcing the entrance of the man I had thought all my life was my safe haven and my fortress.. my husband, Houssam! The door opened, and he walked in, carrying the traces of warm rain on his black coat. His calm smile, which used to bring peace to my heart for three years, looked to me tonight like a cold mask hiding terrifying secrets. He approached me, his eyes examining my exhausted features with a caution I had never known in him before. - "Kinda, my love.. you look so pale. Is there any new news about your sister, Raghad?" he said, placing his warm hand over my cold hand resting on the counter. I pulled my hand away with a practiced casualness and pretended to arrange the medicine boxes on the nearby shelf so he wouldn't feel the sudden trembling of my fingers. The words my sister left behind were screaming in my mind and almost exploding my skull: (The shadow chasing me sleeps in your bed!). Was it possible that Houssam, the gentle architect who owns my heart, was the mastermind behind my twin's disappearance? Or did he hold a deeper secret, hiding away behind the crowds? - "No.. nothing new, Houssam. The police investigators say they are searching for her everywhere to no avail," I answered in a low voice, trying hard to make it sound steady and fluent, not exposing my brokenness. Houssam turned toward the side sofa, sat down, and opened his laptop. Suddenly, through the reflection of the glass shelf behind him, I caught a glimpse of a coded digital map of Damascus on his screen, with a small red dot blinking in the exact abandoned area on the outskirts of the city—the very area where my sister Raghad was seen for the last time before she disappeared!