Page 20 of Twilight Mask

“I went to therapy.” A lot of therapy, actually, but I don’t say that part. I spent half my life talking to counselors, doctors, psychiatrists, anyone else who might be able to make me more normal. None of it worked. I only kept sinking into my own world.

“Right, but don’t you think it means something that you keep making human body parts? Fingers, hands, tongues, eyes…”

I forgot about my eyeball phase. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

She nods and holds up her hands. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just saying, I’m really happy you’re doing this, that’s all.”

“Great. You’re happy. I’m happy. Can I get back to work?”

Elena sighs and finishes her wine. “I’m also concerned.”

“Of course you are.”

“It’s just so sudden, that’s all.” Elena chews her lip, and I can tell she wants to say more, but I speak up first.

“Can you just let this be good? Can you try not to look into it? You don’t have to always help me, you know.” I know that goes against her nature. I sculpt weird body parts, and Elena tries to take care of the people she cares about. That’s just who she is.

But in this instance, I don’t want her getting too close. Because if she does, she might unmask my little secret, and I’m not ready for him to be public knowledge.

Jackal is mine, and mine alone. That’s what gives him so much power.

Elena reluctantly agrees, and I even suck it up and give her a hug. That makes her happy enough to leave me alone.

I hesitate before heading back down to the basement. I love my sister, even if sometimes I don’t know how to properly show it. I want to make her happy, and I want to live up to her expectations. But how would she react if she understood what I’ve been doing? Getting involved with a masked man like Jackal is incredibly dangerous, especially considering who I am.

There are people in this city who would gladly use me to get closer to the Famiglia.

And plenty more who would happily slit my throat to make my siblings suffer.

But for some reason, neither of those thoughts bother me. If anything, they make this whole situation more exciting.

I guess that proves I’m still very much fucked in the head, and all that therapy didn’t do a whole lot.

I head downstairs to sculpt.

And I keep sculpting for two weeks straight.

There are breaks. Bathroom, food, sleep, the usual human needs. But Angelo says we’re having a show in two months, and that means I need to be ready. I throw myself into work, and I don’t even notice it when time slips past. The list of hackers remains on my workbench, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to open the folder.

I’ll figure him out. He’s in there, no doubt in my mind. My family has very impressive dossiers on anyone with talent in this city, and if the Jackal’s able to take out Cage’s security, there’s no doubt my brothers know about him.

Between that, and the description the hostess gave me, I’ll recognize him somewhere in that file.

I don’t look. It’s like a constant, low-level ache in my guts, but I drown the need to peek with more work. I’m physically exhausted and pushing myself to my limits, but I’m happy with how the ears are coming out. I spend a lot of time on the little hairs, making them as realistic and detailed as I possibly can, while making sure to include what I remember of my Jackal’s geometric patterns.

Dimly, I become aware of a noise. It’s beeping, no, it’s ringing. I squint through the dust and raise my respirator over my head as my house’s filtration system sucks away the worst of the rock grit.

My phone’s ringing. Which is weird, because my phone never rings. I walk over and frown at the screen: it’s an unknown caller.

That should be impossible. This number isn’t listed anywhere. It’s a clean line, given to me by Simon after his best tech guys stripped it down to bare functionality and gave it an untraceable SIM card. Only family has this number.

Except someone else is calling.

I pick it up between two fingers like it’s a rat and carry it over to my sculpture. Then I place it down inside the ear, and I smash the shit out of it with my hammer.

“That felt good,” I say, smiling to myself. The phone is a wreck of cracked glass and bent internals.

I sweep the mess away and I’m about to get back to work, when another noise gets my attention.

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