My Sister Rosa

by Justine Larbalestier

  ‘Like what? What have I written that’s disturbing?’

  ‘That you’ve been spying on your sister,’ Sally interjects, ‘is disturbing, Che. How do you not understand that?’

  ‘That’s not what I was referring to,’ Ilene says. ‘It’s what you’ve written about learning to control your temper, not giving in to your desire to hurt people, how helpful boxing has been for redirecting your anger.’ She opens her notebook and reads aloud, ‘My rage burns in me. The urge to unleash it, to raze everything and everyone. Especially Rosa. I wish I could kill her. Sometimes I can’t keep it inside me. Without boxing I don’t know what I’d be.’

  ‘What the fuck? I never wrote that. I’ve never even thought that.’

  ‘Then why is it in the notes you gave me?’ Ilene’s face hasn’t changed. She looks as professional as she did before she read those violent words out loud. She’s not judging me, she’s telling me what will support my case and what won’t.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that Rosa put them there. But after what Sally just said?

  I know it was Rosa. I think about what I found written in my journal: Set it on fire, watch it burn. That was Rosa, telling me she knew about the recordings before she overheard David and me. She added those extra notes. She set it on fire. Now she’s watching me burn.

  Christ.

  The only one who can back me up is David and he’s not saying anything. He knows what Rosa is. Why isn’t he saying it must have been Rosa adding that bullshit?

  ‘Rosa,’ I say, because it’s true. ‘She must have done it.’

  ‘Really?’ Sally says. ‘Rosa’s writing in your journal now?’

  Which is when I realise I’ve heard those words before. David said his anger burned in him. David told me he had to outrun the urge to raze everything. David’s the one with a temper. He’s known about Rosa all along, but he’s never done anything. He was insistent we not tell Sally. Sally thinks I’m like David. David was wild in his youth. How wild?

  Thrill-seeking and risk-taking are on the psychopath checklist. David’s charismatic, charming. Sally called me charming. It wasn’t a compliment.

  David’s the one setting me on fire, watching me burn.

  That’s what Sally was talking about – me being like David. That’s her fear, not me being like Rosa. David is her psychopath like Rosa is mine.

  How did I miss it?

  You’re not smart, Che. How many times has Rosa said that to me?

  My father’s like Rosa.

  Super-citizen David doesn’t care about any of the people he helps, he doesn’t care about making the world a better place. He only cares about himself.

  We’re his disguise.

  Like Rosa said, some psychopaths have a loving family to hide what they are.

  Rosa warned me. She said David was like her. She told me so many things about David. True things. I didn’t listen. I didn’t believe her.

  ‘Are you okay, Che?’ Ilene asks.

  ‘Not Rosa,’ I whisper.

  ‘Che?’ Ilene repeats.

  David doesn’t smile, but I can see he knows I know. He’s watching to see if I’m going to tell Ilene. Sally is looking at her hands. A tear hits the counter.

  How does Sally live with him? She says she saved him. None of the stories of wild David made me think he’s like Rosa.

  Sally knows, and she’s watched Rosa and me, terrified we’ll be like him. But she lives with him, she believes she’s changed him, she loves him.

  But David doesn’t love Sally. He needs her because she’s essential to this bullshit life. That’s why he keeps her by him, makes her believe that he’s changed and that Rosa is normal.

  But me?

  I know what Rosa is, so I have to go. He’s decided I’m expendable. Did he put Rosa up to this? Did they plan it together?

  ‘Jesus,’ I whisper.

  Nothing about my family is what I thought.

  I should have gone home. The aunts always said they’d have me. I should have left Rosa to her fate, flown home, hung out with Jason, Georgie, Nazeem.

  There’s no saving Rosa. There’s only going down in her wake.

  I close my eyes. All I can see are Rosa’s and David’s smiles. How did I never see how alike they are?

  ‘Che’s always been jealous of Rosa,’ David tells Ilene. ‘He wanted to stay an only child. He was convinced there was something wrong with Rosa almost from the moment she was born.’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ I say. ‘You know I doted on Rosa. I did everything I could to protect her.’

  Sally is weeping.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I stare at David.

  He stares back. ‘What? You’re saying I pushed Maya now? I wasn’t even there.’

  He holds his hands open as if to demonstrate to Ilene what a lost cause I am.

  ‘You can see, can’t you, Che?’ Ilene is somehow pretending that we haven’t said anything. ‘These notes and recordings don’t prove anything about Rosa.’

  ‘I didn’t push Maya. I didn’t write those notes about my temper. I don’t have a temper.’

  Ilene pats my arm.

  ‘The scans will prove that it’s Rosa, not me!’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Ilene says. ‘I have to go.’

  She gets up. I have no idea what she’s thinking. She’s probably had worse clients from worse families.

  David and Sally say goodbye.

  It occurs to me that even after the scans show Rosa is the psychopath, not me, I’m still screwed. My father’s the monster who’s been teaching her how to be a good little psychopath. Of course he was never going to admit to anyone else that he knows what Rosa is. He couldn’t let anyone suspect what he is.

  For me this is the end of family.

  I ache to see Sojourner.

  ‘We need to talk,’ David says after Ilene’s gone.

  ‘What are we going to talk about exactly? I know what you are now.’

  ‘What am I, Che?’

  ‘A fucking monster.’

  I walk away. I can feel David glowering behind me. I’m not scared, but I have a feeling I should be.

  ‘This is your only chance, Che,’ David says. ‘Walk away now and I tell you nothing.’

  ‘Don’t forget your appoint—’ Sally calls out. The rest is lost as I slam the door and sprint down the stairs, fighting the urge to scream.

  I text Sojourner. —I miss you.

  I don’t go to the gym. I can’t. I’m hurt and angry and I can barely see. I would probably destroy a bag. Or more likely my hands.

  I jog to the East River, wanting to sprint, but there’s too much traffic, too many people. I don’t care about the rising heat, the sticky, polluted air, I have to push myself hard and fast.

  When I get to the river I take off south, driving with my arms, springing from my toes. I need to run like this until everything I’m feeling is run out of my body.

  Too soon I’m breathing hard, feeling the burn in my lungs and legs. I lose rhythm. Little black dots appear in front of my eyes.

  I stop. It’s that or fall over. The path spins. I’m in the middle of it, bent over, hands on thighs, blinking rapidly as if that will clear my vision. I need to sit. Long moments pass before I can see again. I straighten, make my way to a bench, grip the back to turn myself and sit.

  Have I drunk any water today? Just coffee. That’s it: I’m dehydrated. I don’t remember the last time I ate, either. Mystery solved. My heart’s beating too hard, my head feels wrong. There’s a bubbler a few metres away. I pull myself to it and drink deeply. I’m still wobbly. I need food. I’m not hungry.

  I check my phone. Sally’s texted me a reminder and the address of the clinic. I have to get across town.

  I get there ten minutes late, dripping with sweat and still dizzy. The Dawson Medical Center has a doorman. He checks my ID before letting me into the building. Once inside I have to go through a metal detector monitored by men with guns. On the other side a receptionist c
hecks my ID again and tells me what floor to go to.

  I wonder if this is normal for a medical centre in New York City.

  I step out of the lift into a waiting room that looks like the lobby of an expensive hotel. Ilene is sitting on a leather couch with a man I don’t know. Behind them is a view of the Hudson River.

  ‘Hi, Che,’ she says rising. ‘This is Al Vandermeer. One of the McBrunights’ lawyers.’

  We shake. I’m relieved the parentals aren’t there. I have no idea what to say to David.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Ilene asks.

  I say that I am and sit breathing deeply for a ten count. I wonder if the McBrunights’ lawyer is here to verify that we didn’t send impostors? There are four doors but no receptionist area. There’s no basket of magazines either. It doesn’t look like a waiting room.

  On the glass table in front of us there’s a jug of water and glasses. I pour myself one and drain it.

  ‘Rosa’s already getting her scan. Your mother is with her,’ Ilene tells me. ‘You’ll see the psychiatrist first and then have the scan.’

  ‘Seimone too?’

  ‘Hers was done earlier.’

  ‘Were you here?’

  I check my phone. Another text from Georgie. —Are you okay? I saw about Leilani’s sister.

  How did she see that? Then I remember Leilani’s fame.

  —Things have been rough. Tell you more soon.

  As I press send, a text from Sojourner arrives. —I miss you too. Mom’s at the hospital. More tests. Mama had to work.

  —She okay?

  —She’s weak. Been having more bad days than good lately. It’s boring here. Hate sitting around waiting.

  —I’m sorry. Wish I was there to keep you company.

  A man with a tablet comes out of one of the doors. ‘Che Taylor? Welcome. Your paperwork is already filled out,’ he says. ‘If you’ll follow me Dr Gupta will see you now.’

  —I gotta go. I slide my phone into my pocket. I’m not ready but I follow him to the doctor’s office. The psychiatrist’s office.

  It looks like a regular doctor’s office. Nothing seems to be made of gold. Though the couch is the same as the ones in the waiting room. The shelves are full of textbooks, the DSM.

  The doctor stands and shakes my hand, introduces herself, indicates an armchair opposite hers. She’s in a tailored suit much like Ilene’s, but brown, not grey. She smiles, says there are no right or wrong answers, tells me to take my time.

  The air between us wavers. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten in – a day? two days? three? how long is it since the accident? – or because she’s asking questions from the psychopath checklist – the checklist I’ve been reading about for so long – but it feels like I’ve stepped into someone else’s dream.

  ‘Are you unwell, Che?’ Dr Gupta asks.

  I say I’m fine.

  I’m not fine.

  But I must be in better shape than Leilani. How is she coping? How can she cope? We haven’t spoken since Maya died. I wish there was something I could do.

  ‘Do you find it difficult to keep still?’

  My feet are shifting under my seat, not quite an Ali shuffle, more of a slight gesture in that direction.

  I nod.

  What is that question testing for? Disinhibition? Fearlessness? Physical restlessness isn’t a symptom of psychopathy. David can sit still for hours, as can Rosa. Has Dr Gupta already seen Rosa?

  While Dr Gupta asks about whether I was in trouble as a child, I worry about the MRI. I’ll have to stay still for at least ten minutes. Maybe longer. What if I can’t do it? What if they can’t get a decent scan of my brain?

  The Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine is luminous white under the fluorescent lights. I’m wearing a cotton hospital gown and the room is cold. I’m feeling dizzy enough that I’m glad to lie down on the bed that will slide inside the machine. They’ve explained that the machine is basically a giant camera, that a cradle will extend over my head like an astronaut’s helmet, that it will be noisy, but that it won’t hurt me, so there’s no need to be afraid.

  I know this. I’m not afraid. Because I’m not claustrophobic and I’m not a psychopath. Rosa wouldn’t have been afraid either, because she is a psychopath.

  I put on the headphones offered. It’s classical music. I wonder if that’s what Rosa listened to.

  A mirror above my head lets me see the technician in the room. Neither Sally nor David are there. I said I didn’t want them. It isn’t true. I want Sally. I would like my mum to hug me.

  The bed slides into the machine and makes a humming noise almost like a bird, then a series of loud crashes. The music is doing little to drown it out. Thirty minutes I’ll have to be in here, they told me. I’m not sure I can do it. My right leg twitches. My neck feels tight. I want to move my head.

  I close my eyes and breathe as Natalie taught me, filling my lungs, letting the air out slowly, being conscious of my muscles and of them letting go. I start with the lumbrical muscles of my foot, then the bed is sliding out of the machine, and I’m blinking as I sit up.

  Somehow I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Ilene is waiting for me. The other lawyer’s gone and there’s no sign of the parentals or Rosa.

  ‘Your parents have taken your sister home,’ Ilene says. ‘The results of your scans are being fast-tracked. We’ll know about your sister’s brain by four. We have to be back here so they can explain the results.’

  I nod, which makes me feel dizzy again.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I haven’t eaten. Low blood sugar, I think.’

  ‘Let me get you lunch,’ Ilene says.

  We walk into a burger place around the corner. The thick smell of meat frying should make me hungry, but it doesn’t.

  I order a cheeseburger and fries. Ilene gets a mushroom burger with bacon.

  While we wait I sip my glass of water.

  ‘Are the McBrunights paying you?’ I ask, because I know my parents aren’t.

  She nods.

  ‘Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?’

  ‘You’re my client, not the McBrunights. They’re paying, but I’m not reporting to them. Nor will I. But I understand if you’re uncomfortable with the arrangement and would like a different lawyer.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I just wondered.’

  ‘Are you getting any counselling, Che? I know your sister and Seimone are. But what about you?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘It was a traumatic experience. It’s going to be with you for a long time. Trust me on that. You’ll be better off if you get help now. I’ve already suggested it to your parents.’

  I nod, wondering what traumatic experience Ilene’s had.

  She looks at her watch. I pull my phone out. Almost three.

  The burgers arrive. Ilene digs right in. There’s blood dripping from my cheeseburger through the bun and onto the plate. There wasn’t any blood when Maya went flying, but I still can’t eat it.

  ‘You’re not hungry?’

  ‘I should be.’

  I pick up the burger and take a bite, hoping the taste will ignite my appetite. It has the texture of meat and bread, but it tastes like cardboard. I put the burger down to concentrate on chewing and swallowing. Ilene’s burger is half-finished.

  I make myself take another bite. It’s no better than the first, but at least it stops me from feeling shaky.

  Ilene’s on her last bite when she gets a call. ‘I have to take this.’ She goes outside.

  I text Leilani again. —Wish there was something I could do. I’m sorry.

  For Maya’s death, for not protecting her from Rosa, for not warning them straight away, for so many things.

  —I miss you. It’s true. I miss Leilani almost as much as Sojourner.

  ‘That was the medical centre,’ Ilene says when she comes back in. ‘Dr Gupta’s ready to talk to you about your res
ults.’

  When we get back to the Dawson Medical Center Ilene and I are shown into a conference room. Dr Gupta is there. So are Gene, Lisimaya and Seimone, as well as Sally and Rosa and the McBrunights’ lawyer, and a woman in a suit I assume is Rosa’s lawyer.

  ‘Why is everyone here?’ I ask. ‘Where’s David?’

  ‘He’s on his way,’ Sally says.

  ‘We thought it would be better for everyone to look at the results together,’ Gene says.

  ‘I didn’t agree to that,’ Ilene says. ‘What about patient–doctor confidentiality?’

  ‘I’ve given my consent,’ Sally says in a small voice. ‘As their parent. David has agreed too.’

  ‘You don’t have to agree, Che. You can keep this private.’

  I want to see Rosa’s scan.

  ‘I agree,’ I say.

  Seimone’s scan is, of course, normal. She may be under Rosa’s sway, but Rosa doesn’t have the power to alter the structure of her brain. Dr Gupta points out the activity in her orbital cortex.

  She presses a button on the computer and the next scan appears side by side with Seimone’s on the whiteboard.

  I can’t help but gasp. Rosa’s brain is as I’ve always known it would be.

  While Dr Gupta explains to the others what we’re looking at I’m staring at Rosa’s darkness. There’s almost no activity in the orbital cortex, in the amygdala. It’s a typical brain scan for someone with antisocial personality disorder. There are no lights on in the parts of her brain that feel empathy, that love, that have a conscience.

  ‘And this is Rosa’s scan,’ Dr Gupta says, pressing a button so that a third scan appears. ‘This one has even less activity in the amygdala.’

  ‘Who’s is…’ I trail off.

  The middle scan is mine. It has to be. It’s larger than Rosa’s or Seimone’s.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say. ‘There’s been a mistake.’

  Dr Gupta shakes her head. ‘No mistake, Che. But these scans don’t mean you or your sister have antisocial personality disorder.’