OMBRETTA
by Nicole
Author's Note: 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: AshniPerpetua@go.com
Distribution:
Allowed and appreciated, just let me know where, please!
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: 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-13 (violence, death)
Special Note: As I've told some of you, I will no longer be writing
fanfiction. However, contrary to my
original decision, I have decided to finish Ombretta. This chapter is not beta-read, not edited, and likely
poorly-written as a result, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :-)
I will be posting some original pieces as I finish them (I have one up at
the moment).
Part 3: Decision
I remember the day I decided to kill her. After the Pennsylvania mission, I crept into Father's office to see what I could find on her. Seeing her fight K-Directorate, knowing she felt there was no hope left and yet still pushed herself to her limits, watching the helicopter drift away and pretending I could see her dangling, I knew why Father loved her. Because now, I loved her, too.
I should have known better than to let myself love her. She was one fucking lie; I should have seen that! But instead, desperate to believe that there was a reason Father loved her more than he loved me, I blinded myself.
He had warned me against ever coming to Los Angeles, but I followed her anyway. The guards at SD-6 were easy enough to get by, and I became shadows as easily as I had become her. I slipped through the offices, finding Father's as easily as if I'd lived there all my life, and crouched in the doorway as a security guard swept his flashlight by lazily. When I entered the office, I was surprised at how easily the door opened. It hadn't been locked, and this put me on my guard.
I looked around the room, not noticing anything at first. Then I saw the faint shadow that didn't quite blend in with that of the desk. I crawled forward carefully, nothing in my manner indicating that I knew I was not alone.
I wondered if I should lock the door. But even as I turned back to look at it, I heard a familiar voice—similar to my own, in fact—cry out "You!" and I whirled around, raising my gun instantly. Seeing those eyes again, that face, startled me. I let my gun fall to my side again.
My lips twisted in confusion. What was she doing here? I could only whisper "Sydney," over and over again. In the next instant, I took in her wild eyes, the files clutched in her hands.
"You're working against him!" The shout ripped from my throat before I could stop it, so horrified was I. I barely thought. I brought the gun up and aimed, trembling. She dodged the first shot, so that it hit the glass. Briefly I took in the beauty of the shards as they rained down on the desk, then I focused on eliminating her, this traitor, this beast.
Maybe I didn't want to kill her. My shots went wide, and I saw a security guard fall, screaming, as a bullet grazed his cheek. I saw her run. Knowing I could never catch up, knowing I was quickly being encircled, I fled. I could not even take pleasure in the guards' shock as suddenly I was gone.
I wandered down to a pier, lit by the bright joviality of a Ferris wheel across the water. My mind flew apart, as if caught in a black tornado. I stared into the ocean beneath my feet, willing it to wash me away to a world empty of these lies. I despised being able to be anyone other than myself, and I despised her for making me feel this way.
Hours later, I donned a familiar face—hers, with all its betrayal and chill—and took to the streets in a car carelessly left to the night. My world had crumbled around me, and I had only one truth left. One obligation.
To kill my sister.
Perhaps, with her death, I could buy back my father.
How I found her house, I will never know. How I looked through the streets and decided, yes, this was it, this was hers, this is her, remains a mystery to me. But I chose correctly, as the pictures in her room attested. I did not know what I was searching for, but the pictures entranced me. I looked through them silently, until I saw one photograph of my sister smiling next to the man who had stolen my mother away and killed her. I began to shake.
I can't explain why seeing Sydney's innocence tore at me so much, or whether the emotions raging through me were of guilt of anger. All I knew, in that moment, was that she would pay. A gunshot through the heart was too good for her. I wanted her to suffer as she had made others suffer. Justice.
No. This was not justice. Justice would bring my mother back. Justice would make my father happy. Justice would eliminate Jack Bristow from this earth. Justice was not here.
In one violent motion, I slammed the picture frame onto the floor. The glass skidded out across the wood floor and lay there, twinkling at me in the milky moonlight. The picture frame had broken neatly in half; the photograph itself was hardly bent. Furious, I snatched it up, heedless of the glass imbedding itself in me fingertips. In my hands the photograph was reduced to shredded paper.
Let Sydney's life shatter as I had shattered this picture frame. All it took was one push and what had once been clear and solid shattered into a thousand irretrievable shards. No one had made that push yet, but I would show her who was the stronger here. It was time for my sister to see me for what I was.
Dangerous. Driven. Determined.
Sydney would fear me.
But fear was not what was in her eyes when she looked in the room and whispered "Kesi Sloane" in my voice. A bright flash of light exploded in my face, and it was then that I realized I had thrown myself at her. I felt my leg hit something heavy and my arms twisted behind my back.
"What are you doing in my apartment? What the hell are you doing?"
That falsely-demure voice sliced through my pain like a razor. I wanted to choke, to scream, to cry. To kill. Her grip had lessened slightly on my arm and I tensed, ready to free myself. "I'm just taking back my life," I grunted. It should have warned her, but I spun and kicked her away with ease.
The gun at my side came easily to hand and I aimed it at where she had been. She was no longer there.
"You're insane!" she gasped, and I saw she stood in the doorway.
"Better than being a bitch," I cried. "Better than being a traitorous, disloyal bitch of a daughter."
The coward fled, and I pursued. The rest of that night is a blur to me. I tracked her through the streets, cornered her with a vague emotion resembling glee, and finally rammed my stolen car into her truck. She'd survived, I knew. But I walked away, saving the fight for another day. Why didn't I walk around her overturned car and finish her off? I could have, easily. The fall had likely knocked her unconscious.
I didn't kill her that day because I still believed in right. Executing this traitor, it was right. Killing my sister and ending this horrible mistake of my father's was right. Shooting a downed woman who had no chance of fighting back….no, that was not right. So I ran.
I had wanted to believe that my mom had died for a reason. That she had gone away, left my dad, abandoned one of her daughters, for a damn good reason. Looking into my sister's fearful eyes, I knew there was none. No reason could justify what she'd done to me.
to be continued….
