Blood Sisters

by Jim O'Shea

  When he was able to pry her away, he looked into twin green eyes that were wide and frightened. It appeared every drop of blood had drained from her face.

  “She’s…” Libby spoke frantically, taking several quick glances over her shoulder as she did. “She’s here.”

  Hunter pushed the storm door open, stepped over the threshold, and had to pull her back inside forcibly. The house looked and sounded empty.

  “Who’s here, Libby?”

  She grasped his wrist and leaned in to him. Her hands were cold, knuckles white, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “My sister.”

  Hunter sighed as he holstered his weapon and engaged the safety. Libby’s face was as beautiful as ever, but her eyes were clouded by a darkness that was either new or he’d simply not noticed before.

  “She’s in my kitchen,” she said.

  A tense silence settled between them, until Libby pulled on his arm and insisted he follow. Hunter hesitated before trailing her down the hall, and almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen. When she looked back at him, her face was ashen.

  He peered over her shoulder. The room was empty, the only exception being the infamous jigsaw puzzle, which was once again assembled and resting on the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t want you to move that, Libby. It’s considered evidence.”

  Libby collapsed into a kitchen chair and her heavy breathing changed into short gasps. While she struggled to gather herself, Hunter examined the puzzle—same image, same empty space, but there was now a small pile on the table next to Libby’s elbow.

  The missing pieces.

  He sat down next to her and pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets. When he pulled them away, Libby was hugging her knees against her chest, rocking back and forth gently in the chair.

  “She was here.” Her voice trembled. “She had my grandfather’s gun.”

  “Melissa is dead, Libby.”

  “It wasn’t Melissa. She…” She paused and her face twisted, as if confronted with an unsolvable riddle. “I don’t know her name,” she mumbled, before her words trailed off into a series of disconnected syllables.

  “We have people who can help you learn her name over time,” Hunter said softly. He gestured, and two Salt Lake City police officers stepped into the kitchen. He reached out and clasped her hands in his.

  “You have to come with us tonight, Libby.”

  Libby did a slow inhale and release as a look of understanding, perhaps relief, overtook one of fear. She was much calmer than he’d expected.

  “Would you like to change clothes?”

  Libby shook her head slowly, a distinct look of fear returning to her eyes.

  “She could be up there.”

  Hunter sighed and gestured toward the officers.

  “I’ll make sure you get the help you need, Libby.”

  Libby was white and trembling as the officers handcuffed her and led her out the front door. He followed them onto the porch reciting her Miranda rights, but returned to the house rather than watch her being placed in the car.

  He closed the door softly, returned to the kitchen, and slumped into one of the chairs with his head in his hands as the sound of the police car faded in the frigid Utah night. It took a while before he was able to lift his head, and the first thing he saw was the remaining jigsaw puzzle pieces.

  He flipped them all onto their backs using latex gloves and then pulled the piece Libby had given him at the museum from his coat pocket and set about finishing the last remaining section of the puzzle. He had no interest in the front image of what would be an empty bassinet, and it took only minutes to assemble the back. As expected, the pieces formed a dash and the number seven.

  He was pondering the Bible verse’s significance when his phone rang loudly from his coat pocket. Caller ID indicated it was Leon Fitter, and he kicked himself for not updating his Captain yet on the arrest.

  “Hey Leon,” he said, as he pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Sorry I didn’t call yet but we—”

  “How did you let her get away, Hunter?”

  Hunter had worked with Fitter for over twenty years, but the man’s tone was different than any time he could recall. For some inexplicable reason, the words crawled on his skin. He dropped the piece of paper.

  “Let who get away, Leon?”

  “Elizabeth Meeker.”

  “I arrested her not ten minutes ago. She was handcuffed in the back of a squad car and should be north of Tooele by now.”

  “Then why am I receiving reports of Ms. Meeker at a gun shop south of Salt Lake?”

  “That’s impossible, Leon. I can guarantee you—”

  “I’ve seen the security cam footage, Hunter. Either it was her or she has an identical twin sister.”

  Hunter cringed. Libby’s family history was detailed in the case file, but Fitter was obviously not familiar with the fact that Libby at one time did, in fact, have a twin sister.

  “The owner said he’d known Ms. Meeker since they were kids and it was definitely her. He claimed she was acting weird.”

  “I’m not sure what he saw, Leon, but Elizabeth Meeker is in handcuffs and on her way to headquarters as we speak. Are you there now?”

  “No, and I’m not waiting to see if she shows up. I’ve got units looking for her on southbound 36. The shop owner said she was headed that direction in a pick-up truck and a big box of thirty eight caliber ammunition.”

  Fitter must have been in his car, because he ended the call abruptly when an update came across the police band radio, and Hunter could hear the engine accelerate rapidly. According to the dispatcher, Libby had been sighted on Route 36 and units were in route.

  Yeah, right.

  “Go on your wild goose chase, Leon, but I’ll expect an apology tomorrow, Captain…” Hunter mumbled to himself as he refocused on the puzzle. He grabbed the piece of paper, slid it underneath the eight assembled puzzle pieces, and flipped them all over as one.

  It was confusion at first, followed by fear and panic. His backup system took over from there—the part of the brain that controls basic body functions. Instead of an empty bassinet, the pieces formed an astonishing image, revealing a possibility that had never crossed his mind. Puzzle pieces of a different kind emerged from somewhere deep in his brain and coalesced to form a new truth that was as frightening as it was astonishing.

  It all made sense now. Libby had another sister.

  He raced out to his car, flicked on his police band radio, and sped towards Route 36. It was several blocks before he started breathing again.

  36

  He arrived just in time.

  The pick-up truck had been tracked to a gas station and convenience store just north of Stockton, Utah, and Hunter pulled into a parking lot across the street to observe. Two SUV’s he recognized as unmarked Utah State Police vehicles were parked on both sides of one of the two gas pumps, and a Stockton squad car was positioned on the west side of the small building. The only other vehicle in sight was the pick-up parked at the other pump with a hose stuck in its side. Fitter was nowhere in sight.

  Two Tooele squad cars approached at high speed from the north with their lights flashing but no sirens. One passed the turnoff and spun around to the back of the store, while the other pulled up to the east side of the building.

  The parking lot was vacant when the front door swung open and a very familiar woman, once again with red hair, stepped into the sunlight wearing dark sunglasses and a wide smile. A tattered purse was slung over one shoulder. She carried a large plastic bag in one hand, and a water bottle in the other.

  From there, it all happened fast.

  The doors to the SUVs burst open and four uniformed officers jumped out bearing assault rifles, each yelling for Elizabeth Meeker to drop everything and hit the ground. At the same time, the Tooele and Stockton officers rounded the corner. One stood and one kneeled, both with handguns trained on the
small, redheaded woman.

  Hunter emerged from his car just as she pulled a revolver from the purse and dropped everything else to the ground.

  A single Salt Lake City police officer’s voice pierced the resulting silence. “Drop the weapon Ms. Meeker, and hands in the air.”

  The woman displayed no panic. Instead, she offered a disarming smile to her captors as the world seemed to grind to a standstill. The winds ceased, the trees became lifeless, and the clouds refused to move—as if nature itself had stopped to observe the unfolding drama.

  For the briefest of moments, it was as though Hunter could see through her clouded eyes, feel her unspeakable rage, hear her perverted thoughts. In her warped mind, she was the true victim—one who would surrender, plead insanity, and fall on the mercy of the court. She would be treated for a few years in a psych hospital, and eventually be released back into society when deemed rehabilitated. At that point, the cycle of predator and prey would start all over again.

  The woman bent at the waist and appeared about ready to put her gun on the ground when she inexplicably looked up in Hunter’s direction. She gazed at him as though he was an apparition, while Hunter’s heart reverberated in his chest. His vision tunneled to the point where all he could see was the familiar face that had haunted his days and nights for months.

  Her shock twisted instantly into a blind fury, and she had her weapon lifted halfway up when a blast of thunder punctuated the quiet Utah skies. Seconds later, the body of a woman whom he had no idea existed less than an hour before, lay prone on the frozen ground.

  37

  The morning sky was bright and shiny, the same way Libby’s world looked this day.

  It wasn’t long after pickup trucks started to outnumber cars that the sequence of red arrows on the hand-drawn map led her off the county highway and onto a sheet of snow-covered asphalt labeled Canyon Road. In less than a mile, the asphalt turned into a gravel and ice mix and began meandering along a small stream. With Norm sound asleep in the passenger seat, Libby followed the narrow path slowly until it turned into a dirt road that looked as if it had been carved a century ago by a horse drawn cart.

  Three different roads, but they all led to the same place.

  Hunter’s cabin lived up to its billing—secluded, off the beaten track, and surrounded by a tall stand of trees. She pulled around back and parked next his car. She shivered at the face full of cold air when she opened the door, and wet hair didn’t help.

  She’d showered less than an hour ago, which made six times over the past two days, but they never got her truly clean. No amount of soap and hot water could rinse away what had happened to her family, her friends, her town. To her.

  The air smelled fresh and clean, and the small cabin was much nicer than she expected, tucked into the Oquirrh foothills and embraced by sugar pines and towering ponderosas. A lake was less than a hundred yards to the east, and the morning sun shimmered off its still waters. The peaceful scene included a man’s silhouette.

  Detective Troy Hunter—Salt Lake City Homicide.

  Libby pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, slipped on her coat, and hurried towards the lake, following as best she could inside Hunter’s large footprints in the snow until she stood next to him, staring quietly at mist rising off the still water. From the north, a gaggle of geese approached and skid-landed across the glassy surface.

  Neither of them said anything for a long time, but eventually Hunter turned toward her. His face hadn’t changed, unless one counted the two days of growth, but something else had. Perhaps it was his eyes, or maybe a different type of smile that creased his face. “You still going through with it?” he asked.

  Libby stuck both hands in the crook of his elbow and leaned into him. She could feel his body tighten against hers, but he didn’t move away, even leaned in a bit closer. “I can’t stay here,” she said softly. “My family is dead, and every place and every thing I see reminds me of what happened. No one around here will ever look at me the same again.”

  “You’ve been totally exonerated, Libby, and it wasn’t just all the DNA we found. There was enough evidence in that box under your stairs alone that matched the crime scenes to put your sister away for a thousand years.””

  “My sister,” Libby whispered. “Still no idea what her name was?”

  “We haven’t been able to find any evidence she ever legally existed,” Hunter said, “and the only people who knew her real name are dead. For now, the death certificate refers to her as Jane Doe 279.”

  “So sad.”

  Hunter shuffled his feet in the snow. “What about Aisha?”

  “We talked and she might follow me. She mostly works out of her home and an airport anyway, and I think she might like the adventure. We’re good no matter what.”

  Hunter smiled. “I know how important she is to you.”

  Libby gently smoothed Hunter’s collar, straightened his tie, and then stood on her toes to look into eyes brimming with the confidence and concern that had drawn her to him in the first place. But there was more now behind the blue in his eyes, much more, and the line between cop and citizen seemed blurred. His lips parted and he leaned forward, before turning away sharply.

  She took his hand in hers. “You do not have the right to remain silent, Detective,” she said softly.

  He turned back, smiled, and then hugged her. A silence fell between them that carried with it an intimacy—one born from tragedy but, she decided, would not be defined by it. They separated, and Hunter mumbled something about an upcoming meeting, but her heart pounded too loud and hard in her chest to hear clearly.

  She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them lightly against his lips. “Let’s pretend we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

  Hunter nodded.

  Libby turned toward her car and began to retrace her steps through the snow, feeling his arms around her again. She tightened the coat around her shoulders, but it wasn’t the same.

  When she arrived at her car, she started the engine and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, but after a few seconds turned it off again. Libby woke Norm and gently scratched him behind the ears.

  “I know I said it would be just you and me forever, buddy, but a funny thing happened on the way to the lake today.”

  Libby jumped out of the car and ran headfirst into a muscular chest. She looked up into smiling eyes that said everything and more. He cupped her chin with the palm of his hand and kissed her long enough for it to count.

  A Devotional Moment

  THEREFORE, RID YOURSELVES OF ALL MALICE AND ALL DECEIT, HYPOCRISY, ENVY, AND SLANDER OF EVERY KIND. ~ 1 PETER 2

  The human experience is fraught with sin, and as Christians, we have to fight that sin within us daily. Sometimes, outside sources seek to do harm, and fail to care about the innocent getting caught up in their works. When bad things happen to good people, it can sometimes shake the foundation of our belief, especially when, to withstand the onslaught of injustice, we are forced to depend on other people and a flawed system. It is easy to get overwhelmed with worry, but with God on the side of the righteous, good will always prevail.

  In Blood Sisters, an injustice in the distant past leads to consequences in the present, including an innocent person being caught up in an horrific situation. While she struggles with the possibility of mental illness causing her issues, nefarious forces work to shatter her life. Her faith is weakened, but there is strength in others…until those people are stripped from her, too. At rock bottom, only God can reach her.

  Have you ever been caught up in a terrible situation not of your own making? Perhaps the proverbial wrong-place-at-the-wrong time swept you into a bad situation. Perhaps someone deliberately tried harm you—physically or by damaging your reputation. It can be difficult to rely on God in the midst of worry, hardship and injustice or uncertainty. But that is exactly the thing to do in such situations—rely on God. It may seem trite to say so, but God promises to be with you. Others
may not let go of the evil mentioned in 1 Peter 2, but you can. Your state of being and your character is not dictated by what others do or think, but rather, only by what you do, yourself.

  LORD, I ASK FOR RELEASE FROM THOSE WHO WOULD DO ME HARM, AND FOR FORGIVENESS TO BE IN MY HEART WHEN I CONFRONT WHAT THEY HAVE DONE. STRENGTHEN ME WITH YOUR EVERLASTING GRACE. IN JESUS’ NAME I PRAY, AMEN.

  Thank you…

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