OMBRETTA
by Nicole
A/N: Since this is tied in to my series,
"Familiar Face," I'm sticking with the girl names….Ombretta means
"shadow" (from the Italian word "ombra"). I understand this won't attract too many reviews
since it's not about the characters we all know and love, but I'm viewing it
more as an exercise to get into the mind of the twisted sister I created for
Sydney.
Feedback / E-Mail: nicole@lafetra.com
Disclaimer: I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it,
which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely
screw it up.
Classification / Genre: Action/Adventure
Summary: In "Familiar
Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy. But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?
Rating: PG (violence)
Special Thanks: To everyone who wanted to see the back story behind this
twisted character I created, and especially to Jenai, who is a great
beta-reader!
Part 1: Picture Frame
I don't remember hate. I don't even remember jealousy, really. I wasn't jealous of my sister, I was proud of her. I'd anticipated our meeting with the bitterness of waiting and the sweetness of surprise. I'd imagined how our eyes would meet. Hers would widen as she was faced with a living mirror. I, having studied her to the point of perfect imitation, would of course remain poised and calm. Then we would embrace as Father looked on and saw how hard I'd worked to come to this moment. I'd finally be allowed into her life.
And now I'm out to kill her. Kill Sydney Bristow. It's the only thing on my mind.
It's still strange to me to think that this ideal sister I'd constructed is nothing more than a dream: a whisper of thoughts here, a smattering of wishes there. Somehow the man she dares to call "Father" twisted her until I cannot believe she is of my own flesh and blood. But the worst part, the final knife driven into my body, is knowing that my father sees none of it. He sees the perfect agent he always saw. The perfect agent he always wanted me to be.
How would he react, I wonder, to know of her betrayal?
My attention snaps back to the present as I see Sydney's vague outline disappear into the underground passages that will allow her access to the English laboratory: my cue to leave my position. Dirt falls from my fingertips as I rise and run silently through the trees.
I pause as I reach the crest of a hill about two hundred meters away from the building. Tiny K-Directorate guards patrol the grounds, their shadows warped into monsters that pulse and bob with every step. I don't even have to go through with this plan to lead them away. All I have to do is reveal Sydney's presence in the laboratory and K-Directorate will do the job for me.
No. I want to kill her myself.
The K-Directorate guard I have my eye on reaches the corner and turns on his heel, marching back the way he came. Immediately I leave my place by the trees and dart down the hill, raising leaves and dust in my wake.
The guard's cries shatter the fragile night air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him skid to a stop and raise his gun to his shoulder. A succession of three shots causes me to duck instinctively and veer away, into the forest again. The guard shouts and I look back briefly to see him gesticulating in my direction. K-Directorate men spill out of the laboratory to pursue me.
Without the guns, without the boots, without the uniforms and without the barked Russian that drifts faintly to my ears, we could almost pass for a group of kids taking advantage of the English forest to stir up a rowdy game of tag. It used to be my favorite game. Maybe that's what makes me so good at what I do. I've never gotten caught. Not in missions, not in training, not as a child.
Except for once. When I found out about Sydney.
Father was chasing me through the house on one of his rare vacations home. "Home" was always changing; we kept moving to ensure my safety, although I didn't know it at the time. I don't remember any of the houses, really. I just remember the nanny who always followed me, who took care of me for the months that Father was away, who always had a look of terror in her eyes, who suddenly disappeared when I turned eighteen. I never asked why.
I couldn't have been more than five at the time. I dashed through the rooms with the tireless energy of a child as Father followed me. I never realized until later that our games of "tag" were different than those of other children. "Chase" did not mean running at half-speed behind me, pretending to struggle as I squealed. "Chase" meant hiding, sneaking, pouncing at the most unlikely moments. Not so different from the training I would eventually undergo. Most children would have found the intensity of our games overwhelming.
I loved them.
I do remember one part of that house: an old oak table, carved with leaves along the edge. It was just high enough that I could stand up on tippy-toes and see whatever was on top. That day I turned to look at the familiar picture resting there of my mother and me. Her arms were wrapped around me and we both grinned at the camera.
But I'd never met my mother. Entranced, I reached for the picture frame to get a better look. Even at five, I could feel that the discovery of this me-who-was-not-me held some great power over my life.
Strong arms grabbed me by the waist and tossed me lightly in the air. I shrieked in delight, but my arm swept back, knocking the picture frame from the table. It landed with a startlingly loud crash on the tiled floor.
Father set me down gently and I ran to the broken picture frame, ignoring the glass shards beneath my shoes. Ever so carefully I released the picture from its multihued prison of glass and laid it on a clean tile. I tilted my head to look at my father.
"Who is she?" I asked.
I could tell he was about to say "You, of course," but something in my tone made him stop. Something made him decide to tell me.
"Kesi," he said quietly and proceeded to explain that my mother had gone to live with a man named Jack Bristow to raise my sister, Sydney. I listened, hardly believing this could be the truth. But I knew my father wouldn't lie. And my life took on a new dimension.
I clench my teeth to control a yelp as a slender tree branch strikes my cheek, leaving fiery pain behind. I've been lost in memories again and that unsettles me. I've never had any trouble before focusing on the task ahead of me. Father always praised my single-mindedness that allowed me to ignore any emotion that hindered the clean execution of my training missions. I tell myself that this is a big step for me, deciding to kill my own sister. That's why I can't get her out of my thoughts. Once she's dead, everything will return to normal.
to be continued….
