Alysse Aallyn

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  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aalyn

    I closed the door for

    Privacy but Dad only wanted 

    To speak to Verne. He was

    WAY more interested in talking to a man 

    He’d never met than listening to

    His own kid! Go ahead. IGNORE the Virgin.

    The virgin is used to it!

    At least I was allowed

    To listen in.

    Verne said Mirabel had just pulled a “Mirabel.”

    “Wedding’s off, I take it?” asked my Dad.

    He sounded relieved!

    “Not because of anything I’ve done or said,”

    Verne assured. “She just can’t seem to cope.”

    Handed back the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

    “Take the first train home,”

    My Dad directed.

    “Dad, it’s only Saturday!”

    “You can’t stay alone

    In some young man’s apartment.

    Doesn’t look good.”

    “Who’s looking?” I demanded. “Besides, he’s staying

    at The Stanhope,” I winked at Verne.

    “I’m sorry, no! Must I put your mother on? 

    You know she’ll back me up.”

    “At least let me call the Lowthers.  

    Maybe they’re in town.”

    Longtime family friends. He subsided.

    Muttering.

    “Parents are so awful,” I proclaimed out loud once

    Severing connections.

    “They think I’m a baby.”

    “They want you to never age”

    And Verne smiled wickedly at his private

    Epsteinian joke.

    I found the Lowthers’ number and got only voicemail –

    Should have figured that would happen!

    They were at the Cold Spring country house of course!

    I enunciated clearly, “This is Richenda Marshott

    with an emergency question. Please call me back as soon 

    As you get this at 715-527-1313.”

    This granted me another day at least

    I thought till

    Someone might check in.

    If I spoke to any member of the family –

    even barf-inducing Sierra – I could fend off Dad

    For the entire weekend.

    Verne looked hungrily at my phone.

    “What question will you ask?”

    “Why, if they’ve heard from Mirabel of course.”

    Dropped it in my pocket. High-waist jeans

    Have deep, deep pockets.

    “I’m going to the Day-Spa,”

    I said, allowing him to bail. 

    But of course he said,

    “I’m coming too.”

    Chapter 12 – Derek

    Bioceutically Renewed was so far east

    It was almost in the water.  At the door, a

    Sweet-faced Asian lady

    Expressed almost comic dismay.

    “Customers privacy sacrosanct!  You understand.

    Sacrosanct.” But

    Just when I would have recommended

     Verne get more friendly

    He went haughty.

    “We’re talking about a missing person!”

    He barked. “This is a police case!”

    She was not to be caught.

    “Are you police?”

    “He’s the fiancé.” Reaching out to touch her arm was

    Too naïve! She shrank away.

    Verne swelled, his importance

    Throbbing. “I’d like to see

    The manager!”

    We filled the tiny waiting room.

    The employee backed away, alarmed,

    Scurrying, hastily diminishing

    In size. I imagined that was their secret to dispense –

    Clients requesting “to be smaller”

    Turned into mice. I hissed at Verne.

    “What if she calls the police on US?”

    He waved this away, airily.

     “Flunkies never do.  A British title paves the path

    To everything.” How I wished

    This wasn’t true. The frosty-eyed manager 

    Was neither young  nor Asian, 

    But when I introduced, “This is Lord Verne, 

    Mirabel’s fiancé and I’m her sister” 

    Her expression changed most notably.

    How in our democracy could Verne be right?

    “Have you told the police?”

    “They’ll get involved after the waiting period,” Verne said

     Smoothly. Far too smoothly. How many

    Wives had disappeared on him before?

    “We think she’s under duress. We’re trying 

    To act fast.” I begged;

     “We just want to find her! She carries

    Valuables. She could be in danger.”

    Verne’s eyes raked me over,

    While he fluttered his lips

    Disgustedly, as if to say –

    “And she left me with this THING!”

    Instead of instant ejection

    We made it to the inner sanctum, an

    Unromantic room where filing cabinets loomed 

    Over wooden chairs. Ms. “Operations Manager”

    Consulted her computer.

    “She signed up for our Wedding Package

    But only made the first appointment. That was

    Days ago. I understood – er – her fiancé

    Was…someone different altogether.”

    Verne paled and lost his breath.

    Fell into a punitively twisted chair.

    It was up to me to ask the questions.

    “Short, fat, bald?”

    “That’s the one.” The woman panicked

    At her own audacity.

    “Tells us what we need to know.”

    Verne was gasping like a fish

    And he was not a good color.

    I thought he might stroke out.

    “Contact numbers?”

    “Contrary to policy. I’m sorry.

    Her voice was cold, but her eyes were warm.

    “May I get you a water?”

    “Please,” said Verne. “Bottled, if possible.”

    The moment she was out the door I raced

    To the computer. “Last appointment was three days ago!”

    I took a screenshot with my phone.

    Ms. Harvey returned with a bottle of chilled water

    which Verne accepted. I was rescued

    By the ringing of my phone.

    “I’ve got to take this.”

    Stepping into the hall.

    I heard a deep masculine voice. 

    “Hi. This is Derek Lowther. Is that 

    Richenda?” Derek Lowther? Last time I saw him he was a

    Particularly nightmarish twelve year old jerk.

    (I was a cool eleven year old sophisticate.)

    This was NOT the person I’d hoped to speak to. I

    Pushed out through the anteroom and into

    The pale winter sunshine, playing

    For time. “Yes,”

    I told Derek unwillingly, “it’s me.”

    “So what’s the emergency question?”

    “Have you heard from Mirabel?”

    He was genuinely astonished.

    “Has ANBODY heard from Mirabel?

    I certainly haven’t. I’m at the apartment.

    Do you mean, did she call here?”

    “Maybe you could find out 

    If your parents have heard anything?”

    “They’re on retreat in Sri Lanka.  You can assume 

    The answer’s No. What’s the hurry?”

    “Mirabel is missing.”

    A beat of silence. I could hear his struggle to be polite.

    “Wasn’t Mirabel ALWAYS missing?”

    “This time’s exceptional. She came back. 

    She was getting married.  

    Then she disappeared. Again.”

    I have to admit it did not sound like an emergency.

    Impossible to explain anything to this guy!

    Hadn’t seen him in 3 years and already 

    I was angry at him.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 11 – The Perfect Alibi

    Over breakfast I peppered him

    With questions.

    “If Mirabel was a scout for porn –

    What does that mean

     She actually did?”

    Verne moaned.  

    “I tried so hard to make her quit,”

    He writhed and sighed pointedly –

    Reminding me who’s

    The victim here.

    “Set dressing. That’s what they call it.

    Pretty young girls who want to

    Get ahead.

    Sometimes she found investors at

    Openings and parties.”

    Was that what she did

    To me? Threw me at

    Verne as a distracting toy?

    Ignoring me –

    Living alone in his world was HIS 

    Superpower, I’d

    Decided;

    Angry and increasingly incensed,

    He worked himself up.

    She took something he needed

    That much was plain.

    Pushed his plate of tempting food away.

    “Is that how she found you?” was

    The question he refused to answer,

    Playing with his fork

    As if he’d stab me.

    I summoned up my calmest adult voice.

    “Let’s call the police. I think it’s time.”

    A shudder ran through him

    As though I’d suggested

    Daylight to a vampire.

    “Too humiliating.

    They’ll only say she’s

    An adult whose feet are cold.

    They don’t know her well enough

    To find her. We do.”

    I felt just the opposite. The police look

    For the actual person; Verne 

    Only wanted certain Mirabels – others

    He needed to stay gone.

    On a sudden inspiration –

    “The trash!” he raced to collar

    Overflowing baskets and

    Upend them on the counter.

    Good idea, I must admit.

    We attacked the problem

    Like an archaeological dig

    Separating

    Paper here and garbage there.

    But I realized – if you want to know a human

    You need her phone –

    Phones are more intimate than

    Bodies. As Verne sorted through her

    Discards, I considered ways

    To break into her account.

    Still, he levered intriguing items; a

    “Welcome new members” card for

    “Bioceutically Renewed Day Spa” and a crumpled pack

    Of ginger parsley tea. I knew the tea

    Through schoolgirl gossip –

    Never tried it myself;

    Supposed to cue overdue menstruation.

    Surprise! Mirabel bothered

    With menstruation: tiny as she was?

    It perhaps had other uses.

    Levered out the members’ card – 

    No need to mention the tea – and tidied up the mess.

    Verne’s shoulders curled in

    Frustration. “There’s nothing here.”

    I waved the card.

    He was rude. “Where’s that get us?”

    He was tough to help

    And something about that made me mad.

    But if my school teaches anything it’s

    Disguise your feelings.

    I said coldly,

    “We should check her phone.”

    “How can we – if she’s taken it with her?”

    “There might be a way if you pay the bill.”

    He rolled his eyes.  “I pay everything. 

    Where’s my laptop?”

    Really, the man was helpless.

    “I think I saw it beside the sofa.”

    He blocked me from retrieving it.

    “You finish breakfast. I’ll get it.”

    I couldn’t eat with him typing 

    In the other room. 

    “What are you finding?”

    “Nothing.” He turned away.

    “There’s nothing there. 

    She dumped it somewhere.”

    Are we playing 

    “Baffle the Virgin”?

    “Mislead the Virgin?” But

    I had to hand it to Lord Verne

    Realer than Mirabel, so honest about

    His needs while she vanished

    Into legend. Now I cultivated 

    New ideas. Everyone knows

    The leading cause of death for

    Girls is Men. Let’s say

    You wanted to kill a person

    But create a perfect alibi.

    It would help to have the person

    Seem to disappear all on their own.

    Could the Mirabel I’d met

    Be an impostor who’d somehow

    Managed to greet me with Mirabel’s

    Special look? I discarded that

    Impossible theory. But it was attractive;

    Suggesting why her new self

    Was tried out on me and not

    The folks. Thinking of my parents caused

    My phone to buzz.

    Damn, they’re psychic too. Pressed

    “Ignore” but knew that wouldn’t

    Work for long.

    Verne, suddenly hardboiled American –

    Snapped his laptop shut.

    “Does she have “find my phone?”

     “You see location on a map.”

    This man was a death-ray.

    “We don’t want it. It’s just a piece

    Of junk.”  I’d like to believe

    Verne grew values, honoring

    The spirit rather than the object

    But I know he saw himself

    As the sole animating force.

    I contemplated ways

    To escape this echo chamber.

    “At least we’ve got Bioceutically Renewed to try.

    But first I need to report to Mom and Dad.”

    The blood washed out of him

    Never was a swain so 

    Fearful to confront the folks.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter Ten – Is Lord Verne In the Epstein Files? 

    Cycling through museums of dream –

    Christine, threatened forever by

    Her hideous Phantom, Daphne

    Sprouting as a laurel tree;

    Philomela without her tongue.

    Was that what Verne meant by

    Classics? In the night’s dark heart 

    I woke and thought I saw him standing there or

    Was it Mirabel – reaching out through a gold-framed

    Mirror to beckon me closer

    Or warn me away?

    Somehow I became convinced

    Mirabel was dead – murdered by

    Lord Verne – he must have done it because

    I was his perfect alibi, covering up

    His appearance in the Epstein files

    Of life, where old roués

    Tarnish up the young.

    If I stayed here

    I’d be Mirabel forever – so I

    Fled through shattered French windows where

    Sheer white curtains blew across my face

    Impeding me; supplicating

    Me to dance, daring my embrace.

    Where was I? Was this the ruined castle

    Where the wraiths were tourists

    Gazing at destruction paid for

    With the lifeblood of the country?

    The stone terrace beneath my feet

    Was littered with the broken glass

    Of Piper Heidseck bottles – picked my way

    Between the broken statues – horny Pan 

    Whose face had split, cupids gaping with

    Their fractured mouths, Vulcan lobbing

    Stone pineapples down the mossy garden steps.

    Pursued by something

    Too disgusting to confront

    I saw his shadow –

    A leering man with antlers.

    At least the distant view

    Was comforting – pond encircling island

    Ornamented by gazebo – forests crowned 

    By snowy mountains. 

    Surely he could not pursue me there.

    Something amiss about this lighting –

    Bleached too white – bad weather or

    Apocalypse; eclipse of the sun or

    The end of the world?  I revert to

    The “helpless bystander” dilemma of childhood –

    This was too horrible: I forced myself awake. 

    Dreams multiplied enigmas –

    I could not abandon Mirabel

    Prance on home

    And declare she’d

    “Done it yet again.”

    Either she was in danger or

    I was. And all my life

    I’d been preparing for this moment.

    In the mirror I saw

    Richenda Marshott complete with morning mouth –

    Sunlight exacerbating a hangover

    Not from overdrinking but

    From over-dreaming.

    Verne’s door was closed –

    It would be awkward if I’d killed him

    But I refused to check. Men

    Should not be so dangerous.

    I took control of the empty kitchen.

    Some bad person – probably me –

    Left out the cake – stiff and

    Ruined now – only cardboard sugar

    Which I guess it’s always been.

     Tossed it,

    Put the last espresso in the

    Microwave and

    Opened cabinets sadly.

    Here’s finally a place where guests could

    Unpack their clothes –

    Empty, empty, empty.

    The front door unclicked –

    I jumped so hard

    I banged my head.

    “Ow!”

    And Verne cried

    “Breakfast!”

    I hadn’t killed him after all. Seems 

    I’m the one who overslept.

    “I haven’t slept so well in ages. What was

    That stuff?” he 

    Eyed my mug with disapproval.

    “You can’t drink yesterday’s.”

    I’ve heard it said their lordships

    Can’t comprehend the hoi polloi.

    “I brought everything.” He went on,

    Impossibly cheerful

    Considering yesterday.

    Waffles, eggs, fruit.

    Coffee. No milk?

    “It’s OK,” I said to his 

    Self-recriminating face

    “I noticed you have ice cream.”

    Vanilla works as well or

    Even better.

    “Mirabel never drank milk,” said Verne.

    “She says it makes cowbones

    And soy makes man-boobs.”

    She would say that.

    Charming Mirabel.

    I could one-up and list the

    Plant-based milks I willingly absorb but –

     “Ice cream is better.”

    Hard to one-up when one is

    Drooling. Visibly. 

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 9 – Shock the Virgin

    He opened the door on baited

    Breath as if Mirabel waited but

    Of course she did not.

    Did he long for her or

    Fear her? I could not figure them out.

    In their world, the blow is

    Desired; not in mine. I am determined 

    Not just to resist

    But to understand.

    The rooms embraced us into its

     Darkness, blandness.  Silence. I should be

    Exhausted, yet I new

    If I closed my eyes she would appear

    No stranger but 

    A part of me, both future

    Avatar and past life

    Alter. Her perfume

    Teased us with its sexy cloud

    As if from somewhere she was

    Watching. Teasing. Listening. Laughing.

    “I’m terminal,” yawned Verne.

    Now there’s an odd expression.

    “I could sleep.” I scanned the two

    Bedrooms, yoked by unlockable

    Double doors. 

    At least my bathroom

    Had a lock.

    Was it rude to remind him

    He was supposed to have rented

    A hotel room?

    But if I sought politeness

    He did not.

     “Sorry there’s no telly,”

    He casually insulted me.

    Ignoring the fact I have a phone.

    He lifted a hand – where would

    It drop? I watched with

    Frozen fascination as he dumped it heavily

    On my shoulder.

    Stumbled words – 

    “This has been a horrid homecoming

    Holiday for you.”

    Homecoming? No more a

    Homecoming than a holiday.

    Luckily, I’d never considered this mission 

    A vacation. “No worries,”

    I tossed off lightly,

    “I’ve got plenty for my end-of break-essay.”

    His hand tightened painfully.

    I tried to shake him off but he clenched harder.

    “You can’t write this!”

    I am NEVER ready for this reaction

    Though God knows I should be –

    Parents and school seem equally aghast

    By my take on things

    Refusing to grant me 

    The power to call them out –

    That I was born with. It’s my

    Superpower – NEVER

    Reject a superpower.

    Took both hands to de-clench

    His grip. This would

    Leave a mark.

    I’d no wish to rile him but

    How could he silence me?

    “It’s all grist,” I quoted, lightly,

    “You know, sweet mystery of life.”

    Literally he spat with rage. 

     “That’s so American!”

    (His deadliest insult.)

    “Maundering on about all the details

    Of your tiny lives, as if

    Gossip is the better part of

    Being!” 

    I backed away, trying to control my face.

    They hate it if they think you’re laughing.

    “It’s a mystery to be solved,”

    I reassured, “Use all

    The tools we’ve got:

    Hypothesis, antithesis and

    Synthesis. Occam’s 

    Razor. Refine

    Possibility into

    Probability.”

    He snorted. “This is what comes

    “Of not teaching Classics!

    Confession substitutes for mastery!”

    In my short experience

    Those who try to “master” Truth

    Will never understand it;

    Won’t get that ultimate reward –

    Uncovering the deepest questions –

    Invisible to us now.

    Playing politician by

    Managing me, or

    Controlling truth won’t locate Mirabel.

    I threw him a bone. It worked –

    It usually had before.

    “Poetry’s my specialty,”

    I taxed him.

    People back away.

    He seemed relieved.

    “You mean like – metaphors?

    An allegory?”

    This man wouldn’t know a poem

    If it gobsmacked him.

    Poor Mirabel!

    Of course she had to leave!

    He cleared it up in

    Just that second; guaranteeing me

    Needed rest.

    “Good night,” He told me as he closed the door.

    Manners abound with

    Strange expressions: this night

    Was anything but good.

    I chewed my lip.

    It’s a bad habit of mine. Let’s hope

    He doesn’t sleepwalk.

    Mother wants me to unpack first –

    No hope of that – these

    Drawers and closets were jammed

    With gaudy accoutrement

    Complete with price tags.

    Because what’s the good of

    Acquisition sans

    Provenance? 

    My clothes would have to stay

    Jumbled together in their

    Carpetbag.

    I should really film all this –

    Make a video –

    But where to share it?

    And that’s the trouble with

    My school – they’re never interested in

    What excites me. And what

    Excites me? Just the things

    I cannot know. I’ll always be

    In the process of

    Finding out.

    Behind the locked bathroom door

    I soaked myself in

    Dead sea salt. Washed

    My hair in watermelon mint &

    Rubbed myself with Mirabel’s

    Mango chutney cream – never approximating 

    Her clingy floral scent.

    Pulling on my jammies I

    Welcomed this new self of mine –

    Solving grownup disasters by

     Avoiding the reasoning

    That caused them in the first place.

    There was a knock at my bedroom door –

    I said nothing but it opened slightly

    Verne’s face poked in.

    “Ok if I sleep in here?  I just

    Can’t be alone tonight.”

    “No,” I told him firmly. “I wouldn’t sleep 

    A wink.” The nerve of him!

    “Afraid of rape? You wouldn’t be

    The first fourteen year old I’ve had.”

    I concealed my shock.

    “You’re not having this one. Leave.”

    “You’re ignorant of sex. It’s

    Life’s mightiest comfort.”

    “No thanks. Are you leaving or am I?”

    “Oh, all right.”

    He sighed.

    “Can I leave this door open?

    Just until I fall asleep?”

    Was he a rapist or a baby?

    Why did I feel this was some 

    Miserable recap of his many nights

    With Mirabel?

    “I have some pills to knock you out.” I

    Double-dosed him with Benedryl.

    Closed the door and

    Disappointed myself by falling 

    Asleep before I could sort my

    Jumbled thoughts.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 8 – The Psychic Link

    Power is some heady thing.

    Maybe it meant I could get some

    Questions answered.

    “You really think she stole his jewels?”

    He pulled away.

    “Loose diamonds were his wedding gift.”

    Well, THAT seemed weird. 

    I envisaged the rock weighing down

    Mirabel’s finger. 

    Had it come from Ravi?

    If he threatened prosecution

    Would that be enough

    To make her disappear?

     “At least he gave us one name.” I offered. 

    “Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set 

    Mulishly. 

    “A toady!”

    Seemed to me Verne enjoys me pushing 

    As much as he treasures

    His resistance. So I pressed on.

    No more of this false modesty. 

    “How long’d she work for him?”

    Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat

    Like a captured cat.

    “Years. I took her to England

    To make her break things off

    Only to discover

    He was still hounding her with

    Requests.” Requests?

    “What requests?”

    Fingers drummed. “Scouting.”

    “Scouting for what?”

    “Well, he’s a porn producer.”

    Verne touched my knee to

    See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

    Was this the secret Mirabel

    Did not want me to know?

    Was this why she disappeared?

     “Was there…anything between them?”

    “Definitely at first. I wooed her away.”

    He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.” 

    Not hard for married men to do!

    Verne looked at his hands.

    “In Europe

    He asked her to launder money

    Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.”

    I caught on quick. 

    “He set up the theft?”

    In Ravi’s mind was he the only

    Rightful owner and

    Everyone else a thief?

    Verne explained:

    “He wanted people around him

    Who couldn’t get away.”

    Why did that sound like such

    A perfect description of Verne?

    Here’s Mirabel surrounded by

    Men wanting to shackle her;

    Possess her utterly. It’s a

    Horror tale. I shuddered.

    It made ME long to disappear.

    But; it also made it a lot less likely 

    She escaped to be with him.

    “Where’s Mrs. Ravi?”

     “He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But

    No one’s ever seen her.”

    Could we have two, not just one

    Missing brides? Was marriage itself

    A disappearance?

    As we conversed

    Another limo pulled up, a

    Beaver-coated man rushed from

    The building – Ravi! And off they went.

    I made my decision.

    “Follow that car!”

    Back to Brooklyn.

    Obviously that address meant something

    After all. “Stop here,” I ordered

    At the final turn.  Now that we knew

    His destination why risk

    Confrontation?

    “But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.

    “Just watch,” I argued,

    “He’s one step behind.”  

    Ravi vaulted from the car

    Phone clutched to ear and paced,

    Shaking his fist at the darkened sky.

    “Look. He’s blowing up her phone.

    And see? She’s not answering,”

    I pointed out. “She’s long gone. Maybe

    She kept a vehicle here.”

    “She didn’t have a license,” quibbled

    Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered.

    Slowly, I was becoming his 

    Authority. Already I felt I knew Mirabel

    Better than he ever could.

    So, I didn’t bother telling him

    How easily fake licenses are to get –

    Girls must keep some secrets.

    Verne’s new role was

    To unplug his thoughts 

    And wave them about

    Like a series of semaphores.

    “Maybe it was my mistake to insist

    We be married in New York. But

    I wanted to meet her family.”

    I could HEAR this tale

    Evolving. Hadn’t he said that was 

    Mirabel’s idea? Were the two of them 

    Ever separate in his mind? 

    I flirted with the notion of men as

    Paramecia, seeking islands

    To engulf & absorb.

      “Let’s sleep on it,”

    I suggested. “Give her a chance

    To contact us.” It would take 2 Benedryl 

    To sleep with all this buzz. I wished

    He’d take his hand off my knee

    But I recognized this as a

    Compromise, when I could tell

    By his eyes that what he really wanted

    Was to launch himself into my lap.

    But why say that

    Just when we were getting along

    So splendidly?

    She wasn’t “home” at the unhomeless

    Home. She’d get as far as possible

    From any address associated

    With these two men.

    But what was MY future?

    That was the deepest mystery here.

    Now Verne was trying to hold

    My hand, laying his head

    Awkwardly along my shoulder.

     “You’re such a comfort. 

    Did you share sister secrets?”

    I could feel his inner engine

    Throbbing, luring

    Me to be fake with him.

    I know my parents do it – beg that

    Opiate of reassurance.

    I can’t do it with them

    And I couldn’t with him.

    “Buck up –“

    I braced him, “We’ll

    Find out more tomorrow.”

    He unloosed my hand and

    Glared at me distastefully.

    “I blame this androgyny,”

    He grumbled. “Girls have lost the art

    Of coquetry.”

    Good riddance, I thought.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 7 – Bride & Seek

    In the elevator Verne requested: 

    “Game face only.” I was bemused.

    Which game is that?

    “Bride and Seek” – the ancient

    Party game – requires someone 

    Getting locked in an airtight trunk

    Does not end well, as I recall.

    We decanted on the penthouse floor.

    Battle of the Rich Men, I thought,

    Who knew that’s how my

    Weekend would devolve?

     But this man’s apartment seemed really his

    As opposed to Verne’s

    Antiseptic rented rooms – 

    Each gaudy piece carefully curated, 

    Trucked in from God knows where

     Art deco friezes,

    Naked ebony statues –

    Bows & arrows –

    Lots of brass and torchieres.

    And that’s just the hall.

     Leather paneled, copper nailed door 

    Opened before we even rang the bell and 

    A handsome, shorter, older man

    Stood before us in bathrobe and slippers.

    Mirabel with this guy?

    What is the use of beauty

    If this is all it gets you

    Verne’s at least good-looking. 

    “Why, Verne,” he said in a voice even I

    Recognized as jovially false: 

    “What brings you at this hour?

    Please come in.” Bizarre foreign accent

    I couldn’t place.

    He took my hand, mauling it like many

    An unbalanced teacher at my Special School

    for Introducing Adolescents to Adult Subjects

    Long Before They’re Ready.

    I am practiced at closing my mind

    Against these guys

    Even as they woo me.

     “You can only be Mirabel’s lost sister.”

    “That’s just it,” I said, “It’s Mirabel who’s lost, not me.”

    “I’m Ravi Kruptupian,” said the man, 

    Refusing to let go.

    Subtle power struggle – your manners make no

    Purchase here –

    My first flicker of

    Actual fear – alone in the world

    With two strange men who wore

    Compulsive need like ad logos.

    I can’t fault Mirabel for deciding 

     Better disappear than marry amongst this ilk but

    Where does that leave ME?

     “Welcome to my enchanted forest,”

    Said the man in the bathrobe.

    “Please leave your shoes by the door.”

    He slid the bolt as

    We came through.

     “I know it’s late,” Verne began,

    Ravi said, “Never care about the time. Drink?

    Pot of coffee?”

    Kruptupian’s inner rooms did not reassure.

    Dark, hand-carved, certainly fake

    Tree branches projected from the walls

    Displaying riots of glittering glass objects.

    Coffee appeared from

    A wall recess. Why not? 

    Spiked mine with hot milk and brown lump sugar.

    “Where exactly did Mirabel SAY she was going?”

    Asked this man as if he and Mirabel’d never met.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be

    Honeymooning?”

    Was that a tinge of glee I heard?

    I’m sure Verne heard it too.

    He might go off on any moment –

    I didn’t think he was coping well –

    Game face was NOT in evidence.

    We sat in an upholstered leather booth

    Highbacked –

    Plundered from some café.

    “She didn’t say,” said Verne.

     “She was joining us for dinner,”

    I told this strange new man.

    “I just arrived on the six o’clock train.”

    “Sisters can be difficult,” said Ravi.

    “Or so I’ve heard.

    Your relationship was good?”

    Wow! Mirabel wasn’t great at telling folks

    The basic facts about her family.

    Was he implying

    Mirabel left because of ME?

    Two Marshott girls never breathe at once?

    I decided not to get into it.

    “She seemed fine when we tried on clothes together,”

    I began to feel hopped up on coffee.

    Quit that stuff

    Before the shaking hands. I

    Banged my mug upon his shiny table.

    “I heard you knew her well.”

    Let him think she’d squealed –

    I smiled in a way that forecloses

    Further questions and

    He blinked indulgently.

    “I haven’t heard a word 

    Since her going away party.”

    Ripple of surprise from Verne.

     “Going-away party” unknown to groom?

    Ravi kept smiling. 

    He had a lot of teeth.

    “Maybe she needs a honeymoon alone

    I heartily recommend 

    Fall in love with your SELF first.”

    We did not believe him for a minute –

    He was needling Verne.

    This bad conversation somehow seemed

    To be endlessly getting worse.

    “She certainly had the means –

     I gave her a generous parting gift

    Then found out she helped herself to more.”

    His face hardened, steely-eyed.

    “I didn’t know until she tried to fence my stones.”

    “Mirabel stole from you?”  spluttered Verne.

    “Who knows what went through her mind,” 

    Ravi spread his hands in apology.

    “She may have been confused about my gift.

    No harm done.

    Jacobson returned the stones.”

    What did all this mean? Don’t worry about Mirabel,

    She’s just a little thief?

    Disappearing from humiliation, exposure & shame?

    I felt surge of prosecutorial passion:

    Was it possible to get to the bottom of this?

    Never had “game face” seemed so

    Dangerous and unappealing.

    “She worked for you?”

    I tried to clarify.

     “She was my scout. She brought me – 

    Things I might want to buy.”

    Verne’s boil burst.

    “She never for anything with me!”

    He sounded ready for a fight

    But defending his money, his charm or

    My sister?

    Ravi skirted the issue

    With old-world politesse.

    “Women keep some expenses private.”

    That’s true as dirt;

    My mother calls it “mad money”.

    A hundred dollars tucked inside

    Your bra. Verne would never best this man

     Except in hotness and

    Eligibility. Someone

    Needed to tell him he was “enough”;

    Probably that was Mirabel’s job

    And she got tired of doing it.

    I was not the one to explain to him.

    I pursued investigation.

    “Did she call you?”

    Ravi pulled out his phone. 

    Flicked through content. “I don’t see it.”

    “She took a car to the wilds of Brooklyn,”

    Verne asserted, coming back up

    Like a Bobo doll.

    “Know anything about that?”

    He was overly combative – this

    Wouldn’t get us anywhere.

    “What address?” At least

    Ravi seemed interested.

    Luckily Verne recalled it.

    Ravi remained impassive.

    “I’ve got no information.”

    Verne stood up. This felt bad.

    “Sure she isn’t hiding here? Using some old key?”

    Ravi rose too. 

    Short but still impressive.

    “She never had a key. She couldn’t enter

     Without my knowing. I’d rather

    My house guests weren’t disturbed.”

    Verne veered away. Fisticuffs avoided.

    Ravi walked us  – miming helpfulness

    Towards the door.

    “I suggest missing persons.

    Get police involved.”

    He seemed to know this would insult Verne further

    And it did but Verne shook it off, 

    A punch-drunk fighter.

    “What good are they?”

    Ravi pushed his luck.

    “Troll the basics – hospitals and morgues.”

    Verne’s face melted into gargoyle. 

    Turning to me Ravi backtracked –

    “Likely bridal nerves?  The engagement was

    So sudden.”

    “We’ve been together forever!”

    Verne barked. I took his arm.

    “Sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you.”

    Somehow the door got opened.

    “No problem. Let me know if she turns up.”

    I shoehorned Verne outside.

    “You’ll tell us if she calls?”

    “If that’s what Mirabel wants.”

    I got the door shut before Verne

    Attacked him.

    “I hate that guy! He’s so disgusting!

    How I wish we hadn’t come!”

    I thought he might weep.

    The elevator opened without a

    Summons. This whole place seemed

    Intent on ridding itself of us.

    But Verne resisted. “I bet she’s in there.”

    He looked back longingly.

    “I bet she’s not.” I muscled him

    Into the elevator.

     “How do you know?”

    He looked at me as if I had

    Magic powers.

    “He accused Mirabel of stealing!”

    Verne blew that off.

    “Mirabel’s light-fingered.

    He steals from the world, she steals from him.”

    He didn’t seem to realize 

    This philosophy could apply to him.

    Why marry someone you can’t trust?

    One more thing I still don’t get

    About Adult World.

    I reassured him.

    “She burned that bridge. I could tell.”

    Verne taxed me with how I knew –

    Sneering, “Woman’s intuition?”

    Since he couldn’t trust Mirabel

    How could he trust me?

    Needing me made him hate me.

    I would have to manage him 

    Like a parent. Like poor

    Mirabel herself. Luckily

    He relaxed into the car without more fuss.

    I said, humoresque – “I’m psychic.”

    I say that to my folks because

    They’re just so clueless about

    Others’ vital signs –

    How else explain the obvious? But

    Verne’s whole face changed. He became

    Pathetically excited.

    “Of course!” he said.

    “The sister thing! It creates

    A Psychic link. I have no siblings. 

    Tell me what you feel?

    Where’d she go?”

    The driver also needed to know:

    Where to?

    We put him on pause while

    I equivocated. 

     “I haven’t seen her in so long,

    The connection’s fogged.”

    The only thing I knew for sure was

    Mirabel must hate Ravi just like I did.

    “I need to get to know her again.”

    “Tell me where to go,” said Verne.

    Then he invoked the magic words.

    “I’ll do anything.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 6 –

     Alt-Mirabel

    To be around Verne

    Was to feel

    Too many emotions at once –

    I almost don’t want to remember them.

    Depression, disgust, anger,

    Amazement.

    Safe to say

    I’m not “alt-Mirabel”

    And never will be.

    When my journey began it’s true

    I vaguely envied Mirabel 

    Enjoyed imagining

    The Perfect Life –

    How delicious doing only

    What you want!

    Some relief to feel above it all! 

    But now I saw her slavery.

    Still conundrums proliferate.

    How and where had Mirabel

     Learned to pretend so effectively?

    Had she studied foxing Mom and Dad and

    Turned it into outwitting this

    Aristocratic partial-wit?

    He who declared that;

    Thesis, antithesis

    Synthesis – so, if I’m not Mirabel

    I must be her opposite.

    His definition for rivalry.

    Girlfight!

    Naturally that explains

     Why he tried to kiss me.

    What can The Real Richenda say to

    A man so uninterested in her existence?

    “I’m changing,” I said abruptly.

    “Getting out of this idiotic dress.”

     “The car’s downstairs,” said Verne. 

    “You don’t have time.

    He’ll take us where she went.”

    “Go without me,”

    I said. “I’m changing.”

    A clash of wills;

    How did I know he wouldn’t?

    I joined them downstairs

    Wearing my oldest jeans and my Three Mad Cats

    T-shirt -turned out Mirabel had gone to

    Brooklyn, apparently – it seemed a long, long way.

    The driver was unhelpful – Mirabel’d said nothing and

    He was a glum fellow taken for

    Himself. We halted in the warehouse district. 

    Verne coaxed him to wait while we stepped out of the car.

    Pessimism was back.

    “Nothing here. I hoped she’d get sloppy.”

    I had my own ideas.

    Looking for the “other man”

    Verne forgot the critical

    Importance of staging areas; or perhaps

    He never knew – maybe he’s

    The kind of guy who thinks

    Women awake made up for him

    .

    Behind one of these doors could there be a place

    Where she changed from one facade to the next –

    But they were all unlabeled –

    No numbers, no doorbells,

    Broken-looking speaker units.

    Impossible to tell.

    But the psychic bond persisted.

    I was beginning to get a sense of her –

    Inhaled like faint perfume –

    My confidence conferred a heady power.

    I wasn’t alt-Mirabel

    But I did feel I knew her

    Better than he did;

    I’d seen her just beginning

    Before she polished up her act

    And took it on the road.

    The question was never –

    When did Mirabel get so wily? I felt

    She’d always been this way – but

    Now I wondered;

    Had her plans EVER

    Included us?

     “Maybe she met another car,”

    Verne offered, 

    “Parked somewhere out of sight.”

    That nemesis of his again – he preferred 

    A universe of dastard rivals. 

    We savored the possibility.

    The night was silent.

    “Well, who?” I asked.

    Verne sighed.

    “One chance left,” he said. “Humiliation, but 

    What have I got to lose?”

    I think he had already lost it

    But said nothing.

    Looking him up and down

    I wondered idly how many on this planet –

    Four fifths? Two thirds?

    Would trade places with this guy.

    My mother’s drill-sergeant voice snapped

    Inside my head, demanding he “buck up.”

    He gave the driver an address on the Upper East Side 

    And we settled in for another 

    Lengthy ride.

    “So…where are we going?”

    “Mirabel had a job – personal assistant to…

    This man and they

    Were friends. Too close for me.

    He might know something.”

    “Was he invited to the wedding?”

    Inquire I.  Ingenuously.

    “No. His wife thought they

    Were too close too. Let’s say I thought

    He dismissed her with

    An overly generous gift.”

    Aha. Torn between rich men,

    And only one of them

    Unmarried.

    Picture becoming clearer. 

    Verne drummed his fingers,

    Grim but seeming cheered.

    “She might be there. If we take him by surprise.”

    His eyes raked me over.

    “You were smart to change.

    Sorry for rushing you.

    Button up your coat. I want to

    Push you front and center.”

    I understood he

    Prepared to use the

    Adolescence; familial relationship 

    So recently forgotten –

    He had the nerve to congratulate me

    For dressing down to

    Young and vulnerable.

    Really they deserved each other.

    “He won’t care

    About me – I’m just the jilted bridegroom – 

    I’m sure she complained about me to him

    Just as she complained to me about him – but

    He’ll be interested in you.”

    Hmm. Yes. Abandoned sister. 

    The suburbs were dull but the city’s

    Charm now seemed theatrical; everyone required

    To play roles.

    Hilariously, both these men

    Would look to me for clues to who

    Mirabel had been.

    At another golden barracks

    The doorman demanded the

    Purpose of our visit. 

    Verne said, “Emergency.” 

    He flashed a picture 

    From his phone. “Seen this girl tonight?”

    The man shook his head, consulting his service phone.

    “Penthouse Suite. Mr. Kruptupian will see you now.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    “Where would she go?

    You must have some

    Guy in mind?”

    Verne looked so childish, shoulders collapsed,  

    Unresponsive iPhone fallen to the floor.

    I was not going to mother him.

    I felt sorry for him but I also

    Fel everything was his own damn fault

    How could such a lucky man

    Wealthy and free

    So mismanage his own life?

    Suddenly my dream was

    Magically achieved; I felt

    Old; sophisticated;

    Like HE was fourteen and

    I was thirty-seven.

    I pushed coffee.

    It’s always been my 

    Panacea.

    He sipped in new docility.

    “Black. The way I like it.”

    I corrected brusquely,

    “There is no cream or sugar.”

    “It’s mean strong. I need it

    To fight back.”

    I wish he’d stop raising these

    Disturbing concepts –

    Was that what he liked about me?

    How was that possible when

    He hated it about Mirabel?

    Maybe he was trying to apologize. 

    I muted.

    He studied me ironically.

    “Will you tell The Folks?”

    Mirabel’s word for them.

    Felt a chill. 

    How explain this to the world?

    Did I finally have

    Something to write about for my break essay –

    I could rush home

    To my life as a

     Powerless teenage nobody. 

    “We don’t know what

    Happened.” At the very least we should

    Figure out what the hell

    Was going on.  It’s true that Verne

    Seemed a loose cannon now but

    I could always lock my door.

    Grab that bull by his

    You Know Where.

    “No more kissing. OK?”

    He flushed a dirty red.

    “No. Hell no.

    I’m sorry.”

    “Maybe she’s in trouble.” 

    He shrugged this off.

    “Impossible. She’s just a tease.”

    This did not feel right.

    If she could get out of her depth with Verne she could

    Certainly do it with other men.

    Plenty going on am

    I am curious.

    I was slowly realizing that

    Because Verne was Verne he MIGHT

    Always be the last to know.

    “You really think she’s left you?”

    He writhed. “We played the hurt game

    To the top of our bent This could

    Be her winning shot.”

    What was the score?

    Why inject me?

    Did she owe me or –

    Did I owe her? I said,

    “If she left you

    She left me, too.”

    Why couldn’t I believe

    That Mirabel would ghost me?

    Wasn’t that what she’d always done?

    But it was different now –

    We’d been “sisters” together –

    For one split second.

    Fresh chills fevered me – 

    Was she handing off her bridegroom? 

    The matching dresses were just too weird.

    On the other hand, fashion is transgressive;

    Always trying to break the rules.

    No. no. Can’t go there.

    “Until Mirabel calls it off

    It’s on. This could be nothing. 

    She might come back.

    She’ll call.  Sleep on it. Have some 

    Lemon cake.” He shuddered. Grumpy.

    “I asked for Hazelnut.” 

    I easily imagined a Mirabel

    Blocking his desires.

    He settled for coconut

    Companionably we ate together.

    He’d fed me, now I fed him.

    That’s called a relationship.

    Then he fixed me with

    A gnarly eye.

    “Did she warn you?

    What did she tell you?

    Did she say anything

    About HIM?”

    I always hated third degree.

    I blush as if I’m guilty.

    “She told me nothing,”

    I said coldly. “I

    “Was invited to a wedding.”

    “She’ll never call,” he moaned.

    “She’ll keep the tension up

    Until the victim dies. That’s her way.”

    “Then you should call it off.”

    I scraped the rest of my cake

    Into the trash – I only

    Like the frosting – and

    Hardened myself against their

    Nuptial craziness.

    Verne rose so decisively

    His plate fell to the rug.

    “I’m going to find her,”

     “Game on. She chose me. She doesn’t get 

    Another choice.”

    What was the matter with this man?

    Physically attractive – 

    Wealthy – powerful –

    So insecure?

    The only game with players is REFUSE TO PLAY.

    Mirabel had always coveted those

    She could manipulate. But

    Did I know that of my own

    Knowledge – how could I – or

    Did my parents prompt me?

    That’s the thing about growing up –

     It slowly dawns on you that

    All you’re told is nonsense.

    A dose of sense is

    Obviously required.

    “I think you’re looking at this wrong,

     Mirabel’s frightened

    Of our dad. He’s the “other man.”

    Verne gaped at me,

    His focus readjusting as if

    He saw me for the first time.

    “Explain.”

    “Don’t you know the story?

    She pretended to go to college but really cashed all

    Daddy’s checks and lived the high life.

    She got in trouble with the student loan people,

    Forging documents.  We haven’t heard from her for

    Six years. Dad’s still angry.

    I thought something was up when 

    She wanted to come home.”

    “I didn’t know.  Quite little scamp.”

    He seemed cheered.

    “Think we should wed in church?

    I don’t know one marriage that’s survived ten years.”

    This man could certainly surprise me.

    “Mom and Dad have been married FOREVER,”

    Worse than that –

    Unimaginable without each other;

    A true team – like Laurel & Hardy or

    Abbott & Costello.

    I could imagine no other human

    Puting up with either of them.

    How to convey this?

    “Maybe you shouldn’t get married

    When you are so uncertain,” I suggested.

    Would I get kissed or

    Slapped for interfering?

    Adults don’t like to second-guess but

    Mirabel forced my hand.

    “All our bridges burned,”

    He sighed.

    “The only way is forward.”

    Depressing thought.

    Keeping up this guy’s mood is work.

    “Let’s figure out where she

    Could have possibly gone. Like,

    How would she travel?”

    Verne sat straight up.

    “Car service,” he announced.

    “I pay the bills. We can track her.”

    He worked his phone.

    “I’m so glad 

    “You’re staying. I need you.

    You’re Alt-Mirabel.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    “I’m a vegetarian,” I said.

    And pushed my plate away.

    “A vegetarian who eats turtles?”

    He challenged me.

     “I was trying to be polite.”

    And now I’d stopped. 

    Saw no reason to continue the game.

    “Americans think food fuss

    Makes them interesting,”

    He snarled. But it turned out

    His disgust was not for me.

    “Oh, imagine that,”

    snorted his Lordship scornfully, 

    Talking to his phone.

    “We’re on our own,

    Mirabel can’t make it.

    And now her phone is locked!

    We’ll see about that! 

    I’m ordering the car. Time to find out just what

    This bride is playing at.”

    Chapter 5 – Unavoidably Detained

    She must have known he’d come

    After her – the apartment was empty.

    Of course she wasn’t there.

    Furniture gazed at me

    Forlornly as I wandered through

    Expensive accommodations crying out

    For individuality and life. 

    The closets were still packed but

    Some of her clothes and luggage

    Could have been gone

    How would I know?

    The bathrooms were still littered with cosmetics –

    Everything replaceable.

    In the long, bare white kitchen I 

    Started a pot of coffee.

    The refrigerator was particularly sad: champagne, 

    A month’s supply of celery juice. 

    And three kinds of wedding cake in origami boxes.

    Mirabel must have returned – however briefly –

    Because someone drank the last of my wine.

    Her dress lay discarded on the floor

    One flounce torn 

    And stepped on,

    Ground beneath a fleeing heel.

    When the coffee was ready

    I sampled the cake –

    I pick lemon though

    Everyone likes coconut and

    Some people are partial to 

    Chocolate raspberry.

    Found Verne collapsed in the bedroom,

    Clutching Mirabel’s dress.

    “I didn’t believe she’d really do it,”

    He said. “I suppose the wedding’s off.” 

    “Maybe she had an errand,”

    I proposed stupidly. 

    “She’ll be back.”

    I bundled the fantasy garment

    Back into its slick bag; a glittering

    Promise too fragile to stand up to actual wear.

    “Don’t you see what’s happened?”

    demanded Verne,

    Trying to recruit me on his case

    “She doesn’t want to marry me. She

    Probably she never did. All along

    There’s been this game. Some another man;

    I know it. Using me as leverage.”

    Was this the double life he’d mentioned?

    Crazy stuff. No way could he get me to sorrow

    Over postponed parties; 

    I saw plenty of reasons not to marry Lord Verne

    And in case I was likely to forget, he demonstrated more.

    He sat on the bed and

    Reached out his arms, clearly thinking 

    I would pet his shoulders

    Or at the very least, kiss his hair

    But chose not to comfort him.

    I preferred to get some facts.

    “Who?” I demanded. Sadly,

    Both of them were bad at facts.

    He held his head.

    “There were so many.”

    I came up with my most 

    Comforting message;

    “Of course she’ll return.

    “Or why on earth invite me here?”

    But a terrible possibility began to niggle in my brain.

    He certainly was suspicious of her

    So probably watched her

    Like a hawk. What if the whole wedding – 

    And my presence – was only to allow escape?

    It was so thoughtless and cruel I knew nobody I dared

    Explain it to; but it also sounded just like her;

    The Mirabel who pretended to go to college, 

    To have diseases,

    To be in jail; All to wrest

    Advantage from the poor old folks. 

    What would she care about me?

    Verne turned to me a tear-stained face –

    I was amazed – and just

    As I was thinking he couldn’t be a rapist –

    Grabbed my shoulders and

    Sucked me into a kiss.

    The real “adult” kiss I’d pined for

    Fantasized about and mimed

    On all those lonely nights

    After Ricky Stoekels ghosted me

    Couldn’t be THIS one –

    A full body penetration –

    A probing grasping invasion

    Shutting off my air.

    I jerked away with so much force

    I landed on the floor.

    Verne threw himself 

    On the bed, face down

    Wracked with sobs

    While I wiped my face

    Stunned.

    “Love the one you’re with”

    Isn’t that what Ricky Stoekels says?

    “She cheats, you cheat?”

    I hope all men aren’t

    All bastards.

    “Forgive me,” shuddered Verne,

    “I’m out of my mind.

    I don’t know what I’m doing.”

    Maybe. I recognize excuses.

    I’ve used them.

    “Don’t do it again,” I said. 

    He said, “You’re so like her”

    Which was an insult at this point.

    I could stomp away, go home –

    Explain to a mother trying desperately

    To make it all my fault

    Or I could find out about my sister’s life.

    “Where would she go?

    You must have some

    Guy in mind?”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Mirabel’s been hard to pin down lately. 

    Then suddenly she changed. This marriage idea.”

    Did he blush or blanch?  I couldn’t

    See clearly in the darkening light but

    His throat trembled raw

    With pent emotion.

    My face must have betrayed 

    My distaste

    Because he hurried to explain.

    “She’s been trying to

    Talk me into seeing her family. 

    A wedding to erase her

    Great Silence. I thought we were 

    Two avatars alone. I imagined 

    A woman to stand with me against the world.”

    How rich, I thought, literally, 

    For a man with a title based on family 

    To disown that very concept.

    But to quarrel seemed

    Perfidious, and once again,

    The youngest person in the room

    I was silenced and shamed.

    He leaned back in his chair

    As beef wellington arrived.

    “I’m amazed you existed, frankly.

    I thought the little sister

    Was another of her stories.

    Kudos to your parents.”

    I stared nauseated

    At beef wellington –

    Perhaps I’m vegan after all.

    This party made me gag.

    “I’m so glad you’re you,

     Just like her but so

    Unspoiled.”

    Never had a compliment

    Felt more like an insult.

    What kind of talk was this from

    A prospective groom?

    And any idea that my parents “made” me

    Is creepy and revolting.

    “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed

    Too angrily before I considered.

    “How can THAT be?”

    He was smug. Superior.

    I schooled him.

    “She cares what others think and

    I just don’t.”

    That should have stopped him but –

    It didn’t. He smiled

    Indulgently.

    “Sisterhood is powerful.

    I see she’s got “the drop”

    On me,” he emphasized the slang

    Like any English lord raised on 

    American movies.

    Unable to be me;

    Unable to read him,

    Know him, change him.

    Is this the dawning of

    Despair? It makes me hate

    The grown-up world.