I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES
By Naomi Weir
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Naomi Weir
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I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES
I hate it when my sister cries.
In fact, I hate it when anyone cries. But when it’s someone I love, it’s like a giant hand has slammed its way deep inside my stomach and is twisting away fiercely at my innards.
The only way to erase this awful feeling is to take their pain away. To cry in their place. So they can be happy again.
My husband calls this compassion. But I call it torture.
So when I got that call from my sister Eadie – the one that picked up my boring, everyday life carelessly and shook the crap out of it – I felt sick to my stomach.
Because she was crying; a lot. It was a cry that came from the depths of her soul, and it rattled me to the core.
Her fiancé was dead. Someone had stabbed Dylan in the throat in their very own kitchen. Some monster raised a knife and jammed it into his neck - just the once - but once was enough to ensure he no longer lived on this earth.
I flew home immediately to be with my family. And it was at the funeral that I noticed a part of Eadie had died too.
I hadn’t known Dylan that well. It had been a whirlwind romance and engagement for my scatterbrained younger sister, but she’d been the happiest I’d ever heard her on the phone.
Now watching her emerge from the black limo after it pulled up at my parent’s house, I saw that a part of Eadie had died with Dylan. I could see it in her eyes, and the strange way she held her mouth. I mourned on that day, not for the loss of Dylan so much as the loss of that missing part of my sister’s soul.
“You should stay,” I heard mum whisper behind me as I stood at her front room window. I turned to see her giving me one of those looks, telling me it was more of an order than a request.
I nodded absently, wondering if it was even possible for me to take more time off work.
I wandered off in a haze, finding Eadie now in the kitchen encircled by a swarm of chattering young girls dressed inappropriately for the sombre occasion. I frowned.
“The police say they’re still looking, but we all know who did it,” one girl announced indignantly. Her friends’ heads bobbed together in agreement, but Eadie stared through them completely.
The girl who’d spoken was a stranger to me. She had flaming red hair and teetered on obscenely high stilettos. Her friends were dressed much the same, in tight minis and dangerous heels. I cringed and walked away. I hoped they weren’t Eadie’s new friends.
Had I really been gone so long that I didn’t know her friends?
* * *
Once the last guests had left for the night, mum shuffled straight to her room and closed the door. I let her go. It had been a hard day for her, seeing her youngest child in so much pain.
Dad flicked on the kettle and sat at the table, hands clasped together. As I sat down opposite, he looked up with a weary smile and I noticed just how pale grey his sad eyes were. The electric blue that used to match mine had faded so much over the years and my heart jerked violently as I was suddenly filled with panic.
Tears sprung forth, smartly pricking my eyes at the realisation of the massive loss I would feel at dad’s passing. As horrible desperation blossomed inside me, my hands involuntarily shot across the table, grabbing his. I bit my lip to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. I couldn’t bear to lose him. How could I bear it?
“Mandy,” dad placated me softly, seeing the sudden alarm on my face. The kettle began to bubble behind him and he slid away from my grasp to make us a cup of tea. “Things will be tough for a while. Do you think you could stay a bit longer?”
I sighed, the momentary fear of losing my father lost to the reality of the moment.
My job as a journalist for the biggest paper in the city was intense. It had taken ridiculous amounts of begging just to get two days off for Dylan’s funeral.
“I’ll ask, but I can’t make any promises,” I replied. I decided to change the subject to avoid a lecture about family vs work. “Hey, dad? Who were those girls with Eadie today? At the wake?”
Dad frowned, deep in thought, as he placed our cups of tea on the table. “Dylan’s sister was the redhead, I think. The others were just her friends. Nobody I’ve ever seen Eadie knock around with. Dressed like bloody hookers, they were. At a funeral, no less! Just disgusting if you ask me...”
Dylan’s sister? But she hadn’t seemed upset enough.
Dad must’ve read the surprise on my face. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate. He always knew when I had something on my mind.
“But she wasn’t even crying,” I blurted out. “And she was telling her friends that she knew who did it...”
Dad’s hunched frame noticeably jerked up straight. I raised one eyebrow, using his own questioning tactic against him.
“Dylan’s ex-girlfriend was a suspect,” he offered. “But she has an alibi. The police say they’ll find who did it, but it’s not looking real good.”
In a small town like Indovale, a murder really shook up the community. Not only were people sad for the loss of someone they inevitably either knew, or knew about, but it was also great fodder for the never-ending gossip.
The last scandal I could remember was a teacher allegedly having an affair with a student. Charlotte had been two years older than me and in her final year of school. She was the pride of the school’s cheerleading squad and the most attractive teenager the townspeople had ever created.
We’d been given a student teacher, straight from the University, and he hadn’t stood a chance.
Charlotte had taken naked pictures of herself and sent them to the student teacher. All it took was one boozy night, her phone lying on a table somewhere, and the pictures were forwarded. They went from one person to the next, soon the pictures had spread like wildfire around town. The student teacher disappeared without a word. Whether he’d even touched the girl or not simply wasn’t up for discussion.
I hated this small town with its’ small town morals and narrow-minded point of view. But I was here for Eadie. Although this time she’d be the subject of the horrid whispers and stares. Poor little Edie Bruin. Someone killed her fiancé. But who?
* * *
The next day I took Eadie out to lunch before packing for my red-eye flight home.
Her ghostly complexion made her look more dead than alive as we sat outside a cafe, Eadie slowly stirring her latte, seeming to look straight through it.
“Eaaadieeee!” a woman shrieked as she trotted towards us, her flabby arms spread wide.
It was the third time this had happened. I’d barely touched my coffee.
“Oh you poor daaarling!” the woman squawked, squeezing Eadie’s lifeless torso into her enormous bosom. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, okay?”
Eadie nodded morosely and went back to stirring her drink. The woman glanced at me and I recognised her as an old high school teacher. She forced a cold, thin-lipped smile and I forced myself not to recoil in disgust. The woman turned to strut away, her huge ass jerking from side to side with an air of importance as she went. Fake people made my skin crawl, and this town was rife with them.
I looked at Eadie who continued to stir her over-worked latte mindlessly. I wondered if she’d even noticed the woman trying to squeeze her to death.
I also wondered how long she’d be trapped inside the dark hollows of her mind.
* * *
After lunch we wandered the familiar streets aimlessly. We found ourselves in the only shoe store in town when I spotted a mass of bright red hair out of the corner of my eye.
It was Dylan’s sister, sitting against the far wall trying on some shoes.
I’d been thinking all night about what she’d said and I wanted to talk to her about it. I was flying home tonight, so this would be my only chance. I ducked away while Eadie was distracted, looking at the sale shoes out front.
Dylan’s sister looked up as I approached and smiled broadly. But only with her mouth. There was nothing inviting about her cold piercing eyes.
“You’re Eadie’s sister, right?” she asked with feigned enthusiasm. “I’m Genevieve.”
“Yes. Mandy.” There was an awkward pause as I racked my brain wondering how to approach the question. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered.
Genevieve’s fake smile dropped. “Yeah. Thanks. So how’s Eadie?”
I glanced at Eadie who stood out the front waiting for me. Her arms wrapped around as if holding herself together.
Genevieve followed my gaze. “She’s doesn’t like me much. Although you probably knew that.”
“No. I didn’t. I’m sure you’ll sort it out,” I said sympathetically, sitting beside her. Genevieve looked at me warily.
“Maybe. Now that Dylan’s gone.”
I tried not to balk.
“I know! It’s awful to say! But it was Dylan who hated me. A few months ago I was offered a job at Players. You know, the place on Tenth Street?”
I fought the urge to grimace. Players was the one and only strip club in town. And it was big business in Indovale, where there wasn’t much else around for entertainment.
I held my face still as I nodded, hoping not to disclose my distaste.
“Well Dylan went psycho when he heard about it – threatening the owner, throwing his weight around. I hadn’t even considered it until he got so damn possessive! I had to show him I was an adult, and I was old enough to make my own decisions.”
I snuck another glance at Eadie, who was now glaring straight at me through the shop window. I’d run out of time.
“Do you know who killed Dylan?” I asked quickly as I stood up, now eager to leave. Genevieve scowled.
“Did Eadie send you over here?” Genevieve asked angrily. “I told her it wasn’t Stefan. He wouldn’t kill anyone!”
“Who’s Stefan?”
“I’m busy,” Genevieve hissed as she flicked her red mane and turned her back on me.
I hurried outside to find Eadie seething on the footpath.
“Why are you talking to that slut!?” she asked incredulously.
I shrugged. I didn’t have an answer for her.
Eadie growled angrily before storming back to the car.
* * *
As Eadie pulled into mum and dad’s driveway, I realised this was the last time I’d see her before I left.
“Who’s Stefan?” I asked, cringing as soon as the words fell from my lips.
Eadie closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “He owns the Players club. Dylan went there a few times, tried to get Genny fired. He’d scream at the customers, tell them not to look at his sister, telling them they were filth and to go home. Stefan threatened him a few times, so after...you know...I asked Genny if Stefan seemed edgy. She got all defensive and made me feel bad for asking, but I just wanna know who did it! Is that really so bad?”
She began to cry, her whole body shaking with the effort of putting her body through another round of tears.
“I just wanna SCREAM at someone!” she wailed, looking at me with burning red eyes. “I wanna blame someone so I can hit them as hard as I can, over and over again. I want to see them suffer. Does that make me a bad person, Mandy? Does it?”
I pulled my sister into my arms. We needed to find the person responsible for her misery.
I wasn’t going home just yet.
* * *
I called my boss to tell him the bad news. I had to assure him I wouldn’t stay much longer. I almost laughed. He had no idea how badly I wanted to leave.
Every hour I spent in this town felt like I was slowly drowning. I’d be glad when I was back on that plane, barrelling through the sky in the opposite direction.
That afternoon I borrowed Eadie’s car with the excuse of buying her groceries.
I pulled into the parking lot across the street from Players and cut the engine. I wondered how many people were inside. How many of them I knew.
I jogged quickly across the road to the faded red door, hoping like hell no one had noticed me. As I pushed hard against the door I was engulfed in darkness.
The blaring music’s bass sound pulsated straight through me. The potent smell of booze and sweat tugged at my gag reflex. I dropped my head, letting my hair shield my face.
“Oi! You workin?” a gruff voiced asked me.
I looked up to see a beefy security guard silhouetted against the flashing lights that intermittently broke the darkness.
I shook my head and the security guard gave a half-smile. “Head on in there, sweet thing.”
The room was thick with smoke, churned out of a machine to cause a haze that concealed most of the crowd. I moved to the darkest corner I could find and hoped no one had noticed me.
Lucky for me a girl gyrated seductively on stage, so all eyes were fixed on her.
I scanned the room, my eyes falling on the security guard whispering to another man even beefier than he was. The bigger guy broke into a grin before making a beeline straight for me.
“You lookin’ for a job?” he shouted over the music, sitting down heavily beside me.
“No,” I yelled back, grimacing at the idea.
“So you like the girls, then?” he asked loudly, leaning in closer.
I shook my head in disgust. I suddenly wanted to leave. This was a very bad idea. Heads began to turn our way at the sound of the man’s booming voice.
I needed this to be over with as soon as possible.
“I’m looking for Stefan.”
“You’re lookin’ at him,” the man announced, tapping his broad chest proudly. “So what business you got with me?”
“Can we talk?” I asked, moving closer and giving him my best steely glare.
“That depends,” Stefan said warily, leaning away from me slightly. “If it’s about a job, that’s not a problem.”
“It’s about Dylan.”
Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he swiftly closed the gap between us.
“Who are you? A cop?” he hissed. “I’ve been through this already. I was here all...night...long. Ask anyone you want. It wasn’t me!”
I didn’t know what to say. I held my gaze, narrowing my eyes even further to try and buy myself some time. I racked my brains for another question, but I drew a blank. I hoped he thought I was a cop. Then prayed he wouldn’t ask to see my badge.
Stefan’s eyes bulged and his thick lips pursed together. “You have my statement. Now get the fuck out of my bar.” Then he stood with such force, his chair clattered to the floor.
We now held the attention of the whole room. Even the girl on stage had stopped dancing. I noticed her expression of fear.
“Okay! OKAY! I’m leaving!” I protested, hands in the air. The security guard came barrelling towards me
I ducked away from his fat fingers and left him grabbing air. I ran straight for that faded red door and was almost blinded by the sun as I escaped.
The deep bass sound now faint behind me, I stumbled back to the car in the glaring daylight.
I threw myself into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel hard, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Stefan could definitely have killed Dylan. Of that I had no doubt. But he didn’t seem the type to stab him once in the neck and walk away.
No. I could imagine Stefan would enjoy roughing him up far too much.
My breathing finally returned to normal just as I heard a loud knocking on the roof above me, and I screamed so loud I scared myself.
A woman peered in at me through the passenger side window. She looked strangely familiar but I couldn’t place her. As she yanked at the door handle I realised she was dressed in a satin robe, so I quickly reached across to unlock the door for her.
“Thank you,” she breathed, her robe briefly fluttering open as she climbed in, revealing skimpy underwear and body glitter. Of course. It was the dancer our argument had interrupted.
“Can I help you?” I asked in wonder.
“Maybe,” the woman said, plucking a cigarette out from between her enormous silicone breasts. “Do you mind?”
“Ah, it’s my sister’s car,” I warned. “She wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
“Eadie,” the woman sighed, staring into the distance. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I squinted, as if she’d look different somehow that way. Her tired face, makeup caked over deep crevices, she looked older than me. But as she turned and smiled, realisation dawned.
“Charlotte?” I cried in surprise. “But I thought you left Indovale?”
Charlotte looked down shamefully as she secured the cigarette back out of sight. “Yeah, I got out. For a while. I moved back in with mum when my boyfriend Trent left me with three kids to raise on m’ own. You know this club pays really good. And it turns out I’m pretty darn good at it, too.” Charlotte laughed bitterly and sighed, wrapping the satin gown around her more tightly.
The girls at school had called her “Charlotte the Harlot” for years behind her back. The green eyed monster turning all us teenage girls into catty bitches. But Charlotte could’ve been a model, or an actress. She had looks we would have killed for. I was stunned.
“Why did you come here?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.
I pursed my lips and looked away.
“Was it about Dylan?” Charlotte asked, her voice cracking slightly. Was she about to cry?
“I need to tell you something!” Charlotte blurted out earnestly, tears now forming black rivers down her cheeks. “I’ve been away for a few weeks. I took the kids to see Trent’s parents, you see. And...well...I think it might be my fault Dylan’s dead!”
I was confused. Nothing she said made any sense. “If you weren’t here, how could it be your fault?”
“Trent might have killed Dylan!” Charlotte wailed before bursting into tears.
I was dumbstruck. Why would Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend kill Dylan?
I didn’t know what to say. I glanced up at the faded red door and saw the security guard scanning the car park.
He was looking for Charlotte.
“But why would he kill Dylan?” I asked. However the moment those words left my lips, realisation set in.
My stomach churned. There was only one reason why Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend would attack Dylan. I hoped to God it wasn’t so.
Charlotte looked at me morosely, smudged makeup destroying her face. “You can’t tell Eadie!” she cried. “It only happened once! I swear!”
I sunk back in my seat. This was a nightmare. Charlotte grabbed my arm, digging her cold fingers hard into the flesh.
“You can’t tell the police,” she begged. “Please! Don’t leave my kids without a father! He can’t go to jail! Please!”
Anger began to prickle inside of me as Charlotte babbled her requests. Poor Eadie. She’d be devastated. How could Charlotte do this to her? How could Dylan do this to her?
I was beyond angry now. I was on the verge of furious. Lucky for Charlotte the security guard spotted her and was moving quickly towards us in great menacing strides.
“Get out,” I ordered, starting the engine.
The security guard began to run.
“Please! Wait!” she whimpered as I tried to prise her bony fingers from my arm. The security guard swung the passenger door wide.
“Breaks over!” he barked, dragging Charlotte from the car. She turned to glare at me before she was escorted roughly away, wobbling on her grotesquely high heels.
As I drove away I argued with myself. Should I tell Eadie? Would it stop her grieving? Help her heal faster knowing Dylan was a cheating prick? Or would it simply make her more miserable?
I decided to tell my dad. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, so I could trust him to keep it to himself. At least for a while. Until I figured out what to do.
* * *
I found dad watching football in the lounge. He smiled when I walked in.
It broke my heart to be the one to erase the smile from his face today.
“I’ve got some bad news.” It was best not to dance around the subject with dad. He could always tell if I had something awful to say. “Dylan was cheating on Eadie.”
Dad’s lips tightened and he turned back to stare at the television. “Who told you that?”
I couldn’t tell him I’d been at Players. How would I explain that?
“I bumped into Charlotte Dunstan. She told me it was her. Do you think Eadie knows?”
Dad rubbed his rough hands against the grey stubble that had sprouted across his cheeks. I hadn’t noticed it until now. Dad never went a day without shaving. I guess he wasn’t coping as well as I’d thought.
“I have no idea, sweetie.” He sounded tired and defeated. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Do you think I should?”
I hadn’t even noticed that mum now stood in the doorway.
“Yes,” mum stated firmly. She gave me a solemn nod before turning and disappearing back into the darkness of the silent hallway.
“You guys knew, didn’t you?” I said in disbelief.
Dad sighed. “We weren’t the only ones.”
* * *
“Did you get lost?” Eadie asked when I finally returned with the groceries I’d promised.
“I bumped into some old friends,” I mumbled, putting the bags on the counter.
Eadie looked at me suspiciously. “Oh yeah? Who?”
“Charlotte Dunstan.”
Eadie flinched. Barely. But I saw it.
“I think she’s friends with Genny,” Eadie said hoarsely, before clearing her throat. “You should stay away from them. They’re bad news, Mandy.”
I stopped to watch Eadie as she filled the pantry, avoiding eye contact. She knew.
“What?” she cried finally. “What do you want me to say? That I’m glad he’s dead? That he was a cheating bastard and he deserved to die? Well I CAN’T!”
She fell hard against the bench, her body convulsing in hiccups from the strain of another round of wretched sobbing.
I wanted to tell her that he WAS a bastard. That he was a disgusting pig for cheating on her. But I couldn’t.
Because he was dead.
And she loved him.
And she was my sister.
When the tears eased off, Eadie regained her balance and looked at me, defeated.
“I found out a few weeks ago. He dated Charlotte in school, just before she left. I guess when she came back, all those old feelings resurfaced or something. It’s a fucking joke!
“I was gonna confront him. I had it all planned out. And then I come home and I find him... So I couldn’t even leave him, Mandy! Cos he was dead!“
I held my sister again as she cried, but this time it was different.
Because they were the tears of a woman who’d been burned.
My mind ticked over as I held her, waiting for the tears to stop again. “Do the police know?”
“Well, yeah. Of course.” she replied tartly, pulling away from me and wiping hard at her eyes. “I didn’t stab him! Shit! You don’t think I stabbed him, do you?”
I hesitated a second too long before shaking my head.
“I think you should leave,” Eadie growled, turning away from me.
“Come on!” I cried. “There’s no way you’d ever...”
“GET OUT!”
I waited for a moment, trying to decide if I should really go.
Eadie pushed past me, hard, slamming me against the pantry door.
Did Eadie stab Dylan in anger? It kind of made sense. One stab wound to the neck. No sign of a struggle...
But she was my sister! There’s no way she could ever do a thing like that!
Was there?
* * *
I arrived at mum and dad’s house and they weren’t surprised to learn that Eadie knew about Dylan and Charlotte.
But dad had become so angry all of a sudden.
He paced throughout the house aimlessly, from one room to the next. Mum shut herself away in her room again.
I was causing tension. It was time to go. I was glad I hadn’t cancelled my flight that evening. I’d email my boss that I’d be back at work tomorrow. He’d be stoked.
I wondered if I should tell the police about what Charlotte had said to me.
I didn’t owe Charlotte anything. I barely knew her. It had been her choice to confide in me. I hadn’t made her any promises.
After searching the house for my dad, I finally found him in the shed mixing concrete in a wheelbarrow. He’d dug out a new footpath in the backyard recently, but concreting at night wasn’t a great idea. Dad was seriously starting to lose it.
“I’m going to the police,” I announced.
“Shit!” dad cursed as he jumped at the sound of my voice behind him. He threw the shovel to the ground angrily. “You can’t creep up on me like that! You’ll give me a bloomin’ heart attack!”
Dad never got angry. It just wasn’t like him to react this way, so I was slightly taken aback. But things were strained at the moment, so it was understandable.
I stepped towards him, but he shook his head.
“I’m busy here, Mandy. Can it wait for the morning?” he snapped.
This wasn’t my dad.
Inside I stood in the hallway. The house felt like a tomb and felt lost and desolate here. Mum and dad needed time to themselves to recover. I was only getting in the way.
I crept towards my old room, but hesitated at mum’s door.
I’d barely seen her since the funeral. I held up my fist to knock on her door, but stopped myself to listen.
Her room was silent. I pressed my ear against the cold painted wood and strained to hear anything. It was too quiet.
Fear flipped in my stomach and without thinking I turned the handle and ran into her room.
It was pitch black inside. Like a cave that smelt of stale perfume and sleep. As my eyes fought to adjust, I resisted the urge to turn on the light, fearful of what I might find.
“Mum?” I whispered, hands stretched out before me, searching for her bed covers.
As my hands found the soft quilt I sat down on the edge and gingerly reached out until I found the warm lump that contained my mother.
“Mum? Can I talk to you for a sec?”
She groaned as if woken from a deep sleep. The bed bounced as she turned to face me. “Mandy, my darling,” she croaked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course I am,” I replied.
She was so groggy. She must’ve taken something to sleep. I should’ve left her alone, but I had to talk to someone.
“I know something about Dylan’s death. I’m going to the police.”
She suddenly gave a gut-wrenching howl, arching her body sharply away from me.
“How could you do that?” she drawled. “He did it for Eadie! You can’t do that to your OWN FATHER!”
I jumped from my mother’s bed as if it were poisonous.
I stared in terror at the dark space before me, where the evil stranger now lay in place of my mother.
Who was she? The devil disguised as my mum? Why would she say such unspeakable things about dad?
As I backed into the hallway, everything around me began to spin.
Fear rose like a tidal wave inside me and I could no longer tell which way was up. Someone that sounded like my mum was calling my name, but they were a million miles away.
Was I dreaming? Was this all just a horrible dream?
My legs turned to jelly, and although I fought to the bitter end, I finally sank to the cold wooden floor.
Suddenly strong hands had gripped under my armpits and hoisted me up from the ground. But I dared not open my eyes for fear of reality crashing down around me.
My knees refused to lock and the person standing over me attempted to drag me to my feet once more.
This time I stood, my strength returning slowly.
I opened my eyes. The silence was deafening.
Dad still held me in his arms, looking into my eyes with desperation. Mum stood behind him in her crumpled nightgown, appearing crazed beyond recognition.
“Tell me the truth,” I whispered hoarsely.
* * *
The thrum of the engines vibrates every fibre of my being as the plane lifts from the ground and gravity pulls against me.
I’ve never felt so free as we climb higher and higher into the clear night sky. Ever closer to the stars and heaven above.
It’s as if I’m being reborn. Cleansed of the filth I’m leaving behind.
Each second that goes by I feel the plane hurtling me further and further away from the hell that used to be my home. And equilibrium is slowly but surely returning.
I’m trying hard to keep my mind preoccupied, but it’s impossible.
That one horrible conversation from the night before keeps elbowing its way to the front of my mind, over and over again.
I want to forget about it. I need to forget about it.
I think of my husband and my dogs eagerly waiting my return. The jobs stacked a mile high on my desk when I arrive tomorrow.
But the horror. The look of pure sickening guilt plastered across my dad’s face.
I can’t smother that image, no matter how hard I try.
Because I really hate it when my sister cries.
But dad hates it more.
20
I hate it when my sister cries