Sinister Six

Time to Go

"Manon?" A taut voice called from the opposite side of the door. Manon had a sudden instinct to turn the bathroom faucet on to drown out the quivering of her voice. "Be out in a minute."

A mellifluous voice that could turn sharp-tongued in seconds could only belong to none other than Francis Maxwell. Unlike her other siblings, Francis was considerably different- physique-wise. He had a tall stature like the rest of his brothers, but his body structure was robust and toned. Francis was the athlete of the family. He wasn't an active child growing up. Instead caused mischief everywhere he went. The family therapist recommended enrolling Francis in sports- To challenge his abilities. Resulting; in Francis being the only sibling who enjoyed any type of physical activity. Sports put an end to his troublesome behavior- or so they thought.

Taking a deep breath, Manon tried to ignore the uneasy feeling by splashing cold water on her makeup-free face. With one last apprehensive gaze in the mirror, Manon adjusted her posture. Placing her clammy hand on the door handle, she exited the powder room to rejoin reality.

Walking leadenly down the long hallway towards the kitchen- nervously fiddling with the unraveling string of wool fabric on her brown tweed jacket, Manon lost in thought. Looked-up to be met by a figure standing in her way.

"Jesus, Francis!" Manon said with an exasperated sigh. "Don't you know it's not normal for people to stand in the middle of poorly lit hallways and not announce themselves?"

"Whoa, whoa. Chill-out little lady," Francis said, raising his hands in surrender. "I come in peace."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to regain focus, Manon took a deep breath. "Sorry... I should have known it was you."

"I'm ready to run as far away from today as you are. Let's get this over with?" Francis said perceptively, motioning them to finish their walk down the hallway. Manon remained silent. Until; the silence was interrupted by her Papa's stoic voice coming from the parlor.

"Manon! How have you been, my girl?" Papa roared; Not a word came from Manon. She had her gaze fixated on the window in front of her.  Displaying a puzzling look to his sons, Papa shrugged his square shoulders and proceeded to converse with his boys. Walking over to the petite window nook, Manon took a seat on the worn red velvet cushion and hugged her legs close to her body. Staring out at the still foggy morning and drowning out the chatter of her Papa and brothers. Manon couldn't help but ruminate on what Francis had said in the hallway. 'I'm ready to run as far away from today as you are.'

Manon couldn't stop visualizing countless appalling scenarios that Francis undoubtedly went through all those years ago. Without a doubt, Francis knows how to hide his trauma well.

'I would be ready to run as far away from today as I could if I was the one who found Mama lifeless...' Manon's musings were interrupted by the sound of Alistair's soft-spoken stammer. "We're leaving t...t...to the church now, Manon."

Turning around and looking up to meet Alistair's round grey eyes, Manon reached out her slender hand for him to help her stand. She knew Alistair was feeling anxious. That's the only time his stutter was noticeable. 

As a child, he wouldn't talk. When he did, he was made fun of. When Manon and Alistair were in primary school, Manon punched a boy in the face for picking on Alistair. From that day on, everyone knew not to mess with Manon's brother. Since then, Manon has been Alistair's protector. Mama and Papa frowned upon such violence from their little girl. Her older brothers praised her. After that particular incident, Mama and Papa enrolled Alistair in speech therapy. At twenty-two years old, Alistair is still self-conscious while speaking. However, when he does, his ethereal voice matches his delicate beauty.