Alysse Aallyn

Category: Teens

  • 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. 

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    We were silent in the elevator.

    Feeling naked

    I clutched the fur I’d borrowed 

    Summoning up the nerve for

    Questions but

    Mirabel’s mood seemed depressed.

    Encumbered, perhaps?

    With me? With Verne?

    With family – obligation –

    Tradition – without her help

    I couldn’t map it out.

     “When did he propose?”

    My query’s girlish gaucheness echoed

    Off the shiny doors

    That bent our reflected beauty so

    Unflatteringly we seemed 

    Haunted.

    “It’s not when he proposed,” she said

    “It’s when I accepted. He

    Proposed the first night I met him –

    Five years ago.

    Said he’d marry me

    If I’d change from blonde to red.’”

    Wow. I didn’t know what to say

    To that except

    Why was he never in her pictures?

    What shame could there be? 

    “Was it a secret?”

    “He hates the press – it

    Treats him so unfairly in his own country –

    And he wants me to himself. I was so unready – 

    Seeing other people,

    Savoring my options.”

    We nodded at the doorman

    And the driver of 

    The waiting limo –

    “He slowly won me over.

    He was so suave, so

    International. Adoring.”

    She let me climb in first,

    Then backed away as if she’d seen a ghost.

    “I forgot something. Tell Verne I’ll be along.”

    The car swept away, leaving Mirabel 

    Huddled alone, by the curb in her mink coat.

    Chapter 4 – Cocktailing

    Had I been played?

    It’s what you do to children.

    I couldn’t shuck the memory of

    My own mother through the years –

    Lofty & deceitful –

    Briskly turning “road trip” turned into

    “Summer camp” and “one night” 

    Into seven. 

    I hated being “managed”, but really

    Who could blame Mirabel?

    Quoting Mom: “Guests must

    Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has

    No one to blame but herself

    For her bad treatment.”

    Was it something I’d said? Or

    Something I’d done?

    Or simply one more humiliation as

    Baby sister. Why did she keep throwing me

    Alone together with this man?

    Did I want to get to know him?

    I wanted to get to know HER.

    The driver helped me out of the car

    And I saw his frank expression.

    Another stunner. It was

    Admiration. I looked too good. I

    Was too tall.  Had I insulted the bride

    By overreaching?

    I blame the heels – when

    I towered over her –

    She must have hated it.

    She’d gone back to reposition – 

    To pivot, as they say,

    While Verne sat in comfort at the bar.

    He rose at the sight of me and once again

    I saw that face. Tribute

    To my manufactured beauty and yet

    I saw the calculation – was he 

    Managing me too?

    Naturally, he’d have to be –

    They had a goal of some kind

    Inviting me here –

    Weaseling their way back into the

    Famiglia, the family that gave up on them

    For whatever purpose.

    He seemed satisfied that

    I was alone –

    The arm that contained me 

    Was decidedly un-brotherly:

    Squiring me away from his 

    Desultory conversation –

    He didn’t bother to introduce me. 

    He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting

    Some strange woman.

    “Let’s get you dinner.”

    Anything better than a bar

    That looked me over as if 

    I was some Russian call girl.

    As we turned I was confronted

    By the mirrors: I looked like

    Some Russian call girl.

    Can I blame champagne, allowing

    Mirabel to paint me up?

    Or the society that wants –

    Expects me to look this way.

    None of this is my fault.

    I said in my best-guest manner,

    “Should we wait for Mirabel?”

    He demurred.

    “Waiting for Mirabel’s never a good idea.

    Putting yourself out only encourages her.”

    He snuck an angry glance at his phone

    As the headwaiter flashing menus

    Manhandled us

     Towards a darkened booth.

    Perhaps this engagement was far too long –

    Were they tired of each other already?

    “Turtle soup’s very good here,”

    Said Verne: I longed to claim

    To be a vegan but also yearned

    To sample everything.

    Sucked my water greedily

    As a martini-bearing waiter 

    Assessed me so attentively. 

    “A Virgin Mary?”

    Verne seemed startled but

    The more knowledgeable waiter sped away.

    “Without the vodka.”

    He seemed relieved.

    “Something Mirabel said let me

     Feared you were religious.”

    It was too complex to enlighten him.

    Famiglia’s religious but

    I’m free choice. I’ve yet

    To make up my mind about

    A lot of things. Switched it up.

    “What kind of ceremony will you have?”

    He seemed stunned as if I’d proposed

    Barbarian rites, then vague.

    “Some judge. A ballroom.”

    Shrugged his shoulders.

    “Mirabel says you proposed

    First night you met.”

    He laughed sharply.

    “I was young and stupid.”

    Well THAT was tough to follow up.

    Could both be afflicted with

    Cold feet? But Verne could

    Switch it up as well.

     “I recognize the signs,” he said.

    “What signs are those?”

    Struggling to regain my footing.

    “Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?”

    I shrugged, dismissed 

    Disloyalty, opting for

    Vagueness.  As he did.

    “Life comes at us so fast.”

    “I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne.

    “I don’t believe she’ll really let me.”

    Which life was that?

    This was depressing – my parents hoping

    For good news, find a bride and groom stuck

    In mutual complaining.

     “Mirabel proposed to me.”

    He said coldly. “It’s the title.

    They all do that. 

    She was no virgin when I met her.”

    I was stung on her behalf – who wants his

    Moth-eaten old royalty?

    And what cretin expects 

    Virgins among New York models?

    “She said she accepted

    The proposal you’d made long ago.

    And you said yes!”

    My Virgin Mary was 

    Too spicy to be truly virginal.  I

    Almost choked.

    Sipping slowly to wonder

    If I liked it.  Doesn’t hot sauce 

    Wreck your palate?

    As the waiter manifested a fresh martini, 

    I assessed Verne’s subtle desire

    To put me in the “wrong”.

    Lack of breeding?

    Was my hair not red enough?

    Too bad for him –

    I am well used to disapproval.

     “Mirabel said you like red hair,”

    I teased him.

    “I wanted her natural color –

    Yours, I assume?”

    Who could say?

    My memory was of long ago.

    “I think people should make themselves,”

    I defended, arguing

    Too fiercely.

    Soup arrived, bread slathered with 

    Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas!

    I sighed ecstatically and felt from him 

    An answering thaw.

    “When you inherit an ancient world,”

    He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.”

    “So you have a castle?”

    I asked through my full mouth.

    Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry for my taste

    Or was that stuff curry?

    Are turtles seafood?  Just like my sister

    I got a bored “I do.”

    He checked his phone.

    “It’s a bit of a ruin with tourists crawling

    Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.”

    Phone again. Was Mirabel texting?

    I studied mine to be

    Companionable. My folks again.

    Always, with the questions.

    “She’s not answering,” he sighed.

    We’re not as attractive as

    Her double life.”

    This gave me a jolt.

    “She has a double life?”

    “Probably triplicate by now.”

    He snorted.

    I tried my father’s ploy.

    Get ‘em talking.

    “Why don’t you just tell me about it?”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    He reached for my bag

    Kissed the top of my forehead –

    Doubtless drinking in

    Sweat, hairspray, foundation;

     “Richenda?”

    Pronouncing it “Richendor”-

    English accents are so cool.

    “Recognized you immediately. You’re

    Just like Mirabel. Maybe it’s 

    The dark glasses – always dodging

    Paparazzi.”

    I felt helpless rapture as if

    He flattered me when all it meant

    Was that Mirabel wanted to hide and yet

    Remain superior in just the way I’d

    Fantasized. I did some obscure

    Need to argue –

    I’m an arguer –

    But taking “compliments”

    Is the better part I know.  

    But usually people said how unalike we were

    Snow White and Rose Red.

    “Er, thanks,” sounds so ungracious and

     “What happened to Mirabel?”

    Downright rude.

    I said it anyway.

    He batted at it briskly.

    “Unavoidably detained.”

    Swept me and bag away from the escalator

    Clogged with ordinaries –

    Down the platform

    “We’ll take the elevator to the car service.”

    Actually, it was a limo.

    The driver rushed to fondle my

    Pathetic flowered bag. Couldn’t parse whether he

    And this mystery man

    Knew each other – casual hire? or

    Permanent position?  Hard to know.

    “You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out. 

    Worse and worse! Country cousin

    Morphing into bumpkin sister.

    He seemed surprised.

    “So sorry,” he bundled me into the limo,

    “My excuse is wedding nerves. 

    Meet the family!

    Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me 

    Verne.” Now I was 

    Laughing and I couldn’t stop.

    “Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!”

    Verne didn’t see the amusement. 

    “Must be some other swain,” he huffed.

    Was I

    Getting Mirabel in trouble? 

    Would she thank me?

    What kind of fiancé

    Hates to hear his glamor girl

    Has been around?

    “I guess we all have wedding nerves.”

    He was jumpy,

    Fingers drumming on one knee.

    What a relief to turn away

    Make what brain-meat I could of the street outside.

    Writing my own story

    In which he was smoother, easier,

    Less knotty and complex.

    New York City! Kubla Khan!

    But everything was dark and dingy

    Until Fifth Avenue; there a

    Nonstop parade of glittery storefronts 

    And entitled shoppers

    Promised trousseaux and makeovers and

     Glamorous fun!

    The limo stopped at the dress designer

    Questrina,

    And the driver stepped out of the car.

    A woman rushed through the double doors offering

    two glossy green dress bags in outstretched hands-

    Driver swept them into the trunk and we were off again.

    “Your dresses,” explained Verne.

    My excitement dulled to confusion &

    Disappointment –

    Bait and switch:

    I should have known.

     “I thought Mirabel and I

    Would choose our dresses -“

    “Oh, there’ll be lots for you to do.”

    I’m surprised he didn’t offer a

    Lolly to distract me.

    “Here we are,” said the would-be groom.

    “At my place.”

    A skyscraper on Fifth Avenue? 

    Shiny red doorman

    Rushed the curb. “Your lordship.”

    I thought my ears were ringing.

    Was I hearing right?

    Should have watched that damn Downtown Abbey 

    Or whatever it was called –

    My oldsters begged me to 

    Watch with them

    Instead of proudly sequestering my anime anger.

    Could he really have a title?

    Do they still give those out?

    We were alone for a looooong 43 floor ride.

    Under sallow yellow

    Lighting he seemed

    Depressed – was it me or

    Or approaching Mirabel?

    If only I could read minds!  Then

    Gold enameled door opened and 

    There stood my sister.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 2 –  @Valerian

    Once Mom had exited

    I fell contentedly into

    Wondering:

    Who would Mirabel be now?

    When I turned ten

    I followed her face &

    Body through

    Inter-space but in

    Three long years  

    But there’s been nothing to see.

    I fully comprehend

    That shiny airbrushed people

    Don’t resemble that really. But

    Mirabel was always gorgeous;

    Swimming through some

    Different air; her

    Huge eyes and Roman nose teased & promising

    Cavernous depths of soul.

    We all want to believe that beautiful people

    Get everything they want out of life;

    Otherwise what’s the point –

    Yet the Mirabel I’d known

    Deliberately evaded us;

    Abjuring the fold

    Unless needing something.

    At eight years old I had learned

    She was a mysterious gift-giver

    Like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy

    In whom it would be unwise to

    Believe.

    So, as my train slid into the darkness

     Of Grand Central tunnel I texted the number 

    They gave me with “Train on time” &

    Happiness emoji. 

    Of course I wanted to delete it

    Immediately;

    But as the sole bridesmaid –

    Wasn’t I 

    The real Maid of Honor?

    Obligated to planning

    If not excitement but

    No response from Mirabel.

    Someone called 

    “@Valerian” tweeted: “I’m meeting you. 

    M. otherwise occupied as usual.

    Look for red hunting coat.”

    Who was Valerian?  Where was Mirabel?

    Did fiancé have charge of her phone?

    Possibly he cloned it;

    My friend Derek does that.

    Forced fresh perspective:

    If parents had known

    There wasn’t a Mirabel

    Would they let me come?

    That was the emotion Mirabel engendered

    I well remembered –

    She was a genius at 

    Preparing the faithful –

    “Softening us up”

    For future hard times. 

    This means never forthrightly

    Telling those Inconvenient truths.

    As the train lurched to stop I vaulted upwards 

    Greeting myself in the

    Mirroring windows. The girl 

    “Valerian” would see

    Passable in gray skirt, shiny thigh high 

    Pink leather boots, subtly highlighted 

    Nut brown hair. Nothing to compete

    With Mirabel’s blond goddess-hood.

    Free from Mom’s diminishing thumb

    I could exaggerate my eyes – 

    Outline my cheekbones

    Use lips to suggest

    Goddess potential all my own.

    The sight of my made-up face 

    Makes me feel hopeful.

    I didn’t answer that text:

    Stranger-Danger ever-present;

    If I didn’t like the look of him

    I could Uber myself – 

    Once I knew where I was going.

    I  bet on my chances;

    There were other girls on this train –

    I had a hat and sunglasses

    I’ve been melting into crowds

    Once I learned how to walk.

    Problem; my idiot mother

    Sent pictures

    Proud as she was –

    Cross-eyed in her fearfulness –

    If he was the one trying to

    Friend me –

    He’d already seen me grow up.

    Ugh!

    How the past follows us!

    Tortures us; cramping our style!

    How I long to be known 

    Yet forever undiscovered

    Wild virginal territory

    The better to project myself 

    Into the brains of others –

    Ultimate Observer.

    I’m aware

    It makes no damn sense

    To wish for admiration and 

    A the same time 

    Disappear – could it be

    We’re all the stalkers of our dreams?

    Threw diary, book, magazine

    Into my capacious carpet-bag –

    Diaries take one

    Only so far –

    Scribble scribble

    Ratcheting up while 

    Tamping down

    All the sharp points of life. 

    Fell rather than walked

    Down ungainly steps and My God

    There he was-

    Guarding the escalators, in his famous

    Red coat.

    Mirabel would NEVER come 

    Way down here 

    “To the tracks” –

    Hoi polloi, déclassé –

    But this sharp face looked eager

    Gladdening to see me.

    Was he

    A sight for eyes too young to be sore?

    Tall physique; you’d say

    “Distinguished,” but 

    Foreign looking, really,  in spite of 

    American jeans and that red down parka.

    The closer I got the more

    Startlingly handsome appeared

    That knife-planed face –

    Curly undisciplined black hair –

    Couldn’t stare long because

    He grinned at the sight of me. 

    No possibility of escape –

    Nor desire really 

    Wasn’t this more fun 

    Than forging some raw

    Uncomfortable relation with

    The long-lost sister?

  • The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 26 – Victim Impact

    Lord Verne confessed –
    If you call taking an Alford plea a confession –
    Got 40 years on each count.
    He refused to “alocute” –
    Describe how he did it –
    And got away with that too.


    I don’t care about that –
    He would have blamed Mirabel.
    In court for sentencing he refused
    My gaze. Mirabel –
    Jace now that she’s
    Ambisextrous – should have given
    A victim impact statement –
    I asked her but she said no.


    Said she was “Full of new life”
    Designing jewelry and training
    To be a yoga teacher.
    Mom and Dad could have spoken but
    They’re not over the shock.
    “You write it,” said Derek
    So on my phone I wrote this all down and
    Made Derek laugh.


    “Too long” – he critiqued – “I like it but
    Not for court. Just hit the high points.”
    First question with any writing is
    Who are you talking to?
    Ravi Krutupian was right there in court –
    Watching me like I’m
    The New Mirabel. This isn’t for him.


    And the press
    Hot and curious, needing details –
    Wanting me as the new Mirabel
    This can’t be for them. I felt how
    Mirabel felt, that day she was naked
    In the cage with a thorn in her lip.
    But I looked down at Derek
    Who smiled encouragingly
    So I hissed, “This is for you.”


    Cleared my throat, told the court
    On a hot summer day I went into the city
    To bridesmaid my sister at her
    Beautiful wedding to a British aristocrat.
    Instead I saw fear and heard lies –
    Met a jealous, angry man
    Who made people vanish.
    I lost my only sister and discovered
    Her beautiful life was one living hell.


    That knowledge is now part of me,
    A scar that I wear that my friends envy
    Because some of them think -”
    Flashed a look at my Derek –
    “That knowledge is beauty. But the only reason
    I can stand here and speak is
    Because he’ll be locked up forever
    So we can be safe.


    Thank you, justice
    For doing your job.”
    I sat down. Derek squeezed
    My hand and my eyes filled with
    Sadness and gratitude –


    Sorry the universe is like this but
    Grateful for having a big sister
    Who went through all this
    So I didn’t have to.

  • The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 25 – Corpse Pose


    Her eyes slid away
    Fearfully assessing.
    “Did anyone follow you?”
    “No. I guarantee.
    No hiding stalkers
    On this tiny island.”
    For the first time she gave me
    The old Mirabel smile.


    “You can see why I love it.”
    “Derek Lowther knows I’m here.
    I’m using up his air miles.”
    Her thin legs in white gauze reached out
    Pumping our swing higher.
    I refused to help.
    “I was there when Verne killed them,”
    She whispered.


    “They wouldn’t give me away,
    But he heard me screaming.”
    “He must have followed me
    From my job –
    Covered me with their blood – said
    I’d made it all happen.
    Threatened me, threatened everyone, so –“


    She gulped – “I made him
    Fall in love with you.”
    Tears fell out of her eyes as I
    Gripped her hot hand.
    “I said you were me without
    Artifice, made him think
    You would want him.
    Verne was always telling me
    I was ruined, spoiling myself,
    Destroying our future.


    I convinced him you were
    Unscarred – worthy to be
    Lady Verne – never told him
    How smart you were.”
    “Didn’t it bother him
    I was only fourteen?”
    “He liked that. He could mold you.”
    I recoiled, disgusted.
    “Why not tell the police?”


    Her big eyes shaded blue
    Gray – ocean color.
    “They’d lock me up too!
    He knows too much about me.”
    “But why wedding fakery?”
    “That was his plan – make you think
    I’d gone abroad so you could chase after.
    That spa sells fake passports.”


    She smiled her one-sided smile.
    “I was right – you were too smart –
    “Always so confident!
    Escaped him too fast. You were
    So good in school! Your brain
    Just seemed to work right.
    Helped me with MY homework!”
    She looked away.


    “I thought I had just one thing
    You didn’t have.
    “But I was wrong about that, too.
    You’re more beautiful than I ever was.”
    I shivered at the horror she’d
    Subjected me to, degradation
    Narrowly missed.


    “How’d you find me?”
    She requested. “I remembered
    You said you loved this place. Now
    You answer one. How’d you escape?”
    “My boss’ diamond broker was cheating him.
    I blackmailed him with the evidence
    For get away cash.


    My passport’s for a boy –
    I want to start over. Fresh,
    Just like you. Can you
    Ever forgive me?”
    “Not if Verne gets away
    With murder. How can we
    Trap him, Mirabel?”
    She moved her shoulders restlessly.


    “Don’t call me that. I’m Jace now. And
    “I have the murder weapon.
    Told him I got rid of it. And
    The shirt he wore – it’s all bloody.
    In a safety deposit box.”


    From around her neck she
    Hauled up a key –
    Pressed it into my hand.

  • The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 24 – Survivors

    Silvery hair just coming in –
    Glittering studs along the sides of her ears
    Silver, not diamonds.
    But those were Mirabel’s
    Bony shoulders poking through her
    Gauze shirt. The guru called
    Shivasena and they
    Plunged into Corpse Pose –


    No one’s talking me into that –
    I inched around – one student
    Opened her eyes – gave me
    The harsh look my inquisitiveness
    Warranted. But I persisted – the skinny
    Silent boy lost in meditation
    Was my sister all right! No jewels, no makeup,
    Cheapest beach clothing, bony bare feet
    Scar on her lip fully visible.


    The tears that sprang to my eyes told me
    How much I’d feared that I would
    Never find her. I closed them
    Backed up against the stone-washed white wall
    Tried to mentally connect with her.
    What could she be thinking
    Right at this minute?


    She was the one looking fourteen
    Years old, deep in dream land,
    I find meditation
    Annoying. I like my own brain
    And don’t want to escape it.
    I launched experimental thought volleys
    Determined to make her feel
    My presence. That project quenched my tears;


    Opened my eyes and forced my lasers on her.
    Her mouth quivered first –
    One small tear slid from her eye.
    I had reached her! I knew it. She stirred.
    Eyes opened. My sister Mirabel took a
    Long, long look at me.


    I mouthed her name. She ducked her head,
    Bowed deeply forward, then rose
    To her feet. A ripple ran through
    The group and the leader opened one eye
    In displeasure.


    She grabbed my arm
    And began dragging me downstairs.
    “My name here is Jace.”
    Jace? Whose identity had she
    Stolen? “Don’t run away from me”


    I lectured her
    Refused to unleash as if
    She could melt back into the
    Mirage at will. “I never will again.”
    She squeezed me; “I knew
    You’d escape him. I wasn’t strong enough.”
    At the final lighthouse step
    We burst into the sunlight.


    “I thought you were dead,”
    I hectored her. “You abandoned me!”
    She pulled me into a big swing
    Under an awning
    Siblings swinging companionably –
    If anyone cared to notice
    One of them crying.


    The crying one was me.
    She said, “Jace was the name I bought
    From some West side spa.”
    So that explained her visits!
    Scam not disclosed to me.

    “I guess without my hair I thought
    I was invisible.” The joke was on Mirabel –
    Bald, at her thinnest – she’d
    Magnified her true self so
    No one who’d loved her –
    Could ever mistake it.


    “Why’d you give me
    TO HIM,” I raged at her.
    “How effing dare you!”
    I clutched both her wrists
    Where the purple blood beat.
    “He wouldn’t kill YOU.”


    She said with equal ferocity,
    “He wouldn’t let me go unless-“
    She hesitated. I was being
    Managed. I can always smell it.
    “Bur he killed Franny and Jane,”
    I accused. Her eyeballs slid back –


    This part of the story she thought
    I’d never find out.
    “But we can trap him,” she said.
    “The two of us.”

  • The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 23 – Dream Island

    Do you have a spare phone?”
    “Sure,” said Derek,
    “Brand new trac phone in my dad’s office
    Still in the packaging. And
    Plenty of air miles burning holes in my pocket.
    Do you need a passport?”
    “It’s only Florida. Isla Ensueno.”

    Isla Ensueno is a resort
    In a bird sanctuary –
    Luckily Derek’s air miles included the
    Pink stucco hotel.


    “No one by that name,” the desk clerk told me so
    Patiently. What kind of avatar name would
    Mirabel choose? He wouldn’t stand for
    Guessing so I tried describing her –
    But the clerk refused to play.
    Tomorrow was earliest I could
    Check in and prowl.
    It’s a very small island
    Only one hotel.
    Thoughts assailed uncomfortably –
    That oh-so familiar feeling –


    Dinned into me by every adult I’ve ever met
    That I do everything wrong
    And require their help
    Going forward.
    Typical teenage impulsiveness.
    Was this far enough away –
    So Mirabel could feel safe?
    Or was she making it easier
    For her sister to track her?


    Would she have some new man in tow
    Whose identity she could hide behind?
    I’d had just one chance –
    Using up those air miles – had I blown it?
    Dream Island was gorgeous – as I found out
    The very next day – and it had a
    Shabbiness guaranteeing she’d meet
    No one she knows.


    As I circumnavigated the island’s
    Walking trail; studying the world
    Through my binoculars
    A certain peace overtook me.
    Peace that evolved an idea
    Stemming from my quest for Mirabel’s
    Avatar. What can you do
    When your game goes horribly wrong?


    Even if my guess was off
    There remained one intriguing
    Possibility: what if one the thing
    Mirabel coveted was her own
    Younger self?
    Even at fourteen I felt that nostalgia –
    Viewed my confident eleven-year-old
    Incarnation with envy.


    If Mirabel decided
    To re-set her game –
    Make different choices
    Finally become “real”?
    Systematically I searched every nook
    Old trees shading privacy; interrupted
    Lovers: peered under
    Awnings, stared boldly through
    Sunglasses. The trail wound around
    A sand beach cove and up to
    The lighthouse; sea breeze made me shiver.
    Put me In the mood to climb the lighthouse.


    Hundreds of steps – quite a trudge –
    And I was quite alone. Possibly these
    Holiday-makers were all just too old.
    I came up to a sign:
    “SSSSHHH! MEDITATION IN SESSION!”
    I tamed my hard breathing –
    Climbed the final steps
    Silently. One teacher – an elderly man –
    Perfect lotus position –
    His eyes closed – six students –


    Their backs to me
    Gauze shirts, t-shirts,
    Ponytails – no hair in Mirabel’s
    Color. A couple of blondes and one boy –
    Balding, maybe chemo?
    Studied him thoughtfully, then felt
    I was hallucinating.
    Isn’t that Mirabel?

  • The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 22 – Killer Signature

    “It’s the killer signature,” said Derek,
    “Everything about him
    Leading to this moment.”
    I did not want
    My sister to have thrown me
    At a murderer. Did not want
    To kiss a killer.


    “We’ve got to take this to the police.”
    Derek’s voice was speaking –
    Summoning the experts –
    Even he was afraid of this.
    “It isn’t proof of anything,”
    I argued. “He threatened
    An ex-girlfriend!


    Do you know how many guys do that?”
    “No,” said Derek. “Do YOU?”
    “Yes,” I spluttered. “According to Teen Vogue.
    It happens all the time.”
    My in-house authority was red-faced,
    “I’m embarrassed for my gender.”
    Kind of adorable. I touched his hand.
    “All it would do –“


    “If the police came calling
    They’d grill Verne! It’s too soon
    To lock him in a story. It’s Mirabel
    We need to find.”
    “Best witness,” he agreed.
    “Verne’s probably calling my dad’s P.I.!”
    Fingers clattered on the keyboard.
    “I’m not calling Verne!
    “Hello, Angie? Derek Lowther. Is Ed around?


    It’s an emergency.
    O.K., I guess I can tell you,”
    He grumbled. “I gave Ed’s name
    To somebody I just met
    Who’s looking for his missing girl. But then I found out
    He’s a dangerous kind of guy.


    Oh, he doesn’t? Well, what if he asks
    For a referral? OK.
    He hasn’t called? Thanks.
    We feel better.”
    He sounded disconnected.


    “She says he never takes cases like that.
    Would only recommend police. She says –“
    He gulped – “Most people
    Searching for a past lover –
    Have nothing good in mind.”
    “Verne isn’t going to call him,”
    I said, leafing slowly
    Through Mirabel’s Portfolio.


    “Don’t tell me –“ sighed Derek
    “He has some other object in mind.”
    “Transitional object,” I quoted
    Beginning Psychology.
    Froze on a photo that
    I recognized –
    Bikini’d Mirabel kayaking
    In paradise.


    “I recall she talked about this place,”
    I told him. “She called it Dream Island.
    Said she wished
    She could stay forever.”
    I grabbed Derek’s arm.


    “I know where that is,”
    Hard to transfer
    Those Eureka moments: the insight
    When it comes together.
    “She’d be stupid to return
    To anyplace she’d ever been.”


    There’s Derek, arguing for the sake of
    Arguing. “The smart thing
    Is to light out for somewhere you’ve never
    Been before.” I batted that one
    Off easily. “Then what’s the point? If you’ve
    Been miserable, you need
    Happiness. Guaranteed.”


    “Unless you’re shallow,” said Derek.
    “Then you need guaranteed variety.
    Everything newness.”
    Awful thing to say.
    Was Mirabel that bad?
    I refused to believe it.


    “She’s my sister,” I one-upped,
    “I hope I know her better than you.”
    He could have told me
    I didn’t know her at all
    And been right, but he backed down
    Immediately. Maybe he saw
    In my face the high stakes I felt in
    Rescuing the sister who made me
    Happy face pancakes all those years ago.


    “A password hack is always easier
    The better you know the person.”
    Now he argued on my side
    Of the equation. “Skip Criminal Justice”
    I recommended, “And be a lawyer.”
    My phone rang and I jumped a mile.
    “Oh, Jeez, it’s Verne!


    What should I say?”
    “Don’t pick up! We need to get
    Our stories straight.”
    I knew right away two against one
    Would activate his wariness.
    So I did the bravest thing
    And I picked up.


    “Oh, hi, Verne
    Did you find something?
    I took a nap and
    Derek’s talking to a neighbor
    Who used to be a cop.
    Sure – as soon as we know –
    We’ll catch you later.”


    I could feel his fingers
    Reaching out at me through the phone
    But clicked way.
    Derek stared at me starstruck.
    “That was incredible! Have you studied acting?”
    “Hell no,” I told him
    “I’ve studied LYING. Can’t get through
    Teenage life without it.”


    Most lies are cover-ups when your antagonist
    Is suspicious. Bad idea!
    Smart lies strike first –
    Bold, short, believable –
    And straight out of nowhere.
    “What were you thinking? Haven’t you
    Spooked him?”


    “I want him spooked. We need a way
    To hint what we learned
    From your PI’s receptionist.
    WE NEED TO STOP HELPING HIM.”
    “But what good is that?” Derek argued,
    “What if he comes here?
    If he finds Mirabel first?”


    “He isn’t looking for Mirabel
    He’s looking for ME so I’ve got to
    Get out of here. I know where to go
    And I don’t want him following me.”