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To the outside world, the Denouements were a curiosity. Two twin brothers who took no effort in differentiating themselves running the most prestigious hotel in The City. Sometimes you’d ask the one you saw for something, and he’d nod, but the man who’d give it to you nine minutes later was, somehow, not the same. Other times, you’d ask for help in the hall and see the other in the lobby checking someone in, making the same head tilts and finger taps. It felt like a house of mirrors and a prank show in one.
To VFD, the Denouements were even more curious. The two of them (and their rumored third) were on opposite sides, and yet still worked together. They’d pass requests and information back and forth without hesitation. One would say “trouble in the kitchen” and the other would nod and they’d switch off like nothing had happened. You’d go up to the desk and ask for Frank, or maybe Ernest, and the man would nod and walk off down the hall, and then a man would come back with a lightness to his step and you’d know that, somehow, you were the punchline of a joke done many times over.
To the Denouements, they were simply themselves. The three of them were a well-oiled machine when they wanted to be. When Ernest could not handle a client, he’d flag down Frank in the hall, when Frank felt tired, Dewey would take over for him, and when too many eyes were on the hotel, Ernest would subtly tap Dewey on the arm and he’d retreat down to the sub-basement to continue his work. They were all individuals, each with their own specific quirks, but they functioned best as three parts of a greater whole.
They had been trained, like most people they knew, to function this way. Identical twins and triplets were always advantageous in their organization. Sometimes you needed the same person to be in two or three places at once. A second brother could mean a crucial alibi, or an extra hand with the work. Imagine what a third could do. It even became a game at a point - who will call the right name if one of them is seen running in the halls, what name will be yelled in fury if the teacher sits on a thumbtack.
So the three of them wore the same clothes as each other in every class and lunch period and even wore matching pajamas up until their teenage years when the spirit of rebellion began to grow. They were not the only ones experiencing this feeling in their grade, but they were the most apparent example when the three of them sat down together during lunch one day, each with a different stripe of hair shaved down their head. There were no rules about hair in the Prufrock Preparatory school dress code, and so they got off scot-free with looks of contempt from the adults and occasional high-fives from their peers.
By their twenties, they were back to identical appearances, and there were only two of them. Every record showed that there had always been two Denouements, and anyone who ever recalled a third was mistaken. The victim of one of their childhood pranks, no doubt. They had made up a third, pretended to be him flawlessly, and now everyone was confused. Besides, there were bigger fish to fry. There were sides to be chosen, and a war to be won.
Sides were chosen. The war dragged out for decades.
So it was curious, then, that three brothers, each on a different side, could sit together every night and eat dinner together, picking over the same newspaper and laughing or crying or just talking about what they’d seen that day. No moves were made against each other, not unless someone forgot to do something crucial - and then it was back to the old joke of “wasn’t me”. So, in the end, they were three parts of a whole, but the whole was confined to just them.
A mentor of theirs once compared them to a coin. Frank and Ernest were the heads and the tails (or the tails and the heads, as they preferred), and Dewey was the strip holding them together. When that mentor had died, and the contents of his will were sent out some decades later, a three-part gift had been sent to them, amongst other things. In case of whales, the packages said in identical type.
Frank received the harpoon. Ernest received the gun. Dewey received the key to unlock the mechanism.
They were fitting designations, almost too fitting for a gift organized when the three of them were seventeen, but they weren’t going to look the gift horse down the muzzle. They hung the pieces as instructed, two in their respective bedrooms and one on a chain around the neck.
A weapon that could be thrown or used like a blade, but needed direction. Something that could provide said direction. The only item in the world that could make it go off.
And so, the three of them continued to eat their meals around the same table and sleep within the same building, always laughing and crying and talking like there wasn’t a war on, until one day Dewey stepped into the sub-basement for dinner and saw Frank and Ernest sitting there, two slips of paper on the table.
It wasn’t the first time they had received orders from VFD. It was a bit of a rarity, there was always a suspicion that the other brother would show up, but sometimes that extra body was needed, and so the requested brother (or perhaps the other one) would leave for a week or less and Dewey would fill in the gap.
He could tell this time was different from the way his brothers were looking at him.
“They didn’t order both of you to kill me, did they?”
“No,” said Ernest. “It’s arguably worse.”
“They want us to kill each other.” Frank did not look up as he spoke, staring at nothing with his teeth gritted. “They just walked right up to the desk and asked.”
“He’s exaggerating.” Ernest did look up. “He got passed a slip with the request to kill me. I got passed a slip with the reverse request an hour later.”
“It’s like they coordinated or something- I swear, if Q was right and we’re dead for the grand crime of being a family who actually care more about each other than some… petty conflict, then-”
“It’s not petty, it’s necessary-”
“Oh, don’t you start-”
“-but that’s besides the point, alright? The point is that they’re expecting two bodies by the end of this week.” Ernest looked back at Dewey. “So we’re going to defer to you on this one.”
In the seconds his brothers had taken to argue, Dewey had sat down and examined both of the papers. Different handwriting, different phrasing, but the paper was the same. Medium thickness, slight texture - like the kind used for hotel stationary - but it did not carry the name of the establishment at the top, nor any accents in the corners.
“This could have been coordinated,” Dewey said, “or they could have just been in the same place at the same time.” He looked at both of his brothers. “We made protocols for this scenario years ago. It was going to happen at some point. I assume you’re asking for my permission and not my advice.”
Frank nodded as Ernest said “yes”.
“You have my permission. Just stay safe. Don’t do anything that would get you killed.” He swallowed and tapped two fingers together. “I’ll pull out the reservation list after dinner, find a night where I can manage this place by myself. You can do it then. Does that work?”
This time, it was Frank who spoke and Ernest who nodded.
“Good.” Dewey slid both his hands across the table towards his brothers, palm up. They each took a hand.
“I love you,” said a brother, and the other two echoed it back. Six palms squeezed in the underground room.
---
The plan went off three days later. Between a fortunate cancellation and two people leaving earlier than anticipated, there was enough work in the hotel to only require one brother. The other two were sent off with hugs and double-checks and kisses on the cheek and triple-checks until it was time. They left out the back door ten minutes apart, and walked in opposite directions across the sunset sky, two mirror silhouettes against the red and orange.
It went like this, more or less.
A man asked “is it done” and a woman said “took you long enough” and a brother said “yes” and a brother said nothing and a brother looked up at the ceiling and then there were pauses passed around like drinks and then a woman said “so, where’s the proof” and a man said “what are you doing standing around, then” and then there were pauses and stares and someone dropped a glass and there was a yell and then a cry and then a furrowing of eyebrows and then the man said “Frank?” and the woman said “Ernest?” and a brother said “no” and a brother said “yes” and a brother said “it’s alright” and then there were weapons and more yells and more cries and a brother was saying nothing and a brother was talking and talking and a brother was making quiet conversation and there was the sound of something ripping and the sound of something tearing and the sound of soft bristles sweeping glass into a pan and blood falling and blood falling and blood falling and the glass hitting the bottom of the metal trash can until it was all clean, all done, all finished.
Frank and Ernest approached the back door of the hotel at the same time. One of them looked like they just came from a meeting. The other looked like they had been hit by a car three times in the span of an hour. Both looked the other up and down with confusion.
“You can take the shower first,” Ernest said, and they headed inside.
There was already food on the table when they got back. Dewey had brought his work away from his desk and was writing next to an empty plate. He looked up as they came in, smiling, but almost instantly replaced it with a wince. Frank sighed.
“I got a little carried away.”
“I can see that.” Dewey looked them both over. “Frank, go clean yourself up. I’ll reheat the food when you’re done.”
Frank nodded and slipped behind them, disappearing into some room within the sub-basement. Ernest sat down at the table and began to push his food around his plate.
There was blood on his coat. Not as much as Frank’s, to be sure, but it was still there nonetheless. A small diagonal streak across his clavicle. Dewey caught himself staring and looked back down when his brother noticed. He didn’t ask.
“It didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked,” Ernest said. “He struggled and nearly cut my face, which would have ruined everything. And he was noisy.” He sniffed, and finally drove his fork into the meat. “The noise was always my least favorite part.”
Dewey nodded. “I can go next time, if this happens again-”
“No.” The answer was immediate. “That’s not going to happen and you know it.”
Dewey sighed and nodded once more. “I do know it.” He pointed at the plate. “That’s going to be no good cold, you should heat it up.”
“Yes. I probably should.”
Ernest looked down at his plate as if some great answer would be revealed in the arrangement of chicken, peppers, and sauce. It was nearly a minute before he stood and left.
By the time Frank had come out of the shower, blood-free and in loungewear, Ernest had finished his meal. They nodded at each other as they passed in the hallway, Ernest clicking the bathroom door behind him. Frank’s plate was freshly reheated, and he sat down to eat.
“How did it go?” Dewey asked.
“Fine. No cuts or bruises, so we won’t have to pull the makeup out.” He held up a hand. “Will need to do my nails, though.”
There was blood beneath his fingernails, barely visible. Dewey winced again.
“How did that happen?”
“I grabbed her by the hair and got scalp by accident.” He made a vague gesture with his fork. “Like I said before, I got carried away.”
“You looked like you’d auditioned for Carrie.”
Frank snorted. “I bet. She was a real thrasher, I had to go in twice, which was partially my fault for not sev-”
“Frank.” Dewey’s mouth was a squirming line. “Let’s not discuss this at the dinner table.”
“Right.” He took a bite. “Sorry.”
They sat in silence until Ernest came back, and then it was Dewey’s turn to shower.
Dewey had learned to shower fast when he was young. Twenty minutes without keeping an eye on his brothers meant anything from a black eye to a small fire. He had expected bickering when he returned to the dinner table. Instead, they had pushed their chairs next to each other, and were talking happily. It was strange, given everything, but not unwelcome. They looked up at Dewey as he entered and smiled, both in their own way, and motioned for him to pull the third chair around.
And so, they laughed and cried and talked through the night, eventually falling into their respective bedrooms (and, later, the living room couch) until they were well-rested and the sun came up on their morning routine.
The report went like this, more or less.
Two bodies on opposite sides of town. One male, one female. One volunteer, one firestarter. One of them had sent for a brother. The other had done the same. One of the bodies had been cut just once, quick and clean. The other required teeth and a good hunch to identify. Hotel visitors were asked about the night in question. Strange things witnessed, uneasy mannerisms, anything of the sort. The only thing reported was a dropped glass, and the speed in which it had been swept up.
The brothers were asked directly, just the two of them. There were only two of them to ask, after all.
“Step away from the desk,” the order had been, “and come talk with me a while.”
They nodded at each other as they passed, a brother at the desk and a brother in the room and a brother listening in from the places above and below. Sights seen, conversations remembered, notes taken.
The Denouements were a well-oiled machine - but only when they wanted to be.
“Of course,” they had said. “How can we help?”