-
"Mom! Dad!" Arette shouted out as she broke through her parents' door, her bag clattering to the ground.
Spotting her little brother, Garette, emerging from his room, he couldn't contain his surprise.
"Arette?" he said, his voice filled with surprise. Arette hadn't mentioned anything about coming home, especially not before the semester break.
"Why are you home?" Garette's question came out slightly wrong, sounding as if he didn't want her there, though that wasn't his intention.
He saw that Arette was always happiest when she was leaving for music school—not because she despised staying at home, but because she was so enthusiastic about her aspirations and loved her time at school.
"Is there a rule that says I can't come home? "This is also my own house, you know," Arette said defensively. Arette and Garette had never seen eye to eye and seemed to always find themselves arguing, regardless of the situation.
With a tired groan, Garette brushed by Arette and made his way to the kitchen.
"You missed them. Mom and dad just went out," he informed her as he poured himself a glass of water.
Curious, Arette pressed further. "Well, where did they say they were going?"
"I don't know, I wasn't listening," Garette replied nonchalantly after finishing his drink.
He then purposefully wiped away the drops and spills with his sweatshirt, well knowing of how much it irritated Arette, in an attempt to antagonize her.
Disregarding the chaotic scene unfolding before her, Arette consciously chose to avoid letting herself become overwhelmed with frustration the moment she entered her family's home.
Growing up in a low income uouseholdseholdh, she has always had a desir for sophistication often associated with the elite—not just their wealth, but their mannerisms and elegance, qualities notably absent in Garette.
At the School of Music she attended, the majority of students came from privileged backgrounds, leaving little tolerance for the kind of "poor boy"behavior of her brother.
"Alright, then when do you think they'll be back?" Arette questioned, trying to keep her cool.
"Didn't you hear me? I have no clue! I wasn't paying attention!" Garette responded in a disapproving tone, prompting Arette to fling her handbag in his way, which he easily dodged.
She dropped all pretense of elegance and pounced at him, snatching her purse with a quick motion.
In a fit of rage, she swung the bag at him, wanting to exact some kind of punishment for his rude actions.
After all, being five years his senior, she refused to tolerate such disrespect.
Besides, as the saying goes, modern problems call for modern solutions, and sometimes, only someone equally unhinged can effectively deal with a fellow madman.
"Enough!" Garette managed to break free from Arette's grasp, stepping back to a safer distance as he observed her labored breathing.
"How do you look so put together and act like a crazy person all at once?"
For Arette, that comment was the last straw.
Though she secretly doubted that she would have the strength to exact such a terrible retribution on Garette, she could not help but ponder the idea.
Beyond chasing her brother around the kitchen, which had already left her completely weary, she could not remember the last time she had engaged in any physical exercise.
So all she could do was shout in frustration at Garette.
"How could you say such absolute rubbish!" Arette's voice echoed across the room, full of rage and anguish.
"Careful now, wouldn't want to strain those vocal cords because of me. I wouldn't want you blaming me for any misfortune. And let's not forget, Mom and Dad shelled out quite a fortune to send you to that posh school for rich kids," Garette persisted, intentionally needling Arette, aggravating every last nerve she possessed.
"That's why your hair's falling out!" Arette retaliated, her words venomous.
But Garette countered without missing a beat, "Blame Dad for his lousy hair genes or whatever they call it, not me."
"That is why you are failing in school," she said, her irritation apparent.
Garette remained unfazed, responding with nonchalance, "What's there to understand? Mediocrity runs in the family; isn't that why you opted for opera singing? No need for a brain where you're headed."
Arette's breath caught in her throat at Garette's words. She knew he wasn't one to fear retaliation, yet the truth in his statement about her vocal cords struck a chord.
Despite any harm to her body, her voice remained her instrument. "When I'm through with you, you'll wish you never existed."
But before Arette could pounce, her childhood friend Dami intervened, halting her in her tracks.
"What's going on here? She's barely arrived, and already you're causing a ruckus?" Dami's tone dripped with disbelief.
"I wasn't causing a ruckus, Dami. She's just hypersensitive and can't handle a little constructive criticism, which, mind you, isn't ideal for someone pursuing a singing career, "Garette defended himself, only to receive a firm fist from Dami in response.
"This is assault!" Garette's voice rose, but it quickly fell silent under Dami's intimidating glare.
Unlike Arette, who was studying at a distant School of Music, Dami attended a Police University nearby, only crossing paths with Arette during breaks and holidays.
"You started it with your verbal assault. Dami's just returning the favor," Arette retorted sharply before marching to retrieve her suitcase.
With one final glare at Garette, she disappeared into her room, Dami firmly closing the door behind them.
"Dad hates it when you slam doors in the house!" Garette's voice echoed from a distance, but the girls paid him no mind.
"Garette is insufferable. How did you put up with him all these years while I was away?" Arette sighed, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Tell me about it. Ah—tell me, why are you home so soon? It's not your semester break yet. Don't tell me it's because of the accident?" Dami inquired, veering off topic, though Arette's silence confirmed her suspicions.
"Arette! Why would you do something like that? It's not like you! What if someone finds out about it or what if that girl Grace runs her mouth?" Dami's concern was palpable, yet Arette's lack of worry surprised her.
"The school committee already knows. When Mimi woke up, she insisted she was pushed off the stairs. Her parents made a huge scene, but Grace managed to fabricate an alibi for me, and Mimi's claims were dismissed. They discovered she had emotional issues, so they halted the investigation, assuming it was self-inflicted. Mimi got replaced as the lead singer," Arette recounted, emphasizing her stroke of luck.
"Really?"
"Yeah, the faculty heads decided I should take over as the lead singer and gave me a two-week break to rest my vocal cords before diving into intense rehearsals for the competition," Arette explained, prompting Dami to pull her into a tight hug.
Ever since Arette's anxious call, detailing the events, Dami had been on edge.
Only now, seeing Arette's relief, did she finally calm down.
"Good. But one thing, though, you shouldn't have pushed Mimi down the stairs, even if someone pressured you into it. I get that Mimi stole your spot, but what if she'd been seriously hurt? It could've turned into a murder case. You need to be more careful!" Dami scolded.
As an aspiring police officer, she despised the situation Arette had gotten herself into, but she was relieved it was over and Arette could finally pursue her dreams as the soprano diva she always wanted to be.
"Yes, yes, I'll be careful. You know I've never done something like that before. I don't know what came over me, and those days I spent hiding the truth initially were hell. I'll never try to harm anyone ever again. How do those people who go around killing and hurting others sleep at night?" Arette's question was more of a rhetorical musing, but Dami responded anyway.
"They're monsters in human flesh. There's this one bastard the whole police district has been trying to catch, but it's been impossible. They even sent some of my seniors, the skilled ones, to act as spies, but he somehow found out and killed them... mercilessly," Dami recounted, her gaze distant.
"Wow, that sounds brutal. I can't even imagine what my life would be like if I were in the Police Academy. I'd probably be traumatized to death," Arette shuddered.
"I know you're not one for violence, Soprano Diva Arette Choi. Anyway, once I become a detective, that bastard will be the first person I'll hunt down. This world would be a better place without Dominic Ferrari," Dami declared, but Arette looked puzzled.
"What do you mean, Dominic Ferrari? As in THE Dominic Ferrari?" Arette inquired, receiving a nod from Dami.
"So, you're suggesting that Dominic Ferrari is a bad person? That's hard to believe. He makes generous donations to our school and sponsors competitions, offering grand prizes. All the girls swoon over him, but he's only visited our school once. Are you sure you guys aren't targeting the wrong person?"
"He's just using those donations to maintain a façade of goodness. Or he's gaining something from them because he's involved in all sorts of illegal activities across the country. From drug and weapon trafficking to human trafficking-"
"You mean he sells people?" Arette gasped, her voice trembling. "How can you even bear to know about such things? Please, let's stop talking about it. It's too frightening."
"Okay, you're back home now, and all I want to do is hear you sing in person. Let's have our own little concert!" Dami suggested eagerly, but there was one hitch.
There was no one to accompany Arette on the piano.
Arette could play, but she was the vocalist. Dami couldn't play, and the only other person who knew how was Garette, who wouldn't willingly oblige.
Unless coerced with either money or threats.
Dami opted for the latter, and ten minutes later, Garette begrudgingly pounded the keys as Arette sang 'O mio babbino caro' with grace.
O mio babbino caro,
mi piace, è bello bello,
vo'andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l'anello!
Si, si, ci voglio andare!
E se l'amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento,
O Dio! Vorrei morir!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Babbo, pietà, pietà.
As Arette finished singing, Dami erupted into the loudest cheers and applause, celebrating her friend's performance. However, Garette remained seated behind the piano, glaring at them with disdain.
"Now that the dolphin has finished singing 'romeo albino cargo,' can I go?" he muttered sarcastically.
-
The girls were celebrating their reunion when Dami suggested they go clubbing for a change, letting free and having a few drinks.
Alcohol was severely prohibited at their respective institutions owing to its negative effects on their voices and the professional standards expected of future police officers like Dami.
However, with both of them back home and free from such restrictions, they could indulge without worry.
At first reluctant, Arette gave up when Dami told her of a new club where customers may come on stage and sing.
The opportunity to showcase her talent in front of an audience, even if they were mostly intoxicated, was too enticing to pass up.
Dami opted for a comfortable yet stylish , sporting black slacks, a brown turtleneck, combat boots, and her signature glasses.
Compared to Arette's black dress—which she had spent half of her funds on—Dami's outfit boasted a casual elegance.
As Arette basked in the euphoria of her successful performance, she decided to take a break and freshen up. She made her way through the crowd to the restroom, informing Dami of her temporary leave.
However, her time of alone was broken by the incessant vibration of her phone, which was tucked in her purse.
When she retrieved it, she noticed an incoming call from Garette, which prompted a tired sigh. "What do you want?" she asked, cutting straight to the point.
"I'm just borrowing your designer hoodie. It looks like you haven't even worn it yet, and it fits me perfectly," Garette informed her, his tone implying that he had no intention of returning it.
"WHY ARE YOU EVEN GOING THROUGH MY STUFF?!" Arette's voice boomed through the phone, her tone full of rage and disappointment.
Despite her reaction, she was not too concerned about the hoodie.
After all, it was a present from a stalker who claimed her as his own.
"Why can't I? We're siblings!" Garette's attempt at humor fell flat, earning simultaneous cringes from both ends of the line.
"Ew, forget I said that. Anyway, I stumbled upon bundles of cash in a box... where did you get it?"
Arette hesitated, attempting to feign ignorance, but the seriousness in Garette's voice betrayed his concern.
"What do you mean?" she replied, hoping to divert his attention.
"Arette, where did you get that much money?!" Garette's tone became more forceful, his concern obvious as he considered the consequences of his sister's sudden fortune.
"WHY ARE YOU INTERROGATING ME??" Arette snapped before abruptly ending the call, refusing to entertain any further questions.
When Garette attempted to call again, she simply declined his call, unwilling to engage in any more of his probing.
"It's okay, Garette doesn't need to know. It's free money anyways and I'm safe inside the school and it doesn't matter who it may be," she muttered to her self but as she was about to proceed forward, she received a text message from Garette.
'I don't know how you got that money but remember how you left home and don't lose yourself. I know it may sound weird coming from a guy who would give everything for a gaming set but think about our parents before you make any stupid decisions.'
Arette sighed heavily, understanding the likely assumption running through Garette's mind.
He probably suspected something unsavory, like prostitution, as the source of the money.
She couldn't blame him; the sum in that box far exceeded what one could earn from a simple part-time job.
Another sigh escaped her lips as she walked towards the bathroom.
But just as she turned the corner, she collided with a girl wearing an identical dress to hers.
The force of the impact sent Arette's purse and phone tumbling to the ground, prompting a gasp to escape her lips.
"Oh my, were you walking with your eyes closed?" Arette exclaimed, annoyance evident in her voice as she addressed the mysterious woman.
But as she took in their strikingly similar appearance—the matching dresses, the identical black hair elegantly styled back—their differences was only in their choice of footwear.
Arette wore sparkling silver stilettos, while the other woman was in black heels.
However, Arette couldn't dwell on the coincidence for long, as she noticed the woman's trembling and agitated demeanor, as though she were being chased.
"I'm so sorry," the woman murmured before darting off into the crowd, leaving Arette puzzled by her abrupt departure.
Before she could process what had just occurred, she found herself ensnared by a group of men dressed in black suits.
Panic went through her veins as she attempted to cry out for help, but her efforts were stifled as a chloroform-soaked handkerchief was pressed over her nose.
Despite her desperate struggles, Arette succumbed to unconsciousness within moments, her body betraying her in the face of overwhelming force.
As the men dragged her away, her phone, lying forgotten on the ground, suddenly illuminated with a message from Garette.