Why was it all wrong? It was wrong. It was wrong. It was wrong! Nisa bit her lip as her eyes moved side to side as she went room to room, inspecting high to low. The maid was just there, so why was everything off! The mantle had been dusted but not polished. The wood would weather at this rate! The floors were not fully waxed as her feet would squeak along certain steps if they had. She swore she had seen a cobweb in the closet though it was fairly dark and she hadn't grabbed a candle just yet. 

"What is he paying her for?" She tsked as she moved and then opened the pantry door and let out a scream. There was a new enemy. The small rodent tried to scurry but had no place to hide. How did it even get in there. Her eyes widened and she glared at it. This was disgusting. Perhaps they should get a cat to handle such things. But there was no cat, only Nisa. So it seemed. Her lip began to quiver as she started to yell at the small creature and gestured to the door. 

"Get out! Get out! Before I throw you out, dirty little mouse!" Her hands trembled but she heard the door open and immediately slammed the door and headed to meet her brother. A small smile was on her face and she looked calm as if she hadn't been storming through the house the last twenty minutes.

"How was work?"

Stalking debtors. Most of his life these days involved elaborate cat-and-mouse games of stalking debtors. Sure, there was the occasional actual thief, but mostly it was men coasting on their fathers’ coattails without realizing dear old father had snagged that coat on credit.

He did not miss the day-to-day of shopkeeping, but sometimes he missed the stability … until he was surrounded by armed men, negotiating the terms of a vase plus his own life. Humiliating, certainly – but such was the price of feeling alive.

He didn’t used to be like this, but he could hardly remember the old him. That him had died with Baba.

Sure, Aslan still looked after his sister. He still mumbled the occasional prayer to Allah, half-hearted instead of habitual. But where his father once sat was occupied instead by a burning need for... something.

A something he had no guarantee even existed, any more than a way to bring his innocent father back. Any more than he could chase away the thoughts of ‘what if?’ every time he saw his remaining flesh and blood. What was done was done, and what was left was them.

Them, and whatever rush he could chase in lieu of the same old visions.

He heard a crash, felt his heart leap up his throat, and swallowed thickly before finishing turning a knob. Was this going to be the day he found her mid-murder? Would it be the hapless maid? Some boy? The milk man? If the victim escaped, what then?

Aslan smiled back up at his sister, like he hadn’t just been contemplating life-or-death situations.

“Ah, much of the same,” he said, closing the door and peeling off his fake mustache. “How was your day?”

Turkish:

Baba = Father

Nisa stared at her brother, her hands folded neatly in front of her daintly. She had stared at herself in the mirror, working on posture and expression. She looked perfect like she was posing for a portrait.

Then she spoke, her voice small and smooth. There was no hesitation or fear as she told him the terrible news. 

"There is a mouse in the pantry. And the maid isn't cleaning right."

Sometimes, sometimes, he could swear he used his deductive skills far more in the presumed inadequacies of the maids than in actual investigative work. Was the maid dead? No blood. Of course there would be no blood. She wore all white because she was impeccably clean with her … pass-times.

… Scuffs on the doors aside.

“Unacceptable,” he agreed.

He always agreed.

“I shall look for the mouse and fire the maid.”

Again. Allah Allah. How long until Whitby ran out of starving young girls? He’d have to start kidnapping them at this rate.

“And I shall decline her a reference. A fate worse than death,” he added with a slightly piqued smile.

‘A fate worse than death’. He emphasized that last part a lot when it came to replacing the help.

... They usually got a written reference and a train ticket, Allah forbid his sister ever find out.

Nisa looked delighted at the news. "Fantastic. I expected no less from you, dear brother."

She reached for his hand and held it so tenderly, as if to show she did love her brother. He would never receive her wrath that others had. Then she walked and pulled him along to show him the pantry as if he might not have known to which she referred to. "It is there. A disgusting creature that deserves the worst. Please... destroy it. And I hope we have a new maid by the end of the week. I expect this one to be good at her job. I ask for so little..."

One day, Nisa would die. It would not be this day, nor the next, or any foreseeable time within his own lifespan... but one day, Nisa would die.

He felt guilty as soon as he thought it, but then he’d felt the weight of it in his stomach for two years.

The trick was to find someone guiltier than him – or at least someone he knew little enough about to claim they weren’t. His job was wonderful for that.

“I will take care of it, Nisa,” he reassured her, cupping her hand in both of his with that stiff smile. “It is bad enough you had to see it once, my dear sister – I am certain you have better things to do than gawk at some vile, disease-ridden mouse.”

Nisa smiled huge and sweetly at Aslan. "Oh , you always know what to say! Thank you, brother. To make it up to you, I shall make the dinner. What would you like? I'll make anything!"

She stood up a little straighter with her brightest most happy smile. Alsan would help and make it all better, he always did. She really didn't know what she would do without him. " I would be lost without you, brother. I want to show my gratitude for all you do."

Allah, kill him now.

“Any man would be lucky to live out his life with you,” he said with a smile. “Rice pilaf and almond cookies.”

Really. Almond cookies weren’t the worst way to go.

Nisa looked cheerful and innocent as a sunrise. She nodded and happily slipped off to begin cooking. "I will make it perfect. You will have never had better in your life!" Her voice was melodic as she elegantly strode into the kitchen and began to cook. Her hums were audible through most of the house though she knew the importance of a lady being quiet.

He needed to find her a husband. She was the right age, and there were plenty of men the world would not mourn.

… How could he entertain such a thought? She was his burden and his alone.

He did encounter some scummy, questionably well off men, though...

No. One day he would die and it would no longer be his problem.

Aslan let out a breath through his nose, opened up the cupboard, and eyed the little gap between its bottom shelf and wall. He was fairly certain he could block it off with a brick, and Allah knew the house down the street was falling apart.