Of the Twisted and the Lost

Chapter 38:

"Project Anonymous" — these two words could mean nothing to Junjie, and he would've trashed it, had the handwriting not caught his eye. 

The messy curve, each stroke casual and relaxed, the handwriting that makes Junjie's heart beat faster than usual. 

He knows this handwriting, every curve and stroke, sending familiar waves of heat through Junjie's whole body. 

Sera wrote this. 

Junjie stares at the piece of paper that Jared had kept, gaze hard and unflinching.  Finally, he moves. The pale, buttery light falls onto the crinkled paper, the salty scent wafting up into the air. 

Where in the world has this paper been in? Junjie thinks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Saltiness, dryness — the ocean would most likely be the best choice. 

"Salt crystals," he says out loud, rubbing the paper. "More evidence that it's been somewhere near the ocean." 

So definitely near the ocean. 

How would it manage to get there? he wonders, before squinting at the paper once again. Rough paper. Smudges of water and ink mixed together. 

"But if the ink and the water mixed together, wouldn't the writing have been more smeared?" Junjie thinks out loud. 

Unless. . . 

He sniffs the paper once more. 

Sharpie? Permanent pen? 

No. 

Something definitely stronger than that. 

"Focus," Junjie orders himself. "Don't get distracted." 

With narrowed eyes, Junjie chews on his bottom lip, a habit that arose when Sera had gone missing. 

Ocean. Salt crystals. Ink. 

"How is this all related?" he murmurs. "How?" 

Sera. Project Anonymous. Letter. 

"There are too many puzzles missing," he mutters, shaking his head. "That means I'll have to do what Sera wanted: find Project Anonymous—"

Junjie is interrupted by the ringing of his phone. With an irritated huff, he stabs at the green "accept" button. 

"What is it?" he barks. "Didn't I tell you not to call, unless it's an emergency? And no, finding you a date does not count as an emergency—" 

"There's been another murder!" Sam gasps out. "Inspector Seth wants us to go to the crime scene and try to find out everything." 

Junjie sighs, as he casts a longing gaze at the letter. 

"Fine," he finally grounds out. "What's the address and who got killed this time?" 

"Someone named. . ." The sound of rustling paper cuts through the phone call, and Junjie rolls his eyes. "Uma." 

"Alright," sighs Junjie, once Sam recites the address. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." 

With that, Junjie ends the call, a groan slipping through his lips. After a few minutes of staring at the faded wall paint, Junjie finally gets up, tossing a scarf over his shoulder. 

He steps out of the house, ready to witness more blood and corpses, when— 

"Hello, brother." Zhiwei blocks the doorway, a patronizing smile on his lips. "Where do you think you're going?" 

"Solving crimes," Junjie shoots back. "Just the usual." 

Zhiwei frowns. "What, you aren't going to stop for breakfast with your dear old brother?" 

A suspicious feeling instantly fires up in Junjie, as he narrows his eyes. His brother has never offered to "stop for breakfast" or any of those pleasantries, instead preferring to spend all his time studying human psychology and fears. 

"You never ask for breakfast," Junjie says, tilting his head. "What's really going on?" 

"Ah well." Zhiwei steps forward, with a twisted grin. "Worth a try." 

His brother stabs a needle in Junjie's direction— 

. . . only to have Junjie kick the needle in the air, catching it with his right hand. 

"A needle?" Junjie raises an eyebrow, fixing his gaze on the needle. "Tsk tsk, you're getting less creative." 

Fury lights in Zhiwei's blue eyes, as his lips curl into a snarl. Then his brother relaxes, arm falling to his side once again. 

"You're wrong about one thing — I haven't gotten 'less creative' as you have put it," says Zhiwei. "Bet you didn't see this coming." 

Then his brother pulls out a second needle and thrusts it into Junjie's arm. 

Junjie's instincts kick in too late, as his vision blurs. 

"Bastard!" he gasps out, as the world spins. 

"'Clever' is the word I personally think better fits." Zhiwei's face looms closer. "Now rest, brother. There's someone who wants to talk to you." 

And then Junjie goes slack into his brother's arms. 

* * * * 

Junjie's relationship with his brother is complicated. So complicated, not even Junjie can explain it. 

There's resentment whenever Junjie looks at Zhiwei. Irritation, bitterness, hostility — maybe even envy, for being the "better" sibling. Yet at the same time, an undercurrent of admiration and concern flows through their bond. 

It wasn't always like this. 

Junjie and Zhiwei used to be normal siblings, arguing and then suddenly making up, with the promise of chocolate chip cookies and toy soldiers. 

But then Melo came, a quiet red-headed boy who loved to read. 

I want to be a reader when I grow up! he announced, with that adorable spirit of a five-year-old. 

Both Junjie and Zhiwei had never met someone quite like Melo — so normal and so enthusiastic. 

And they've never had a friend before. 

So the first person who becomes friends with them, it becomes a little like a rivalry. They started arguing over who was the "better" friend, trying to bribe Melo with plenty of gifts (Zhiwei gave Melo four hundred books about fear infused within humans, while Junjie sent his own personal diary, because he knew if he was "one day famous, he would be able to give his best friend an autograph.") 

And the tension grew between the two brothers, until— 

"He's mine," Zhiwei argued one night at the dining table. "Not yours. Mine, you idiot." 

"Stop calling me an idiot," countered Junjie. "Eight-year-olds ought not to swear." 

"Children, children, children," their mother said, eyes darting back and forth, as arguments were fired this way and that. "Oh, dear. Perhaps we shouldn't have allowed Melo to come to our house anymore." 

"The way they speak, it's like they're in bloody love or something," muttered their father. "Now be quiet, you two. I'm trying to focus." 

Zhiwei didn't apologize, nor did Junjie, both with scowls upon their lips. 

Two hours later, a new report came on the television: "Just turned six-year-old found locked in a cabin," the news lady said. "He's traumatized, but safe back in his home." 

"You did this!" Junjie hissed, whirling towards his brother. "I know you did this!" 

Zhiwei didn't deny anything. "I always get what I want," he whispered back, and that's when their whole sibling bond seemed to split in half.