Meliora - Emanate - 01

[lady_mab]

Liala Darcy

The apartment is silent, save for my twin brother’s frantic typing and the strains of heavy guitars and drums that blaring from his headphones. 

The light and airy message tone escapes my notice for the first few minutes, as I pass it off as his music. But it repeats, and with each repetition, it gets louder and more frantic the longer we ignore it. 

“Lionel?” I don’t want to get up yet. My muscles protest with a familiar ache, a warning that any movement right now is a bad idea. 

From the other side of the room, half hidden behind a wall of computer parts, his music carries on uninterrupted. 

Another repetition of the message tone. Louder, though I still cannot spot the phone in the small room. “Lionel!” 

He only seems to type faster. 

I groan as I force my body into movement, every fiber protesting the disruption. I leave behind the comforting distraction of my puzzle games and shuffle across the room. 

It’s a warzone of computer equipment from Lionel’s job and scattered sweaters and shoes from both of us. He’s under a deadline, and I’ve been waking up so stiff that I can’t bend over to pick up. Cleaning will have to wait. 

Lionel doesn’t even look up as I approach him, so I reach out and yank one of the earbuds free. “Lio!” 

He yelps and jerks backward in surprise. I have to steady the keyboard before he can toss it aside in his flailing. “Lia!” His green eyes flit back to the screen, and already I know his attention is slipping. “I’m working.” 

“The phone has been going off for like, five minutes. I think it’s an email.” I’ll leave it for him to deal with. It’s probably for him anyway.

A grumble is the first response I get from him. “Why didn’t you get it?” 

“Like I’m supposed to find anything in this mess.” 

“It’s partly yours.” 

“Mostly yours. You were the last one with the phone.” I can hear him shifting as I slide back into my seat. Beneath it all, the grumbling continues. “And don’t even think about complaining about your deadline. You should have started it sooner.” 

At least his half hearted muttering stops. Instead, he presents the phone to me with a dull, “Tadaa. It was under a shirt.” 

Unimpressed, I return my attention to my tablet and the puzzles there. 

The melody begins another loop, trilling excitedly now that the phone is free. From the corner of my eye, I see his thumb moving over the screen. 

It only takes five seconds before he sets the phone down on the table. “It’s spam.” 

“With a ringtone like that?” Any message marked HIGH PRIORITY loops the ringtone as a reminder that there is something Very Important needing our attention. Most of the time, it’s emails from his work. 

Lionel doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move away from his spot at my elbow. “What?” 

There’s a longer silence than I originally expected. Then he taps the phone and shrugs. “Read it for yourself.” 

So I do. I pull open the email and clear my throat. I play up my Irish lilt for an added flair. “My fellow citizens! Oh, I like this already. What a splendid opening. The illustrious city of Eminence stands as a beacon of success and security. Top class schools, an expanding array of businesses, and a world renowned medical team…” 

My voice trails off, and my mouth moves to form the silent words as I read the rest of the email to myself. I reach the bottom, lips pressing into a thin line. “What is this?” I glance at him before scrolling back to the top of the email. “Is this for you?” 

He scoffs. “It’s our phone, under our shared account.” 

The corners of my mouth twist into a frown. “Hm.” 

This is not the reaction he wants. “That’s it?” 

I struggle to find an answer that would appease him. Lionel doesn’t take it seriously, but he doesn’t take a lot of things as seriously as he should. “It would be a good hoax. It’s very well composed.” 

“So are the emails from the prince of some unknown little country telling us he’d like to transfer his millions of pounds into our bank account. We don’t believe anything he says, so why should we believe this?” 

I force myself to meet his gaze, even though I’m not too sure what sort of expression I’m making. In the end, there is no response that I can give him. 

He catches on better than I give him credit for. We are twins, after all. “You believe it. You actually think that this email is telling the truth.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt to look into it, you know.” 

“It doesn’t even make sense, Lia.” He takes the phone from my grip and scrolls through the email. “I ask that you join the others six days from the approaching ides. What is that even supposed to mean?” 

With a roll of my eyes, I tap at the screen of my tablet. The math-based puzzle book is still on the screen. “It’s a riddle. If we were told outright, then that defeats the purpose.” 

“The purpose!” To my surprise, laughter explodes from Lionel. He has to catch himself on the edge of the table to keep himself upright. “It’s spam! It’s got no purpose!” 

I pause as I debate the words I want to say next. My head already aches from the argument that is bound to follow. “We should tell Rhys.” 

His entire body tenses and he chokes on his laughter. “But--” 

“But nothing. He’s our older brother, Lionel.” I override his spluttering attempts at speech with ease. “And he’s the only family we have left. If this is a chance to learn the truth or whatever about this city, shouldn’t he be the best option to talk it over with?” 

“Oh, yeah, excellent option. Get real, Liala. What good will he do?” He puffs out his chest and lifts his eyebrows the way he always does when imitating our older brother. He lays on the northern brogue thick. “Ooh, well, I don’t know about that, dearest siblings of mine. Aren’t we well off and comfortable in this eminent city? Why would you want to change that? Wehhh I’m a boring accountant, wehhh wehhhhh.” 

I smack his arm and do my best to quell the rising giggles. “Don’t talk about Rhys like that.” 

“It’s true--Ouch.” He rubs his arm as I smack him again. 

“Do you think he got one? An email.” 

His expression closes up and he moves back toward his computer. “Who cares.” 

“Lio--” I start, but his back shows no sign of turning away from me. 

“I said who cares, Lia.” 

I bristle beneath the words. And here it is. The long abused argument worn to threads between the two of us. But I can’t let him get away with it. “He’s our brother.” 

“You shouldn’t make excuses for him.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are. After all these years, and you are still trying to shoulder the blame for what happened.” 

My words catch in my throat, because I’m never brought into the arguments like this. He never lets me. “Lio--” 

“It’s his fault we’re stuck here in the first place.” 

That’s a lie. It’s mine. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Liala!” 

The phone goes off again before either of us get the chance to make another retort. Separated by miles of junk and laundry, we glare daggers at one another as the ringtone fills the silence. 

Neither of us have to see the screen to know who that tone is for. 

“It’s Rhys,” Lionel says. With that, he shoves the headphones back into his ears to end his half of the conversation. 

My cheeks flush as the heat of frustration reaches the tips of my ears. I snatch the phone from the table and pull up the text. 

He asks how we’re doing. He asks if we’re free for dinner tomorrow. His casual questions strike me with the overwhelming desire to return to normal. 

Out of Eminence, out of England. Back home to Bainbridge. The three of us under one roof together instead of separated by half a city. My brothers would stop blaming themselves for something that isn’t even their fault. 

My muscles ache. I feel so much colder here than I used to at home. 

I resist the urge to call him. He would be able to pick up on the tone in my voice and would press me for answers that I don’t know how to give. 

Pulling my legs up against my chest and resting my chin on my knees, I type out a reply. 

We’re good. Lio’s struggling with deadlines yet again. Dinner tomorrow would be wonderful!!

I send the text, and watch the screen dim and fade from inactivity. 

The moment it does, I click it back to life and send a follow up text. I miss you - Lia. My name is tacked on almost as an afterthought. Not that he would ever think that Lionel would send something like that. 

A few minutes pass before Rhys’ reply appears beneath my thumb. Is everything alright? 

It’s the middle of the day, but he’s still finding time to text. It must be slow at work, though the idea that he wouldn’t text us until he’s bored grates on my nerves more than it should. Just haven’t been feeling well. The usual aches and pains, nothing to worry about. 

I can predict his reply before it even arrives. ‘I always worry’, he would say. I don’t want to give him the opportunity. 

Lio has a half day at work tomorrow if he can finish this project. Come over when you’re done and we can have dinner!

There. That will distract him. Hopefully. 

Sure enough, Rhys’ response comes a moment later and only addresses the more casual topic. I will be getting out around 4:30. I’ll pick up some curry on my way over.

I send one final text in parting before moving to delete the messages. I don’t want Lionel to know, so he can make plans to stay out of the apartment after he gets off work. I hate that I have to hide these things from my twin, but at the same time, he will never stand to be in the same room as Rhys. 

It’s unfair to the two of them that they try to carry more guilt than they should. There is only so much I can do to alleviate it.