15 ¦ ADELAIDE
It was after midnight, and everything outside the penthouse was the same except for the yellow security bar bisecting the wooden door. Adelaide reached past it and deliberately twisted the handle. It was locked, as she expected. She took out her old key and pushed it into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. Axel had changed the locks. She sat down in front of the door and waited for someone to come.
Two years had passed since she had stepped out of the lift to find this same door, her own front door, wide open, a gateway for the landslide of her possessions. The way in had been blocked with a cabinet. When she clambered over one heel snagged and her foot slipped out of the shoe. She grabbed the door frame for support. The trail continued into the penthouse: shoes, clothes, pictures, cosmetics. She heard glass smash.
“A?” she shouted. “Is that you?”
The tinkling sound reverberated on and on. Then there was silence. Adelaide abandoned her shoes and wriggled into the hallway. Not knowing who she was about to meet, she padded through the ransacked rooms. The door to her bedroom was ajar. She pushed it cautiously.
Her twin crouched in a myriad of broken glass. Shards winked at the ceiling and each other and Axel. He was sucking on one finger. A line of blood ran down his wrist and his shirt sleeve was scarlet. Adelaide looked at the wall where her mirror had hung. The rivets that had held the glass were still there, with clinging fragments of silver.
“Axel?”
He stared at her. Scratches marked his face. For a moment she thought he didn’t recognize her. Then his features bunched.
“What are you doing here?”
“What?”
“You don’t live here.”
She almost laughed. “What are you talking about, A?”
“I said you don’t live here.” Axel raised himself slowly. A shower of glass fell from his clothing.
“You’re bleeding,” said Adelaide.
Axel glared fixedly at the ground. He began to trace a deliberate circle around the room. Each step destroyed another remnant of the mirror. On the floor near the bed, Adelaide saw a hammer.
“I think you’d better go to the bathroom,” she said, louder this time. “Axel. Come on. Get cleaned up, I’ll fix us a drink and you can tell me what happened.”
He stopped pacing. His eyes flicked up. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“This is our apartment, Axel,” she said carefully. “Not yours. Ours. Neither of us had a problem with that before. If something’s changed, now’s the time to tell me.”
He barged past, slamming her into the wall. Anger flooded her. She chased him to the kitchen. He began to pull pans out of the cupboard and throw them onto the tiles in a discordant opera of noise. Adelaide put her hands over her ears.
“For fuck’s sake, what are you doing?”
Utensils and machines followed. A bottle opener flew past her head. The blender cracked on the floor. Axel opened the glass cupboard. Adelaide darted forward and grabbed his wrist. She felt his blood on her skin, wet and slippery.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Axel shook her off and reached for the nearest glass. She moved — an amalgamation of leap and unkind embrace, pinioning his arms to his sides. They fell to the floor together. Metal struck her elbow. Her entire body twanged with the pain. For whole, excruciating seconds she was paralysed. Axel was struggling to get up. Gathering her strength, she tackled him. They fought viciously, a tangle of limbs, childhood tactics made newly cruel. He yanked strands of hair from her scalp. She got both hands on his arm and twisted. They scratched and kicked. Pots and pans skidded over the floor. Then his hand struck her forehead. The blow sang inside her skull. She grabbed the nearest utensil and thrust it between them in panic.
“I’ll do it, A, I’ll really hurt you if I have to—”
His body went slack. His head fell to one side as though he was listening intently, and his fingers drummed the ceramic tiles. A repeated tattoo, like hooves. Then he got up without looking at her and walked out of the kitchen. She lay gasping on her back. Her face and body smarted with bruises. She stayed there for twenty minutes, listening to the sounds of her twin evicting her. Second by second, her courage seeped away.
“Miss Rechnov?”
Adelaide opened her eyes. The door was obscured by a pair of black trousers, neatly ironed. The shoes beneath them were highly polished, but looked worn-in, comfortable. Sanjay Hanif.
“It’s Miss Mystik,” she said.
“I apologize. According to official records your name is still Rechnov. Would you care to explain what you are doing here? This is an investigation scene.”
“I’m not on the investigation scene.”
Hanif crouched, bringing his face closer to her level. He had dark eyes. Intelligent eyes, she thought. He was a man used to making quick assessments, yet now he was forced to take the long slow path of unmatchable clues. How could anyone make sense of Axel?
“You tried to get in,” he said, and pointed to a high corner behind her.
“I knew it was locked,” she said. “And I know you have a camera there. I’m not stupid.”
“I don’t think you are, Miss Rechnov. Which begs the question once more, what are you doing here? Some might consider trespassing on Council territory an act of extreme stupidity.”
“I was looking for you,” she said.
Hanif clasped his hands, resting them upon his knees. He balanced easily in such an awkward position. She wondered if this was how he interrogated criminals.
“You have my attention,” he said.
“Axel’s my twin. I have a right to know what you have discovered.”
“I understand. But as I have already explained to your father, the family must be excluded from the investigation until we have ruled out the possibility of foul play.”
“You mean murder.”
Hanif’s face remained still. She wondered if he was aware of the underground activities of people like Lao. If he had any inkling that Adelaide had hired her own man. She wondered whether Hanif knew about the airlift.
“It is customary to explore all avenues. In my experience, well-known people do not go missing for no reason. When was the last time you saw your brother, Miss Rechnov?”
“You’ve seen my statement. A month before Yonna found him gone. He came to my apartment.”
“And you’re positive you did not see him again?”
“Of course I’m positive.”
“Did you come here?”
“No.”
“Did you make any effort to see Axel?”
“No, I — no.”
“Did you ever feel angry with your brother, Miss Rechnov?”
“Are you interrogating me now?”
His mild expression did not alter.
“We both have our questions, Miss Rechnov. You have yours and I have mine. If you do not believe that I wish to solve this riddle because I care about what happened to your brother, at least believe I will do so because it is my job.”
She stared at him. “Everyone gets angry with the people they love.”
“Of course.”
“You should trust me,” she said. “I knew him. The rest of my family had no interest in Axel after he changed. He was an embarrassment to them. A problem.”
“It’s late, Miss Rechnov,” he said quietly. “You should go home.”
He called the lift. She understood that it was for her. Not far above them, the huge wheels started to turn and the cables rushed through their bindings. They waited, each intent on the incalculable drop beyond the glass doors. People said Hanif was a good man. His quiet manner, his level tone, all were suggestive of a man of integrity. But everyone was corruptible, and the Rechnovs had more money and influence than anyone in Osiris. How far could she really trust him?