The Other Sister

by Dianne Dixon

  “Because I’m back to being ‘Poor Morgan,’ back to being nobody…and I don’t know how to be anything else. I never had the chance to learn. Whether Ali meant to do it or not, it doesn’t matter. For my entire life, she was so big she blocked out the sun and I couldn’t see the world around me, which is why I’m always screwing up, getting everything wrong.”

  Morgan was staying in the shadows, away from the glow of the Christmas lights. “What my sister did to me was wrong, and I think I’m entitled to…”

  “What were you were about to say? What do you want?”

  “Payback.”

  “For what?”

  “For always having to watch other people, especially Ali, get all the things I want.”

  “Please. Give yourself time to think. Don’t leave yet. There’s no reason you need to take this trip right away.”

  “It’s too late, Sam. I left yesterday. I’m already here.”

  Ali

  When Ali first saw the shadowy shape on the other side of the dining room’s glass-paned french doors, she thought she was imagining things.

  She wasn’t. What she was seeing was real. The person illuminated by the glow of Christmas lights in the garden, shivering in the night like a glassy-eyed ghost, was Morgan.

  As Morgan opened the french doors and came into the room, the first thing Ali noticed was that her face was smooth, healed of its cuts. The only remaining mark was a thin, white scar near Morgan’s hairline, a pale swirl that faintly resembled a tiny question mark. Yet Morgan moved with her head slightly lowered, as if the cuts were still there and she was trying to hide them.

  The shock of Morgan being in California—not in Rhode Island—brought Ali joy. It also brought a stomach-dropping sense of disaster. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Morgan was hovering between apologetic and combative. “You said your housewarming was tonight. I decided to come.”

  This is insane. You don’t have the money to travel all the way to California for one night, for a party. Before Ali could put her thoughts into words, Jessica did it for her.

  “Give me a break.” Jessica shot Morgan a cynical look. “You’re saying you showed up here because…what? You just happened to be in town?”

  Morgan pressed both hands to her face in a defiant, self-protective gesture. “Actually, I’ll be in town from now on. I’ll be living here.”

  Ali had no idea what her sister was talking about or why she was so hostile.

  “Ali needs me.” Morgan was looking at the floor, while talking to Jessica. “The restaurant. And the new house. Being in a place where she doesn’t have family. It’s hard for her. I could tell from her emails…the few that I got.” Morgan looked up—at Ali. “The only thing for me to do was come and be with you.”

  Confused, Ali asked, “What about the new museum, your dream job? How can you just walk away?”

  Morgan blinked like she’d been jolted by a bad memory. “There was this thing with my boss, Veronica. She didn’t think I was a good fit anymore. She fired me.”

  The old, familiar heaviness was pressing down on Ali, the suffocating weight of Morgan. “Where, exactly, are you planning to live?”

  “Somewhere around here.” Morgan’s gaze swept the room, arrogant and calculating. Like she was playing a character in a drama no one else could see.

  Morgan was clearly in trouble—losing her grip. Ali was worried. “Morgan, you were living with Mom because of all the debt you were in. What are you going to do about money?”

  Morgan’s smile was tight. “I have money. I paid off all my debts.”

  “How?” Ali asked.

  “I sold the land Grandma MaryJoy left me.”

  “What!” Ali was thunderstruck. “Who did you sell it to?”

  “Two people in a red Cadillac. They said they want to start a farm.”

  There was a bizarre quality in the way Morgan had said the word farm.

  “What kind of farm?” Ali asked.

  “The kind where they’ll grow a little pot,” Morgan told her. “Maybe cook some meth…”

  And Ali exploded. “How dare you?”

  “Hey.” Morgan’s tone was acid. “Just because you were the favorite doesn’t mean you get an opinion on this. Grandma MaryJoy left the land to me. It was mine. I could do whatever I wanted with it.”

  Ali was so upset she was stammering. “That land has been in our family forever. It was supposed to stay in our family!”

  Their grandmother’s Irish traditions made the owning of land something sacred, and Morgan had desecrated that. Ali slapped her, hard.

  Morgan came back with what sounded like a carefully thought-out threat. “I’m in a hotel right now…but only until I can find a permanent place to live. Somewhere very close to you. And Matt.”

  Seeing how much her sister wanted to do damage to her was scaring the life out of Ali.

  “What about when you run out of money?” Jessica asked Morgan.

  “I’ll get a job. I told you, I was fired because of something personal. My work was fine. My boss, Veronica, wrote me a letter of recommendation.” Morgan turned away from Jessica, holding out an unsteady hand to Ali. “My battery’s low. I need to make a phone call.”

  A little dazed, still unable to sort out what was going on, Ali took her phone from her pocket and gave it to Morgan.

  As soon as Morgan moved away, Jessica said, “What the hell was that? Has she lost her mi—” Jessica stopped. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Ali’s heart was pounding. “Jess, she’s different. There’s something in Morgan that wasn’t ever there before.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s bad… It’s something sick.”

  Morgan

  Morgan was standing near the bar in the dining room of Ali’s new home, When she broke in on Ali’s housewarming, she hadn’t known exactly how she was going to get the payback she wanted. All she knew was that she deserved it.

  She needed something to dull the pain of going back to living a borrowed life—even if it was something small.

  And Morgan had just been handed the palm-sized weapon that could bring Ali to her knees—Ali’s phone. Morgan had borrowed it because she’d been scared, needing to call Sam. But that call was forgotten the instant Morgan switched on Ali’s phone and saw the trail of texts. Flirty exchanges between Ali and Levi, the ginger-haired hockey player.

  There were messages from Levi like: Thinking about your mouth. Wanting my tongue in it. Followed by Ali’s reply: You always were an epic kisser. And a different message from Levi saying: Where are you? To which Ali responded: In the dark, in bed. Levi immediately asked: Alone? And Ali’s comeback was: Completely alone. It’s just you and me.

  The messages, which were suggestive but never explicit, had been going on for several months. The most recent was only a few hours old—from Levi: Hey, Pretty Woman. Texting you all day. No reply.

  At the sight of that greeting—Pretty Woman—Morgan instinctively put her hand to her face. The place where the cuts had been. The place where bitterness still lingered over Ali’s contribution to the fall that made Morgan feel so ugly.

  As Morgan read the end of the most recent text from Levi, she saw it said, Don’t make me crash your housewarming and cause a scene just to get an answer from you. Could do it. Don’t forget…am on my way into LA with a buddy who plays for the Kings. xo

  Morgan looked at that little xo and knew exactly what to do. Levi had somehow managed to restrain himself at Ali’s wedding, but he was still a hothead with anger issues who’d been in love with Ali since high school. And from the looks of things, the heat had been turned way up. Now that Ali was apparently having an affair with him, he’d be a powder keg.

  The way this could play out had Morgan in an adrenaline-fueled fantasy.

 
; Levi’s fist slamming into Ali’s front door.

  The door almost breaking off the hinges…banging open.

  Startled guests scattering.

  Levi marching into the house. Shouting that he’d warned Ali not to ignore his texts.

  Levi telling Matt, and every one of Ali’s friends, that Ali is his lover, the woman he’s sleeping with.

  Ali, disgraced, humiliated.

  Matt, furious. Dragging Ali to the front door, shoving her through it. Telling her he never wants to see her again.

  Ali, gone. For good.

  Matt, heartbroken…collapsing into Morgan’s arms.

  Morgan comforting him.

  Ali locked out of Matt’s life. Begging for forgiveness that will never come.

  Morgan couldn’t stop smiling. Ali’s texts with Levi had handed her the gasoline and the matches. All she had to do was set the fire by sending a text of her own. But just as Morgan was touching her finger to the screen, Ali tapped on her the shoulder, saying, “We need to talk.”

  Morgan quickly hid Ali’s phone. Slipping it in among the housewarming gifts stacked at the end of the bar. Then she turned around and calmly asked Ali, “How long have you been cheating on Matt?”

  Ali’s eyes widened. It took her a while to pull herself together. “What’re you talking about?”

  This was something Morgan had never experienced—having the upper hand, the power to take Ali down. It felt good.

  Walking tall, Morgan moved in, leaving only inches between herself and her sister. “Save your breath…Pretty Woman.”

  Ali was stunned. “You read my texts?”

  “That’s how I found out your old friend Levi calls you Pretty Woman. That’s how I found out a lot of things.”

  Ali lunged toward Morgan. “Give me my phone.”

  “Too late!” Morgan ducked out of reach and held up both hands, fingers spread. Showing that the phone was gone.

  Ali was paper white. She seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

  “Does Matt know about your little affair?” Morgan asked.

  “It’s not an affair. Levi and I have just been…”

  While Ali was trying to finish her sentence, a tall woman in a skintight dress had hurried over and steered her toward the other side of the room, saying, “Come meet my husband. He absolutely loves your restaurant.” As Ali was dragged away, she looked back at Morgan. Frantic.

  As soon as Ali was out of sight, Morgan slid her fingers in among the housewarming gifts, probing the edges of an enormous Tiffany’s box. The instant she felt the phone’s shape, she closed her hand around it and moved like lightning.

  She only had a few seconds to send a text that would piss Levi off, something that would make him angry enough to crash the party and cause a scene—expose Ali’s slutty secret in front of a house full of people. Bring Ali to her knees and give Morgan the revenge she deserved.

  Morgan switched on the phone, trying to stay calm and focused. When the screen lit up, there was a new message: Missed my plane. Running late. Apologies to the hot hostess.

  Ali’s voice, and Jessica’s, were coming from somewhere nearby. Morgan only had a split second to get this done. Her fingers were flying. In the blink of an eye, she’d typed Go screw yourself, you pathetic asshole, hit the Send button, cleared the screen, and jammed the phone into the pile of gifts, somewhere near the Tiffany’s box.

  Ali and Jessica had arrived at the bar. Jessica was saying, “I want to pick up Logan at the airport and get him back here as fast as I can. He’s been in meetings at the corporate office in San Francisco all week. I just need to grab my phone before I head out. I left it here…next to the present I brought you.” Jessica reached in behind the Tiffany’s box and pulled out a phone.

  Jessica looked at the screen, frowned, and then put the phone to her ear. “Shit, I missed a voice mail from Logan.” After listening for a moment, she told Ali, “He didn’t catch his damn plane… He’s not going to get back in time… Says he sent you an apology text.” Jessica lowered her voice. “I think I’ll hit the road. I want to be in bed, and ready, when he finally walks in. He’s been gone a week… I’m a little horny.”

  While she watched Ali walk Jessica to the door, the air went out of Morgan. She wasn’t going to have what she wanted. She’d texted the wrong person.

  The “apologies to the hot hostess” text had been from Logan. Morgan’s “Go screw yourself” message went to Logan, not Levi.

  There wouldn’t be any infuriated hockey player roaring through the door, outing Ali as a cheating wife. Ali was safe.

  Morgan held on to the bar with both hands, dizzy with relief. Payback was what I wanted. Why am I glad I didn’t get it? It’s like I’m going crazy.

  The room started to spin. I love Ali. I don’t want to hurt her but I need to. I need to make her pay for having everything and leaving me with nothing.

  Morgan had to call Sam. She was out of control.

  Ali

  After the housewarming celebration ended, Matt had offered a ride home to one of the cast members from his show, someone who’d had way too much to drink.

  Ali had gotten into her own car, preparing to head back to the apartment. As she drove away from the new house, she was distracted—upset.

  She didn’t notice that someone was parked at the curb. Watching her.

  • • •

  Ali was only vaguely aware of her arrival at the apartment complex. Her mind was still on Morgan’s sudden, disturbing move to California.

  Pulling into the underground garage, Ali narrowly missed sideswiping stacks of moving boxes that were lined up at the edge of her parking space, in front of a closet-sized storage room.

  Getting out of the car, she stumbled over a pile of odds and ends. Old books and clothes. A few pots and pans. And a small, brown suitcase, the mud-colored wedding gift from her stepmother, an item Ali had never liked. It irritated her to see that suitcase, and the other things, still in the garage. Days ago, she’d asked Matt to drop them off on his way to work. To make sure he didn’t forget, she’d even put a hand-lettered sign on top of the pile: “For Salvation Army.”

  Wondering what else Matt had overlooked, she did a fast check of the storage room and then ran for the elevator. She hated this parking garage with its gloomy shadows and its constant echoes and creaks. It gave her the shivers.

  By the time Ali got upstairs and opened the door to her apartment, there were only two things she wanted to do: take a hot shower and drop onto her bed, the one functioning piece of furniture that remained in the apartment. The rest of the furniture, most of it from IKEA, had been given away to various neighbors.

  The apartment was stuffy and almost eerily quiet. Ali had flipped the wall switch beside the front door, then remembered that there was no overhead lighting fixture in the living room and that all the lamps were already packed. After she shut and locked the door, she had to thread her way through a forest of moving boxes in darkness and silence.

  Just as she was stepping into the bedroom, the silence was broken by a peculiar tapping sound. Coming in erratic bursts. Abruptly stopping before starting again.

  Whoever, or whatever, was making the noise was only a few feet away. On the other side of the darkened bedroom.

  Ali began a slow, nervous retreat.

  A new round of rattling started up—faster, louder. Terror hit. And Ali collapsed, landing on her knees, her teeth chattering. “Who…who’s there?”

  No answer. Another burst of rattling taps.

  Then Ali saw the far wall of the bedroom—the sliding glass door that led to the patio. The door was rattling. The wind was blowing, and the lock was loose. The lock Matt had never fixed, the symbol of his preoccupation with his work. The lock that Ali had refused to fix because doing it herself would’ve meant letting Matt get away with ignoring his responsibi
lities.

  In the midst of her fright, Ali was ragingly angry. If Matt had been there, she would’ve wanted to hit him with a tire iron.

  When she caught her breath, she stormed across the darkness of the bedroom and grabbed the handle on the sliding door, shoving at the lock, trying to force it to catch. But it was badly bent and wouldn’t fall into place. She banged it with her fist and screamed the word damn.

  Ali was furious with Matt—scared about what was going on with Morgan.

  And above all, Ali was tired and needed to sleep.

  Stepping away from the sliding door, she tapped the switch plate on the wall and used the weak glow from the outside patio bulb to illuminate the way to the bathroom. Once she got there, she pulled off her clothes and didn’t bother to turn on the lights. She was too exhausted.

  She went straight into the shower, letting the hot water pour over her for a very long time.

  • • •

  Ali’s eyes were heavy, her body loose and relaxed. She came out of the dark of the bathroom into the semidarkness of the bedroom, lazily running a towel over her wet hair and face.

  She never saw the man who grabbed her.

  But as she was being slammed to the floor—as he was forcing her legs apart—Ali saw the unlocked sliding door. The wind wasn’t rattling it now, and it was wide open.

  Matt

  “This whole thing is unbelievable.” Matt’s eyes nervously shifted from the uniformed police officer to the front door of the apartment, then back again.

  He was thinking that the cop was incredibly young. She looks like a high-school girl playing grown-up. With her shiny, new badge, and that big black gun riding way up high on her hip. The badge says “R. Yamanaka.” Wonder what the R is for. Rosie? Rachel? Why the hell am I standing here letting myself be interrogated by her? Why the hell didn’t I—

  “Sir? Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened?” Officer Yamanaka was now resting her hand on the butt of her holstered firearm.