'Knock once more, and you are dead, I swear!' howled Harris from his room. Sophie was not scared of him and his empty threats even though he was older than her. Instead, she persistently kept knocking at his door until he opened. 'What?' he barked. 'Can I borrow some of your paints for my project tomorrow?' she tried to make a sad puppy face to add a touch of cuteness when she asked. His room was more of a mini habitat for an artist. It had everything he needed; food, art supplies, a huge bed, an awesome view from his window and of course his books. However, Sophie thinks it is his introvert nature and self-imposed isolation, which keeps him from interacting with civilization. Every morning, Cookie, his terrier brings him the newspaper to bed and wakes him up. Breakfast is the usual cheese sandwich (so unhealthy, I know), and then for the entire day it's just him and his canvas until dinner. Harry rolled his eyes, invited her in to his supply chamber, and asked her to pick whatever she needed and get out of there. 'Please close the door when you leave,' he ordered her upon which she narrowed her eyes and decided to avenge herself at dinnertime. 'Harry, can't you give your little sister some of your precious time for her art project?' Sophie slayed him in front of their parents. In a minute, the entire family induced guilt in him and he had to say yes. Sophie was sure it will not be a pleasant arrangement and so she decided to take help from someone her friend recommended. Without a doubt, her decision relieved Harry. Sophie was a psychology major, but art was her minor. She was very competitive and it was quite natural for a younger sibling to be like that. What was not natural was her recent obsession with art. The next morning she was all set to see a senior artist for her art project. The location was a little odd and difficult to find. She made multiple calls to get direction from the artist. Finally, when she reached the place she felt butterflies in her stomach. The house was huge and mysterious. It was dark and shady. The decorations were out as well; as if, it was not one house but two different houses. One part of the house was furnished and decorated in a modern fashion and was well lit. The other was the opposite. There were old pieces of furniture; some artifacts seemed so old that they could easily qualify for ancient art. Moreover, this part of the house was dimly lit and was not at all modern in design. When Sophie entered the hallway, she stopped for a while to see if someone was coming to welcome her in. In a split second, a hoarse voice shook every fiber of her being, 'Who is there?' came the unwelcoming voice, 'Umm... it's me, Sophie,' she stuttered, 'This was a bad idea,' she spoke under her breath. 'Oh! It's you, come on in,' she said excitedly. Sophie was comfortable in her company since then. In between work and art, they talked about their families. She was not as scary as she presumed when she heard her voice. Back at home, Harry was enjoying his day without disruptions. But he was also waiting for Sophie to get back home quick and fill him in with details about the meeting. The front door banged Sophie-style ten minutes later and he almost dropped his ice-cream tub, which he was devouring for the past half hour. Sophie talked a lot about her intriguing style of art; all the figures in her painting had two different halves of faces. Sophie thought the session went amazingly good; from tips on painting to discussion about her only daughter and funny family stories. Harry noticed something was off about Sophie. He kept asking different questions so he'd find out what she was hiding. Fifteen minutes shy of dinner time she said something that became an earworm for the entire night for Harry. 'It was as if she had another side too, a secret but not so latent side.' 'Everyone has that other side and it is usually hidden,' Harry argued. 'No, you don't get it. Also, I think her voice was fake.' 'That is so you. You always try to think that people are fake and somehow fit ill-constructed reasons to back your lame psychology.' 'Harry, if you don't believe me, go and check her out yourself,' she became defensive. 'Fine,' she couldn't believe Harry agreed to meet this mysterious artist. He has not left the house in weeks. * * * *

* * * Harry was stunned when he looked at her and he stared on for a while. She looked exactly like his art teacher Tina, but something was different. Was it her voice? Yes, it was. She was Tina's clone save the make-up maybe, which made her look older. 'Oh! Harry, right? Sophie told me about you. What do you need help with?' Harry, unlike Sophie, was a good judge of a character. He instantly felt something was wrong and the lady was not who she says she was. There were pictures of Tina and her on the walls in the living room and the hallway. They did look alike; almost like twins. But she did look a little older than Tina. It was getting dark and the lady grew impatient. There was a slight hoarseness left in her voice, she tapped her fingers on the table and glancing at the clock repeatedly; as if waiting for someone to arrive. Harry was interested to see how the series of events would play out and he sat staring at her tightening face. She gathered her expressions and laid her hands on top of the other, releasing a sigh that hinted a slight hoarseness in her tone. She decided to offer him some banana bread, infusing the floral room with smell of bananas and chocolate chips. He tried to refuse at first, but gave in when she gave him an engaging grin. The room started feeling heavy and Harry's eyes followed the meticulous clean room. It was as if nothing had been touched and he felt like a criminal disturbing the natural order of things. The woman's face fell in an irritated frown and his neck twitched at the pressing surrounding. He passed off the feeling to be his artistic emotions and continued to wait. The clock struck eight and the oscillating rings of the pendulum sent shivers down his spine. To his enigma, the woman's tone changed into a high pitch and she excused herself from the table. Distracted briefly by the ringing telephone, Harry's attention diverted to a familiar, happy voice. He followed the voice to the modern section of the house. The look on his face was not of surprise or shock. Strangely, it was the look of betrayal. Tina's chirpy figure stood in front of him chatting away with someone she must be very close to. When she noticed him, she cut the call and greeted him as if she hadn't seen him in ages. His face melted in an expression of horror that there was no mother and that just like her paintings, Tina's body had two souls.