London, England, the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Earth…
It had been two and a half days since Sarah’s twin sister Jackie had gone missing. Sarah had checked their apartment from top to bottom. Jackie’s travel bags were still there. All of Jackie’s formal attire was still there. All of Jackie’s underwear apart from the blue sun-and-cloud-print briefs and black sports bra she was wearing when she disappeared were still there. There was no note from her anywhere to be seen. No text message or missed phone call. She clearly hadn’t left on her own accord. Where could she have disappeared? Sarah searched other tenants’ rooms as well. Perhaps Jackie had wandered into the wrong apartment by mistake, Sarah thought. But she searched to no avail. Jackie wasn’t anywhere to be found. There was a knock on Sarah and Jackie’s room door. Sarah quickly hopped of the bed she was lying on and bolted to the door.
“Jackie?!” she beamed, “Is that you?!”
As Sarah opened the door, she was greeted by two people. Jackie wasn’t among them.
“We came as soon as we got your message!” one of them, a woman, said.
“Is Jackie still missing?” the other, a man, said.
“Oh,” Sarah sighed. “Hey, Mum. Hey, Dad.”
The girl’s parents wrapped their arms around Sarah in unison, the pair practically suffocating their daughter in their large pectoral muscles and breasts. As the two visitors let go of Sarah, the girl gasped for air.
“Oh, Sarah,” the girl’s mom gasped, “I’m sorry! Did Mummy squeeze you too tight?”
Nicole Wordsworth. The middle-aged, black-haired woman was wearing a green ribbed sweater, skin tone pantyhose which were almost invisible against her legs and a gray, pleated knee-length skirt. She spoke with a slight French accent as she was originally from France and lived there until she met her English husband. That last sentence wasn’t really important for understanding this story, but a little world-building never hurt anyone, right?
“It’s…” Sarah coughed, “It’s fine, Mum.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” the girl’s dad said, “We’ll find Jackie, no matter what it takes!”
Joseph Wordsworth. A middle-aged man with light brown hair, a matching light brown beard and mustache and a muscular physique. He wore a sleeveless white top, gray sweatpants and black prescription sunglasses. He had a suntan on his arms and face, although that detail is as unimportant to this story as his wife’s place of birth.
“Thanks,” Sarah sniffed. “Do you really think we’ll find her?”
“Nope!” Joseph smiled before being elbowed in the gut by his wife.
“Joe,” Nicole scolded, “what’s wrong with you?!”
“I’m just being honest, Honey…” her husband groaned, rubbing his aching abdomen.
“Well we have to try!” Nicole proclaimed.
“And try we shall!” Joseph beamed. “C’mon, Sarah, let’s go find your sister!”
“I already looked everywhere for her.” Sarah frowned.
“Then why did you call us?” Nicole asked her daughter.
“I called you two days ago,” Sarah bluntly stated, “I hadn’t searched everywhere yet!”
“You sure she didn’t just run off?” Joseph asked. “Did you two get into a fight or anything before she left?”
“No,” Sarah sighed, “I think she was kidnapped, or she got lost, or she had an accident or something!” she exclaimed.
Joseph and Nicole frowned.
“You don’t think…” Joseph began.
“…That she’s dead, do you?” Nicole finished her husband’s sentence.
Sarah hung her head down and started to tear up. “To be honest,” the younger woman began, “I think that’s a very strong possibility.” Sarah held her head up high, wiping the tears from off her cheeks and looking her parents in the eye. “Help me put up posters,” the girl said, “If Jackie had an accident and is lying dead in a ditch somewhere, then posters will at least help with identifying her.”
“What if she was kidnapped and she's locked up somewhere?” the Frenchwoman asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Joseph smiled, “Why would someone want Jackie? She’s just a whiny, nerdy girl!”
Sarah and Nicole glared at the Englishman.
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood!” he said, “If Jackie were here, she would’ve laughed!”
Sarah and Nicole sighed. Although they didn’t think this was the time for friendly jabs at Jackie’s expense, they did have to admit that Jackie would’ve definitely laughed at her father’s remarks. She always had been a “Daddy’s girl” and she did have a fairly dark sense of humor.
“Ok, I’ll print photos for the posters!” Nicole declared.
“And I’ll write the description!” Joseph smiled. “What was Jackie wearing when she went missing?”
“All of her pajamas are still here,” Sarah stated, “And since the sofa is also gone, I’d say it’s safe to assume she was sleeping on it at the time, so…”
Joseph blushed. “Either she was fully-clothed or she was…” he paused.
“Yep,” Sarah sighed, “either she was wearing blue jean shorts, a black t-shirt, black leggings and glasses…” she paused, “or she was in her black bra and sky knickers.”
“Let’s hope for her sake that it was the former,” Nicole shrugged, “I’d be pretty embarrassed if someone found me in… Ahem, ‘sky knickers’.”
“Wait, the sofa’s gone too?” Joseph asked, “How did someone manage that without you noticing?”
“Dad, c’mon,” Sarah blushed, “you know I’m a deep sleeper!”
“You don’t think Jackie was spirited away by some witch from another dimension, or something, do you?!” her father frantically asked.
“Joe!” Nicole grunted, once again elbowing the man in the stomach, “Don’t be silly! That’s impossible! This isn’t some sort of amateur webnovel, or something! This is real life!”
“Right…” Joseph sighed, rubbing his tummy, “I’ll get to work writing those posters…”
Having split up from her parents to cover more ground with “missing person” posters of Jackie, Sarah stared at the wall in front of her which was already covered with images and descriptions of missing persons. Sarah instantly recognized one of them as Jackie’s best-friend Arthur King. The other posters depicted a woman apparently named Natasha Pushkin who was pictured wearing a convenience store uniform which Sarah vaguely recognized, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what store it was from. It was then that she noticed the date that Natasha was reported missing. The twenty-first of July, 2021. The same day that Sarah had last seen her twin sister. Sarah sighed. She couldn’t just stick some of the Jackie posters on top of Arthur and Natasha’s posters, could she? But then again, there was no room on the wall for the Jackie posters otherwise and there were, like, fifty posters of Arthur and Natasha each.
“Excalibur Aristophanes…” Sarah heard a voice mumble, “and Rusalka Dvořák.”
“Are you talking to me?” Sarah asked turning around to see a girl with the short black hair and a violet-printed purple mini dress. “There’s no one else here. So you must be talking to me?”
“You can stick those posters of yours over the ones already on the wall,” the purple-clad maiden shrugged. “In fact, you can take all those other posters down and recycle them too, if you want,” she said, grabbing a few posters and ripping them off the wall, “Arthur King and Natasha Pushkin are both dead.”
“W-Wha?” Sarah stammered. “And how can you be so sure?”
“Jackie,” the enigmatic girl said. “She killed them.”
“Shut-up!” Sarah yelled, punching the other woman in the face, “How dare you say something like that?! Jackie would never kill somebody! That boy on the poster… He’s my sister’s best-friend!”
“Your… sister?” the mysterious woman asked, “I thought you looked familiar. Are you two twins by any chance?”
“How…” Sarah grunted, “How do you know Jackie?!”
Sarah turned back around to face the wall, sighing and taking down a few of the posters and hanging up some of her own.
“I was a missing person once, too,” the stranger said, “I actually just came back home a few minutes ago.” she said, rubbing the area on her face that Jackie’s twin had punched. “I should probably call my father and tell him I’m back…” she mumbled, “I wonder if his number is still the same after all these years…?”
Sarah turned back to ask the girl another question but they appeared to have vanished.
“That girl…” Sarah said to herself, “she must be connected to Jackie’s disappearance.”
Just behind the wall’s corner, the girl took a phone out from inside of her plain, bright pink brassiere. She took a deep breath, dialed a number and held the cellphone up to her right ear.
“Hello,” she said into the speaker, “is this Paul Webber?”
“…Yes, who is this?” the voice on the other end of the phone replied.
“Dad,” the mysterious girl in the violet-print dress began, “it’s me. It’s Maryanne-Susan Webber.”
