Chapter 1: The Underlying Darkness

“Duri” was a Gyeongsang dialect word for “two.” It was a fitting name for Nam Duri; the hidden twin, born second, unexpected, and unwanted. She hid in Mother’s womb, and when she hatched in the new world, she continued hiding, this time behind Mother’s skirt. She was a timid child, everything scared her at first, strangers, stray animals, cars, just to name a few. But for unknown reasons, she was never afraid of the dark. Children were supposed to fear the monsters lurking underneath staircases and hiding under beds; Duri went looking for them. She camped out in closets, ran gleefully in the pitch-black hallways, and embraced the Darkness that Mother warned her to stay away from her.

You could suffocate behind those coats, Mother would say, You could trip and fall down the stairs. You could hurt someone other than yourself.

Duri didn’t worry about anyone other than herself. Most people would agree with the stereotype that the youngest child was coddled and spoiled and had more freedom. They would be correct, to an extent. Duri was intelligent, self-sufficient, and generally minded her own business. She wasn’t a social butterfly, which meant she didn’t make friends or wanted to. She didn’t own a cell phone, even though it was a rite of passage for a teenager. Just an old computer monitor for homework. She lived like she was born in an era without advanced digital technology. She was immersed in a reality that was different from her family’s. They didn’t understand why the Darkness was a comfort.

Duri collected forgotten cassettes and vinyl from record stores, thrift stores, garage sales, and played them on the record players that were stored away in the attic. She was on the hunt for the origin of an old lullaby; a tune that no one recognized but her. She first heard the lullaby in the womb, and it remained in the depths of her memory. Sometimes when her mind was feeling cramped, she would hum it, delivering a secret performance that the Darkness applauded, and every time she did, Mother would shush her.

Growing up, she wasn’t oblivious to how Mother treated the fraternal twins differently. It pained Mother to smile at Duri, to hold her hand. Mother was at peace when Duri hung out in the attic all night long, away from the family. Mother worried that Duri was pretending to be mute, that she chose not to speak her thoughts out loud in order to hide her malicious intentions. Most importantly, Mother lied when she claimed to love Duri. Mother feared Duri and the Darkness, more than she could ever imagined.

Duri wondered when Mother had first picked up on her youngest daughter’s odd behavior. Was it the time when Duri disappeared for two hours and had no idea where she went? Was it when the paramedics carried Father away on a stretcher and Duri signed that it wasn’t his time yet? Was it at the funeral when Duri assured Mother that Father was in “the better place” and not in the Darkness? Or was it the time Mother planted Duri in front of the television and ran away with Nari before returning a day later like nothing had happened?

Mother had a tendency to overthink things. She wasn’t all there; a shell of the vibrant and overbearing mother she once was. The only reason she hadn’t spiraled yet was because of Duri’s capable and responsible big sister. Nari became the rock of the family when Father passed away and when Mother neglected Duri. If Duri wanted to sign a question, Mother looked away like Duri was something wicked.

Nari was all Duri had. Duri liked Nari, even though she was a baby. Keep the light on, Nari would plead. Duri didn’t like sleeping with the firebug nightlight. So, she hiked up to the attic every night and forgo the princess bedroom she had shared with Nari.

That was how Duri lived— in the dark about what she was. She was different, a little too different to be a twin.

She slipped the note card into the clear acrylic holder, it read “Wild Card Nam Nari.” She sat in the middle with two teammates on each side. Nari noticed that the table fabric was pinched in the middle and fought the urge to flatten it out. She hated compulsion; everyone in her family had it in different forms.

She needed to get her head in the game. Her friends and classmates were in the audience, anticipating the presentation and its execution. She was on her Catholic school’s debate team. The discord between science and religion was a hot issue. The school encouraged students to question everything, including the existence of God and the design of the universe, if it was indeed created by chance.

The topic for today: Does God exist? One team argued for the existence of god. Nari’s team argued against the existence of god.

The first speaker on the affirmative team opened the debate. Then it was the opposition team’s turn. They had ten minutes each. Followed by more arguments and evidence, then the first rebuttals and the second rebuttals.

Nari was the speaker for closing statements. Her voice projected across the stage, “If there is an infinite number of parallel universes, we can posit there is one creator or there is a number of explanations. In this universe, science cannot account for everything, but everything your team has claimed could be accounted for by science. While science cannot rule out God’s existence, it cannot confirm it either. And that is the essence of the debate. It is not about how you feel or what you want to believe in.”

After the moderator handed out their assessments, the teams called it a night. In the audience, Nari met the gaze of a fidgety woman; she had a petite figure, baggy eyes, and gray in her roots. Nari walked up to her and took her calloused hands, observing the severe bitten nails. Despite her worries, Nari was glad to see Mom up and about, though she had a feeling it was because Mom didn’t want to be alone in the house with Duri.

“You came to see me. Why didn’t you let me know?”

I’m ashamed to have you as a parent; the thought came unbidden.

Mom didn’t acknowledge a word. Her delirious eye were unfocused.

“Nari…” Mom absentmindedly spoke. “Do you believe in the Devil?”

Nari briefly closed her eyes and expelled a patient sigh. Not this again. “Did you remember to take your medication today?”

“Answer me, Nari.” She snatched Nari’s hands and squeezed. Hard. “Do you believe?”

“Why does it matter? Humans are responsible for their actions. Why blame an entity?”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

They were drawing attention to themselves. Nari didn’t want to anger her, so she answered, “No.”

Nari remembered when she was seven and pulled out of public school, along with her twin sister, and ed into an all-girls Catholic school. Mom thought that they could benefit from religious guidance, although Nari was a part of the small percentage of non-Catholics who enrolled. The ultra-religious teachers prodded Nari to strengthen her relationship with God, whereas the free-spirited teachers encouraged spiritual emersion with oneself. Everyone had an agenda. All Nari cared about was graduating high school.

Mom continued, “If you believe in one, you have to believe in the other. We must pray tonight. Pray to God that the Devil takes your sister and not you.”

“Mom, stop it!” Nari snapped.

Heads whipped around to stare at them.

Nari lowered her voice