Sitting on the edge of the couch, I held a wine glass absentmindedly, my gaze fixed on the lounge room window. Outside, the stars twinkled against the inky sky, casting their reflections on the serene Derwent River below. It was a calm, beautiful night, yet the tranquility of the scene contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside me. My foot tapped anxiously against the white leather of the couch, a rhythmic expression of my growing impatience. What the hell is taking Beatrix so long? She only lives around the corner.

Beatrix, six years younger than me, had always had a complicated relationship with me. It was strained by the differences in our lives - my acquired affluence and her more modest means - and further marred by the untimely death of her lover, a loss she seemed to carry like a heavy shroud. In my opinion, she had never truly recovered.

The promise I had made to Luke not to tell anyone about the portal and Clivilius weighed heavily on me, but the message Jamie had left on the bottle was eating away at me. Ever since I had woken up sprawled on the cold floor of the entryway, the words had haunted me, gnawing at my conscience.

The very thought of the message made my head start to spin, a physical reaction to the emotional turmoil it stirred. How could Beatrix have kept such a secret from me, her own sister? How had Jamie figured it out, and what more did he know? The questions swirled in my mind, each one a reminder of the secrets and lies that seemed to be an undercurrent in my relationships.

As I sat there, staring into the night, I felt a growing sense of isolation. The secrets I was now privy to created a chasm between me and the people I cared about. Beatrix's impending arrival was both a source of anxiety and a desperate need for connection, a chance to share the burden of the knowledge that weighed so heavily on me. But with each passing moment, my anxiety grew, and the questions multiplied, leaving me feeling more alone than ever amidst the starlit tranquility outside my window.

The moment I spotted movement at the bottom of the driveway, a mix of relief and urgency washed over me. "Finally," I muttered under my breath. Impatient and desperate for Beatrix's company, I didn't wait for the customary knock. Instead, I threw open the front door, my actions driven by a whirlwind of emotions.

As Beatrix stepped onto the threshold, I grabbed her by the arm, my grip firm but frantic, and rushed her into the entryway. The door slammed shut behind us with a resounding thud, echoing my heightened state of anxiety.

"Shit, Beatrix. What took you so long?" I demanded, my voice a blend of frustration and relief. I clung to her petite arm, pulling her through the lounge room towards the kitchen.

"Don't 'shit' me," Beatrix retorted, her voice rising in protest as she struggled against my firm grip.

As soon as we reached the kitchen, I released her arm, allowing her a moment to regain her composure. "Here," I said, my tone a mixture of apology and insistence, as I pushed an already-filled glass of wine towards her. I needed her to understand, to listen, but I also knew that my approach might have been a little too abrupt.

Turning back to the counter on the far side, I retrieved my own glass, which was already nearly empty. The wine was a small gesture to bridge the gap between us and ease into the conversation I desperately needed to have.

"Looks like the crazy has really come out tonight," Beatrix remarked with a hint of sarcasm, her voice carrying just enough for me to catch every word.

"Beatrix, stop it!" I snapped, my voice rising in frustration as I spun around to face her. "You know I don't like that word." The term 'crazy' had always struck a nerve, especially coming from her.

Unperturbed, Beatrix took a deliberate gulp of the red wine I had handed her. "So, what is it that you have summoned me here for so desperately, my dear sister?" she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and condescension.

Feeling a surge of urgency, I blurted out the truth that had been consuming me. "Jamie is gone!" The words tumbled out, unfiltered and raw.

"Gone?" Beatrix echoed, her eyebrows arching in surprise. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He's gone. He's in Clivilius and he can't get back out!" My voice escalated, the panic I felt about Jamie's situation spilling over.

"Clivilius?" Beatrix's confusion was evident in her single-word question.

"Yes! Clivilius!" I affirmed, my voice reaching a fevered pitch. "He went in there with Luke and Paul and now Clivilius has them!" The words came out in a near-hysterical shriek, betraying my inability to maintain composure.

"You sound like you've got Clivilius," Beatrix said derisively, dismissing my distress with a jab that stung sharply.

Her skepticism and mockery were like a slap in the face, reinforcing the vast gulf between our perceptions of reality. I stood there, feeling a mix of despair and frustration, the need to make her understand battling with the realisation that what I was saying must sound completely unbelievable. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on me, but the reality of it was all too pressing and terrifying.

I reached for the empty water bottle on the bench, the same one I had taken from my visit with Luke, and in a moment of frustration, I hurled it towards Beatrix.

"What the hell, Gladys!" Beatrix exclaimed, nearly spilling her wine as she dodged the bottle. It landed on the floor with a clatter, emphasising the tension in the room.

"Read it," I said firmly, my voice a mix of desperation and urgency.

"Read what?" Beatrix asked, her confusion evident as she looked from me to the water bottle on the floor.

"Just read it," I insisted.

With a sigh, Beatrix steadied her glass of wine on the bench next to her and bent down to pick up the water bottle. She examined it, turning it around in her hands, searching for the message I knew would change everything.

I watched her anxiously, my heart racing, as she scrutinised the label. I was certain that Luke never intended for these words to reach anyone else, especially not Beatrix.

Beatrix gasped, her eyes widening as she read the message. She looked up at me, shock and disbelief written all over her face. The bottle slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor again. "What the fuck, Gladys? Is this some sort of cruel joke?" she asked, her voice laced with incredulity and a hint of anger.

"I almost wish it were," I replied softly, my voice barely above a whisper. As the reality of the situation started to sink in, my mind began to calm, albeit slowly. The absurdity of accepting that the message had come from another world – Clivilius – was something that seemed to defy all logic. Yet, there I was, beginning to embrace that very possibility.

Beatrix, her hands slightly trembling, picked up the bottle from the floor once again. She started to read the words aloud, her voice wavering, "Brody's death wasn't…"

"Beatrix, don’t!" I screeched, my voice filled with fear. "Never say those words aloud," I implored. There was a palpable difference between reading those heavy words in silence and giving them voice. Speaking them aloud seemed to make them more real, more potent, and more dangerous.

Beatrix paused, the lump in her throat visible as she swallowed hard. Her eyes met mine, filled with confusion and growing realisation. And then, with a certain resigned courage, she continued, "Brody's death wasn't an accident. I know why he was murdered. And so does Beatrix!" The words hung in the air between us, a painful truth laid bare.

A small tear escaped down Beatrix's cheek, reflecting the turmoil of emotions stirred by the revelation.

I stood there, watching my sister grapple with the weight of the message, feeling a complex wave of emotions myself. Guilt, sorrow, and a sense of betrayal mingled within me. The secret of Brody's death, a dark shadow that had loomed over our family, was now out in the open, changing the dynamics of our relationship forever.

"I think we had better sit down and talk," Beatrix suggested, her voice steadier than her tear-stained face.

Nodding in agreement, I found myself automatically pouring another glass of wine. Despite having only taken a single mouthful, Beatrix extended her glass towards me for a refill. I didn't hesitate to oblige. Given the gravity of the situation and the shock of the revelations, it seemed like the least I could do. I understood that Beatrix, like me, was grappling with emotions that were difficult to process.

We moved into the living room, each of us finding a spot on opposite ends of the soft, white leather couch. The familiar comfort of the couch contrasted sharply with the uncomfortable conversation that lay ahead.

"So, tell me about this Clivilius," Beatrix said, her tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"But what about…?" I began, wanting to delve deeper into the revelation about Brody, but Beatrix quickly raised her hand to stop me.

"I don't want to talk about Brody," she interjected, her voice quivering slightly.

Reluctantly respecting her wishes, I glanced at the bottle of wine near Beatrix. It was almost empty. "I think we might need another bottle." Standing up, I decided to fetch more wine before Beatrix could comment on my drinking habits again. In my mind, I justified it – I didn't have a drinking problem, and in any case, it was none of her goddamn business. The wine was merely a crutch to help us navigate through this surreal and emotional conversation.

"So, tell me about Clivilius," Beatrix repeated, her voice steadier now, as I settled back onto the couch with the newly opened bottle of wine placed on the small table between us. The seriousness of the situation seemed to hang in the air, as heavy as the night outside.

"Well…" I started, hesitating slightly. The story, as unbelievable as it was, needed to be told. I took a deep breath and began to recount everything – my bizarre encounter with Luke, the sudden appearance of the swirling Portal, and the incomprehensible reality of Clivilius.

As I spoke, Beatrix sat quietly, her attention unwavering. She took noticeable mouthfuls of wine, perhaps as a way to process the extraordinary tale I was unfolding. Occasionally, she interjected with a question, but for the most part, she remained silent, absorbing the gravity of each word. It felt surreal, narrating events that sounded like they belonged in a science fiction novel, not in our lives.

Once I had finished recounting the events of the past twenty-four hours, a heavy silence settled over us. I sat there, nervously fidgeting with my wine glass, waiting for Beatrix to respond, to give some indication of what she thought about the unbelievable story.

Finally, after taking another sip of wine, Beatrix paused, drawing a deep breath as if to steady herself. Then she spoke. "Well, I'm still not completely convinced," she said bluntly.

I sat there, my mouth agape, stunned by Beatrix's initial response. The skepticism had felt so real, so definitive. "Beatrix. How...?" I began, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"I'm kidding," Beatrix laughed, the sound light and almost carefree, slicing through the tension that had enveloped us. "There's no way that anyone but Jamie could have known what was written on that bottle," she admitted. "I'd be very surprised if even you knew it."

Relief washed over me, mixed with a hint of annoyance at her jest. "I had no idea at all," I confirmed, my voice softening. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, more out of concern than accusation.

Beatrix shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that seemed to mask deeper emotions. "It doesn't matter," she said dismissively, but her words felt like a protective veil over something more vulnerable. "Does anybody else know?"

"About the bottle?" I clarified, still processing her sudden shift in attitude.

"No, about Clivilius, stupid," Beatrix retorted with a hint of her usual candour.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," I answered, my mind racing with the implications. "But Beatrix, you mustn't breathe a word of this to anyone," I insisted, the seriousness returning to my voice. "You must keep this a complete secret."

"People have a right to know," Beatrix argued, her tone taking on a newfound conviction. "This could be humanity's escape."

"Escape?" I echoed, my voice rising in disbelief. "Absolutely not!" The idea of Clivilius as an escape was absurd. This wasn't some utopian alternative reality; it was a place of unknowns and potential peril.

"But Gladys…" Beatrix began, her voice trailing off as she tried to make her case.

I cut my sister off sharply. I couldn't fathom what she thought humanity needed to escape from. Was her talk of escape merely a metaphor for her own desire to flee from the guilt that had burdened her these past two years? With her recent revelation of keeping secrets, my patience for understanding her perspective was wearing thin. "There is more than one thing about you, Beatrix, that I could share with our parents if you open your mouth, and when I do, you can kiss goodbye to your free rent," I warned her sternly.

"Whatever. As if they'd believe you anyway," Beatrix retorted, her voice dripping with defiance.

I stood my ground, unflinching. I knew I held the upper hand. There had been incidents involving Beatrix and the police, secrets our parents were blissfully unaware of. They still saw Beatrix as their favourite, their perception unmarred by the truths I knew.

I continued to glare at her, my gaze unwavering. "And I'm not talking about the stolen silverware," I added, lifting the water bottle slightly. It wasn't just a container; it symbolised a secret far more damning than petty theft.

"Fine," Beatrix finally conceded, her resistance deflating as she poured herself another glass of wine. Her acquiescence was reluctant, but it was clear she understood the gravity of my threat.

As I watched Beatrix take a sip from her glass, a mix of emotions churned within me. There was a sense of triumph in having stood my ground, but it was tainted with sadness. The familiarity of our sibling rivalry, once a constant in our relationship, now felt overshadowed by the enormity of the secrets we harboured. Sitting there, the realisation that our relationship had irrevocably changed settled heavily upon me. We were no longer just sisters; we were keepers of a truth that could alter everything we knew about our world and ourselves.

A full bottle of wine later, the atmosphere between Beatrix and me had shifted subtly. The initial tension had mellowed slightly, replaced by a sombre understanding of the seriousness of our situation. We stood side by side at the kitchen sink, united in a solemn, unspoken agreement. In our hands was the plastic water bottle, the bearer of secrets too heavy to carry.

Beatrix, with a determined look, carefully peeled the label from the water bottle. The label, once just a piece of paper, now felt like a tangible piece of our burden.

"Do it, Gladys," Beatrix instructed, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of emotion.

I struck the match, watching as the flame caught the edge of the label. The label glowed brightly for a moment before Beatrix dropped it into the sink. We stood there in silence, our eyes fixated on the label as it shrivelled and collapsed into ash. The finality of the act was not lost on either of us. It was as if we were burning away a part of our past, a secret that had once bound us together in its concealment.

"Nobody else needs to know," I slurred, my words slightly muddled from the wine but clear in their intention.

Beatrix nodded in agreement, her gaze still locked on the ashes in the sink. The simple act of destroying the label had become a ritual of sorts, a way of sealing our pact of silence.

After another half a bottle of wine and a series of distracted conversations, the effects of the alcohol were evident in both of us, but particularly in Beatrix. Observing her unsteady movements and slurred speech, I felt a protective instinct kick in. "Beatrix, you're too drunk to make your way home safely," I said, my words laced with concern. "You should stay the night in the spare room."

I watched as Beatrix staggered slightly on her way to the spare room, her steps uncoordinated but determined. She managed to navigate her way inside and closed the door behind her with a soft click. Standing outside my bedroom door, I lingered for a moment, ensuring that she was safely inside.

Exhaustion washed over me as I entered my own bedroom. The events of the day had taken a toll, and my head throbbed relentlessly, a reminder of the emotional rollercoaster I had endured. I crawled into bed, longing for rest and respite from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that plagued me.

As I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, the unsettling conversation with Beatrix replayed in my mind. The weight of the secrets we now shared, the revelations about Clivilius, and the unresolved issues surrounding Brody's death created a restlessness that seemed impossible to shake.

Thankfully, the wine – my 'favourite liquid fruit,' as I wryly thought of it – began to work its sedative magic. Gradually, my worries started to dissipate, and the edges of my consciousness began to blur. The relief of the alcohol's embrace was welcome, and soon enough, it lulled me into a blissful blackness.

The sky was a void, an abyss of inky blackness. Yet there was Cody, his face a beacon in the dark, shining bright and clear. He smiled at me, a comforting, familiar smile. I returned it, a sense of warmth spreading through me.

I waved at him, eager for a response, but Cody remained still, his smile unwavering. Confusion crept in. Did he not see me? I was right there, in front of him, yet he seemed oblivious to my presence.

As Cody's face began to drift away into the distance, I reached out desperately, trying to bridge the gap between us. But he slipped away like a shadow, eluding my grasp. Lightning cracked the sky open, revealing more faces in the brief flashes of light, faces that seemed both familiar and foreign.

Panic constricted my throat as I realised Cody was in danger. I tried to shout a warning, but all that emerged was a feeble, hoarse whisper. "Cody!" I strained to call out louder, but my voice failed me.

Another burst of lightning, another fleeting glimpse of faces. "Cody!" I screamed with all the strength I could muster. "They're coming!"

Suddenly, a jolt coursed through my body, wrenching me from the nightmare. I woke up, my heart pounding, sweat drenching my skin. My breath came in short, laboured gasps. Thunder rumbled ominously, shaking the room, while lightning illuminated the space with a ghostly glow. Terror gripped me as I saw a face in the doorway, staring back at me.

The man's face approached swiftly, determination etched in every feature. I sat up, my instincts kicking in, a primal urge to defend myself. But as I tried to scream, a strong hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my cries. My arms flailed weakly, hindered by the intoxication and entangled in the blankets.

The attacker pushed me back, his weight pinning me down. I thrashed in panic, my mind racing with fear. But then I felt the weight shift onto my waist, and in a desperate bid for escape, I bit down hard on the hand over my mouth.

The man yelped in pain, and in that moment of confusion, I opened my mouth to scream again. But he was quick to react, his other hand moving to smother my cries.

"Gladys," he whispered sharply. "Stop!"

In the midst of my terror, recognition dawned. It was Cody's voice. I ceased my struggles, looking into his eyes, a plea for safety unspoken but clear.

"Don't scream," Cody said, his voice calmer now. "You were having a nightmare and thrashing about in your bed. I was worried you'd hurt yourself." And then he removed his hand from my mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing here? How did you get in my house?" I demanded, my voice a mixture of confusion and anger. Instinctively, I shoved him hard in the chest, trying to regain some sense of control over the situation.

"I can't stay long," Cody replied in a hushed tone, his urgency evident. "You have to trust Luke. Clivilius is real. Do whatever he asks you to do." His words were rushed, almost desperate.

I glared at him, my mind racing. Trust Luke? Clivilius? Cody's cryptic message only added to my confusion. "Trust me, Gladys. The lives of a thousand people are at stake. We need Luke," he insisted.

"We? How do you know about Clivilius?" I questioned, my suspicion growing.

"I have to go," Cody said. And then he ran out of the room.

I jumped out of bed, my head spinning slightly from the wine and the abruptness of the encounter. As I made my way to the bedroom door, a chilling sensation crept up my spine. "Cody," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I dashed into the hallway.

I entered the lounge room, heart racing, but Cody was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty, as if he had vanished into thin air.

"What the hell are you doing Gladys?" a voice called out from behind, startling me. I spun around to see Beatrix standing there, annoyance etched on her face. "Who's Cody?" she asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

I struggled to catch my breath, my mind racing to concoct a plausible explanation. "Umm… nobody… I just had a nightmare. Must have had too much wine," I lied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. It was a convincing excuse, one that seemed to fit the scenario perfectly.