I.

“Don’t forget your knife.”

Vincent froze halfway towards the door. I  waved the blade as I sat against the countertop, a smug smile nestled on my face. He turned to face me, his face grim. “I don’t need it, I have my gun.”

“What you have is a 9mm,” I pointed the knife at his grubby brown bag. “It’s a toy.”

He didn’t smile back. “It does the job, Stefan.”

“It does half the job, brother,” I leapt off the countertop and strode towards him. It was a tiny apartment. “The other half is making her suffer.”

At that, Vincent frowned. His hand clutched the slings of his bag. “I’m not stupid enough to leave marks. A shot is quick and clean. How hard do you think it’ll be to trace the murder back to us?”

I scoffed. “You’re not scared, are you?”

I knew the fool was having second thoughts and didn’t want me to know. I didn’t let him do more than shake his head. “All these years, all these blood on our hands, and now you forget what everything is for? We’re like this because of her!”

“I know!” he snapped. His eyes met mine, unwavering. “I’m sticking to the gun.”

“No, you’re not,” I took his hand and forced his fingers around the polished handle. “Have you forgotten what she did? She may have given birth to you, but that doesn’t mean she’s your mother. Make her know that.”

His gaze drifted to his shoes. For a moment he said nothing, then whispered under his breath. “Then why won’t you do it yourself? Did she not hurt you too?”

“It won’t be the same,” I sighed. My calloused hands held his shoulders—too gentle, even after all the burden. “She would never have expected it from you, the nice little brother. Don’t you see what I’m giving you? A chance to prove her wrong. Prove her you’re not weak.”

His grip on the knife tightened, and I knew I had eased some of his hesitation. Perhaps not enough to obliterate it, but enough to make him go. If he went as far as her house, the plan would still work.

Vincent stared at the gleaming blade and I could almost see the war going on in his head. Finally, he slipped the knife into his bag. “I should leave now.”

He took his gaze away from me and hurried towards the door. It clicked shut behind him. I counted his footsteps until they faded from earshot, then I went back to the kitchen and retrieved another knife from the drawer. A bigger, sharper one.

One part of my heart ached for my brother. I’d counted on his desire for vengeance, but perhaps had overestimated him. He was not strong enough to do it.

I gave our apartment one final glance and followed where my brother went.

This was the only way.

II.

The man in black did not come every day. When he did, he would always show up at the same time. 5 o’clock.

But not today.

When he entered the coffee shop that evening, I was attending to a bickering couple. I was busy jotting down their orders as they changed their minds for the eleventh time. Nevertheless, my gaze automatically drifted to the wall clock—the man was twenty minutes early.

“Girl!” The woman’s shrill voice brought me back from my musings. She snapped her fingers at my face. “I said with boiled egg, more pepper, no salt.”

I blinked and nodded, but did not write it down. “Yes. Right.”

Why was he early? I wasn’t sure why it bothered me, it wasn’t like I’d ever talked to him. It wasn’t like I always waited on him either.

“Young lady!” This time it was the man. I mentally rolled my eyes. I didn’t like being called girl or young lady or other names that weren’t mine—how hard was it for these people to read my name tag? “Are you deaf? I said make it two soft-boiled eggs with salt.”

I swallowed my retort and repeated their request. “So soft-boiled, more pepper and with salt?”

The woman shouted “No!” as her husband nodded “yes.” I groaned and nearly threw my pen in exasperation.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see that the man had already sat on his usual spot. For some mysterious reason, the corner table was never occupied when he came.

“Don’t you listen to this fool,” the woman shrieked, pointing repeatedly at his husband. “You know very well—”

But what he knew very well I didn’t find out, because I slipped my notepad and pencil to a passing coworker’s hand. Jack didn’t have time to object before the couple barked at him, something about how rude and incompetent the other waitress was.

I muttered a silent apology. “Sorry, buddy.”

I barely registered my actions after that—as if my body had moved of its own accord, because suddenly I was standing near the table where the man in black sat, a cup of white coffee in my hand.

The man looked surprised when I placed the drink in front of him. He hadn’t ordered yet. “How did you know what I want?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out,” I said almost immediately, then realising how rude it sounded. “I mean, you always order the same thing.”

Something about the man tugged at me. From his first visit a few months ago, I’d been drawn to him. A certain quality, though I wouldn’t say charm, stood out in him, and I could never figure out what it was. That day the feeling was stronger.

I didn’t expect the man to smile. Coming from him, the ever-sedentary man in black, that small smile looked out of place. But at that moment he did, subtle as it was, and all of a sudden he became kinder. “Thank you, Maura.”

I drew a breath. No one bothered to read the name tag.

I stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what he was staring at me for. Then I realised he was waiting for me to leave. But instead of leaving, curiosity got the better of me. This time, I made the point of being polite. “Excuse me, sir, but you’ve come early today.”

“Hm,” he tightened his lips. There was no trace of the smile anymore, gone as quickly as it’d come, and when he spoke again his voice was withdrawn and cold. “I have errands to run at five.”

I recognised I was being dismissed, and I didn’t know where I had gotten the initial courage to approach him from. He was a curious man, uncanny in his conducts. Even the air around him screamed disaster.

I had no idea how I did not see that.

So I left his table without another word and didn’t spare his corner another glance, until the clock showed five minutes to five. At that moment the man got up and left the coffee shop.

That was when I noticed the brown bag slung across his shoulder.

The man in black always came empty-handed.

The next morning my body went cold when I read the newspaper headline, because I recognised the bloody mess in the photograph, sensored as it was.

“Twenty-six year old Vincent Cawson, found dead after two decades missing, brutally murdered his mother before stabbing his own heart.”

III.

I watched Mom die from the gap between our closet door.

I couldn’t remember much except flashes of her last words and blood in our bedroom and her piercing scream and the man’s cruel face.

I remembered what she said before she locked me inside our closet and made me promise to stay. She was trembling when she told me he was here.

“Who is he, Mom?” I asked.

I thought she wouldn’t tell me anything. Was I not too young to know the truth? Grown-ups always said that nine-year olds were too young. I guess Mom was not like the other grown-ups. “Your step-brother, Sofia. The one who went crazy after his dad died and kidnapped his own baby brother. My little son.”

I didn’t know I had a brother. “My brother?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered as she led me into the closet. “Listen to me, sweetheart, I want you to promise me that you’ll stay here and be as quiet as possible. No matter what happens, don’t come out until the police arrives. Do you understand?”

I understood, so I promised her that.

She said she loved me and scribbled something on a paper. “When it’s over, I want you to find this man and give him this. He’s my baby son, the good brother. Tell him you’re my daughter and he’ll protect you.”

Then she locked the closet and took something out from the cupboard. I thought it looked like a gun. I wanted to ask why she had a gun, but I kept quiet.

The next moments blurred together. There was a man who broke the bedroom door, who also had a gun. Suddenly Mom was crying and I saw her drop her gun. I heard her call his name. “Vincent.”

And then she was hugging the man and the man looked surprised. Maybe confused. I could see it in his wide eyes, although he couldn’t see me.

Suddenly blood was everywhere and there was another man. The next thing I saw was the first man falling to the ground, with a big knife stuck in his chest. This other man, Mom did not hug. She yelled at him.

I tried to look away, but my eyes wouldn’t leave Mom. She had to know I kept my promise.

I didn’t come out and kept as still as possible. Even as her eyes began to close and she became too tired to scream, I looked at Mom. The man had stabbed her everywhere and he didn’t stop until she couldn’t fight anymore.

I was sobbing, but I kept quiet.

Finally, the police arrived. But the killer was gone.

I could cry for help, but I was still in shock. I didn’t even realise I wasn’t in the closet anymore until some grown-ups were giving me tea.

Only then did I read the paper Mom gave me.

“For Vincent Cawson. My little one, I’ve taken down your brother. You’re safe now. Please take care of my Sofia. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Love, Mom.”