5. Invasion
Invasion
Zade
S leep comes fitfully.
After our parents left, Siri and I ate pizza for dinner in silence.
Her eyes kept darting to mine, and her mouth would open then close, like she wanted to say something to me but struggled with getting the words out.
I pretended like I didn’t notice. It’s bad enough we’re stuck in the house alone for who knows how long.
What if she said something that makes me lose my shit and Mom’s not around?
Sure, her presence is quieter than most. Her aura’s calming.
But it’s also like an addiction. If I keep seeking her out, leaning on her to quiet the voices, then I’ll become obsessed.
I already have over a dozen cameras in her room, and I’ve hacked the ones Dad has spaced throughout the house, just so I can look at her, listen to her whenever the urge strikes me.
I don’t want her to say something that’ll fuck with my head, scrambling it more than it already is.
There are enough voices up there. So, I hurriedly ate and shut myself in my room.
That was a few hours ago, and she hasn’t come knocking on my bedroom door.
After drawing for a couple of hours, then getting bored and finding dozens of weaknesses in the firewall of my current company, I let developing patches occupy my mind and time, ignoring the presence I felt pressing close.
When hairs on my nape rose, I gave up on work, shuffling to the bed and throwing myself down.
Sleep kept evading me. When it finally descended on me, my dreams were murky, like I was wading through a mist, shrouding everything.
I swore I heard Siri calling out to me, pleading for help somewhere, but I couldn’t reach her; I couldn’t see anything.
Hands land on me, and I shove them away. When they come at me a second time, I jump upright in bed, eyes frantically seeking the source of the assault and finding a frightened, tearful Siri trembling near me.
“Zade, please. There’s someone in my room,” she cries, hands reaching for me again.
My brain acts slow to process her words, and when they do, calm descends.
I nod, swinging my legs out of bed and reaching into my nightstand, pulling an eight-inch long knife free.
Siri’s brown eyes widen comically, and I sign with my free hand, a little frustrated with having to take the time to do it when there’s an intruder in our home.
Stay here. I’ll go check it out. Lock the door behind me.
I’ll knock three times so you know it’s me.
If I’m not back in ten minutes or you hear anything that sounds like a struggle, call 9-1-1 while getting the fuck out of the window.
Don’t worry about me. Get to safety. Go pound on a neighbor’s door.
Intruders don’t want to get caught, so draw as much fucking attention as you can to the house while getting as far away as possible.
My chest’s heaving by the time I’m finished, and I shake out my fingers. That was a lot, but I need her to understand the danger and know what to do to protect herself. I’ll slow down whoever the fuck was dumb enough to pick this house of all houses to break into.
In Siri’s room, no less. I don’t care if it’s a prank or if they’re just a run-of-the-mill burglar, I’m killing them for trespassing into my sister’s room.
I give her a nod, and she takes a few seconds to return it, fat tears dripping from her dark lashes. With that settled, I hurry from the room before whoever it is gets away. I’d already wasted enough precious time.
Damn, I can’t believe I slept through her trying to wake me. What if they’d attacked her, and I had slept through it? I never would have forgiven myself.
Pushing my guilt and what-ifs aside, I march into her room brazenly, swinging the door wide enough for it to strike the adjacent wall. My eyes immediately latch onto her billowing curtains.
I walk toward the open doors of her balcony, a rage simmering in my veins. We’re on the second floor. Someone must’ve climbed the lattice work, swinging over the railing to land on their feet and picking the lock to the balcony door.
Whoever it was, they’re gone, and they targeted her room specifically. I know it down to my fucking soul.
And I won’t rest until they're burning in hell.
Soriah
I wring my hands, pacing the length of Zade’s room. I thought I was imagining it when I awoke, watching shadows shift and move against the far wall of my bedroom until I noticed my curtains billowing out, night air flowing through them.
I never unlocked my window. My eyes had widened, realizing my balcony doors were open and someone was in my room, moonlight casting their shadow against the walls. It was reckless of me to change positions.
But a scream got caught in my throat, and I jumped out of bed, hitting my shins on the way and racing toward the door. Toward Zade. Tears streamed down my face during the short dash into his inner sanctum. He’d slept blissfully unaware, dark lashes resting on his cheeks.
I spent only a second admiring his sleeping form, face lax in sleep and losing the tension that normally tightens everything about him, down to his slender, long fingers.
Now’s not the time to fantasize about his fingers . Obeying my inner voice, I leaned down to shake him.
He only shot awake on the third attempt to wake him, emerald eyes darting around the room before landing on me.
I could’ve sobbed with relief when he signed quickly, stepping into the role of protector with little prompting, one hand gripping a deadly-looking knife.
My body trembled with relief and something else. Something a little darker. I shoved that aside, focusing on his quick hands, nimble fingers flying through a variety of positions to spell out his message.
I couldn’t appreciate my mother more for insisting the entire house learn ASL as a way to communicate with Zade. She’d stood firm on making sure everyone understood him, a hard glint entering her eye as if waiting for someone to defy her, prepared to wage a war on the behalf of her firstborn.
But none of us defied her. We all became fluent in the language Zade used to speak with us. Zephyr always possessed a bored expression while watching the quick movements of his twin’s hands, but even he took the time to learn or watch Zade’s lips when he deigned to try mouthing his words.
As a child, I was eager to “speak” with my big brother, who always greeted me with a shy smile, so of course, I put my all into learning ASL. Whenever I struggled, Zade would patiently correct me with a soft smile on his lips.
Damn him and his lips.
I became aware over time that he sometimes goes too quickly through the movements with his hands, annoyed with the time it takes for him to spell out what he wants to say. Under the circumstances, I can understand his quickness, getting the gist of his message.
Now, my ears stay on alert, waiting for even a hint of a commotion before obeying his final command. I’d watched his message painstakingly, making sure I understood what he was trying to say.
In a sentence, he wants me to run. I don’t know if I can, so I listen for any signs that my big brother’s in trouble. The groan of wood carries toward me from the hallway, and I tense, eyeing the door anxiously.
When three knocks occur in quick succession, I let out a relieved breath. He’s fine, and he didn’t find anyone. Now, I’m embarrassed for waking him up for nothing. Dammit. I almost wish he’d found something to lend credence to my claim.
I march toward the door, turning the knob with a small amount of reluctance. Guilt assails me when I glance at his expression. He looks pissed and it’s all my fault with my overactive imagination.
My mouth opens, but his hands rise, quickly rushing through signs I vaguely recognize.
They’re gone. I need to check my computer .
He shoves the door open wider, brushing past me.
What the fuck? What does he mean by checking his computer? How is he?—
My eyes widen, and a strangled noise slips from my mouth. His computer desktop lights up, and after a few clicks, my bedroom fills his screen in different angles from several cameras.
Holy fuck.
My brother is stalking me.