Page 185 of Phobia

Mask of Sin

Michaela Cole

Prologue

“We are gathered today for the graveside service of Olivia Grace Parker. On behalf of the entire family, I thank you for coming to pay tribute to Olivia.”

My eyebrows knit together, and my lips turned down at the words. First of all, this was a private ceremony. I made a sweeping glance around the cemetery as the officiant solemnly gave his opening spiel. Just as I’d suspected, there were no stealth grievers hidden among the sugar maple trees. It was just me, Hudson, and Malin—the three remaining members of our branch of the family tree—standing beside Livy’s casket. Mr. Rent-A-Pastor was effectively thanking us on behalf of ourselves for being here to bury our dead sister. Second of all, he hadn’t even gotten her name right. What an asshat. It took all my willpower not to flip him off and walk away.

My chest tightened as a wave of nausea churned through my stomach and crawled up my throat at the thought of Livy stuck inside that casket for the rest of eternity. My baby sister alone, cold and unmoving, six feet deep inside a rectangular box? There was everything wrong and nothing right about that. She was…had been…so full of life, even just a month or two ago. She’d been looking forward to her junior year of college ending and excited for her final year. Then her attitude, her outlook on life, it all changed, and we hadn’t had a clue why.We sure as hell know why now, though. I shoved that thought aside; it had no business anywhere near here as we lay her to rest. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I inhaled a shuddering breath.

Fuck. I was tired of crying.

Malin, the oldest of us at twenty-six, reached over and squeezed my hand where it hung limply at my side. While it didn’t lessen the overwhelming pain and anger, I appreciated the gesture. He was there and he saw me. He was my anchor even though he was grieving too. I squeezed back and then inspected him from the corner of my eye as he pulled away and clasped his hands together again in front of his torso. He stood there, head held high, shoulders back, as stoic as ever. But the tightness in his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes were the first cracks in the emotional shield he’d had up all week.

On his other side was Hudson, two years younger than me and the baby at twenty. I couldn’t see his face now, but I knew what I’d find if I could—despair and tears, and beneath that, a murderous rage festering in the depths of his bloodshot eyes that threatened to spill over and consume him at the slightest trigger. It was what fueled him now; that, and a bottle of whiskey.

I didn’t blame him for chasing that numbness with alcohol, however fleeting the relief might have been. We were all shattered by the loss of our sister, but there was a deeper anguish that spewed from him, like blood from a stuck pig. Losing your twin could do that to a person. Hudson’s pain was so palpable you could almost reach out and grab it, could almost see the torment coiling around his throat and squeezing—thick and heavy and suffocating. What had happened a week ago had been a life-altering moment for all of us. But for Hudson, it was like half his soul had been abruptly severed from his body. Chills ran along my spine as that nightmare of a night replayed in my head.

Malin hadn’t been back from work yet. As a bouncer at SL8, a nightclub downtown, he often got home in the wee hours of the morning. Hudson and I had been in the living room of the small one-story home we grew up in and still shared. I’d been cramming for spring semester finals all week and was finally able to sit down and breathe. My mental break of choice had always been video games, and we’d been up playing well into the night. Hudson had eventually zonked out on the couch, while I’d stayed up to play a little longer.

Livy wasn’t usually at home since she’d lived in the dorms at her school, but the weekend prior she’d unexpectedly shown up on the doorstep at three o’clock in the morning. The only explanation she gave was that she was homesick, and she’d refused to go back.

That night she had been spending her time the same way she’d spent the past seven days—holed up in her room, barely speaking to anyone. Though she’d loved video games as much as the rest of us, she’d had zero interest in joining. We couldn’t even tempt her by pulling out our ancient Nintendo GameCube and throwingSonic the Hedgehogin.

Just as I was nearly asleep myself, Hudson had gasped like he was fighting for air and sat straight up out of a dead sleep. It was so odd that it sent my heart pounding into my throat. This was a guy who could sleep through a blaring fire alarm, and who’d practically needed a bucket of ice water dumped on his head to coax him out of bed on school mornings.

“What’s wrong?” I’d whispered. He’d stared across the couch as his chest heaved, his eyes finding mine, but it was like he wasn’t really seeing me. He’d blinked a few times, seeming confused, and then his expression contorted in a way that I could only describe as misery mixed with complete and utter panic. Shooting off the couch, he’d bolted down the hallway toward Livy’s room, tripping over a pair of her boots and skidding into the sharp, pointy corner of a console table. He’d gotten a deep gash on his thigh that left a trail of blood on the carpet from there to her bedroom. I didn’t think he’d even felt it at that moment.

I’d stumbled after him, still confused as fuck by how he was acting, but now with a growing sense of urgency gnawing at my gut. Livy’s door was locked—not something she’d ever had a habit of doing. Hudson had pounded with two heavy fists on the solid oak door, hitting it so hard it shook in the hinges and rattled the frame. “Livy! Open the fucking door right now!” he’d shouted. With no reply from inside the room, he’d stepped back and began to slam into the door over and over. It was like he was possessed. I’d quickly jumped in to help. We’d alternated between smashing our heels and our shoulders into the wood. I’d had combat boots on because I’d started to fall asleep in them, but poor Hudson’s feet were bare. Finally, the door had buckled and flown open, crashing into the wall behind it with a thundering bang.

The sounds that had come from my little brother after he ran into Livy’s room would haunt me until the day that I died.

“We must remember that there is a purpose behind this painful tragedy, one we do not always comprehend with our flawed and finite human minds,” the officiant droned on from the head of the casket. “We pray for peace and understanding for these precious souls who grieve the loss of this dear child.”

I tried to focus as he read through his cookie-cutter ceremony but found myself spacing out again instead. I didn’t think Livy would care if I zoned out during the service. Hell, she’d probably poke fun at me for being mopey and weepy, and she’d get a laugh out of us being referred to as “precious souls” and her a “dear child,” particularly given the hellions she and Hudson were growing up.

They weren’t identical twins, of course, but were damn near it as children. From their hazel eyes and dark auburn hair to their button noses and dimpled smiles—they were sweet and adorable on the outside but sheer mischief on the inside. If there was a broken vase or a spilled pitcher of juice, Mom had never needed to look too far to find the culprit. They’d always ended up ratting themselves out anyway. Whichever one of themhadn’tdone it would usually step up to take the blame for the other, and then the one whohaddone it would step in and tearfully confess. Livy had eventually mellowed out some, while Hudson had gotten even ornerier over the years. But no matter what, they’d always, always been extremely protective of each other.

I sighed heavily and let my attention wander around the cemetery. The sugar maple trees were flowering, with the yellowish-green clusters scattered all throughout the branches. There were oxeye daisies along the edge where the cemetery butted up against the woods. And popping up all throughout the grassy areas around the individual gravestones were dandelions and white clover, both of which Livy used to pluck from our yard and eat right on the spot. Mom and Dad used to call her their little bunny. She would have loved the view. It had been a habit of hers to pull out her sketch pad and oil pastels from the old patchwork bag she’d been carting around for as long as I could remember, plop down wherever inspiration struck, and transform the beauty around her into a work of art memorialized on paper. That’s what she would do if she were here…alive…right now, I thought, after first getting in a laugh at our expense.

It was Hudson’s mumbled, “Bullshit,” that pulled me back into the service again, though I’d missed whatever had prompted his quiet outburst.

“Yes, we recognize that God always has a solution.” The officiant bowed his head and closed his eyes, nodding to himself. “Something much bigger than the current pain his children now endure.”

“Uh, no, but we recognize bullshit when we hear it,” Hudson muttered.

The officiant faltered, glancing up to Hudson and then back down to the paper in his hands. He straightened his wire-frame glasses, smoothed out the paper, and continued.

Malin shifted on his feet, then tilted his head toward Hudson and murmured, “Hudson. Please.” That was all it took to settle him down—outwardly, and for the moment, at least. I could still feel his energy vibrating through the air, that mixture of devastation, desperation, and fury so strong it seeped into my bones, fueling my own pain as well.

Malin was the only one, apart from Livy, who could consistently keep Hudson in line. I could on occasion, but growing up, Hudson and I had butted heads a lot. We still did when the mood struck, but I loved him something fierce. Malin and Livy, though, those two had always been the Hudson whisperers. Livy because, well, I swore they used to communicate with each other without even speaking. When you had that kind of connection with someone, it held a lot of sway. And Malin? He was no angel and had a lethal temper—composed but terrifying—with those outside the family if provoked far enough, but he generally remained calm in the chaos where we were concerned. Malin’s muscular physique was not the only reason he was able to send rude patrons scurrying away from the nightclub line with one stern glance. He was a quiet badass who not only demanded respect from those around him but earned it too. He’d always had a way of getting through to Hudson when even Mom or Dad walked away in exasperation, which was a good thing because he’d eventually become our guardian.

Hudson kept up the appearance of calm, thankfully, as the officiant moved into a final prayer and send-off.Almost over.These sorts of things had made me uncomfortable ever since having to attend the double service for our parents. What I’d rather be doing, just as I’d wished back then, was hitting the ever-loving shit out of the nearest punching bag.

“We now offer this child to you, Lord. And to you, Olivia Grace, we are thankful and blessed that you spent your short life on this earth with us. Though your earthly body has perished, we release your soul into the loving arms of our Lord. We find solace in knowing that your pain and suffering have ceased. We rejoice that you may now know everlasting peace.”

Tension radiated from Hudson in the form of a clenched jaw and hands balled into fists while the final words were spoken. He stood there silently, eyes cast downward, as the officiant—whose name I could not remember to save my life—came and shook first my hand and then Malin’s, offering his condolences as he made his way down our trio. When he got to Hudson, he paused. Rather than reaching a hand out for a shake, he laid his palm on Hudson’s shoulder and said something quietly. Surprisingly, rather than shrugging off the hand, Hudson lifted his head and met the man’s gaze directly.