Blood Sisters

by Jim O'Shea

  “Medication…and I’ll insist this time. I want you to take them every day.”

  Libby wanted to object once again but she was so tired.

  “We need to face facts, Libby. Bi-Polar Disorder runs in your family, you’ve displayed some of the symptoms, and extreme grief and/or anxiety can exacerbate them. Your family history combined with what’s happened to you over the last year has me very concerned.”

  Libby gulped. “How concerned?”

  “BPD combined with stress can play tricks on the mind and be at least partially responsible for some of the phenomena you’re experiencing. In severe cases, it can cause benign auditory, olfactory, and visual hallucinations.”

  Libby sat back down in the chair. Her entire body suddenly ached. “Excuse me?”

  “This particular malady can manifest itself in a number of ways. Under times of extreme stress, our brains can blend what we see with our optic nerves with what we want to see or are used to seeing. In other words, what we perceive can actually be a composite of physical reality and stored memories.”

  “Like the woman by the church?”

  “Exactly. The face you saw staring at you from across your parents’ backyard was your sister’s in your mind’s eye, because you transposed it on the person wearing the trench coat. In truth, it might not have even been a woman. You and Melissa were two sides of the same coin, Libby. I’m not surprised you’re having these experiences.”

  “What about the woman in Salt Lake?”

  “Perhaps you wanted to believe you saw Melissa outside your office building, because it opens up possibilities that are a little easier to handle than a flaw in your mental condition.”

  “Or it could have been the woman who delivered the drawings.”

  Lambert sighed. “Pursuing this person would have challenged the illusion, which is why you didn’t.”

  Libby bit her lip. I was a little preoccupied at the time trying to salvage my job. “What about the noises in the house?”

  “Our brains can decipher sound incorrectly under stress, like a clock ticking in another room that sounds like fingertips tapping on a table. It’s the same with smell. All of it can be related to stress, and if anyone’s had stress in her life lately, it’s you, Libby. Often, they are nothing more than projections of unconscious wishes, thoughts, and wants.”

  Libby stared at Lambert through glassy eyes. “I’ll admit I’ve had visions a few times in the past, but I could sense they were just that—visions. These feel different. So different that I can’t distinguish what I’m experiencing from reality. They seem real.”

  Lambert held up a finger and then made an extensive entry in her notebook. “With Bi-Polar Disorder, there is often an inability to tell the difference between real and unreal experiences, to think logically, to have contextually appropriate emotions, and to function well in social situations.”

  Libby dry swallowed a huge lump in her throat. “I haven’t told you the worst one.”

  After Lambert set down her notepad and crossed her legs, Libby shared the history behind the Meeker girls’ special place under the stairs and the secret code they’d used to gain entrance. When it appeared Lambert had fully processed the background information, she related her bizarre experience at the cemetery.

  Lambert paused at first and then scooted her chair closer to Libby’s. In the twenty-plus years Libby had been seeing the good doctor, it was a first. Lambert grabbed her right hand, pried it open, and caressed the thin white line running across her palm. “Blood sisters.”

  Libby pulled her hand back into her lap.

  “I know how it must feel, Libby, but your experience is not uncommon with Bi-Polar Disorder. It’s simply another example of what extreme stress can bring about with your brain chemistry.”

  “I want it all to end.”

  “It will, but I need your commitment to taking the meds I will prescribe you today.”

  Libby nodded.

  Lambert stared at her for a few seconds. “Good.” She stood, circled her desk, and stood over it writing on a pad of paper. When she returned to the chair, she handed Libby a prescription. “I’m also not happy with the fact that you haven’t spent any time in your parents’ house since their deaths. Running in just long enough to check their medicine containers doesn’t count. Avoidance is an acceptable short-term strategy, but not a long-term one.”

  Libby sighed and folded her arms.

  “I think it would do you some good, Libby.” Lambert sat on the very edge of her chair, worry lines etching deep furrows across her forehead. “Think of it as sticking a pin in one of those blow-up decorations you see around the holidays. It might be a good way to deflate some of the pressure you feel in your chest and your soul. Maybe spend the weekend. Put some photos into albums. Play some home movies.”

  Libby had been debating doing the exact same thing for weeks, and even had a bag packed in the trunk of her car. She just hadn’t been able to actually do it. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Of course not.” Lambert smiled. “Would Aisha be willing to go with you?”

  “Not sure I’d want her there.”

  Lambert gave her a questioning look.

  “All she wants to talk about lately is the stuff she found in my grandmother’s trinket box. I think she’s obsessed.”

  Lambert stared at her notebook for a few seconds before her head shot up. “Pearl’s talisman?”

  Libby jerked backward. “You knew about that?”

  “As I said in our last meeting, Libby, I spent some time with Pearl not long after your birth. Your mother was actually the one who brought it into my office one day. She was upset with your grandmother and really wanted to open it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure, but Marilyn seemed fascinated with it.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Aisha figured out how to open it?”

  “She got some help.”

  A look of recognition washed over Lambert’s face. “Apeha?”

  Libby nodded.

  “So, what was the famous Choctaw zodiac box protecting from the outside world?” Lambert’s tone was curious.

  “Turns out, not much. And it was the other way around according to Apeha.”

  Lambert’s face twisted into a quizzical look.

  “The medicine woman said she believed the box was actually protecting the outside world from its contents.”

  Lambert looked off into empty space for a few seconds before her gaze focused on Libby once again. “What was in it?”

  “A framed photo of either Melissa or me as an infant, not sure which. Plus a bird’s feather and a cloth with some writing on it. I’ve got photos of them on my phone. Would you like to see them?”

  Lambert shook her head. “But I would like to know what the writing said.”

  “It must have been written in Choctaw because we couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it.”

  “Fascinating. But we’ve got bigger issues right now. I would like to see the photos someday.”

  “Sure.”

  “I think we need to set that type of thing aside for now if you’re to move on effectively,” Lambert said. “Why don’t you invite Aisha with the caveat that she can’t bring or mention the box or its contents? Would she agree to that?”

  “All I have to do is tell her I’m watching a chick flick and serving popcorn and she’ll agree to anything. She absolutely loves doing that.”

  “How about this Saturday?”

  Libby cringed. “I have to complete some additional design changes to the convention center project, but next weekend should work.”

  Lambert strolled to her desk and stared at the screen on her laptop while clicking and dragging her mouse. “That Saturday is Halloween.” She stared at Libby during the ensuing silence, an unreadable expression on her face. “OK, but try to stay busy between now and then.”

  Libby offered up a half-grin, half-frown. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

 
; Lambert circled the desk, knelt in front of Libby, and grasped her hands gently. “This, too, shall pass.”

  18

  It didn’t.

  Over the ten days following the session with her psychiatrist, despite taking the drugs prescribed to address the medical condition that haunted her, nothing passed as the good doctor promised.

  If anything, it got worse.

  Although the mysterious puzzle remained dormant, inexplicable sounds inside the little house on Stansberry Lane became more frequent and pronounced, and everything from clothing to dishes to makeup and toiletries either disappeared or seemed to move about the house on their own. If that weren’t enough, the subtle scent of vanilla orchid would regularly waft in and out of her nostrils, as if pushed by the wings of a butterfly.

  It was Friday, October thirtieth, the start of the weekend she’d promised to spend in her parents’ house, but Libby wasn’t in Stockton. She was cradling a glass of wine in her living room in Tooele while contemplating the mysteries of her own personal universe, one that seemed less ordered and more random that it did two months ago.

  Aisha interrupted her thoughts when she tossed her electronic tablet on the sofa and let out a heavy sigh. “I am so glad to be done with that,” she said. “Time to relax.” She picked up a pencil, tapped on her nearly empty wine glass lightly three times, paused, and grinned. When she raised the pencil up to the glass once more, Libby snatched it from her hand. “Don’t, please.”

  Aisha raised her brows.

  Libby set the glass on the table and then stuffed both hands into the pockets of her sweater and hunched over.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Aisha said. “That brings back memories of Melissa, doesn’t it?”

  It did, but at this point simple memories were not the problem. Libby squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip hard, and once again related the bizarre happenings that took place at the Stockton Cemetery. When she looked up, Aisha’s jaw was slack.

  “I shouldn’t have listened to you. I shouldn’t have left you alone in that cemetery no matter what you said.”

  “I wanted the time alone. It wasn’t about you, Azzi.”

  Aisha finished off the remaining wine in her glass while keeping her dark eyes trained on Libby. “What did Lambert say?”

  “She said it was me being a nut case combined with stress.”

  “You’ve been working your butt off lately, too.”

  Libby sighed.

  “Did you tell her about your mom’s last words?”

  “Yeah, but mom was on pain killers and who knows what else. She didn’t say anything anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t call a secret she kept from you and Pops nothing.”

  “All she said was it was something about Melissa she wanted me to know. I don’t think that qualifies as a secret.”

  A silence grew between them, lengthened, and slowly became strained. She knew Aisha too well. Her best friend was waiting her out, asking obvious questions without saying a word. “You know my G-Ma was a like a box of chocolates. You never knew what you were getting.”

  Aisha pursed her lips.

  “Mom passed before she could tell me what the big secret was anyway.”

  “She did say it was about your sister.”

  “You know how obsessed Mom was with Melissa after her passing. Her visions. The paintings. We both know there wasn’t anything about Mel I didn’t know.”

  Aisha stared at her.

  Libby knew what she was thinking. Am I telling her everything?

  Good question, indeed…but Libby had a better one. Was there something she knew that she wasn’t telling herself? She squirmed in her chair.

  “You never knew for sure why she left home so suddenly, Libby. You’ve admitted that to me on several occasions.”

  “I told you…” Libby gulped. “I told you I thought it was about a guy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Aisha waved at empty space with the back of her hand. “It was not about that big-eared, hook-nosed Timmy Michaels and you know it. She wasn’t that hung up on him and…” Aisha interrupted her own diatribe and screwed her head at an angle, which meant she was thinking. She picked up a slice of cold pizza and ate everything but the crust as a silence grew between them. When she finally spoke again, her voice was milder and less confrontational. “Do you remember that time we were in Vegas?”

  Libby tensed. “Don’t go there, Azzi.”

  “We have to.” Aisha scooted closer on the sofa. “You were talking about that messed up girl from your architecture class.”

  “Gertie.”

  “Who names their kid Gertrude these days?” After shaking her head, Aisha pointed her index finger at Libby. “When you started talking about your theories on what messed Gertie up, Melissa wanted no part of it. She disappeared into that small casino and we didn’t see her until the next day.”

  “Your point?”

  “Her face got all red when you talked about Gertie’s dad and the…and the abuse she suffered.”

  Libby’s jaws clenched, as Aisha’s words grated already raw nerves. “Am I hearing you right?”

  Aisha sat upright suddenly. “Oh, honey. No…no!” She reached out and clasped Libby’s hands firmly. “I’m definitely not implying anything like that, Libby. Pops was one of the finest men I’ve ever known. I just thought the whole episode was odd.” Aisha gave Libby her best friend look until she finally turned away—which was good, because Libby couldn’t have held her stare much longer.

  “The point is you don’t really know,” Aisha said softly over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t that be considered a secret?”

  Libby wouldn’t admit it, but Aisha was right. She was never sure why her twin sister decided to leave suddenly for the military, and never bought into her hackneyed claim that she needed to find herself.

  Aisha scooted closer to her. “What do you think is really going on?”

  Libby closed her eyes, knowing any attempt to share her thoughts at this point would result in an incoherent narrative of practical jokers, ghosts, and unspoken secrets. Aisha might begin to question whether she’d lost her mind, which she may indeed have, or at least misplaced. But her best friend’s question felt like an opportunity. It was time to stick a pin in an overly inflated balloon. “Either I’m going crazy, or there’s a ghost in my house…” Libby blurted out, “or Melissa staged the explosion, survived, and is here in Tooele.”

  For the longest time, Aisha just stared at the wall, as if debating several responses in her head. She eventually slid even closer on the couch and put her hand on Libby’s knee.

  “First of all,” she began, “I agree with your father. No ghosts. You die and go to heaven or hell.”

  “First of all must mean there’s a second of all.”

  “I know you as well as anyone and you’re not crazy. Plus, you’re finally on the meds and I truly believe you’ve gotten over Melissa for the most part.”

  A sob welled up in the back of Libby’s throat and she swallowed it with a sip of wine. When she spoke, her voice was weak. “Maybe she hasn’t gotten over me?”

  Aisha pursed her lips, looked out the picture window into Libby’s front yard, and sighed. “Third,” she said, with her three fingers pointed at Libby, “Melissa was pronounced dead by the Navy. Passed away. Taking a dirt nap. Melissa has left the building.”

  “All we know for sure is there are some remains of a badly disfigured woman buried in Melissa’s grave,” Libby said. “You know as well as I do DNA tests were never performed on her body. The Navy just used her dog tags to identify her. They can bury a body in Mel’s grave, but they can’t bury the truth.”

  “Melissa Meeker. Sister of Lazarus? Seriously?”

  “She could have staged the whole thing,” Libby said meekly.

  “Listen to yourself.” Aisha reached out and gently stroked Libby’s arm. “Why would she do something like that, honey?”

  “Mom’s big secret?” Libby asked in a sarcastic tone.

&nb
sp; Aisha just stared at her.

  “The world is hard, Azzi,” Libby said softly. “Everybody has expectations. Relationships are difficult. There’s always deadlines, and nothing is ever perfect. What’s so bad about simply disappearing and starting over in a place where no one knows you or anything about your family?”

  Aisha stared at her with a probing gaze. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

  Libby started to respond when, without warning, the compressed emotions from the past few weeks burst open and her eyes welled with tears.

  Aisha pulled a tissue from Libby’s purse and dabbed the corner of her eyes.

  “I’m such a baby,” Libby sobbed, “and a fool.”

  “Neither,” Aisha said. “You’ve gone through more in the past year than most people do in a lifetime.”

  Libby got up and headed toward the kitchen, wiping tears from her cheeks with the backs of both hands.

  Aisha caught up with Libby as she was passing under the stairs, grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to turn toward the mirror hanging on the wall.

  Disheveled hair, bags under her eyes, pale skin—the complete package.

  “Just because I make it look easy doesn’t mean it is.”

  Aisha put her face next to Libby’s in the mirror’s reflection and pressed their cheeks together. “More important than what you see is do you like who you see?”

  Libby stared at the familiar image in the mirror, knowing a better question would have been did she really know who she saw.

  Libby wriggled free, hurried into the kitchen, and stood over the sink, squeezing every last drop of water from a dishcloth as she rinsed the tea dishes. When she returned to the living room, Aisha was packing her purse and a taxi driver sat idling in the driveway. Libby wrapped her arms around Aisha and pulled tight. “Thanks so much for hanging in there with me. I’m not sure I could have gotten through all this without you.”

  “Give a visit to Apeha some consideration. I think you’d like her.” Aisha smiled and kissed Libby on the cheek. “Talk to Melissa about it.”

  Libby tried to smile and relaxed two clenched fists.

  “I’m really sorry I can’t stay with you tomorrow night at your parents’ house,” Aisha said. “If there was any way I could reschedule this trip, you know I would.”