You search for signs everywhere. You can’t help it anymore—it’s a habit. You find it in the secrets the wind whispers to you. You find it in the stairs that don’t creak for the first time in seventeen years as you come down slowly. You see in it your dog Chase, who doesn’t wait for you at the bottom.

You think back to the last time that happened.

Never.

You think he might know. At least feel it. Faint music plays in the house. Classical music, your ears register distantly—from Dad’s extensive collection. He would know the whole story behind it. You can’t even remember the musician’s name.

Ice frosts in your veins, because of the memory, what it means that your brother is playing it. Parts of you freeze, little by little. It crystallizes your blood and sets into your bones like the coldest winter on earth.

Chips of it dust the floor as you make yourself follow the sound of the music. They don’t melt, though, your house is not warm enough. Your father sucked all the life away, taking it with him when he left, leaving only a vacuum behind.

You don’t crave the warmth because you died with him, too. Your brother… he was a different thing altogether.

Remy sits on the counter, eating breakfast. He’s immaculate, as always. Not a hair out of place, not a loose thread in sight. Everything crisp and white He looks relaxed, legs stretched, eyes half-closed, enjoying the music. Your eyes snag on the plate he’s left for you. It sits on the black marble, waiting. It’s filled with toast, eggs, and sausages. It smells good. You know, for a fact, it tastes excellent.

Everything Remy does paves toward the path of excellence.

He hears you, twists in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. Deliberate, cunning, but ultimately, charming.

Both of you might look alike, like you were split down in the middle—silky dark hair, fair skin, slender builds, glittering brown eyes—but you were not similar. You’re ice. Cold, fragile, brittle. Remy is the fine edge of a blade. He’s sharp and unforgiving.
“Eat with me,” he says. “I can’t remember the last time we sat together.”

You ignore him. You know the games he plays, you learned them a long time ago. But you’ve had enough of his games. You don’t want to indulge him anymore.

His eyes flare. He’s annoyed, like someone took away his toys from him. “I hope you don’t mind I put one of Dad’s CDs. I know you miss him, I miss him, too,” he says. Just to spite you.

Remy sculpts his words with a hammer and chisel. He’s extremely skilled at it. He can make it the most beautiful thing you could ever know. Or the most gruesome.

“Play whatever you want.”

He slides an envelope at you. “This came in the mail for you.”

You take it from him and tear it open. You can feel him watching you closely as you scan the lines.

You fold it up carefully and meet your brother’s eyes. It’s as if he knows.

But you can’t bring yourself to care. You expected the rejection letter, you knew even as you applied.

You see it as another sign.

__________

You sit in a class of strangers. They don’t know you, but they know of you.

As Remy’s sister. As the daughter of the dead man.

You stare out of the window. The teachers don’t even bother to call you out, request you to pay attention. It rushes at you, all of a sudden, the realization that you can’t do this. You can’t bear it.

You can’t sit in this raging fire and melt and eventually, become nothing.

Everything’s been slipping away, like sand from your fingers. You want to slide away too. There’s nothing keeping you tethered, except this mortal essence that means nothing to you. All you want is to see him again.

You want to see his eyes light up when he looks at you. You want to see him smile, that special smile that he reserved for you.

You close your eyes and everything disappears—the class and its chipped desks, the peeling paint that you pick on, the students that don’t want to be here, the teacher who disregards it.

You’re back in the hospital room. There are a hundred different wires and tubes, and among them, your father lies, frail and trembling. Barely alive.

The tears are hot on your face. At that time, you didn’t think it would ever stop. Stumbling, you make it to his side. You want to hold his hand but you remember thinking it would crumble, even with slightest of pressure.

His eyes flutter open and he smiles, through all the pain.

It shreds your heart. He removes the oxygen mask. Your hand darts out automatically to stop him, but he shakes his head. It’s the barest of movements. “It’s okay.” You can hardly hear his voice. “Remy? Is he—?

The ice is so cold, it burns gaping holes inside of you. “You didn’t fall off the stairs.”

It’s not a question.  He winces.

Out of pain, or because of the memory, you’ll never know. “It was an accident.”

Your hands clench into fists. You’re shaking so hard it seems as if everything else is too. “You’re not a liar, Dad,” you say, gritting your teeth. “You shouldn’t try.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “Take care—” a shuddering cough wracks through him, blood trickles down from the sides of his mouth “—of your brother, Roma.”

His eyes close. You can’t make out his chest rising and falling anymore. The monitor makes an incessant beeping noise.

“Dad?” you whisper. “Dad? Dad! Dad!”

A guttural scream tears through you.

The doctors rush in. One of them pushes you out of the way. She points at you and says something but you can’t hear anything but the sound the monitor is making.

A nurse grabs hold of you and guides you outside.

“Is he going to be okay?” you demand.

“They’re doing everything they can, ma’am,” she says, gently.

That’s not what you’re asking and she knows it too. “Is he going to be okay?” you repeat.

Someone puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch, turning around. Remy stands next to you, wearing a carefully crafted look of worry and devastation.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

“He’s going to be okay, Roma,” he says.

You can’t take it. Your heart pounds like the beats of a war drum. “Get out!” you yell.

A doctor comes out. You can’t even remember her name.

Her forehead creases with numerous lines. “I’m sorry but we couldn’t save him.”

Your eyes fly open and you’re back, sitting in the sweltering classroom. The ringing noise of the machine echoes in your ears.

You can’t breathe. The air in your lungs has frozen to shards of ice.

I have to get out I have to get out I have to get out I have to get out—

The bell rings. You hurry out of class.

You can hear Mr. Smith calling behind you, but you keep going.

__________

You walk to your house slowly, because you have nowhere else to go, crushing leaves beneath your feet, snapping twigs in half, stamping flowers.

You sit on the porch swing, pushing it with your leg. You can’t go inside, not when you found your father’s unconscious body not five feet from here. But you don’t live in the fear that Remy will turn on you, you live in the fear that you will live the ghosts.

You breathe deeply.

You can let go, you think. You’ve made up your mind, you think.

That’s when you catch the awful stench of rotting meat. You get up, follow into the back of the house. It’s probably a rat, a bird.

The grass here is wet, muddy. Your shoes sink in, squelching. The smell’s overwhelming.

A huge black plastic bag is propped on the wall. You walk over to it cautiously and tip it over with your foot. Before you can register the soft feeling against your toe, the red smear on the shoe, the bag falls.

You choke on terror. Your face drains of color. Ice wraps around your throat, a thousand icicles stabbing your throat.

Chase lies, neck broken, tongue out, eyes shut. His golden fur is matted with blood. You can see the handle of the knife, sticking out of his body.

Black spots dot your vision as the world tilts. You taste bile at the back of your throat, it burns your mouth.

You take a step back, trip over the tangled mess of bushes and weeds, hiding this corner of the yard.

And you run.

You run to get away from the town. You run to get away from your brother. You run to get away from your dog’s body. You run until your lungs collapse in your chest and your muscles stop listening to you.

You fall on the hard concrete, and you vomit.

I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t—

The sky looks down at you, dark clouds rolling in, promising a storm.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” you murmur. “I can’t do it.

_________

You don’t inhibit your body anymore.

It’s gone. You’re gone.

You feel nothing as you walk into your house. You shower, you change.

And then you wait patiently as the sky turn dark outside.

Remy comes back hours later. He’s surprised to you sitting in the living room—you don’t leave your bedroom most days. Even more so, when he realizes you’re wearing a dress.

He drops his bag on the armchair. “Are you going somewhere, sister?”

You ignore his taunts. “We are,” you say. “If you want to.”

He raises an eyebrow. The gears turn behind his eyes, trying to discern any ulterior motives. But Roma’s sad, not angry. She’s harmless. She always has been. “Where are we going?”

“Remember The Paragon?”

“The restaurant Dad used to take us every birthday when we were little?”

You nod. “It’ll be like old times.”

He grins crookedly. “Sure.”

“Good,” you say, getting up. “I’ll drive.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll drive.”

“All yours, then.” You even smile.

You sit in the passenger seat as Remy puts on his seatbelt. And you’re off, passing the miserable town and its miserable houses and its decrepit trees.

“You left Chase there, knowing I’d find him,” you say as the exit sign passes you. It’s drizzling lightly.

His mask is flawless but his eyes sharpen. “And?”

“Why did you kill Dad, Remy? What did he do to you?” you ask quietly. “He loved you.”

“No, he loved you,” he says bitterly. “His perfect little princess. He was afraid of me.”

“He was afraid for you.”

His knuckles are pale as they tightly clutch the steering wheel. His driving is controlled, but anything could set him off.

“Chase? He was a dog, Remy.”

A smile cuts across his face, cold and cruel. “Remember when I pushed you off the tree when we were six? Why do you think I did it, Roma? Because I liked it. I like hurting people.” He laughs sardonically. “And your stupid mutt almost tore out my hand last night. He just wouldn’t shut up. He knew I killed our father. He knew what I was. Did you know? He would whimper when I would pet him. He’d shrink into the shadows, tail between his legs when it was only the two of us.” Remy has this manic look in his eyes. The kind an arsonist has before he sets everything on fire. “It’s such a high, you know. Killing. To hold someone’s life in your hands, to see the life fade from their eyes. To stop hearing the pulse.  It’s exhilarating. And it’s so easy, Roma.”

You shiver. You can feel his madness as a tangible thing in the air. “You’re a monster.”

He smirks. “You can’t stop once you’ve got the taste. And your dog was asking for it. I stabbed him, but it got messy—I don’t like messy—so I broke his neck. It was a good death.”

There’s a malicious glint in his eyes. “You realize, I can kill you right now. No one would ever find out.”

You’re on Wicker Bridge. The rain pelts on the roof of the car. “I know.”

You take control of the steering wheel and veer it toward the edge. Remy shoves you with a hand. Your head knocks into the glass. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Both of you struggle. You elbow him in the face and swerve sharply. “You’re done harming things,” you say through your teeth.

The car breaks through and soars through the air. You can’t see anything, only feel as the car collides with the water with a fierce, earth-shattering force. The windshield cracks. You plunge face-first, gravity dragging you down painfully.

Remy’s nails dig into your arm, drawing blood. He stares at you frightfully as the water fills in. He holds on with everything he has.

You smile.

Remy pushes at the door, trying to open it. Trying to escape. But it doesn’t matter. It’ll all be over soon.

You watch him lose oxygen. You watch him flail and gasp. You watch the bubbles form as he tries to shout. You watch his lips become blue. You watch his life fade away from his eyes.

You watch your brother die.

You win finally.

– Suhasini Sathyanarayan

Author’s Note: “Sign of Two” deals with family and the themes of good and evil and the grey area between it. It never justifies Roma’s action, or try it to portray her as a hero or villain. The interpretation of it is up to the readers.