Mrs Venus stands framed in the doorway with a perfect composure, poised as quiet as a breath yet the tension wound in her presence commands the air like a held storm. She wears a cashmere jersey, soft and sophisticated and yet horrifyingly domestic like grief hasn’t stained her virgin world.
“Mia,” she exhales like a breath of relief. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”
Mia forces a smile. Mrs Venus opens the door wider, stepping aside with one arm gesturing toward the opulent hallway behind her.
“Please, come in.”
Mia shoves her hands inside her pockets, crossing the threshold, entering a space so pristine, so seemingly untouched, it’s almost haunting. It’s like being in a museum meant to house history but instead of ancient artifacts, there are familiar furnishings that mirror a world she once lived in. Behind her the door clicks shut.
Mrs Venus pivots and glides past her like a hostess ready to lead a guest inside. Her motion is like a tether that draws Mia to follow as they move ahead.
“So Mia, how are you and your mother doing?”
“We’re okay,” Mia answers, her voice thin in the stillness of the long polished corridor with the parquet flooring, a patchwork of deep lacquered browns.
They pass a gallery wall of photographs and her eyes flit over the assortment of picturesque orchids.
Mia tries to resist the powerful pull but her gaze succumbs. Her eyes skim over the pictures of Keila as a baby, mouth wide in laughter. Toddler pics with cake-smeared cheeks, a preeteen pulling faces, action shots mid-cartwheel, then older. The deeper they move into the house, the more Keila grows—more solemn. Brilliant. Confident. Colder. Posing with medals, clutches of certificates, trophies of intellect and talent. Despite the triumphs, there’s not a single smile in one of those shots. Her lips were curved in the shape of a smile but her water-coloured eyes were hollow, darkness welled in that undertow like the sea caught in stormlight.
That’s when Mia realises that she wasn’t performing. She was in pain.
Mia steps in the lounge before she perches herself stiffly at the edge of a single armchair, posture taut like a bowstring, hands still in her pockets like a criminal ready to flee. Her eyes dart around across the room, the plush furniture and her brows tighten at the sight of the tea set on the glass coffee table. With four more cups, almost like she’s expecting more people to join.
Mrs Venus watches her, eyes trailing toward the tea set on the tray, a question, a concern forming behind those dismal eyes.
“Would you like a fresh pot?” she asks.
Mia’s eyes leap to her as if she forgot where she was for a moment. “No thanks.”
Mrs Venus glides over to the loveseat and settles on it, poised in elegance like just another ornamental object in her house. Composed, she crosses her ankles with her hands entwined on her lap, her colossal diamond wedding ring, shimmering in the crystal chandelier light. Mia’s eyes narrow slightly at the strange intensity of her stare, cool and measured like she’s ruminating over something only she can see.
“I remember when you used to collapse into that very armchair,” she points out, a wistful touch to her polished smile but her tone is hemmed in by something critical. “Legs dangling over the one side with your back resting against the other. You made yourself comfortable because it was your home.” She pauses and her stare sharpens with almost a cruel cut… offense or hurt. “Now… it’s like you can barely stand to be in the room.”
The words land heavy, unveiling and cutting. There is no use in denying it, Mia knows that and her features flicker with remorse—a quiet grimace, swallowed before it can fully form.
“I’m sorry.” Cheap words, but the only sentiment she can spare. “It’s just… been a long time.” Mrs Venus nods slowly, a measure of understanding. When their eyes lock, Mia catches the glint of heartheart in her tear-rimmed eyes.
Mrs Venus glances away, clearing the mist with a few fast blinks.
“I’m sorry for that on our part, Mia. Keila never said it, but I know much she missed you. All of you. More than she ever allowed herself to admit.” Her voice breaks like a fracture in the surface of a frozen lake. “She was never the same… after that night.”
“The night she went missing?”
Something stirs behind Mrs’s venus’s eyes like a storm in a glass bottle.
“No. The night Erin went missing,” she corrects.
Mia’s eyes flick up and the room stills as time folds in on itself. Her entire expression shifts as whatever visage of politeness, tentativeness was there now peels back like a rotten layer pulled free. The air between them turns frigid, forced to carry an unbearable weight neither of them dares to name but both of them are bound to like a stench they can’t acknowledge.
“None of us were the same,” Mia adds cryptically.
“Because of what you guys experienced?” she probes carefully.
Mia’s eyes set on her with the force of her stare like a door slammed in Angie’s face.
“You know, I don’t really remember much about that night and what I do. I don’t like talking about it.”
“But what if it’s related to Keila’s disappearance?”
“I doubt that. And even if it did, it wouldn’t help much. I don’t remember a lot, Mrs Venus.” Mia spurts to her feet, her hand gripping her car keys so hard it leaves an imprint. “I have to get going. My mom’s waiting for me at home,” she says, knowing full well she’s returning to an empty house.
Mia hurries to the archway as swift as a gust of winter wind.
“Mia, wait.” Mia hurries for the front door with her back still turned.
“Sorry about Keila.”
“Mia, if you know something, please tell me. If you ever cared about Keila—”
Brought to a jarring standstill, Mia spins back around with a fresh swell of anger in her eyes.
“Then tell me!”
“I don’t know anything!” Mia screams back with a red flush in her neck. “If I did, don’t you think I would’ve told the police? Now and even years before when Erin first disappeared. If I knew something I would’ve done anything to save her and prevent what happened to Keila. But I don’t know anything—nothing useful. Again, I’m sorry about Keila.”
Mia flings the front door open and bursts outside. She launches down the paved path, ripping out the car keys from her pocket, she unlocks the car and throws herself inside. She rocks forward as her hand catches her chest because her heartbeat isn’t just thundering anymore, but feeling like it’s about to erupt. The ends of her vision blurs with a heatless haze of panic filtering in.
A car turns into the road from the back street.
Akin climbs out of the porsche with an ornate vase of holy white orchids. He respectfully follows the paved path to the front door, scaling up the short porch steps. He muses his collar before he knocks on the door.
Mrs Venus opens and a heartfelt smile blooms across her face at the sight of her favorite flowers. “Akin, you didn’t.”
“I was hoping they were still your favourite.”
She welcomes him inside with a side hug before he transports the vase in her grasp.
“I can’t believe you remember that since you were a little boy.” She pauses apologetically and places a knowing hand on his broad shoulder. “Definitely not so little anymore.” She moves away to deposit the vase to join the other muti-coloured assortment of other orchids.
Mrs Venus beams another smile as she flags him over to the lounge and posts herself in the frame of the archway. Akin thanks her with a charming smile before he seats himself down on the long couch.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No, I’m good. I still got practice this evening so I can’t stay long.”
Mrs Venus accepts the polite refusal with a humble smile.
“Mrs Venus, firstly, I just want to say how sorry I am about Keila. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“Well… to some frequency you do.”
“Last time I checked, I don’t have a kid,” he retorts with a light-hearted chuckle.
Mrs Venus slips in a small laugh as well, dissolving into a condescending sound.
“No, but once upon a time you were one.”
“Erin?” he says knowingly, and the confident air around him wavers. “Yeah, that was a… distressing time, no doubt.”
Mrs Venus leans forward, her voice drops to a low, conspiratorial tone. “Seems like those times have fallen upon us again. It’s like what they say… history repeats itself.”
There is no apparent anger or offense but an ominous emotion flickers over his features like a knife drawn in the dark.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs V?”
“I mean Keila’s disappearance emulates Erin’s. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t see the similarities?”
Akin heaves out a shallow breath, eyes dropping to his designer sneakers. “I honestly couldn’t say. It’s been a long time and even then my memories were fragmented. I wish I could help more,” he says as he rises to his full height. “But I can’t, but if you need anything else. Please, just ask.”
Mrs Venus yields, this time refusing to press too hard. It didn’t go well before, clearly.
“I’ll escort you out,” she offers.
Akin rewards her with a princely smile as they walk together to the front door.
“So I hear you’re quite the superstar lately.”
Akin smiles at the ground bashfully. “No brighter than Keila.”
Mrs Venus’s eyes spark with pained pride. “You heard about that?”
“You kidding, Mrs V? Whole school knows she’s set to be an Olympic runner.”
“And you, the next Ronaldo.”
Akin tilts his head back with a soft laugh. “Maybe in another life.”
Mrs Venus opens the front door for him and stops in the doorway. Akin passes and salutes back at her as he strides back to his car. Mrs Venus waves him a kind farewell as he vanishes inside. The engine roars as he pulls out and before she closes the door, a glimpse of something yanks back her attention as she widens the door back open again.
Across the street, the car door of a Jaguar E-Pace opens and a feminine form spills from the passenger seat. Her sleek hair like a liquid obsidian cascades over her shoulders like a gleaming veil. Opal. She leans down, murmuring something to a graying man behind the wheel. He nods at her request. Opal straightens and locks eyes with Mrs V like a sentinel on her own porch.
Opal lifts herself and struts towards the front entrance, lifting herself up the steps.
“Mrs Venus,” she greets.
“Opal,” she welcomes. “It’s so good to see you. Is that your father? He’s more than welcome to come inside.”
“No, it’s okay.” Opal smiles sweetly, too sweet like poison drowned in syrup to mask its true taste. “I’m sure we won’t be long.”
Mrs Venus steps aside. “Then let’s get inside.”
Opal’s lips quirk, not a smile but more like a seasoned player accepting a bet. Without waiting for further invitation, she ascends the last porch step and falters a moment as she crosses the threshold, struck by memory, unbidden. She brushes it aside with the ease of a lengthened smile. “Can I make you some tea?” Mrs Venus asks, a kind gesture that feels more like a test than a courtesy.
“That would be lovely.”
“Any preferences,” she asks, closing the door before they venture inside.
“Anything green.”
“Peppermint coming up,” she says as she gestures towards the lounge, her movements graceful but there is a tightness in the nuances like she’s trying to be effortless.
Mrs Venus gathers the set from the coffee table and vanishes into the kitchen with it.
Opal seats herself on the edge of the long couch, angled, tension churning low beneath the surface of her skin but adamant not to show it. Her expression offers nothing but collected calm even in the empty room.
“I hope you like it,” Mrs Venus says as she returns with a smile like glass.
“These fresh leaves are from the farmer’s market.” She sets down the set and she pours the steaming brew into a cup and places it gently on the saucer before delivering it forward like a peace token.
Opal receives it with both hands and an exaggerated smile. “Thank you so much.”
Mrs Venus sits, folding herself neatly on the loveseat. “So… how are things on your end? I remember seeing some impressive highlight reels back at the school. Still a prodigy, I see.” Opal’s smile curdles at the edges, slick with scorn, her eyes gleaming like a frosted glass encrusted in ice.
“I try,” she says coolily, exhaling a sharp breath across the rim of the cup before sampling a generous sip of the tea.
“You know,” Mrs Venus begins, voice lighter than before. “I always wished Keila would learn a musical instrument growing up. But she was so stubborn, and impatient.”
“It has nothing to do with patience. Only discipline.”
Mrs Venus smiles awkwardly, struggling to hold her smile.
Opal softens a breath. “But she knew everything about that,” she adds to ease the strain of tension pulled taut. “Being the athlete that she was.”
A silence drops.
The silence that ensues is no longer awkward but hostile.
Opal releases a bitter, humorless breath—the kind that not only betrays disbelief but the cold recognition of someone who just stepped into a snare.
“That’s not what I meant,” Opal says icily.
“What did you mean, then?” she presses harder.
“It was just an accident.”
“Which part was?”
Opal scoffs quietly, she leans forward to set the tea down on the coffee table with a muted clink that feels louder than what it is, than what was necessary. A regretful breath escapes her as Mrs Venus raises a diplomatic hand, half in apology and half in restraint.
“Opal, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I get it,” Opal cuts in with her voice tight with the effort to stay civil. “It’s a sensitive subject and I’m sorry it is. I’m sorry about Keila. If you were hoping I would have answers. I don’t. As you know, we haven’t spoken, let alone hung out in years.” She snaps to her feet. “You’ll probably have better luck with her new friends.”
“They’re not like her old ones,” Mrs Venus retorts quickly, almost pleading. “Not like how she was with you, or the others. Or Erin.”
The mere mention of her name cracks something in her.
“I should go,” Opal concludes, already turning. “My dad is still waiting.” Opal struts away without another word and Mrs Venus follows her with her own spirit, hollowed out of hope. Once the front door closes behind Opal, Mrs Venus turns to rest her back against the surface as if her bones can no longer hold her up. A sob bubbles its way up her throat, trembling behind her ribs whilst unshed tears sting her eyes.
She tilts her face to the ceiling—a sudden bang on the door makes her jolt.
Mrs Venus gasps, stumbling forward as she swivels with her one manicured hand on her chest in mute shock. Hesitantly, she opens the front door again. A young man clad in black emerges, his posture relaxed in a way of an apex predator eyeing the prey in store for his quarry, like it’s already his.
Her breath catches. “I’m sorry. Can I help you?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who invited me here.”
Her eyes go wide with recognition, slanting forward as if for a closer look..
A small smirk cuts into his face. “So I’ve been told.”
Mrs Venus’s eyes flare as she steps aside quickly, suddenly nervous. “Forgive me, please. Come inside, son.”
Aries passes her like the shadow swallowing light, staring down at her as he passes, towering, his gaze as heavy as gravity keeping her still in one place. He enters with a silent power that claims the space where he treads. Once he passes it’s like the spell sunders and she moves to close the door with a soft click.
When she turns around he’s already gone as if flitting in and out of existence at whim. Mrs Venus speeds up to reach the archway to watch him as he plants himself on the long couch, manspreading as he lifts his hips to adjust himself.
“Can I get you anything? A drink, some water?”
His fingers adorned with silver flick casually toward the tea set. “Why not tea?” he asks in a quiet menace like someone who knows something they shouldn’t.
She gives a soft, uncertain smile. “You don’t strike me as a man who drinks tea.”
His gaze drifts to the delicate porcelain cup sequestered from the tray—Opal’s cup, mostly still full with steam still curling from it like an enticing whisper. He stares at it for a moment too long, as if it holds profound value of some kind. There’s something reverent in the way he regards it like it’s not just a cup but a holy relic. Wordlessly, he draws upright to reach for it.
Mrs Venus reacts instinctively, hands lifting with unnecessary alarm.
“Oh, dear, Opal drank from that. I can pour you a fresh cup?”
“What is it you think I know?” he asks with a rough rim around his voice. “Any of us?”
“I wasn’t the only one you invited.”
He gestures to her with a flick of his flinger and she flinches at the stab in her direction.
“I watched as the others came in and out. I’m sure you were hoping you’d catch us all together. But you better be grateful that it didn’t happen.”
Mrs Venus recoils at the words that felt like a threat, but to him was merely an observation.
“Why not?”
Aries disregards her question. “You didn’t even recognise me, so what makes you think Keila and I kept in contact? None of us have spoken to her in years. ”
“It’s not about what you know now, but what you knew then.”
Aries’s head slants an inch to the side like a beast studying the last twitch of an animal it wounded.
“Ye, and what is that?”
“Erin,” Mrs Venus affirms, firm and unflinching.
With Aries, there is no shift, no imbalance, just the immovable wall of an iron resolve.
“So you thought you’d call us out here for what?” he asks, voice deadened as contempt festers in his tone like rot-bred things tunneling through fresh flesh. “To play detective?”
Mrs Venus nearly gapes at the cruel apathy, his absolute lack of empathy, failing to even feign civility or even sympathy.
“Been down this road before. The theories. The questions. And I don’t like any of them. So—”
Aries goes rigid, tension snapping through him like a frayed wire. He turns his face away from her, listening, senses bristling like he’s aware of something only he can hear. Mrs Venus, perplexed, looks around furtively, trying to discover the source of disturbment.
“What was that?”
Mrs Venus’s eyes dart to the hallway obliviously, just as curious. “Whas was what?”
His words grind out, forged by the erosion of slow-burning fury. “You said you’d be alone.”
Aries bolts out of the couch, each motion honed by lethal intent. Mrs Venus stumbles after him, alarm surging in an instant.
“Aries—wait!”
He rounds the archway in two steps, eyes scanning with a sense of something tucked behind the corner of the hallway, where the corridor branches into the hidden staircase. Without hesitation, Aries lunges and seizes a man near the bottom of the stairs—yanking him out to slam him against the wall with enough force to rattle the other framed photographs.
“Aries, stop, that’s Richard! My husband!
The man has his hands raised to his shoulders in immediate surrender, middle-aged, clean-cut. Dull rage smouldering like embers pressed under iron. His eyes lock on him with predatory cold, inspecting his face, recognising that it is Keila’s father with new grey streaks lining his well-groomed hair. Still gripping the lapels of his cardigan, Aries holds him for a second longer, then abruptly releases, stepping back like a wolf bored with his kill.
Richard exhales shakily, releasing a breathy laugh. “Hell of a grip, son. Let me guess, linebacker?”
Aries doesn’t answer, he turns sharply and walks away with an indecipherable expression.
“Richward was working from home today,” Mrs Venus offers quickly, chasing the echo of his hard retreat.
Aries doesn’t even bother to toss a backward glance. Mrs Venus hurries after him and Mr Venus follows. Aries steps out of the front door and stalks into the dusk. Mrs Venus appears in the doorway, her husband’s head bobbing over her shoulder, angling for an unobstructed view. Across the driveway is a black demon, muscular and low to the ground. He climbs into the hellcat and slams the door. Seconds later, the engine ignites with a thunderous growl, headlights flare and with a shriek of the tyres , the car tears away like the blur of a black blade.
Mrs Venus bumps into Richard as she fumbles back inside to close the front door.
“Seriously, Richard?”
She exhales deeply, motioning for him to follow.
“I knew that boy would end up in a gang.”
“Oh, hush. You don’t know that.”
“Who are you kidding, Angie? You saw him,” he points out in the way that implies every worst stereotype, especially for people who come from Edgemond.
“Imagine he saw him instead of me.”
Angie’s brows almost touch her hairline at the thought of that possibility. “Where is he?”
“Keila’s room. He had the good sense to go up when you asked Aries about Erin. Somehow must’ve… heard the creak of the step when he went up like a bloodhound.”
The pair ascend the steep flight, turning right to reach Keila’s bedroom. Angie pauses haltingly, gripped by grief that holds her back. Richard soothes her with a loving rub on the small of her back as he moves ahead to push Keila’s bedroom open. His back turned to them as they enter Keila’s bedroom with an angelic aesthetic, white and clean with minimalist decor.
“Detective Russo,” Richard says.
He swivels around with his eyes locked on the hand-designed pages of Keila’s childhood scrapbook—still fresh-looking, well maintained.
“Did Mr Black suspect anything?”
“No,” Angie says first. “It’s a good thing he found Richard. Stopped him from looking further.”
“I would hardly call that a win,” he intones, he sifts through the pages, eyes assessing every photograph and diary entry scribbled with barely legible cursive writing. “He was paranoid before he even entered. All of them were triggered the moment you mentioned Erin.”
“It was weird,” Angie agrees eagerly, eyebrows quirking then she gives a hopeless shrug. “But none of them said anything.”
“That alone told me more than they would’ve,” detective Russo deliberates.
His eyes snap on a photograph—an old group photo frozen in an old summer’s haze. A backyard barbeque with the Venuses and the Lockwoods. Erin is prominent with her auburn hair like a cascade of fire that defies the brunette softness of her biological mother beside her. Her stepfather has an affectionate hand on both of them from behind. From all the pictures Detective Russo has seen so far with Erin smiling brightly. Erin is smiling in the photo as she always did but this one was different, a strange dimness. Not sadness but a flicker of distance like sunlight trying to shine through glass that’s already frosted over. His eyes leap back to her mother then it lands on Erin’s step-father looming behind them.
Ten years ago.
Ten years ago
~
