Alysse Aallyn

Tag: Sexuality

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 17 – Grievous Bodily Harm

    Verne’s voice: cruel, whispering,

    Insistent, filling up

    An answering machine with abortive calls

    Never answered. “Mirabel?

    Don’t think you’ll escape me.

    You’ve begun a game

    You can’t win”

    My teeth began to chatter.

    Derek’s eyes bugged.

    It went on and on – filled the cassette –

    Verne threatening that he’d find her and

    The longer she made him wait

    The sorrier he’d make her.

    Did she want her family

    MUDERED?

    Did she want her friends

    MURDERED?

    Because he had nothing left to lose.

    Sometimes he attempted different ploys;

    He loved her –

    They were made for each other –

    She knew that

    It had never been good with

    Anyone but her.

    Didn’t she want to be Lady Verne?

    Wasn’t every bad thing

    That had ever happened to either of them

    All her fault?

    She owed him.

    He’d would find her

    Wherever she was hiding,

    He could smell her out.

    He knew her friends were lying and

    One of them would succumb – eventually.

    “Call me, Mirabel.

    You better call me.”

    Derek and I looked at each other

    Pale as ghosts. 

    “He did it,” said Derek, finally.

    “He must have.  He

    Has everything – motive, means

    Most of all, he has the 

    Personality – the – what do they call it?

    The killer signature.

    Even a past record for

    ‘Grievous bodily harm’.”

    “Don’t jump to conclusions,”

    I defended weakly, not wanting to have

    Roomed with a killer. Not wanting my sister to have

    Thrown me at a murderer.

    Derek scoffed.

    “We’ve got to take this to the police.”

    Derek was supposedly the expert –

    But even I could see the holes.

    “It isn’t proof of anything,”

    I argued. 

    “So he threatened an ex-girlfriend!

    Do you know how many guys do that?”

    “No,” said Derek. “Do YOU?”

    “Yes,” I spluttered. “I read Teen Vogue.

    It happens all the freakin’ time.”

    “Well,” said Derek, red-faced,

    “You caught me. I’m embarrassed

    For my gender.”

    God, he was adorable.

    I made my case,

    “If the police came calling

    Would be to search for Mirabel HARDER.”

    “OH, GOD,” sighed Derek,

    “I gave him the name of my dad’s P.I.! I’ve got to

    Call him!” I sprang back so fast

    Derek’s phone clattered to the ground

    Between us. “Don’t call Verne!”

    “I’m not calling Verne!

    I’m callin the P.I.! Hello, Angie? This

    Is Derek Lowther. Can I speak to Ed?

    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? Well, thanks.

    I’m better.”

    Disconnected.

    “She says he never takes cases like that

    And would only recommend

    Police. She says –“

    He gulped – “Most people –

    Searching for a past lover –

    Have nothing good in mind.”

    And I had been helping him!

    But what else could I do when

    Mirabel dumped me, too.

    I leafed slowly through Mirabel’s

    Portfolio.

    There was a picture that I recognized –

    Mirabel sent it to the family –

    Bikini’d Mirabel on a sun-beaten

    Grey-weathered viewing deck

    Posing beneath an osprey nest.

    “She talked about this place,”

    I recalled. “She called it Dream Island.

    She said she wished

    She could just live there forever.”

    I grabbed Derek by the arm.

    “I know where that is,”

    Eureka. Hard to explain

    Those moments of insight

    Where everything just comes together.

    “She’d be stupid to return

    To any place 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, what you want is 

    Guaranteed happiness.”

    “Unless you’re shallow,” said Derek.

    “Then you need guaranteed variety.

    Guaranteed newness.”

    What an awful thing to say.

    The question was, is 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.

    “It’s like a password hack.”

    Now he argued for my side,

    Bless him. “Depends how well 

    You know the person.”

    My phone rang. I jumped a mile.

    “Oh, Jeez, it’s Verne!

    What should I tell him?”

    “Don’t pick up! We better get

    Our stories straight.”

    But I picked up. Bravest thing

    I ever did. “Oh, hi, Verne

    Did you find something?

    Well, Derek’s talking to a neighbor

    Who used to be a cop. 

    Sure – when we find something –

    Ok. Catch you later.”

    Derek stared at me awestruck.

    “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 where your quarry

    Is already suspicious. That never works.

    Smart lies strikes first –

    Bold, believable

    (Because part of it is truth)

    And straight out of nowhere.

    “What were you thinking? Maybe you

    Spooked him?’

    “I was hoping to spook him. I wanted a way

    To hint what we learned from your PI’s

    Receptionist.  I mean,

    WE NEED TO STOP HELPING HIM.”

    “But what good is that?” Derek argued,

    “If he finds Mirabel first?”

    “He won’t,” I said.  “I know where to go

    And I don’t want him following me.”

    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.”

  • 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 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?”