Here it was. The house she grew up in. Sasha approached along the garden path that passed by the main entrance. She looked up, squinting, and raised her hand to block the setting sun that spilled over the single slope roof.
The place hadn't changed much in the ten years she'd been gone, at least not on the outside. She supposed that it was hard to improve on the tasteful contrast of light and dark colours juxtaposed with bright panes of mirrored glass. Sasha could remember being proud to bring friends home. She used to think it was like living in Malibu Barbie's beach house, but the way Mom had treated her and Dad after they split cast the house in a new light. The gardens, although largely unchanged and still beautifully built and manicured, now seemed gaudy and excessive. Why couldn't her mother have spared a fraction of this wasted wealth to help her and Dad? Would he still be alive today if she had?
Over the years, Sasha had wondered if the financial isolation was punishment for choosing to live with Dad instead of her. Maybe Riley was to blame. Her twin sister might've had a five-hundred-dollar-a-day coke problem that diverted the funds that could have helped pay for Dad's medical bills, instead of forcing Sasha to work two jobs.
Sasha took a deep breath outside the front door and tried to purge her negative thoughts. Should she knock? Was this house still her home? Had Mother stripped the walls of her old room bare, or was there a trace of her left inside?
Her hand moved of its own volition, forming a fist and rapping firmly on the frosted glass pane. Thanks, instincts. Probably a good call.
The door opened after a short pause. The young woman who stood in the foyer was instantly recognizable as her fraternal twin sister, Riley. Her hair had grown out, still mousey brown, but finally rid of the short tomboy haircut she had worn as a child. She had the same dark eyebrows - thick, but not bushy, framing hazel eyes. Riley's face was rounder than she remembered, but still pale with fine features and a dusting of freckles across her nose and upper cheeks.
Though fully grown, she was still half a head shorter than Sasha. It seemed as though puberty had been otherwise kind, though the loose fitting track pants and baggy sweater could have been hiding just about anything.
What should she say to her estranged sister whom she hadn't seen in a decade? Probably something comforting. Mom had just died, after all. It wasn't Riley's fault that she had been such a cold, uncaring bitch. She should say something nice.
Instead, she said, "Dad asked for you, you know. Just before he died. He was delirious, wanted to know where 'little Riley' was." Sasha saw Riley's eyes widen, and the twang of guilt that snapped across her belly almost stopped the next words from her mouth. "Imagine how disappointed he was to learn that his youngest daughter was skiing in the Swiss Alps, and couldn't be bothered to see him."
What the heck was that? Sasha cursed herself for not drawing a tighter reign on her emotions. Dad had been gone for well over a year now, but the anger she'd felt during his slow decline and unsung passing obviously wasn't buried too deep or controlled well.
Riley's face scrunched up like a baby about to bawl. "I wanted to come back, but Mom wouldn't pay for my ticket! What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, maybe sell your skis and buy your own way home? Take responsibility for yourself, for once?" Sasha's breath had become heavy, and blood roared in her hears. This was a mistake - getting re-tangled in her mother's drama, coming here, jumping down Riley's throat without so much as a hello... all of it.
She'd first learned about her mother's death a week ago, when the executor of her estate, a woman who introduced herself as Proctor Monica, had invited her to the funeral. When she declined the invitation, Monica had told her that she was provisionally included in her mother's will, and she could inherit a substantial amount if she would subject herself to the will's terms and conditions. Sasha didn't like the sound of being "subject" to anything, but she still owed a lot of money from when she took care of Dad.
And here she was, at Monica's request, to learn more about her provisional inheritance. At her childhood home, verbally attacking her estranged sister for no real reason other than to vent the feelings she'd held in for so long.
Riley looked like she was about to tackle Sasha, but before she could pounce a flash of blonde hair stepped between them. "Girls, please," the woman said, placing a gentle hand on Riley's shoulder. "Let's not let our emotions sour a potentially beneficial arrangement."
She turned to face Sasha, sharp blue eyes seeming to scan her in an instant. "Sasha," she said and held out her hand, which Sasha took after a pause. Her skin was soft, but the handshake firm. "I apologize for not anticipating your reaction to seeing Riley for the first time since your father passed. As perhaps you've already guessed, I am Proctor Monica."
Sasha scowled as she forced herself to accept that the monotone voice of the woman she'd spoken to on the phone was now coming from this supermodel-turned-proctor. She was six feet tall in her black stilettos, which melded seamlessly with black stockings wrapped around perfect legs, up to a mid-thigh tight black skirt and onto a gleaming white blouse that must have taken a team of tailors to achieve such an optimum balance of business and bombshell.
Her face, of course, was equally perfect. Milky skin, sculpted cheekbones and electric blue eyes were framed by straight, strawberry blonde hair that hung in gentle waves down the sides and parted just above her brow.
Sasha speculated that the only thing that might have kept her from walking a runway in Milan or Paris was the apparent absence of human emotion. Although her eyes conveyed obvious intelligence, the overall impression was that she had learned the art of facial expression at an an Asimov film festival.
Sasha wanted to ask her what traumatic event in her life had led her so far into the uncanny valley. Instead, she said, "Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," Monica replied, the barest smile creeping across her lips that Sasha imagined to be a Herculean effort.
Monica locked eyes with Sasha, pinning her to the spot. "Sasha, am I correct in assuming that you didn't come here with the intention of opening old wounds?"
Sasha cast her eyes down and nodded, not trusting herself to reply in an appropriate way to the woman who held the keys to her financial future.
"In that case, I suggest that we forgive and forget-"
"But-" Riley's angry protest was stifled by a look from Monica.
"Forgive and forget. Over a cup of tea."
***
Monica insisted on making the tea herself, and Sasha watched her gather ingredients and utensils from around the kitchen with a familiar, unsettling ease that awakened her to the fact that she knew very little about this side of the family.
The three of them sipped an exotic tasting herbal tea as Monica droned on about the importance of family and Sasha attempted to not-so subtly steer the conversation towards her reason for coming today.
"So, Proctor Monica. Would you say that our mother's will is unusual in any way?
Monica glanced at Sasha, her face impassive but eyes dancing in amusement as though she'd been waiting for that very question. "Of course. Let me tell you about the conditions pertaining to your mother's will..." Her eyes looked looked thoughtful for a second. "Actually, it may be easier to show than tell," she said, and plucked her phone from a pocket to dial. "Hello... Yes. Please bring them in now."
A few moments later there was a knock at the front door, which Riley answered. Delivery men brought in two large boxes and two small ones and set them in the kitchen while the girls looked on, curious.
"Your mother's will has outlined some... unique challenges for you to overcome in order to claim your inheritance. Some of the details, however, were not explicitly stated in the will, for reasons that will soon become clear."
Proctor Monica handed a small box to each of the girls. Sasha accepted hers tentatively, as though it might explode in her hand. She brushed the pebbled texture with her fingertips, admiring the rich craftsmanship that had gone into making it. A faint seam ran through the middle, begging to be pried open and explored. The opened box revealed a watch-like bracelet, finished in matte black with a large square face, strangely featureless.
Riley had opened her box as well, revealing an identical trinket. "I've never seen these before. Are they part of our inheritance?"
"Not at all," replied Monica. "Kindly remove the items from the box, and examine the clasp mechanism."
