Carole Whyte, Contributor

"This is where Keyon will put the bridge. He's planning some great engineering work to widen and deepen our little stream to make it a real river. It'll have fish and everything a river should have, including water," Pili's voice gurgled with sarcastic humour.

The drought-ravaged stream was so translucent Shaine could see coloured pebbles and green algae at the bottom. She wondered if this project Pili talked of was another of her brother's wild ideas for the resort. In the five months Shaine's worked with Pili's family she's heard the many wild ideas he's had. Shaine didn't know Keyon, for he was away in Asia looking for exotic animals for a mini-zoo he was creating as another attraction for the resort. Norris, who managed the resort, seemed OK with the idea of an eco-attraction with nature-based activities, but a mini-zoo was as an extravagance they couldn't afford, he'd said.

'Ever read Jane Eyre?' Pili asked.

Suspicion rose in Shaine like a weary guard roused from slumber. She cast a quick side glance at Pili. Pili read classical literature voraciously and all her conversations about books were confined to that genre. When she plucked a question from the air about a book it was a preamble to a conversation that usually turned into a scholarly dialogue which made Shaine feel inadequate. Her reading was confined to contemporary novels like the latest Danielle Steele or Sydney Sheldon.

'In 10th grade. It was a hard read.'

Pili nodded but didn't pursue the matter. Her silence was as mysterious as a Buddha's smile; nevertheless, Shaine was relieved.

They came to a wood building, painted turquoise and citrus. This was the art studio Pili and her twin, Mosi, shared. As with Keyon, Shaine had yet to meet Mosi. The twins and their brother lived with their aunt on the resort, a family property.

Pili always had some news about Mosi. They had lunch in Negril; they were going to Kingston for the weekend; they were meeting friends from New York in Montego Bay; had Mosi ordered a dress online and it was too big, she had to send it back. Pili showed her manicured nails and new hairstyle. She and Mosi had gone to the salon in Mandeville to have their nails and hair done. Mosi, she said, laughing, was the fashion puss in the family.

Mosi was a professional artist, Shaine heard. When she agreed to model for Pili, Norris seriously said that Pili wasn't as good an artist as her twin. Shaine thought it curious. Mosi and Pili were identical twins; she thought it odd that they didn't share the same talent. But lack of talent didn't stop Pili from attempting a portrait of Shaine. The resort was closed for renovations. There was plenty of time for leisure. Since Norris didn't mind that she modelled for Pili, Shaine was happy to.

It was an odd studio, Shaine thought. The only canvas was the one Pili worked on. It was covered with a white cloth. An antique armoire stood stolidly in a corner. It was padlocked. The classical library was an old mahogany bookcase. Pili mixed her palette on an ancient mahogany table. There was nothing of Mosi in here.

Behind an oriental screen Shaine took off her blouse and jeans and wrapped a white cloth around her. She was posing as a Greek nymph. She perched on a stool, conscious of the open window and the workmen moving about the place.

'Don't move,' Pili ordered. After a while, she asked, 'What do you think of Mrs. Rochester?'

Shaine wasn't sure what Pili was talking about. Then she remembered the book. 'She was quite insane, wasn't she?'

'Do we know that for sure? Who tells us that?'

'Jane?'

'How do we know she's telling the truth?'

'It was told to her.'

'Was she hearing the truth?'

Shaine looked confused.

'Stop frowning,' Pili said. 'This won't do.' She put her palette away and covered the canvas. 'We'll continue tomorrow.'

When Shaine came from behind the screen, neatly tucking her white shirt into her jeans, Pili held out a copy of Jane Eyre. Shaine opened it. The signature was a bold flourish, and vaguely familiar. Mosi-Anne Gore 1987.

Shaine looked up and saw Pili staring at her intently, an amused glint in her dark eyes.

'Read it again,' Pili suggested. 'Sometimes what we hear or know isn't always the truth.'

Shaine walked back to the office thoughtfully. She liked Pili, but the woman had a schizophrenic personality. Sometimes Pili was nice and jovial; other times, a mysterious air hung over her. There were times Shaine felt she was talking to two different persons.

She put the book in a drawer of her desk. At some point it would be read. Pili would talk about it again. Later, Mrs. Lee brought her lunch covered on a tray, sweet and sour chicken on fried rice and a tall glass of cool coconut water. Mrs. Lee - who wasn't Chinese - was the family housekeeper of many years, and long past retirement. Shaine suspected the family kept her on out of sentiment. It was from Mrs. Lee that Shaine learnt some of the family history, like how Keyon had turned the property into a tourist resort, the death of the older Gores, and the fire, five years ago, that destroyed the original family house. The girls' grandmother had died in the fire.

Shaine talked how the painting was progressing. Mrs. Lee listened with a frown on her face. It seemed no one took Pili's work seriously.

A movement outside the window attracted Shaine's attention. A woman in black pants and a white tunic-style blouse was cutting anthuriums outside the studio, which was just visible from the office, half-hidden by a pimento tree. At first Shaine thought it was Pili, but something about her was different. The hair was longer. It must be Mosi! Excited, Shaine half-rose from her chair, leaning closer to the window to look around the pimento tree for a better view of this mystery woman.

Mrs. Lee, too, stared at the woman. Her brow creased in a tight frown, as though she were squinting to see clearer. 'Mosi loved anthuriums,' she murmured thoughtfully. Then she kissed her teeth. 'Crosses family, this!'

Shaine was seduced by the possibility of hearing more family stories. She looked at Mrs. Lee eagerly.

'De whole family mad. Mother, grandmother, pickneys.'

Miss Hawke, the twins' aunt, was with the woman now, talking to her earnestly. She took the younger woman's hand and led her toward the house. Perhaps sensing they were being watched, she turned and flashed them a cold look. Miss Hawke was a formidable woman, tall and gaunt, always in long skirts to hide legs ruined by the fire. Mrs. Lee had saved her after she fell down the stairs while trying to get out of the house. Shaine shuddered and looked away. Miss Hawke scared everyone.

'All she mad too. Dey refuse to put her in Bellevue.'

Shaine wasn't sure if Mrs. Lee meant Miss Hawke or Mosi.

'Dey say is de grandmother burn the house down. That Mosi give her de matches.'

Shaine was shocked. 'Why would Mosi do that?'

Mrs. Lee shrugged. 'Is so we hear. Pili is the good twin, but Mosi lucky. She get husband and children. She was a good artist too. Every year she used to have exhibition, in America, and one time in London. Pili never so lucky. Even Norris leave her.'

'Norris! They were close?'

'Yes; 'im woulda marry her, but, well, poor Pili.' She added mysteriously, as an afterthought: 'Maybe is Mosi who need sympathy.'

Mosi stared at the canvas unhappily. Something wasn't working. 'She must be nude,' she thought. She paced the wooden floor of the studio. In her head an idea glowed into a fiery vision. 'Paint her lying in a boat. Her back to the viewer. She's looking toward a fiery wall, a waterfall, a cascade of red 'blood water' the boat is on 'Phelegethon.' Her long fingers tore through hair in a near frenzied gesture. 'Cover the wall with a cloth. A fiery red curtain.' She rushed at the wall, clawing with long, well-manicured nails. 'Fiery red, like burning Hell,' she whispered, lips pressed against the wall.

The words burned in her head as she lay in bed. She fell asleep to the mocking chant, 'Fiery red, like burning Hell.' She descended a spiral stairway into the depth of a fiery pit. A geyser of fire gushed from the infernal floor. Around it nebulous figures danced, chanting the mantra 'Fiery red, like burning Hell!' From the midst of the fire the Devil grinned at her.

Mosi woke screaming. She panted hard, like a long-distance runner. Her heart pumped furiously, as if trying to burst out of its bony, protective cage. Her whole being felt on the edge of disintegration: first, her mind, and now the rest of her body would follow. Hell was waiting in her dreams. There was only one way to be rid of the demons. She put on clothes and went out to the studio.

'You must be nude for this one,' Pili said, sorting out charcoal.

'I don't get it,' Shaine said. The idea of posing naked with men moving around outside was scarier than a confrontation with Miss Hawke.

'I'm doing a new portrait.'

'We haven't finished the first,' Shaine said. She glanced out of the window nervously.

'Yes.'

She was right to be fearful of men. They were.

'Aunt Greta's in the garden. She'll keep any man away.' The suggestion was sly.

A blank canvas was on the easel. A daybed faced the wall, covered with a red cloth. Pili sat on the stool, sketchbook and charcoal in hand. 'I'll do a few sketches first.'

Shaine nibbled on her lower lip. Formidable as she was, Miss Hawke might not be able to keep men from ogling at her.

Pili said reassuringly, 'It's Mosi's idea. She said it would work better if you were nude.'

'I'm surprised Mosi isn't doing this herself.'

'Her work hasn't stopped.'

'Was she here yesterday? I thought I saw her in the garden with Miss Hawke.'

'Mosi is always here.'

Shaine looked at her, but Pili offered nothing further. Her saintly patience waited for Shaine to make up her mind. Shaine was thoughtful for a long time.

'I'll give you a penny for them and two if you hurry and take your clothes off,' Pili joked.

Pili was sitting with her back to the window. Shaine hoped she would be shielded sufficiently from roaming eyes.

A shroud of silence wrapped itself around them tightly. Shaine felt strange. Usually Pili would be chatting away. Her intense absorption in her work was uncanny, so much so that Shaine felt she was with someone else. She stared at Pili so hard, trying not to move at the same time, that she almost fainted from the effort.

Pili looked at her; a strange smile played on her lips.

Suddenly she laughed, shattering the silence.

'Relax, I'm finished now,' Pili said. She got off the stool and moved to the ancient table.

'May I see the sketches?'

'No. Go.'

Shaine walked away from the studio in a daze. She was no longer sure it was Pili in the studio. She had to know, but as she turned to go back she saw Miss Hawke under the pimento tree, staring at her. A cold breeze tingled Shaine's spine. She turned away and ran blindly, until she ran into Norris. He grabbed her arms.

'Hey! Saw a duppy?'

'Close enough! Miss Hawke just gave me the evil eye.'

Norris laughed. 'She's harmless,' he said. 'How's the portrait coming along?'

'Wish I could say. I have no idea what I'll look like.'

'Pili's not the best artist. Be prepared for a face that's not yours.'

'My face won't be seen. In fact, I'll be nude.'

'That sounds promising.'

'My back will be to the viewer.' She was puzzled. 'I'm not sure what the painting should represent. Pili said it was Mosi's idea.'

A shadow crossed Norris's face. He looked in the direction of the studio.

'I'm a bit nervous about this project,' Shaine said. 'I can't explain it, but it's just weird.'

'What do you mean, weird?'

'I don't know. Is she crazy like her grandmother, Mrs. Gore? Mrs. Lee told me about her. How she set fire to the house. That Mosi gave her the matches.'

'Look, Shaine don't believe everything Mrs. Lee says about the girls. Nor what Pili say about Mosi.'

'I think I saw her in the garden yesterday.'

'Who?'

'Mosi.'

Norris looked startled. 'You couldn't have seen Mosi. I'm sure you're mistaken, Shaine. It must have been Pili.'

'No. It was Mosi. She was cutting anthuriums. Mrs. Lee said it was her favourite plant. Miss Hawke was with her. Is she ill, Norris?' Her eyes searched his face.

He shook his head and backed away. He told her he had to go some place, that he'd see her later.

Norris walked away thoughtful. It was time to tell Shaine the truth about Mosi. He'd have to run it by Miss Hawke first.

Days passed and Pili didn't asked Shaine to pose again. Nor did she talk about it. Shaine wondered if Pili was just fantasying about being an artist.

One Sunday afternoon, Shaine was lounging by the swimming pool, taking advantage of the absence of the workmen to enjoy a swim. Pili came to her. She looked cheerful. She and her aunt were eating out.

'Is Mosi going too?'

Pili shrugged. She circumvented the pool pensively, until she stood over Shaine, her face serious. 'Who do you think goes to Hell?'

Shaine was nervous. This was the Pili she didn't like. 'They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. If that's so, then only people with good intentions go to Hell. That means Heaven is full of criminals and other miscreants.'

'You'd rather go to Hell?'

'It's probably hot down there. I bet there's no pool.'

She'd meant it as a joke, but Pili's mood shifted suddenly. A strange wild light illuminated her dark eyes. 'Are you afraid of burning in the great fire?'

A thrill of fear ran through Shaine. Pili was hanging somewhere between the real and the fantastic. Evidence of a madness-carrying gene?

'I suppose we all fear dying in a fire,' she offered tentatively.

The fiery intensity left Pili's eyes, though Shaine sensed a spark still smoldered in her soul. 'You're probably right,' Pili conceded. She was still pensive. Then she cheered up. 'Come to the studio later. Mosi thinks it's time you see the painting.'

It was three weeks since that first pose for the charcoal sketches. Shaine had seen lights in the studio at nights. She realised now that Pili did the sketches and Mosi painted from them. Why was Mosi hiding? The whole Gore-Hawke family was strange. Miss Hawke was scarier than Mortica Addams; Pili was a schizo-type, Keyon was a voice over the phone, though Shaine had never spoken to him herself. Mosi was as elusive as a guerrilla leader.

Night unfolded in a thick velvet cloth of blue-black, with blinking sparks and a large mother-of-pearl moon brooch. Nocturnal creatures, always happy for their time, were strangely subdued tonight in their singing.

Like warning flashes of danger, fireflies darted here and there before Shaine as she walked to the studio. An owl called out a cautionary cry in the distance. Her imagination was far too extravagant.

No answer came when she knocked on the studio door but she entered anyway.

'Pili?'

She jumped back. Angry red and orange demons rushed at her from off the walls. She hadn't expected to see any paintings. All were the same, fiery scenes where gruesomely twisted figures stared in terror at her. In one very prominent painting the face of a woman stared with a startled expression from between flaming bars, like a prisoner caught in a burning jail. Shaine leaned over and stared at the terrified face. It looked like Miss Hawke's, but she wasn't sure.

Another striking painting showed a house on fire. Shaine realised the paintings were scenes of the great fire of five years ago. She ran back to the painting of the woman behind the flaming bars. It was not Miss Hawke but the grandmother trapped in the fire.

She was afraid to uncover the canvas that stood in the middle of the room. Then, with trembling dread, she uncovered it. A woman reclined in a black boat floating on a river of red - blood-red water from a waterfall slithered down into a pool that seemed to be bubbling as though boiling; wispy steam rose towards a dark sky. Shaine leaned into the painting, studying it earnestly. Inside the fiery waterfall was a face. It was unrecognisable.

Shaine swung away, confused. What was going on in Pili's mind - or was it Mosi? What were the two playing at? Shaine scrutinised each painting carefully. They were too good to be the work of a bad artist. She checked the signature on all of them. The same flourish. M A Gore.

The women were identical twins. Shaine was convinced it was Mosi who had done the charcoal sketches of her that day. And at the pool today, it was Mosi talking to her about burning hell. And those other times when Shaine felt she was not talking to Pili but someone else. Mrs. Lee had said Pili was the good twin. Then Mosi must be the bad twin. What was the point of switching identities?

Cries of alarm outside took her attention away from the paintings. She rushed to the window, and another horror, even more real and frightening, confronted her. The house was on fire!

She ran outside. As she approached the house, Mrs. Lee came running out, crying hysterically. She flung herself at Shaine. 'She set de house on fire! De damn witch set fire to de house again!'

Shaine looked towards the house and saw Norris carrying Pili in his arms - Shaine recognised her by her short hair. Miss Hawke came staggering out behind him, coughing. Shaine looked toward the house, expecting to see Mosi coming out; but minutes passed and no one else came out. Alarmed, she touched Norris's arm. 'What about Mosi?'

Norris looked at Miss Hawke sitting on the grass. Exhaustion and sorrow was etched on his dark face, which was shiny from the heat. She shook her head slightly. Norris looked back at the burning house. 'Mosi dead long time.'

Pili didn't come home from the hospital. She was taken elsewhere for further treatment, Norris said, but he didn't elaborate.

No one said anything about Mosi. Shaine assumed they'd have a memorial service for her later. She had gone home for two weeks; when she returned she was still too shocked to inquire about anything. Aside from giving a statement to the police, Shaine didn't talk about that night. Keyon didn't come home.

One day Miss Hawke came into the office to see Shaine. 'You've never seen the entire property,' she said. 'Come, I have something to show you.'

'I'm very busy right now, Miss Hawke. Can we do it some other time?'

Shaine was leaving. Norris had begged her to stay but she couldn't. She was only staying until a replacement was found.

'There's a lot you need to know, Shaine.'

'I'd rather not know anymore, please, Miss Hawke.'

'You need closure, Shaine. You can't leave without knowing the truth.'

Shaine stared out of the open window. For months she had fantasized about this tragic family, gnawing at it like a dog on a bone. Miss Hawke was right. She needed closure. In her spirit she knew the mystery of Mosi was still unclear.

She walked silently beside the limping old woman. Miss Hawke had aged seriously since the fire. It must have been terrible to relive such a horror. Two deaths in the same manner were more than anyone should be allowed. Shaine realized now that Mosi had been a tormented woman. Something horrible had happened to her mind in the first fire.

They were walking through woodland. Trees frowned at them, as if annoyed at the intrusion; tall grass caught at her arms and legs. A mournful breeze swirled around them.

When they came out of the wild, a small cemetery confronted them. 'Our family burial ground,' Miss Hawke said. She opened a weathered picket gate and led the way in.

It was an unkempt place. The grass was overgrown, hiding some graves, and a few graves were tilted where the ground had shifted. From the names and dates on most of the headstones - some over a century old - other families were buried there. Miss Hawke took Shaine's arm and led her over to a recent grave.

'Look!' She pointed at the headstone.

Shaine stared at it in disbelief. She knelt to read the inscription.

Mosi Anne Gore-Steinberg

April 5, 1968 to March 9, 2000

Miss Hawke told the story without prompting. 'Mosi met her husband Mark when she was studying art in New York. He owned a gallery in Manhattan. The marriage didn't last long. He divorced her and married someone else. Mosi was shattered. She had a breakdown. Mark got full custody of the children and moved to Europe. Pili went to New York and brought her sister home.'

Miss Hawke paused. Tired, she sat on a grave beside Mosi's. It was Albertha Iris Gore's. 'Mosi gave up her art. She wanted to take care of her grandmother, who was bedridden. We thought if she had a purpose it would help her recovery. We never thought she would harm grandmother GoreÉOne night I woke up to shouts of alarm. I came out of my room and saw flames everywhere. Mosi was standing at the top of the stairs. She laughed wildly when I asked her for Albertha. I tried to get to Albertha's room but Mosi pushed me down the stairs. Mrs. Lee saved me. Pili tried to save Mosi but she couldn't.'

'I don't understand,' Shaine said. 'Why does Pili talk about her sister as if Mosi were alive?'

Miss Hawke sighed wearily. She was exhausted by the tragedies of her family. She stared sadly at Mosi's headstone for a time. 'Sometimes Pili thinks she's her twin. She feels responsible for not saving Mosi.'

'Did Pili set fire to the second house?'

'Yes. She said it was Mosi. We've sent her to a place where she can be treated. We should have done that for Mosi.' Miss Hawke grimaced ruefully, 'The girls' mother was an alcoholic. Myra drank because Reginald was more interested in younger women.'

It was a great effort to tell her family's story. 'Keyon, too, is an alcoholic. He's at a detox clinic in the Bahamas. We're hoping this will be the last time for him.' Her voice held no hope. 'Norris and Keyon were friends from high school. We got Norris to come and manage the resort. He was to marry Pili, butÉ.'

'Éhe knew she was Mosi.' Shaine finished the statement.

Miss Hawke opened her mouth to deny it but Shaine didn't let her. 'It was the signature that gave her away. I've seen it on documents that Pili had to sign. You all must have noticed it too.'

It was deliberate, Mosi's way of challenging them, playing with them like she did with Shaine.

Shaine turned to Miss Hawke. 'You all know it wasn't Mosi who died in the fire.'

Miss Hawke shook her head desperately, 'It was ÉPili who came out of the fire.'

Shaine remembered the dates on the paintings. Five years since the year of the fire. And the signatures were identical in the books and on the canvases. Everybody agreed that Mosi was the better artist. If they didn't believe that it was Mosi who came out of the fire, then they suspected it. Over five years they must have observed signs that had to have given her away. Mosi had taken on her sister's persona to avoid criminal charges, as well as not go to an asylum.

'I've kept the studio locked, Miss Hawke,' Shaine said, rising to her feet. 'Perhaps you'd like to go in and see what's inside.'

Later, in her cottage, Shaine removed the painting from her closet. She had taken it from the studio the day after the fire, when she had gone to lock up. She wanted to understand its significance. She uncovered it and held it at arms' length.

The anguish face in the fiery wall stared at her. Finally Shaine understood. It was Mosi, trapped in her private hell.

END