Page 35 of Deranged Imposter

Nate and Aquilina, he means. If they aren’t in the cabin, then I have a fair idea. I know an unhinged mentality when I see one, and Nate is on the verge of a breakdown.

Tease a dog too much, and it’ll maul back.

“I don’t know,” I say, bouncing Isa from my back for her to lift her head. “We’ll be taking a room.”

Nobody objects.

Chapter Nine

Isabella

The pain hits me the hardest when Zico’s memories are revived by the people who love him immensely. Their words create a planetarium where the stars carry his memories, and I realize I don’t know him as well as I thought.

His family’s eulogy of fond memories is where I draw a blank. I feel sick for intruding on an intimate moment by sitting next to Mikah in the memorial service.

The years spent with the twins were some of my best and most treasured memories. Nothing will change my mind about it. Lots of things happened in that year; my parents’ new housekeeping job with the Masinis, meeting the brothers, my family’s car accident, trauma, and Zico.

I never healed properly from losing my parents, too terrified to be alone, so I clung to the first person who gave me support. Then I lost Zico, and over the course of recent years, I unwittingly saw two brothers in one body.

Zico lived on through Mikah’s appearance, sometimes breaching through daily activities.

I pretended Mikah was Zico on occasions, yet all I remember when I think back on the years of our friendship is Mikah. Only him.

My thoughts are too jumbled, too lost in the rocking motion of a pirate vessel.

I’ve been unfair to Mikah. To what extent, I don’t know, but I don’t want to live another day seeing Zico through him. They are two different souls; they deserve to be treated as individuals.

I squeeze his hand as the last family member pays their wishes to the photo of Zico smiling, surrounded by gorgeous flowers and his favorite items.

His aunt stands at the center of the podium and delegates the next step. The family didn’t want strangers in the service, not even a funeral conductor or a priest from Mr. Masini’s religious background. His aunt took care of the planning and details, getting everyone’s approval to have the service on private land.

Zico is the center of attention, so everything is catered to what he liked. This funeral is also the closure his family wants.

Questions are answered, hope has rejoiced, efforts are rewarded, and patience is paid off.

His family spent years, millions of dollars, and an endless number of hours searching for Zico. They took things into their own hands with retired federal agents and private sectors when the government put Zico into their cold-case storage.

Some say the family tried illegal approaches, but that was just speculation.

It’s been three weeks since I got the news. I could tell his family wanted to have a proper burial service for their beloved son as soon as possible for him to rest in peace, but Mikah’s final exams were too close.

Emotional defense and logical response compromised on the week after finals. This gave Mikah time to clear his mind of academic stress and confront the emotions that had resurfaced.

I was shocked when I felt somewhat fine after the initial wave of hurt that left me with an ache duller than the one on my ankle. I had study materials to distract me, Mikah’s support, and no free time to think about the barrier of emotions.

Disquieting news swept the entire campus; Nate and Aquilina were found dead at the bottom of a cliff in the forest. A suicide note signed by Nate was used to conclude that they both committed suicide. It felt rushed, and their families were outraged with the police’s investigation.

The news hardly made a dent in my haze.

And now, my feelings are amplified by Mrs. Masini’s tears.

Am I confused? Am I mixing up our sentimental memories with the thought of never adding more?

I don’t know, but I think a therapist can help.

“Isa,” Mikah whispers, tugging my hand to get us standing. “Come.”

I follow him, my mind running through hurdles as I stare at the backs of Mr. and Mrs. Masini. Standing in the center of the walkway with the beautiful cathedral glass coloring Zico’s photo, the convulsing pressure punches my stomach.

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