My Sister is Missing

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  ‘I’m so sorry, buddy. Can you show me where your food bowl is?’

  The dog got up slowly from the floor as though the simple act of straightening his legs was painful. He wandered past me toward the kitchen. I followed him, watching as he nudged a glass bowl on the floor with his nose.

  It took me a few minutes to find his food inside a bag underneath the sink. I filled the dog’s bowl with a heaping portion of the dry food and then I filled up another small bowl with tap water from the sink. He ate and drank hungrily, while I wandered off through the house, looking for any sort of connection to Madi.

  The first place I checked was the living room. Rhonda had a small collection of DVDs and CDs. Nothing suspect, and definitely no VHS tapes, from what I could see. I sifted through cupboards and drawers, my hands shaky. Unsure what I was looking for, and feeling like a total creep…

  A sudden thought sent a shiver up my spine – what if Rhonda’s husband or child came home? It would be hard to explain why I was inside the house, snooping around while Rhonda hung lifelessly from the rafters.

  But Rhonda had been dead for a while. Either her husband and child hadn’t been here in a few days or they moved out, otherwise they would have discovered her body by now.

  This thought was confirmed when I went upstairs. The bedroom closet was filled with women’s clothing and a small amount of men’s. There were a lot of empty hangers on the left side of the closet.

  The bed was unmade, sheets and blankets tangled up wildly on the floor. I drifted in and out of two other bedrooms – one must have been her daughter’s room because it was filled with ballerinas and super heroes. But like the father’s side of the closet, hers was mostly empty too. The other bedroom looked to be some sort of guest room. It was the only bedroom that contained a made bed and it was in pristine condition. My search was becoming fruitless, until I came across a small door at the end of the second-floor hallway. I’d assumed it was a linen closet, but when I opened it I found a narrow old staircase leading up to an attic space.

  Nervously, I tiptoed up the creaky stairs. It was at least twenty degrees warmer up here and I felt the strange sensation that I was the one being strangled, or suffocated, as I entered the open attic space.

  This was obviously Rhonda’s art studio. There were easels holding unfinished canvas paintings. At least they looked unfinished…

  I crept closer inside, looking at the splotchy black paintings. One looked mostly done – half of a woman’s face. She had wild black hair and one hooded eye; strangely, she looked just like Rhonda.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get back outside and suck in fresh breaths of air. I turned to go, and that’s when I saw a short bookcase leaning against one side of the wall. From here, I could see that it was mostly full of books. As I moved closer, I realized that most of them were art textbooks or books about specific artists, but there on the middle shelf, between a book on Van Gogh and a guide on acrylic painting, were three VHS tapes secured in those rainbow plastic sleeves that tapes used to be stored in.

  I slid them off the shelf, my nose tickling with dust, and I glanced at the paper labels stuck to the sides. There were no words, only dates: 1990, 1987, and 1982. Hurriedly, I ran back down the stairs and slipped back through the back door. There was no one outside, no one had any idea that poor Rhonda Sheckles was hanging dead inside…

  Quickly, I popped the trunk on the Honda and tossed the tapes inside. I went back inside the house and sat on the floor next to Rhonda’s dog while I dialed 911 to report her death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was Paul who came, along with two other officers. The other two pulled up in Merrimont cruisers.

  I was sitting on Rhonda’s front porch, my knees tucked up to my chest like a protective shell, her dog mashed up against my outer thigh.

  Despite the balmy August heat, I was freezing, and my teeth chattered together noisily.

  Paul was the first to reach me. He gave me a strange nod and went straight for the door. He pulled out some strange-looking crowbar, probably to wrench the door apart with.

  ‘It’s already unlocked,’ I told him, getting up on my feet. The dog stood up too, and I rested my hand on his soft, fuzzy head.

  ‘Stay out here, ma’am,’ one of the officers told me as they crowded in behind Paul.

  But I didn’t listen. I moved to the doorway behind them. From here, they could clearly see it was a suicide. If it wasn’t suicide, it was perfectly staged to look like one.

  The rope was still attached to the rafters. A ladder sideways on the floor nearby. The ceilings were so tall, she obviously would have had to climb to the top of the ladder to tie the rope, and then swing out from it.

  ‘How the hell are we going to get her down?’ one of the officers, a large balding man, muttered to his partner.

  ‘Paul, you guys should investigate this like a homicide. With my sister missing, this might not be what it looks like…’ I tried to tell them.

  ‘Get back, lady!’ Another officer, a tall man with thinning brown hair, approached me. He stood in front of the doorway, blocking my view. But it wasn’t like I needed to see her again – that dull, lifeless look in her eyes would forever be etched on my brain.

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ Paul said, pushing the officer aside. ‘I need to get some tools out of my cruiser anyway.’

  I followed him down the skinny sidewalk, my heart racing. Rhonda’s dog came nipping at my heels. ‘What do you think this means, Paul? Are we sure she killed herself?’

  Paul stopped at the gate and turned around to look at me. ‘I’m positive she did this to herself.’ He reached for me then, and I let myself sink into his chest. The buttons on his uniform were scratchy, but he smelled and felt so good. Rhonda’s cold dead eyes flashed before me again and I shuddered, pulling away from him.

  ‘How are you so sure?’ I asked.

  ‘This isn’t the first time we’ve been out here. Rhonda has threatened suicide half a dozen times. Her husband called several weeks ago, and we had to get a judge to order a seventy-two-hour hold on her at the hospital. Third floor, that’s where they keep the mentally unstable. She was threatening to shoot herself then, but I guess she got out of the hospital, and this time, nobody could stop her.’

  The street had finally come to life, neighbors drifting out of their houses and nervously approaching the fence.

  ‘Please stay back, ma’am,’ Paul warned one of the women who was closest. She was an elderly woman, with honey-colored skin and hair. She kept leaning against the gate, despite his warning.

  ‘Did she do it this time?’ the woman crooned.

  Paul stuck his hand out. ‘Ma’am—’

  ‘I’ll call the husband. I know his number, if that will help? He and little Jenny moved out a few days ago. They just couldn’t take it anymore, I don’t guess,’ she told us.

  ‘If you could write that number down for me, that would be most helpful,’ Paul told her. He took his hat off and rubbed the back of his head, looking exhausted.

  The woman turned away, inching along the main sidewalk back to her house. The thought of her walking all the way home and back to get a piece of paper made me feel bad, and plus, I wanted to speak with her.

  ‘I have a pad of paper in my car. Want to come with me and you can write it down over there?’ I pointed toward the rented Civic. She nodded and waddled back toward me.

  ‘I’m going back inside. Are we still on for pizza?’ Paul asked, as the neighbor and I started toward my car.

  I glanced back, giving him a perplexed look. It worried me a little; that he could seem so cool and calm in this moment, and that there was actually some portion of his brain still thinking about what was for dinner tonight.

  Reluctantly, I nodded.

  ‘By the way,’ I told Paul, drifting back over to him so the neighbors wouldn’t hear, ‘my prints are all over the place in there. I snooped around some.’

  ‘Dammit, Emily. That wasn’t smart!’ he shout-w
hispered. ‘But we’re pretty sure this was just a suicide, so you should be okay … this time.’

  ‘See you tonight,’ I said, aware of Rhonda’s neighbors’ watchful stares from the sidewalk. I walked over to the elderly neighbor, who was now standing by my car.

  ‘How do you know Rhonda, dear?’ she asked as I leaned into the backseat to retrieve a pad of paper. This lady reminded me of Mr Tennors – she was one of those nosy neighbors that probably knew everyone’s story on this block.

  ‘We used to be friends at school. Well, she was my sister’s friend. I’m a few years younger than Rhonda. Can I ask you something?’

  The woman took the pad from my hands and said, ‘Sure thing.’ She had a tiny knit purse attached to her waist. She dug around inside it, taking out a small pencil.

  While she wrote Rhonda’s husband’s number down, I got my cell phone off the passenger’s seat and pulled up Madi’s Facebook page. ‘Have you seen this woman around here lately?’ I showed her a picture of Madi.

  She cocked her head to the side, then said, ‘No, I haven’t. Rhonda doesn’t get many visitors, to be honest, unless it’s the cops or an ambulance. She’s an artist, you know. Bat shit crazy.’ She twirled her finger around her ear, reminding me of Shelley the other day.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen her?’ I pressed.

  But the woman shook her head again. ‘No, I’m sorry, but I haven’t.’ So, my sister and Rhonda didn’t hang out anymore – so why the recent box in the mail? There must have been some sort of communication between them, why else would Rhonda send her a package?

  My mind drifted back to the videotapes with the dates on them. They could be nothing or … they could be one of the tapes Jessica Feeler was searching for.

  ‘Why do you think she wanted to kill herself?’ I asked the woman.

  She shrugged. ‘Like I said, she’s never seemed right to me.’ She finished writing down the number and then ripped it out. I thanked her and then ran it back up to the door and handed it to one of the officers. Rhonda’s dog trotted back and forth beside me.

  ‘I can take Roxie there,’ the woman pointed at the dog. ‘We’re old friends, aren’t we dear? I’ll make sure she gets back to Rhonda’s husband safely.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, reluctantly. I leaned down and planted my lips on Roxie’s soft black scalp. She licked my cheek and then I watched her and Rhonda’s neighbor make their way slowly across the street. I wondered how Rhonda’s husband and daughter would react to her brutal death. I could only hope the daughter was too young to understand it fully.

  Determined to get out of here before they arrived, I walked back up to the front door to make sure there was nothing else Paul needed from me. From here, I could see him with what looked like a pair of hedge trimmers in his hand. He was balancing on the top rung of the ladder, hovering above Rhonda’s body and preparing to cut her down.

  Her hair had drifted over her face now and those lifeless eyes were gone. Nevertheless, I shivered again. I was glad not to see that horrified expression, but somehow the covered face was worse. For some reason, it reminded me of that creepy image on her website – the wide-open mouth, and twisted expression … and that hideous half-face on the easel in the attic upstairs…

  ‘Move on,’ the tall officer moved to the door, barking at me again. He was eager to run me off, apparently. When the officer shouted at me, Paul’s eyes jerked down to meet mine, and for a moment, the ladder wobbled beneath him dangerously.

  I whisked around and made my way back out to the car. The crowd had thickened, the elderly woman, with Roxie by her side, leading the crowd. That will be Jessica Feeler when she’s an old woman, I realized. Always the leader of the pack.

  Climbing back behind the wheel, I had to wait a few moments for my hands to steady before I put the car in gear.

  I barely remembered driving back. The city streets of Merrimont blew by, eventually dissolving and evolving into Bare Border.

  One thing kept swimming around in my brain, making lap after lap. Three women knew a secret of some kind. One of them was missing and one of them was dead. Maybe it was time to focus my attention on that third woman. Jessica Feeler.

  I just hoped these tapes held some sort of clue that could help me find my sister.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The first thing I did when I got back home, was sneak the tapes out of the trunk. I stuffed them down the front and back of my pants, in case anyone was watching.

  I’d wracked my brain – where would I get a VCR? But then I remembered Shelley’s old-fashioned, boxy TV set – the one with Tinkerbell on it. It had a DVD/VCR combo built inside it, thankfully.

  As I entered the Bare Border Inn, I was met with deafening silence. The place felt like a tomb and it’d taken on this weird sort of damp-dishcloth smell.

  The postal box from Rhonda Sheckles still lay on its side next to the computer desk. I picked it up and peered inside. I even stuck my nose inside it and sniffed.

  I wasn’t certain what she’d sent, but one thing was obvious – it was big enough to fit a VHS tape. What if Rhonda had found a tape of something – something that would harm Jessica in some way? Then maybe she sent the tape to my sister, and that was why Jessica was threatening her…? But then how did Rhonda get these tapes back?

  I closed the door behind me in Shelley’s room and stuck the first tape I grabbed into the VCR. I knew right away it wasn’t anything related to Madi. These were homemade movies – a red-headed woman and a dark-haired man, celebrating Christmas with their tiny rosy-cheeked, red-haired baby girl. These must be Rhonda’s parents’ home movies.

  I watched for a while, marveling at how different everything looked in the Eighties. I wondered if Rhonda’s parents were still alive and how they would handle the death of their only child…

  I fast forwarded through the tape, but in order to see what was going on, I had to do it slowly. After hours’ worth of Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthday footage, the tape finally came to an end. My hopes, by now, were dashed as I stuck in the second, and finally the third, VHS tapes. All three tapes were from Rhonda’s childhood. Seeing her as a kid, so alive, so unknowing of what the future would hold, was almost like watching a horror movie.

  Feeling guilty for stealing the tapes in the first place, I stacked them up on Shelley’s dresser, silently promising Rhonda that I would send them back – anonymously, of course – to her family. Now that she was gone, they would want this footage of her.

  So, Rhonda didn’t have any weird tapes at her house – at least none that I could find. So, the only place left to look was right here under my own nose.

  I started searching in Madi’s room. Up until now, I’d tried to be respectful of my sister’s things. But this time, I tossed all her clothes out of the drawers. Then I pulled the drawers all the way out and took them off their hinges. I could remember hiding some of my journals and joints inside my dresser when I was younger. I could also remember hiding my razor blade inside there…

  But there were no tapes tucked away inside it. Next, I pulled everything out of her closet. I checked through her papers, dumped out old purses, and stuck my hands inside the lint-filled pockets of her jackets and pants that were hanging on wire hangers.

  Her mattress! It was an obvious place, but one I hadn’t thought of until now. Too bad I hadn’t thought to check under Rhonda’s mattresses while I was there. I lifted the top mattress and then the box spring, and then I got down on my hands and knees and peered beneath the bed itself. I even tore apart her bathroom.

  I stuck my nose inside Kleenex boxes and jugs, anyplace that could be used to conceal anything. The kitchen search took a while. I looked through cereal boxes and removed all the pots and pans from the lower cabinets. Nothing.

  By the time I’d gone through every little nook and cranny on the bottom floor of the house, it looked like my sister had been robbed. It would take me days to clean up this mess, but what if my sister didn’t have days…? She need
ed me to find her now. Rhonda was dead, and although it appeared to be a suicide, how could I be sure of that? What if Madi turns up dead next? I feared.

  Shelley and Ben needed their mother.

  Upstairs seemed like a good hiding place. It was a rarely used space, and the kids said themselves that they never came up here. In the smaller upstairs bedrooms, I flipped through the pages of books and sifted through the old toy bins. Where would I hide a tape if I had one? Where would I hide anything around here…? This was starting to feel like a big waste of time.

  I took a seat in my dad’s old armchair, feeling exasperated. My thoughts kept drifting to Rhonda Sheckles. Why did she hang herself?

  But why does anyone commit suicide? a nasty voice inside me replied.

  Because they want to.

  Because there’s always this tiny part of us – this part that wants to give up and die. Or maybe that’s just me. Usually, people can overcome it … but sometimes that grimy little side of ourselves wins. Maybe Rhonda let hers win.

  My thoughts drifted down through the floorboards, to the room beneath this one … my duffel bag still down there on the floor in my mom’s old sewing room. I hadn’t put away my clothes. Buried deep, in the bottom of the bag, was a bottle of tiny white pills that the doctor had prescribed me. I’d gone to see her after I lost my job at the paper. I thought I had mono or something: always tired, low mood, no appetite … then the doctor told me I was depressed. I wish I could say that I laughed, but I knew in my heart, it was true. I’d always been depressed, and losing my job had brought me to my lowest low…

  Right then, I promised myself that I would start taking the pills. As soon as I get downstairs, I decided. I don’t want to wait until it gets this bad … I don’t want to pull a Rhonda Sheckles.

  Suddenly, I realized what Jessica must have meant. Was she worried my sister would commit suicide? According to Paul, Rhonda had made half a dozen attempts to take her own life over the years. Did Jessica and my sister know that? Was Jessica worried my sister might try that too…?