Wrath of the Sister

by Shannon Heuston

  Until the day Laurel texted his picture to me, turning my black and white world into technicolor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “You knew each other before?” Laurel said, incredulous. “And you kept that from me? What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?”

  “It’s not like we share secrets,” I said. “And Sam asked me not to tell you.”

  “I wanted to see how everything would play out,” Sam explained.

  “Play out?” Laurel asked, puzzled.

  He grinned. “If she annoyed me, we’d do away with her as planned. But hey, if I decided to keep her around, well, I figured we’d do away with you instead.”

  Laurel gaped at him, then whirled around to face me. “You’re not okay with this, are you?” she asked. “I’m your sister. You’re not going to let them kill me. How could you? I’m the only family you have.”

  I stared at her. “Just a few minutes ago, you were going to kill me to get my share of the house. Remember?”

  Laurel gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, that. Did you take that seriously?”

  “Stop. I’m not falling for your bullshit anymore.”

  She turned to John. “You’ll protect me, won’t you? We’re in love. It can’t end this way.”

  John looked confused. “I dunno. I kind of agree with Sam. I mean, we got two women here. One’s proven her loyalty. The other wants to kill her own sister. I mean, if you’re willing to betray your own flesh and blood, you can’t be trusted. That’s how I see it.”

  “This is so fucked up,” Laurel said.

  “Really, Laurel? It’s only fucked up when you’re the victim, huh?”

  Laurel appealed to both men. “I have two kids. She doesn’t.”

  “I give a fuck about your two kids,” Sam said. John just shrugged.

  She turned back to me. “You couldn’t do this to my boys. You couldn’t murder the mother of your own nephews. Could you? What kind of person would do something like that?”

  “The kind of person who wants to survive,” I informed her. “You set this whole thing up, sprung this trap. It’s fitting that you’re the one who gets caught in it.”

  John yawned. “I’m tired. We need to wrap this up.”

  Laurel said, “Okay, fine. No one dies. Let’s pretend this never happened.”

  I glared at her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The same way you pretended Ma didn’t abuse me, while you benefitted from it. Or the way we all pretended you weren’t stealing money from her.”

  She gasped. “You take that back. I would never steal money from my own mother! That’s a lie.”

  “It’s not. Agnes told me all about how you emptied her account every time she got paid, leaving barely enough for food and bills. If it wasn’t for me, she would have lost the house a long time ago. Both of you pretended I was the one who needed you two, but it was the other way around, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed. “Are we really going to do this? Are we going to bring up every petty beef over the last forty years? How about the way you were always breaking my stuff when I was a kid? We may as well discuss that, since we’re bringing up ancient history.”

  “Not only was she about to kill me, she stole from her own mother,” I said to both judges.

  Sam grinned. “You’ll get no argument from me. I decided to kill the bitch weeks ago.”

  John’s mouth dropped. “I just thought of something.”

  Sam made a face. “Ugh. I wish you wouldn’t think. It’s dangerous.”

  “Just shut up and listen. Why don’t we let them fight it out?”

  Sam stroked his chin. “Interesting. A fight to the death. Can we place bets? Then I’m betting on my girl. She’s resourceful. And pretty goddamned steamed right now.”

  “I was going to bet on Melody too,” John admitted. “Laurel’s too soft.”

  “You must be joking,” Laurel said.

  “No,” John said. “I’m not. Let’s be honest here. I would probably kill you eventually anyway, to keep you from talking. You don’t have the guts to withstand an interrogation.”

  “And she does?”

  Sam guffawed. “She already did, once. She lied under oath to keep me from getting arrested for Lucy’s murder.”

  Could I kill Laurel? There were times over the years when I felt I could. But I couldn’t even hit her when we were kids. She was an authority figure. Hitting her was comparable to hitting one of my parents, or a teacher.

  When it came down to it, I wasn’t sure I could kill my sister.

  But I saw the determined gleam in her eyes, and I realized she could kill me. And would, if I didn’t muster up the gumption to fight back.

  But maybe she wasn’t as determined as I thought, because she kept stalling. “She has a knife,” she complained. “It’s not fair that she has a knife.”

  “It’s a rusty butter knife,” Sam said. “But hold up. I’ll get you something.” He stepped outside the shed door and returned triumphant. He held up a big stick. “Here you go!”

  “It’s a stick,” she said. I realized she still didn’t believe this was going down. But that was Laurel. She didn’t live in the real world with the rest of us. That was part of the reason she’d wound up in so much debt. She always figured she’d receive some windfall in the distant future and the bills would get paid.

  “Fuck you then,” Sam said, tossing it away. “Kill her with your bare hands.”

  Laurel glanced at me. “No problem. She’s a wimp.”

  “I’m still betting on her,” Sam said. “Melody’s a lot stronger than you think.”

  “On the count of three,” John said. “One, two…three!”

  Laurel must have realized this was a matter of life and death after all, because she threw herself at me. I barely had time to react. She went for my eyes, her hands curled into talons, forcing me into a defensive posture, holding up my arms to shield my head.

  “Meow,” Sam said. I stole a glance at him. He was standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, like he was watching a soccer match.

  “You fucking bitch,” Laurel said, as she struck me and yanked handfuls of my hair. “You useless, worthless, puling bitch. Ma should have killed you at birth! Your only value is the pleasure you’ll give someone when they kill you. You’re nothing but a disgusting, dirty pig, a fat smelly sow…”

  I was back at our house, cowering beneath the lash of Agnes’s words. She’d taught her protegee well. Laurel knew which buttons to press.

  “No one loves you. And you know why? You’re unlovable. You’re barely even human.”

  Agnes’s voice roared in my ears, loud and clear. Melody! Fight Back!

  I lowered my hands and flew at her with the arm holding the knife upraised, surprising her. She blinked in confusion as I brought my arm down. I was aiming for her heart. The knife sank into the pillowy soft tissue of her breast.

  “Oof,” Laurel said, staring down at her sweater in dismay. I yanked the knife back. Blood flowed from the tear, darkening the wool, turning it a deeper shade of red.

  She was still looking down at herself when I struck again, this time aiming for her throat, trying to cut it. I only caused a deep scratch which welled with blood.

  “That’s all you have?” Laurel asked, but her voice had lost its arrogant edge. She sounded faraway.

  I dropped the knife. Her eyes followed it to the floor as she contemplated grabbing it. “No,” I told her. “I also have this,” and I flew at her, wrapping my hands around her throat, pressing my thumbs on her jugular. Just like Agnes used to do to me.

  It only takes a few minutes to strangle someone, but those were the longest minutes of my life.

  Laurel raked at my hands with her fingernails, but I refused to loosen my hold. She pushed at my arms, but I held fast. The knife wounds had weakened her. She was in pain. I raised my gaze to her face and her eyes were huge and scared. The sight was almost enough to make me let go. But I couldn’t. If I let go, I was dead.

  It wasn’t m
y fault. I didn’t create this game or make the rules. I didn’t lure my own sister into a relationship with a serial killer to profit from her death. That was all Laurel. She brought us here, to this moment. Now she was going to die. She deserved nothing less.

  I was surprised Agnes was so silent on the topic. Maybe she was excited at the thought of being joined by her favorite.

  I forced myself to watch as the blood drained from Laurel’s face, her eyes bugged, and her tongue lolled from her mouth. Her skin turned a horrible shade of mottled purple.

  Sam’s hand was on my arm. “Melody? Babe?”

  “Leave me alone.” My voice was full of tears.

  “Melody, honey, you can let go. She’s dead.”

  I released my hands then, feeling the burning ache for the first time, like wasps humming beneath my skin. Melody crumpled to the floor. I lowered my arms, expecting her to get up. We’d put this awful episode behind us and move on with our lives. We were sisters. We loved each other.

  But she didn’t move. She would never move again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “I’ll get the tarp out of the Jeep,” John said. He didn’t seem the least bit affected by his girlfriend’s body lying on the floor.

  I pressed a hand against my mouth, staring at Laurel’s still form in horror. “I killed her?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yup,” Sam said. “My money was always on you.”

  “I killed my sister,” I repeated.

  Sam kicked her foot. I expected her to twitch, but nothing. It was true then. “I murdered Laurel,” I mumbled, then red hot panic overtook me. What was I thinking? What would happen to me? How would I face my nephews?

  “Murder’s a strong word,” Sam said. “I think most people would agree this was self-defense.”

  “Maybe she was just joking about killing me. Maybe she wasn’t going to go through with it. She couldn’t. Not Laurel. Not my sister.”

  “Laurel’s been planning this for months. She hardly talked about anything else. And even when you were there, she was mimicking you and making faces behind your back. Rolling her eyes. She hated you.”

  “But why? I loved her.” My voice broke.

  “Because you wouldn’t do what she wanted. That’s why.”

  John returned, hoisting the tarp over one shoulder like a macabre Santa with a sack full of corpses instead of toys. “I’m going to spread it out, and you two can help roll her onto it.”

  “I’m not touching her,” I said.

  John snorted. “Yeah, well, when you’re not touching her, do you mind taking her sweater off? You will have to wear it sitting in the front seat of the Jeep on the drive home, so Laurel’s return from our cabin will be documented on camera when we pass through the toll booth on the Thruway.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” I said.

  John sighed. “She’s a lightweight,” he complained to Sam. “Are you sure she’s up to this?”

  “I’ll take the sweater off. She just killed her sister. Give her a minute, huh?”

  I stared out the door as they wrapped her in the tarp, then lifted her between them, like they were carrying a rowboat. “Come on,” Sam said over his shoulder as they walked past me. “You must be tired. You’ve been up all night.”

  “Aren’t you worried someone will see us?” I asked, as I followed them through the woods. There were no visible landmarks, but they seemed to know the way. Perhaps it was instinct from living up here all their lives.

  “Naw,” John said, his mustache quivering. He was acting so normal. Like he wasn’t carrying his girlfriend’s corpse. “It’s early yet, and the roads still ain’t cleared. But I can feel the temperature starting to rise. It’s a good time to vamoose.”

  I was surprised at how far I’d traveled during my mad dash through the woods. It seemed we were walking forever before we found the Jeep. The road was still deserted, its frozen expanse glittering in the sun. Sam dropped his end of Laurel and opened the hatch, whistling as he did so. His cheer was so out-of-place part of me wondered if I’d gone mad. Maybe we’d just cut our own Christmas tree.

  “Heave ho, heave ho,” John chanted, as they swung the rolled-up tarp between them, before letting go. I winced at the thump it made hitting the floor of the storage compartment.

  Then I was climbing into the Jeep. A mere hour ago Laurel had been sitting in this exact spot, flushed with excitement as they hunted me down. Now she was wrapped in a tarp, riding in the back. An outcome she never could have predicted.

  “I can’t believe I killed my own sister,” I said, staring at my hands, surprised at how ordinary they looked.

  John shot Sam a look as he spun the steering wheel to turn the Jeep.

  “Relax, honey,” Sam soothed.

  We left her there, in the back of the Jeep. “We’re gonna have to work out a new story,” John said, as we trudged up the porch steps. “It might be better if we don’t do the dump up here.”

  The dump. He was talking about Laurel’s body. Usually when people talked about dumps, they were talking about taking a shit. That’s all Laurel was to him. Shit. I studied John’s face as we sat around the island in the kitchen while Sam fried bacon. It didn’t bother him in the slightest. His lack of concern was disturbing. It was like he wasn’t human.

  Sam dangled a rasher of bacon in front of my face, but I shook my head. I couldn’t eat. I would never eat again. I still remembered his insults about my weight.

  I realizing something sitting at the table while the brothers ate, murder stimulating their appetites.

  John had to die. Or I was going to be next.

  Sam and I fell into bed together upstairs. I stared up at the ceiling in misery. Just twelve hours ago, I was confronting my own death. Now I was a murderer voluntarily remaining with two killers. I’d become someone else in that short period, someone unrecognizable. I didn’t want to think anymore. I desired the sweet nothingness of sleep.

  When I awoke, it was already dark outside. Sam was staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. I turned to him. He gave me a warm smile that touched his eyes. “I told you to trust me,” he said.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “You did.”

  His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “We have to kill your brother.” I figured it was better just to come out with it.

  His eyes widened. “Naw. Uh-uh. I couldn’t do that. Not to my brother.”

  “You made me kill my sister!”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s not the same thing, not the same thing at all. Your sister deserved to die. And if you hadn’t killed her, it would be you lying rolled up in a filthy old tarp in the back of John’s disgusting Jeep that smells like feet.” He shuddered.

  “Would you have been okay with that?” I had to know.

  “Of course not. But if that was the way things worked out…”

  “They’re not going to work out. They’ll never work out. Not as long as your so-called brother is alive.”

  “No. I can’t do it. My entire life, John’s been there for me. He’s all I have. You don’t understand what it was like growing up here, Melody. There are things we don’t talk about. We were abused. Severely. Our parents didn’t want kids. That’s not why they adopted us. They wanted slaves. Free labor. And it didn’t stop at that. Please don’t make me tell you.”

  I stroked his arm. “You don’t have to tell, if you don’t want.”

  “John watched out for me. Sometimes even took my lumps for me. That’s probably how he came to be so messed up in the head. We may not be blood, but he’s my brother. More than your sister ever was.”

  “Agreed,” I said, “but Sam. John’s a killer. He’s forcing you to help him kill all these women. Even Lucy, your precious Lucy! Don’t you want it to end? And we both know the score. Either I help get new victims or I can be one. I don’t want to live my life like that. If that’s how it will be, then kill me now. It’s either me or him. Choose.”

  I closed my
eyes tight as I said those words.

  Sam took a deep breath. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill anymore. But I don’t know how to stop.” He clenched his fists. “I see Lucy whenever I close my eyes. I still can’t believe we killed her. I wake up every day hoping it was just a dream.”

  “How could you let it happen?” I cried. “How could you hurt the woman you loved?”

  “I’ve often asked myself that question. I don’t have an answer, except I was pissed at her. I was faithful, and she cheated on me with that guy in her dorm. We had an awful fight about it when we broke up. I told John what happened. He said she was nothing but a whore, and whores like her should die and do the world a favor. We started drinking. Then we smoked a little PCP. Next thing I knew, Lucy was at our door. She’d started up to school, then turned back. She wanted to clear the air, say goodbye. She didn’t want things to end the way they did. She was crying. I gave her a couple of hits, and John was like, here’s your chance, man, pay her back. Let’s rape the bitch. And it just kind of happened.”

  I believed him. His story fit the evidence. Lucy appeared to be high during the video.

  “After I sobered up and realized what we did, I was devastated. But John took charge and cleaned it up. He wrapped Lucy’s body in an old sheet and dumped it in the woods near her house. He told me to go back to my apartment in Albany and make sure I was seen. Go to a party or something. He’ll take care of the rest. Then he drove Lucy’s car up to Potsdam and left it in the parking lot of her dorm. He walked back into town and used the fake ID he still had in his wallet from before he turned twenty-one to rent a room. In the morning, he caught a bus home.”

  “He goofed. He didn’t hide the body well enough. That was the last time he did that. He learned from his mistakes. But, establishing an alibi and covering his tracks always came naturally.” Sam’s shoulders shook. I realized he was sobbing.