I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES

by Naomi Weir



  I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES

  By Naomi Weir

  Copyright 2011 Naomi Weir

  ****************************************************

  I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES

  I hate it when my sister cries.

  In fact, I hate it when anyone cries. But when it’s someone I love, it’s like a giant hand has slammed its way deep inside my stomach and is twisting away fiercely at my innards.

  The only way to erase this awful feeling is to take their pain away. To cry in their place. So they can be happy again.

  My husband calls this compassion. But I call it torture.

  So when I got that call from my sister Eadie – the one that picked up my boring, everyday life carelessly and shook the crap out of it – I felt sick to my stomach.

  Because she was crying; a lot. It was a cry that came from the depths of her soul, and it rattled me to the core.

  Her fiancé was dead. Someone had stabbed Dylan in the throat in their very own kitchen. Some monster raised a knife and jammed it into his neck - just the once - but once was enough to ensure he no longer lived on this earth.

  I flew home immediately to be with my family. And it was at the funeral that I noticed a part of Eadie had died too.

  I hadn’t known Dylan that well. It had been a whirlwind romance and engagement for my scatterbrained younger sister, but she’d been the happiest I’d ever heard her on the phone.

  Now watching her emerge from the black limo after it pulled up at my parent’s house, I saw that a part of Eadie had died with Dylan. I could see it in her eyes, and the strange way she held her mouth. I mourned on that day, not for the loss of Dylan so much as the loss of that missing part of my sister’s soul.

  “You should stay,” I heard mum whisper behind me as I stood at her front room window. I turned to see her giving me one of those looks, telling me it was more of an order than a request.

  I nodded absently, wondering if it was even possible for me to take more time off work.

  I wandered off in a haze, finding Eadie now in the kitchen encircled by a swarm of chattering young girls dressed inappropriately for the sombre occasion. I frowned.

  “The police say they’re still looking, but we all know who did it,” one girl announced indignantly. Her friends’ heads bobbed together in agreement, but Eadie stared through them completely.

  The girl who’d spoken was a stranger to me. She had flaming red hair and teetered on obscenely high stilettos. Her friends were dressed much the same, in tight minis and dangerous heels. I cringed and walked away. I hoped they weren’t Eadie’s new friends.

  Had I really been gone so long that I didn’t know her friends?

  * * *

  Once the last guests had left for the night, mum shuffled straight to her room and closed the door. I let her go. It had been a hard day for her, seeing her youngest child in so much pain.

  Dad flicked on the kettle and sat at the table, hands clasped together. As I sat down opposite, he looked up with a weary smile and I noticed just how pale grey his sad eyes were. The electric blue that used to match mine had faded so much over the years and my heart jerked violently as I was suddenly filled with panic.

  Tears sprung forth, smartly pricking my eyes at the realisation of the massive loss I would feel at dad’s passing. As horrible desperation blossomed inside me, my hands involuntarily shot across the table, grabbing his. I bit my lip to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. I couldn’t bear to lose him. How could I bear it?

  “Mandy,” dad placated me softly, seeing the sudden alarm on my face. The kettle began to bubble behind him and he slid away from my grasp to make us a cup of tea. “Things will be tough for a while. Do you think you could stay a bit longer?”

  I sighed, the momentary fear of losing my father lost to the reality of the moment.

  My job as a journalist for the biggest paper in the city was intense. It had taken ridiculous amounts of begging just to get two days off for Dylan’s funeral.

  “I’ll ask, but I can’t make any promises,” I replied. I decided to change the subject to avoid a lecture about family vs work. “Hey, dad? Who were those girls with Eadie today? At the wake?”

  Dad frowned, deep in thought, as he placed our cups of tea on the table. “Dylan’s sister was the redhead, I think. The others were just her friends. Nobody I’ve ever seen Eadie knock around with. Dressed like bloody hookers, they were. At a funeral, no less! Just disgusting if you ask me...”

  Dylan’s sister? But she hadn’t seemed upset enough.

  Dad must’ve read the surprise on my face. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate. He always knew when I had something on my mind.

  “But she wasn’t even crying,” I blurted out. “And she was telling her friends that she knew who did it...”

  Dad’s hunched frame noticeably jerked up straight. I raised one eyebrow, using his own questioning tactic against him.

  “Dylan’s ex-girlfriend was a suspect,” he offered. “But she has an alibi. The police say they’ll find who did it, but it’s not looking real good.”

  In a small town like Indovale, a murder really shook up the community. Not only were people sad for the loss of someone they inevitably either knew, or knew about, but it was also great fodder for the never-ending gossip.

  The last scandal I could remember was a teacher allegedly having an affair with a student. Charlotte had been two years older than me and in her final year of school. She was the pride of the school’s cheerleading squad and the most attractive teenager the townspeople had ever created.

  We’d been given a student teacher, straight from the University, and he hadn’t stood a chance.

  Charlotte had taken naked pictures of herself and sent them to the student teacher. All it took was one boozy night, her phone lying on a table somewhere, and the pictures were forwarded. They went from one person to the next, soon the pictures had spread like wildfire around town. The student teacher disappeared without a word. Whether he’d even touched the girl or not simply wasn’t up for discussion.

  I hated this small town with its’ small town morals and narrow-minded point of view. But I was here for Eadie. Although this time she’d be the subject of the horrid whispers and stares. Poor little Edie Bruin. Someone killed her fiancé. But who?

  * * *

  The next day I took Eadie out to lunch before packing for my red-eye flight home.

  Her ghostly complexion made her look more dead than alive as we sat outside a cafe, Eadie slowly stirring her latte, seeming to look straight through it.

  “Eaaadieeee!” a woman shrieked as she trotted towards us, her flabby arms spread wide.

  It was the third time this had happened. I’d barely touched my coffee.

  “Oh you poor daaarling!” the woman squawked, squeezing Eadie’s lifeless torso into her enormous bosom. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, okay?”

  Eadie nodded morosely and went back to stirring her drink. The woman glanced at me and I recognised her as an old high school teacher. She forced a cold, thin-lipped smile and I forced myself not to recoil in disgust. The woman turned to strut away, her huge ass jerking from side to side with an air of importance as she went. Fake people made my skin crawl, and this town was rife with them.

  I looked at Eadie who continued to stir her over-worked latte mindlessly. I wondered if she’d even noticed the woman trying to squeeze her to death.

  I also wondered how long she’d be trapped inside the dark hollows of her mind.

  * * *

  After lunch we wandered the familiar streets aimlessly. We found ourselves in the only shoe store in town when I
spotted a mass of bright red hair out of the corner of my eye.

  It was Dylan’s sister, sitting against the far wall trying on some shoes.

  I’d been thinking all night about what she’d said and I wanted to talk to her about it. I was flying home tonight, so this would be my only chance. I ducked away while Eadie was distracted, looking at the sale shoes out front.

  Dylan’s sister looked up as I approached and smiled broadly. But only with her mouth. There was nothing inviting about her cold piercing eyes.

  “You’re Eadie’s sister, right?” she asked with feigned enthusiasm. “I’m Genevieve.”

  “Yes. Mandy.” There was an awkward pause as I racked my brain wondering how to approach the question. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered.

  Genevieve’s fake smile dropped. “Yeah. Thanks. So how’s Eadie?”

  I glanced at Eadie who stood out the front waiting for me. Her arms wrapped around as if holding herself together.

  Genevieve followed my gaze. “She’s doesn’t like me much. Although you probably knew that.”

  “No. I didn’t. I’m sure you’ll sort it out,” I said sympathetically, sitting beside her. Genevieve looked at me warily.

  “Maybe. Now that Dylan’s gone.”

  I tried not to balk.

  “I know! It’s awful to say! But it was Dylan who hated me. A few months ago I was offered a job at Players. You know, the place on Tenth Street?”

  I fought the urge to grimace. Players was the one and only strip club in town. And it was big business in Indovale, where there wasn’t much else around for entertainment.

  I held my face still as I nodded, hoping not to disclose my distaste.

  “Well Dylan went psycho when he heard about it – threatening the owner, throwing his weight around. I hadn’t even considered it until he got so damn possessive! I had to show him I was an adult, and I was old enough to make my own decisions.”

  I snuck another glance at Eadie, who was now glaring straight at me through the shop window. I’d run out of time.

  “Do you know who killed Dylan?” I asked quickly as I stood up, now eager to leave. Genevieve scowled.

  “Did Eadie send you over here?” Genevieve asked angrily. “I told her it wasn’t Stefan. He wouldn’t kill anyone!”

  “Who’s Stefan?”

  “I’m busy,” Genevieve hissed as she flicked her red mane and turned her back on me.

  I hurried outside to find Eadie seething on the footpath.

  “Why are you talking to that slut!?” she asked incredulously.

  I shrugged. I didn’t have an answer for her.

  Eadie growled angrily before storming back to the car.

  * * *

  As Eadie pulled into mum and dad’s driveway, I realised this was the last time I’d see her before I left.

  “Who’s Stefan?” I asked, cringing as soon as the words fell from my lips.

  Eadie closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “He owns the Players club. Dylan went there a few times, tried to get Genny fired. He’d scream at the customers, tell them not to look at his sister, telling them they were filth and to go home. Stefan threatened him a few times, so after...you know...I asked Genny if Stefan seemed edgy. She got all defensive and made me feel bad for asking, but I just wanna know who did it! Is that really so bad?”

  She began to cry, her whole body shaking with the effort of putting her body through another round of tears.

  “I just wanna SCREAM at someone!” she wailed, looking at me with burning red eyes. “I wanna blame someone so I can hit them as hard as I can, over and over again. I want to see them suffer. Does that make me a bad person, Mandy? Does it?”

  I pulled my sister into my arms. We needed to find the person responsible for her misery.

  I wasn’t going home just yet.

  * * *

  I called my boss to tell him the bad news. I had to assure him I wouldn’t stay much longer. I almost laughed. He had no idea how badly I wanted to leave.

  Every hour I spent in this town felt like I was slowly drowning. I’d be glad when I was back on that plane, barrelling through the sky in the opposite direction.

  That afternoon I borrowed Eadie’s car with the excuse of buying her groceries.

  I pulled into the parking lot across the street from Players and cut the engine. I wondered how many people were inside. How many of them I knew.

  I jogged quickly across the road to the faded red door, hoping like hell no one had noticed me. As I pushed hard against the door I was engulfed in darkness.

  The blaring music’s bass sound pulsated straight through me. The potent smell of booze and sweat tugged at my gag reflex. I dropped my head, letting my hair shield my face.

  “Oi! You workin?” a gruff voiced asked me.

  I looked up to see a beefy security guard silhouetted against the flashing lights that intermittently broke the darkness.

  I shook my head and the security guard gave a half-smile. “Head on in there, sweet thing.”

  The room was thick with smoke, churned out of a machine to cause a haze that concealed most of the crowd. I moved to the darkest corner I could find and hoped no one had noticed me.

  Lucky for me a girl gyrated seductively on stage, so all eyes were fixed on her.

  I scanned the room, my eyes falling on the security guard whispering to another man even beefier than he was. The bigger guy broke into a grin before making a beeline straight for me.

  “You lookin’ for a job?” he shouted over the music, sitting down heavily beside me.

  “No,” I yelled back, grimacing at the idea.

  “So you like the girls, then?” he asked loudly, leaning in closer.

  I shook my head in disgust. I suddenly wanted to leave. This was a very bad idea. Heads began to turn our way at the sound of the man’s booming voice.

  I needed this to be over with as soon as possible.

  “I’m looking for Stefan.”

  “You’re lookin’ at him,” the man announced, tapping his broad chest proudly. “So what business you got with me?”

  “Can we talk?” I asked, moving closer and giving him my best steely glare.

  “That depends,” Stefan said warily, leaning away from me slightly. “If it’s about a job, that’s not a problem.”

  “It’s about Dylan.”

  Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he swiftly closed the gap between us.

  “Who are you? A cop?” he hissed. “I’ve been through this already. I was here all...night...long. Ask anyone you want. It wasn’t me!”

  I didn’t know what to say. I held my gaze, narrowing my eyes even further to try and buy myself some time. I racked my brains for another question, but I drew a blank. I hoped he thought I was a cop. Then prayed he wouldn’t ask to see my badge.

  Stefan’s eyes bulged and his thick lips pursed together. “You have my statement. Now get the fuck out of my bar.” Then he stood with such force, his chair clattered to the floor.

  We now held the attention of the whole room. Even the girl on stage had stopped dancing. I noticed her expression of fear.

  “Okay! OKAY! I’m leaving!” I protested, hands in the air. The security guard came barrelling towards me

  I ducked away from his fat fingers and left him grabbing air. I ran straight for that faded red door and was almost blinded by the sun as I escaped.

  The deep bass sound now faint behind me, I stumbled back to the car in the glaring daylight.

  I threw myself into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel hard, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Stefan could definitely have killed Dylan. Of that I had no doubt. But he didn’t seem the type to stab him once in the neck and walk away.

  No. I could imagine Stefan would enjoy roughing him up far too much.

  My breathing finally returned to normal just as I heard a loud knocking on the roof above me, and I screamed so loud I scared myself.

  A woman peered in at me through the
passenger side window. She looked strangely familiar but I couldn’t place her. As she yanked at the door handle I realised she was dressed in a satin robe, so I quickly reached across to unlock the door for her.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, her robe briefly fluttering open as she climbed in, revealing skimpy underwear and body glitter. Of course. It was the dancer our argument had interrupted.

  “Can I help you?” I asked in wonder.

  “Maybe,” the woman said, plucking a cigarette out from between her enormous silicone breasts. “Do you mind?”

  “Ah, it’s my sister’s car,” I warned. “She wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

  “Eadie,” the woman sighed, staring into the distance. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  I squinted, as if she’d look different somehow that way. Her tired face, makeup caked over deep crevices, she looked older than me. But as she turned and smiled, realisation dawned.

  “Charlotte?” I cried in surprise. “But I thought you left Indovale?”

  Charlotte looked down shamefully as she secured the cigarette back out of sight. “Yeah, I got out. For a while. I moved back in with mum when my boyfriend Trent left me with three kids to raise on m’ own. You know this club pays really good. And it turns out I’m pretty darn good at it, too.” Charlotte laughed bitterly and sighed, wrapping the satin gown around her more tightly.

  The girls at school had called her “Charlotte the Harlot” for years behind her back. The green eyed monster turning all us teenage girls into catty bitches. But Charlotte could’ve been a model, or an actress. She had looks we would have killed for. I was stunned.

  “Why did you come here?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.

  I pursed my lips and looked away.

  “Was it about Dylan?” Charlotte asked, her voice cracking slightly. Was she about to cry?

  “I need to tell you something!” Charlotte blurted out earnestly, tears now forming black rivers down her cheeks. “I’ve been away for a few weeks. I took the kids to see Trent’s parents, you see. And...well...I think it might be my fault Dylan’s dead!”

  I was confused. Nothing she said made any sense. “If you weren’t here, how could it be your fault?”

  “Trent might have killed Dylan!” Charlotte wailed before bursting into tears.