Prologue

Hope is what usually comes after Faith. Faith is what someone has when they believe that something is going to happen or that someone exists. Faith is when a person knows for sure, without a doubt, that something is going to happen or that someone exists. Hope occurs when it has dissipated. Hope occurs when someone has lost Faith after being disappointed so many times and proven wrong even more times. Hope is a feeling that someone has when they wish for that something to happen or for that someone to exist. They're not really that sure that it's going to happen or that that someone exists any more but they still hope against hope and wish against wish that it will happen or that they do exist.

In my case Hope did come after Faith. Hope being me and Faith being, well, Faith my only relative still alive. Everyone else has gone to heaven, or hell. It was pretty much my mom who let the whole family down by being the biggest bitch known to man. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.

I'm not saying that if Faith and I knew each other we wouldn't be where we are today. Nah. But we probably would've gotten here a little differently. Just guessing. I mean, knowing you have a twin sister has got to change your life. If only slightly then fine. But it does change it.

I figured the whole thing out. I got the brains and she got the brawn. Well, I've got a little brawn of my own but she's the crazily strong one. I like to think that the beauty is shared fifty-fifty between us. We're both beautiful in our own way. She's the pale sultry temptress and I'm the dark hair, tanned skin, surf girl hottie. She's screaming 'Fuck me' while I'm screaming 'Get into my pants'. Subtle difference if there ever was one.

Anyway, when I found out about my sister I kinda freaked. I mean I did have this vague memory of having a sister and I always felt this connection with someone else that no one else could feel or understand but still. It had been eleven years since I last saw her when my dad told me. Or reminded me. Whatever.

He'd gotten drunk that night. Something that he never was. He was a sad drunk. Words just kept spilling out of him only half of them making any sense. Then he began telling me about all that happened. And he finished with why he didn't tell me. He didn't want to let me go. Then he told me he had cancer. That he'd known for months but could never tell me.

He died a week later.

I was kinda glad that it wasn't vamps or a demon or anything but it didn't make it hurt any less. It hurt more, knowing that I couldn't do anything. That I couldn't save him. That I just had to let him die. I was so depressed that I threw myself into finding Faith. If I hadn't thrown myself into it then I probably would never have found her.

When he was telling me about it he was choking up so bad. And every time he did he'd take another drink. So he got drunker and drunker and quieter but somehow more determined to get it all out.

I mean, I understand the whole reason behind it. Not telling me that is. Kinda. I mean it was still so hard for him, remembering about how he left his wife, my mom, and having to leave Faith behind. Remembering everything about Faith, digging out a photo that had him, me, Faith and my mom all smiling at the camera. Faith and I were both about four years old.

Everyone's happy in the picture but you can tell something's wrong. Dad's wearing a clean singlet and black pants and has a fake smile that looks convincingly real but I know it isn't real, I've known him for ever and I can tell when he's faking it, hurt lies in his eyes. Mom is wearing a sundress with posies on it and is too happy, re: the beer bottle in her hand. Faith is wearing a tomboy outfit, a t-shirt and shorts that are way too big for her. She also has this really huge grin on her face that's almost too big for her face. Across the right side of her face there's a big angry purple bruise.

I touch it on the picture softly and wince. We'd both been victims of mom's aggression, her more than me because I wasn't drawn to mom like she was. It was as if mom was a flame and Faith was a moth. Faith couldn't help but love mom and want to be near her. I was my daddy's girl and, whilst he tried to keep both of us safe, there were some things that he just couldn't keep us from.

As I continue studying the photograph like I have so many times before my gaze moves to my own part of it. I've got my arm around Faith and I'm in a similar get up but not quite as happy as her. I am smiling though. Partly because I haven't been beaten quite as badly as her. My dad's got this comforting hand on my shoulder and that's the main reason I was smiling. It's a grin like Faith's but it's not as wide.

I've got the picture with me now and I vaguely wonder who took the picture. I'm staring down at the worn thing in my hands and notice the rocking of the train subconsciously. I lift my gaze and move it to the window. The landscape rolls by and I get bored quickly. I could never stand trying to be amazed by nature's 'wonders'. Whatever.

All that matters now is finding Faith. And that starts here in Europe.

It starts in Rome.