Veil of Darkness

“Revelations at Midnight”

I can't seem to understand if this is real or just a dream, as my eyes try to process the features and lines of the silhouette standing in front of me—a silhouette that resembles my older sister but still doesn’t fully match.

Claire was standing on my porch, well-groomed, with short blonde hair and a long furry coat. She looked fine, more than fine. Her face wasn’t affected by age, but it seemed the harsh changes of life’s seasons had affected her soul, instead of her body.

“How is that possible?” I say, trying to hold back my tears—tears of happiness or sadness; I still don’t know which. I struggled to breathe, my heart racing as if it would explode in my chest.

“We need to talk,” Claire replied in a cold tone, passing by my side like a ghost through the door and toward my living room. Her face was soulless.

She removed her luxurious scarf, clearly made of cashmere, and a furry coat that was in a sophisticated shade of charcoal gray, putting them aside gently on the couch to avoid any folds and creases. Then she settled herself on the sofa, checking her phone as if nothing was happening—like I wasn’t seeing my dead sister for the first time in eight years! I must be hallucinating.

This was the first time in my life I questioned my sanity. Was I truly seeing my sister, or had grief twisted my perception? There was no explanation in the world that could amend the fact that she was standing in front of me right now.

“What is happening? How the hell are you alive, and where have you been?” I started yelling at her.

“We need to talk,” Claire’s voice was devoid of any warmth as she put her phone aside.

“I want to sell Mom's house, and since we have joint ownership, I need you to sign some papers so I can finalize the sale.”

My brain wasn’t ready to process anything she was saying. At that moment, I felt my soul leaving my body; I couldn’t move or speak, as part of me wanted to run and throw myself into her arms, but that wasn’t my sister—it was a complete stranger.

My eyes dropped to her hands resting on her crossed knees. “You removed the tattoo,” I mumbled.

“Yes, I did. It revoked my image. Still, it is not our subject! I need your signature,” she replied coldly as she brought back from her purse a contract. “Sign here,” she pointed.

“I am not signing anything until you reply to my questions! Where were you?”

“I moved away,” she replied, trying to avoid looking into my eyes.

“You moved away! While I was thinking you were dead!”

“Yes, I needed to start my own life.”

“And there was no room for me in it? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

“Yes, you didn’t! People around you keep dying! And I wanted to live! Is it so much for me to ask?” she started yelling, staring at me, her blue eyes turning red—not from sadness but from rage.

That was the first time I saw that look in her eyes. It was as if all the hate in the world gathered in those blue depths.

“It wasn’t my fault!” I replied firmly. “She did it to herself! Why are you blaming me now? You were there!”

“Stop lying to yourself, Amara! Death and misery follow you wherever you go! It’s like you’re a magnet for everything bad! And I don’t intend to face the same fate as our parents did!”

She kept talking in a raging tone, her voice like a storm, lashing out at me, blaming me for every bad thing that ever crossed our paths. I felt each word cut deeper than a knife. After a while, I stopped listening to her as her words passed through me. I could hear everything in that room but her voice: the creak of the wooden floor she was standing on, the ticking of the clock in the next room declaring almost midnight, the scratching of the dried branches outside my porch—everything but her voice!

It was as if my brain refused to hear whatever she had to say; her words were not important at that moment. Everything else was! Her presence, her face, the look in her eyes.

I kept looking down, facing my reflection in the glass table—looking at a face I had long hated, at a woman who never asked for anything but to be loved. I never pretended to smile when I didn’t feel like it; I never pretended to love someone when I didn’t! But when I did, you could feel it in my eyes, hear it in my laughter, and read it in my poems! If being true to myself is what made me an outcast in the first place, then who needs people at all? They called me an owl for something right!

“Get out!” I screamed, cutting her off from whatever she was saying and pointing toward the door.

“Get out now,” I repeated.

“I don’t want to be here either! Just sign the paper!”

I didn’t even say a word as I went straight to her and grabbed her arm. She tried to push me back, but her strength didn’t do her any favors. As I opened the door, Alex was almost at the front, running!

“What is happening?” he said, looking at Claire.

I didn’t even bother to reply as I pushed Claire through the door. She almost fell if Alex didn’t grab her.

“That is why you will always end up alone!” she screamed, picking up her expensive coat and scarf that I had thrown on the ground.

She picked up her things and looked at Alex from head to toe, scanning him with a judgmental look. “I’m staying at the hotel. If I don’t get those papers signed by tomorrow, you will hear from my lawyer!”

“Coming in or staying out?” I asked, looking at Alex.

Alex came behind me, closing the door and grabbing the legal papers from the ground while we both heard the sound of Claire’s car leaving the driveway.

“Can you explain to me what the hell just happened? And who was that blonde?”

“That was Claire, my sister.”

“Your dead sister?” Alex replied with a bewildered look.

“Yes, Alex, my dead sister! And yes, I thought she was dead too until she appeared five minutes ago at my front door asking me to sign some papers.”

Alex was completely silent. He didn’t smirk or make a joke about the situation; he just sat there next to me, looking at me with pity.

Alex already knew that all my family members were dead. He was the only one I trusted enough with the secrets of my past. Claire had died two years after my mother tragically took her own life! Or at least that’s what I thought. I wasn’t there when Claire passed away; her friends called me on the phone to tell me the sad news.

After our mother passed away, Claire chose to stay at the house and found a job at a post office nearby while I left to finish my studies. Everything was going great between us; she was not only my sister but my wings and the last hope I had in this life. I always called her my sunshine, and she replied that she would always shower me with her warmth as long as she lived. But I guess that promise didn’t last for long.

They said a fire started in the post office one evening, and she didn’t survive. Upon hearing the news, I didn’t even bother to go back; I didn’t have anything to return to anymore, and part of me couldn’t say goodbye to another part of me. I had already lost too much, and I wasn’t ready to face the truth that I had lost the last piece of me.

The harsh truth was she chose to leave. Honestly, if she had only told me that, I would have complied happily, as nothing was ever more important to me than her happiness.

Alex just hugged me; he understood me without saying a word. At least I had him, and part of me was terrified of losing him too. Claire's last words before she left the house kept playing in my head like a broken record.

I fell asleep on the couch and didn’t wake up until I felt a burning sensation in my legs. I opened my eyes to see Alex cleaning my legs with a wet towel that turned red with bloodstains.

I forgot that the vase scratched my legs when it smashed on the ground. I was so focused on Claire and what was happening that I didn’t even feel the pain in my body. Alex looked at me while applying cream on my legs and rubbing them away. “You frightened me with your text, but thank God it was just your dead sister!” he said with a smirk.

“No, it wasn’t,” I corrected him.

"Someone else was here!".