Skin Deep

“Did she say what happened to them? Does she remember anything?”

The officer sped up to keep pace with his superior as they turned the corner of the police department on their way to the interrogation room. Detective Benjamin Micheals was not swayed by anything his subordinate said at this point, aside from the young girl in the next room. Instead of answering the questions that were thrown at him, Benjamin was lost in his own questions. The detective was too close to this case and he knew it, but it was because of this that he knew he had to be the lead on the case. As they found their way to the door of the interview room, Benjamin hesitated. On the other side of that door was a fourteen year old girl whom he had babysat for years, who’s family he had been friends with for years and who had just experienced a most vile act no child should see.

“Hey kid,” Benjamin said to the officer while putting his hand on the door handle, “keep your trap shut and stay here, or I’ll shut it for you.” With a heavy breath, he pushed the door open.

The door slid open with a slight hitching the swing. Inside, the room was simple and undecorated, with cream wallpaper and a small wooden table at which sat a slender girl. She had short auburn hair and wore a plain white nightgown, her dirty face wet in streaks from crying. Her head hung low, though her eyes were transfixed to the floor almost frozen in time. The officer stayed outside the room while Benjamin pulled the chair from the other side of the table, moved it beside her as softly as he could and sat down.

“Mara, I can’t imagine what you have gone through tonight, but I want you to know that you are safe. Take all the time you need but I want to know if you need a doctor first.” It was only a few seconds but the silence made it seem like an unbearably long time.

“Is she safe?” The question was so quiet it was barely a whisper, but Benjamin knew what she had asked.

“Yes, Quinn is safe. She is in the other room, I believe.”

Mara nodded her head with more resolve, a light coming back into her eyes. The detective knew how much Mara cared for her twin sister Quinn; it was a well known fact in the family that they did everything together and were rarely ever separated. After tonight’s events, they were all they had left, so that bond was a lifeline for Mara. And, while he could never be close to Quinn, the years he spent babysitting Mara made him a protective brother of the girl. And truly over protective now.

“Then I don’t need a doctor, I need answers,” Mara said, almost fooling herself into her newfound confidence, “so I will tell you all that I know."

Sitting up straighter and smoothing her nightgown, she spoke once more. “This past night was another event my parents attended, which was around five. Another early-start party, it seems. Quinn and I spent the evening eating sweets with the cook, after that we played games like hide and seek. You know how good Quinn is at that, though. We went to bed around ten or eleven, but Quinn woke up at maybe three for water. That’s when I heard her yell my name. I ran out of our room and saw mom at the base of the stairs,” she paused while choking on her words, but quickly pushing through, “it looked like she had fallen down and hit her head too hard. I tried to shake her awake, but she had gone cold and stiff. That is when I noticed Quinn wasn’t near us anymore, but staring at something in the kitchen. I called out, but she just stood there, Benny.” Her eyes tore away from the floor and looked at Benjamin with tears welling up in her corners, breaking his heart past his stony expression.

She continued on. “I got up and called out again as I ran over to her, but then I saw dad in the kitchen. He was on the floor leaned up against the counter, a knife mark in the side of his neck and a knife on the floor next to him. There was so much blood around him. I ran and screamed for auntie upstairs, but when I got to her room, her face was all bashed in!” That was when detective Micheals knew she was done. Tears poured down her face and she wailed into the arms of the only person other than Quinn she could call family. They were all she had left.

➳➳➳

“I’m to take you and Quinn back to my house for the time being. I was labeled as your extended family, so you won’t be alone during this time. Are you both ready?” He grabbed his coat and hat and looked back.

“Thank you,” Mara softly said. By the time he had turned around, the sisters had held hands for support and followed behind him. This was a normal habit for them when they walked anywhere that they never outgrew, much to the dismay of their parents. Even in the painfully silent car ride back to Benjamin’s house, the girls remained bound to each other.

“I’m happy we went with Benny instead of a group home,” uttered Quinn sheepishly to Mara. They were in agreement about this fact, as they had known him almost all of their lives and there were no secrets between the three of them. The only divide was that Quinn and Benjamin never seemed to speak much to each other, usually only without Mara there, though Quinn was unnaturally placid since her childhood accident. No one spoke of what happened, but Mara figured that was why she never wanted to speak to anyone else. Not that she minded it so long as Quinn spoke to her. Perhaps these thoughts were the distraction she needed because, before Mara knew it, they were at the detective’s house. Quinn saw her sister in the light and saw the puffy red eyes that bore all of the pain between the two of them and made it a point to give a reassuring smile and opened the door out of the car.

The house wasn’t as large as the one they were used to, but the house of a hyper successful family man in advertising was to be better off than a single officer. Regardless, the inside of the house was comfort by every letter in the word with charm to match, utilizing earthy tones and a large hearth to elevate a tranquil aura. Detective Micheals took their bag down the hall to the spare room, passing the study, which, at a momentary glance, was the only non-tidied place in the house. Once they got to the room, only a curt nod was expressed between Mara and Benjamin before he left them to settle and sleep; they both knew no one would sleep that night.

➳➳➳

A week had passed and neither of the girls knew anything about the massacre of their family, not even Mara. They were told that it was unhealthy to focus on such gruesome matters, even about one's own family. That restraint only made them want to know more. Neither of the sisters liked secrets, as secrets made good people into something easily corruptible in their eyes. The week was blurred together in fragments for Mara; this mostly consisted of staying in the room, sitting by a window and staring out into the nothingness, barely eating and passing the time with Quinn, who seemed her usual self other than the concern for the health of her sister. Detective Micheals was busy at work on their case so he normally was at work or in his study with the case files, seemingly more obsessed with their circumstances than they are, but just barely.

“Mara,” Quinn called. No answer. “Mara, snap out of it.” This time was much louder and more urgent, which caught Mara’s attention at last. She had been staring at the same page of a book for the past thirty minutes, with a frozen look in her eyes. Blinking a few times, she refocuses on her sister, who stood rather stoically above her. They were almost alike in every way visually, but it was almost like Quinn’s face was never so full of expression as Mara’s was; even when she laughed, Quinn had a void behind her eyes her sister couldn’t pinpoint. Now, those voided eyes held onto a strict concern that said, “I love you but you will not crumble like a piece of paper.” Unwavering in its meaning.

“Come on, let’s go play, Mara. Hide and seek,” urged Quinn, holding out her hand. Mara took it automatically, knowing Quinn always was right about what she needed. She was always the caretaker of Mara, ever since they were little. There was a blind trust between the two of them, knowing they were forever bound in blood. They would follow each other over the edge of the world just to prove a point that they would.

“You hide, then,” Mara said, “I will find you this time for sure.”

“That is what you think.” Quinn could say this and mean it because she knew she won hide and seek every time. One would think Mara would grow tired of this game, but it drove her to want to play more so she had a chance to win at least once. Turning her back to the rest of the room, Mara started to count to thirty.

“One, two...” The patter of Quinn’s feet fell into a distant sound. A silence fell over, until there was a faint noise that seemed out of place.

What is that sound?

“Nine, ten, eleven…” The sound of clicking heels and heavy shoes now came close to her, but she continued on counting.

“Eighteen, nineteen...” Now she heard talking, a man and a woman laughing. They had a warmth in their joy that just couldn’t reach her skin.

Mom? Dad? Mara thought these words in a split second, but putting them into meaning to what she was hearing proved taboo.

Mara wanted to turn around and open her eyes, to see her parents again, but something in her told her to keep counting.

“Twenty-five, twenty-six...”

There was the sound of shuffling now.

“Twenty-seven...”

Something broke.

“Twenty-eight..”

A disgusting gurgle sound.

“Twenty-nine..”

Now a large thud on the ground.

“Thirty.”

Opening her tear filled eyes, she turned around and expected to see her mom and dad, or some evidence they were there, but the room was still. The books that were strewn about were still there. The tea cups and blankets were still there. The window still she sat at before was still there, though it looked more lonely now. Everything was the same but it wasn’t, she knew that.

Shaking her head, the wayward thinker came back to the matter at hand: finding her sister. Starting in the living and kitchen space she already had in view, Mara searched in every corner and cupboard and under every chair. No Quinn. She looked outside, in every flower bush and behind every tree. No Quinn. Mara runs inside and into their bedroom, nothing, then sneaking into Benjamin’s room. There was a starking difference in the air in both rooms, specifically an oppressive force weighed in his. Mara stepped with care, taking in all that she saw. The blinds were closed, a cleanly made bed and the faint smell of cologne and dust. The room of a man who sleeps in the study, having poured himself over files all night. Propped up against the dresser was a menacing looking shotgun, still and expectantly. On the small nightstand next to the bed lay a thick book with black leather binding and a golden cursive S on the front: the Sun family album.

My family, Mara thought.

She was not surprised her pseudo brother had their album, he took everything he thought could help him on the case, and some to ease his conscience. Mara, ever the sentimentalist, picked up the book and slowly walked out of the room. Once she found Quinn, they could look at all their old photos. They were never permitted to look at the book as it was supposed to be an eighteenth birthday present, now the thought of waiting left a sour taste in the twin’s mouth. It was waived away as she went down the hall to put the book in the living space and continue her hunt, but she stopped in her tracks when she saw the door to the one room both of the girls were prohibited to enter. The study had all the information collected about the massacre thus far, the information robbed from Mara and Quinn. Suddenly, the epic hunt for her sister could wait.

Mara had thought the door would have been locked but the soft click proved her wrong. Evidently the trust of telling a fourteen year old, “I do not want you to go into the study, so tell Quinn the same,” was enough trust to keep the door unlocked. But neither of the girls promised anything. Opening the door, light was blinding in comparison to the room she had just walked out of, and the difference in the atmosphere was noted as well. The room was much more cluttered than anywhere else in the house, with a profusion of books and papers all about as if a tornado had blown through just this room. So much so that not even the bookshelf or the oak wood desk a few feet away could contain. Stepping over the piles of bound books and papers, Mara made her way to the desk, which was in no better state from the rest of the room. Perhaps the only difference was that all the paperwork on the desk all read Sun on the front. She sat down soberly and set the family album down next to her, replacing it with the largest file on the desk. To open it would be a breach of privacy if it were not about her family, and that was all that mattered to her.

Without further hesitation she opened the folder. The majority was notes with some hand drawn sketches over the crime scene. Some words were too complex for Mara’s comprehension but the rest that she could make sense of alarmed her. There were pages that spoke of her family’s bodies and a plethora of question marks around the margin notes. One section was particularly of interest:

May the 9th, 1969

The case of the Sun family has proven quite perplexing. The bodies seem to have been taken out meticulously one by one, in order of the father, Shanyuan Sun (a knife penetration wound to the left side of the neck which had cut deep enough to nearly break through the other side and hitting the artery), the mother, Lorain Sun, maiden name Balk, (fell down the stairs and suffered a broken neck and skull fracture, though the splinters and fibers under her nails signify that there was equal foul play) and the father’s sister, Jun Sun (not having woken up to the sound of the second victim falling, her face had been caved in with a crowbar found by the door on the first floor). The only survivor of the murder was their daughter Mara Sun, who was asleep at the time of the murders. No suspects named. No forced entry. The door was locked after the maid and cook left for the night.

Reading the gruesome details of her family’s demise made the room start to swell around her, but what concerned her more presently was that Quinn was left out of the report entirely. Detective Micheals, a distinguished prodigy of the force, would not have left anything out of the report. Turning the pages of the folder, Mara found that none of the pages mentioned her sister. She got up quite suddenly, snatches the family album off of the desk and hurries out of the room, not taking the time to even close the door. With new questions raised and rotting inside her about Benjamin, Mara barely recognizes the disturbance of bumping into Quinn as she turned the corner.

“Quinn! I am so sorry, I don’t know what is going on anymore. I think I am losing my mind,” Mara says with a tremor. Her sister held her arm steadily and took her to the living space chairs to sit her down without saying a word. Waiting a few moments, Quinn breaks the silence.

“It had been a long while since you stopped counting so I came to check on you. I am glad I did. What is going on?” Her words hung more genuine in concern than most other times, which was of comfort but only in the most miniscule of ways to Mara.

“I went into the study to read about our mom and dad, against Benny’s advisement I know, but the file was terribly suspicious. He didn’t even mention you at all, and he is never one to not be thorough. You know that!” The erratic sister had the eyes of a lame horse, full of trepidation.

“Is that the file,” Quinn asked calmingly while gesturing to the book Mara clung to. Mara had entirely forgotten about the album.

“No, this is the family album. I wanted to look at it with you,” the words uttered breathlessly. Taking the book in their hands, the sisters opened the book together. This is what I need, thought Mara, to ease my mind. Aged photos of their parents, wedding photos, their mother while she was pregnant, two cribs with the names Quinn and Mara etched in. Then the photos seemed to lurch forward in time, and there was Mara playing by herself, reading by herself, some even of her talking by herself. Mara’s hands started to tremble as she saw those pictures. She started to flip through the book and it only solidified one fact: Quinn was nowhere to be seen in any of these photos. By the time she reached the end of the book, a note fell out. It bore the writing style of their mother, reading:

Dearest Benjamin Micheals,

You have been like a son to Shan and I for years and a brother to Mara, and for that we consider you a part of the family. That is why you have received this book in the case we are no longer around to give it to Mara on her eighteenth birthday. I know you never knew the whole story of Quinn, and I thank you for playing along with us for Mara’s sake, for we don’t truly know how this situation came to be. As you know, Mara and I fell off a horse when she was small and she was in a coma, but she was so young that she had barely spoken at all. When she did start to talk, she spoke of her twin sister Quinn. You went along with it by our wishes when you watched over her, not knowing that Quinn was more than an imaginary friend. Quinn was once real, but was absorbed into her sister later in pregnancy than what was considered normal. We were told that it would not affect the surviving baby, but you now see how this was not the case. We couldn't find a way to fix the problem with any eastern or western medicine, so we followed along with Mara so she would not feel isolated, even homeschooling her so she wouldn’t be bullied. She is a good girl, but she must know her story when she gets this book. Protect her until then.

With care,

Lorain

“What is this,” Mara whispered. “What is this!” She shrieked, feeling confused and betrayed by the paper she was now crumpling in her hands. She looked at her sister, her best friend and confidant, her darling Quinn. They looked at each other, one as a wild madwoman and the other relinquishing any emotion to her sister. Quinn stood up, took the book and threw it into the burning hearth, then looked back at Mara.

“You act as if you didn’t know,” she said, more a question than a statement.

“You always wondered why we were always together but no one spoke directly to me. Why it was almost like they all had to look through you to see me. Dear sister,” cooed Quinn, holding her face now, “you ate me up, and now I am in your head.”

Mara began to hyperventilate and shutter under the pensive gaze of her sister. Her ghost. Quinn leaned forward into her sister’s ear as Mara’s cries seemed to be drowned out by the beating of her heart. Their heart.

“We are one mind, and even one body’s will,” the ghost smuggly said, “or don’t you remember?”

Memories began flooding back of that night, and how she went downstairs after her parents came home from the party. She snuck behind her father in the kitchen with a knife and plunged it deep into his throat; then she took the crowbar from by the door, went upstairs, met her mother at the top and pushed her down the stairs. After that, she went into the room of her sleeping aunt and bludgeoned her head in with a crowbar.

The house was suddenly filled with screams and moans of a petrified young girl. Mara curled up onto the chair and cried into her knees as Quinn turned her back and stared into the fire. The memories Quinn had held down were now out and could no longer be contained.

“What did I do?"

"What did we do," corrected Quinn nonchalantly.

"I loved them!”

“But did they truly love you?” Quinn spit back. The question was pointed, but not at Mara.

“What do-”

“You know what I mean, Mara,” spat Quinn, “They were all bad people. They deserved death for being bad people.”

“But they weren’t bad! I know they weren’t,” Mara reasoned.

“Oh, weren't they? Mom and dad left us for their own pleasures, going to parties, drinking, doing drugs. They risked their lives to have fun and left us alone with her. They were out running wild, abandoning us and didn’t stop her from hurting us. And you don’t remember what she did to us because I protected you, but you have to know now. Remember that broken leg you had four years ago?”

The memory shot pain down her leg, but Mara felt too numb right then to register it. “Yes, but I don't know what you're talking about. I fell off my bike.”

“And who told you that,” questioned Quinn as she turned to look at the shaking mess on the chair. Mara opened her mouth but something caught her throat.

“That’s right. Dear Auntie. She hurt you because she could and they did nothing. These were bad people, and you and I are safe without bad people. And you know what else?” Quinn held her sister’s head up to look her in the eye. “Benny is a bad person too. He lied to us about who we are. Liars are very bad people, Mara. And when he comes home, you and I will take that shotgun in his room and then he will understand his corruption. We'll get rid of all the bad people.”

The door clicks open.

With horror in her eyes, Mara realized what Oppenheimer meant: Now I am become death.