The Bad Sister

by Kevin O'Brien

  “Maybe we should head back now before it really starts to pour,” Hannah suggested, glancing over her shoulder. “I don’t really need to go to the store. I can survive without a fan for one night.”

  “Nonsense, I’ll just call Perry,” Rachel said, talking loudly to compete with the patter of rain on the awning overhead. She fished her cell phone out of her purse. “He can drive us. No sense getting caught in a monsoon.”

  “Who’s Perry?” Hannah asked. There was a crack of thunder, and she flinched.

  “He’s our ride.” Rachel kept walking, but slowed down as she worked her thumbs over her phone screen. “Did you see Alden and me when we took off earlier? Perry was driving the Town Car. My father hired him. Like I told you, my dad’s overprotective. When I first started school here, he actually had three guys working in shifts on bodyguard duty. I think my parents were worried I’d get kidnapped or something. Twenty-four-seven, one of them was always in a car parked by the entrance to Saint Agnes Village—like it was a stakeout or something. Totally ridiculous. After a couple of months, I persuaded my father to narrow the team down to one guy. Anyway, that’s Perry. He’s sort of like my bodyguard and babysitter. But mostly, he’s my chauffeur.”

  “Like your own personal Uber,” Hannah said. “Is he still staked out by the front gate to the village?”

  “No, thank God,” Rachel said, putting her phone away. “He lives here in town, and he’s on call. Talk about a cush-cush job. I don’t think he’s much of a bodyguard. If somebody actually wanted to kidnap me, I’d be in real trouble. Still, it’s nice to have him around in situations like this. He’ll meet us outside the Jewel.”

  Rachel was right. After they picked up a few items— including the last box fan in stock—Rachel and Hannah stepped out of the supermarket to find the Lincoln Town Car waiting for them. A stocky, thirty-something man with a crew cut and a five o’clock shadow stood by the car. He had an umbrella ready, and opened the back door for them. Hannah barely got wet, even with all the rain.

  “Perry, this is Hannah, my roommate and ‘little sister,’” Rachel said, once he pulled out of the parking lot. “You’re going to see a lot of her in the coming year.”

  “Hi,” Hannah said.

  The rain beat on the car roof, and the windshield wipers squeaked a bit. Hannah saw the driver glance at her in the rearview mirror. He nodded.

  “Perry’s a man of few words, aren’t you, Perry?” Rachel said. “What were you in the middle of when I texted? Don’t tell me you had a hot date. I’ll hate myself for interrupting.”

  “Nothing that important,” he answered seriously. “I’m here to serve.”

  Hannah had a feeling he didn’t like being teased. She noticed him eyeing her in the rearview mirror again.

  After he pulled over in front of the bungalow, he jumped out and opened their door. Then he held the umbrella over both of them—while he walked in the downpour—right up to the cottage’s front door.

  It was completely dark inside, and Hannah realized Eden still hadn’t come back.

  She noticed Perry unlocked the door with his own key. “I should do a house check,” he announced. He nodded at the front of the bungalow. Beside the big picture window was a smaller one they’d left open. “I don’t like that open window.”

  “C’mon, give me a break,” Rachel said, stepping inside and switching on the light. “The window’s got a screen on it, and all the other windows have bars on them . . .”

  “Just doing my job,” he said. Collapsing his umbrella, he started in after them and then slipped off his shoes. Hannah was startled to see him head right into Eden’s and her bedroom.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Tightly wound,” she whispered. “But he means well.” She set down the fan, plopped on the sofa, and switched on the end-table lamp. Then she glanced around. “Where’s Eden anyway?”

  “Beats me,” Hannah sighed. She set her grocery bag beside the fan on the floor. “This is classic Eden behavior, disappearing for hours at a time and being incommunicado.”

  Perry came through the living room again. He stopped by the window and got ready to close it.

  “Oh please, spare us!” Rachel cried. “We’ll suffocate.”

  “Some rain’s getting in,” he said.

  “I don’t care. I can live with a wet floor. I promise, we’ll close and lock the stupid window before we go to bed.”

  He gave a curt nod and then headed up the stairs.

  “There better be nothing missing from my underwear drawer when I check later tonight!” she called.

  “That’s inappropriate,” he replied from upstairs.

  She grinned at Hannah. “God, I love teasing him. Anyway—that’s really weird about your sister. She’s been gone, like, five hours. You’re not worried?”

  “A little bit, I guess,” Hannah admitted.

  “Maybe you should call her.”

  “She always turns off her phone. I think she does it just to be perverse.”

  Still, Hannah dug her phone out of her purse so she could once again text her wandering half-sister.

  That had been nearly two hours ago, and there was still no response.

  When Perry had left, he’d reminded Rachel to bolt the front door. But they couldn’t, not while Eden was still out there somewhere.

  Rachel had headed up to bed about an hour ago. Hannah had dug out the bedding from one of the boxes and made up both Eden’s and her beds. She’d thought of that line from her dad’s favorite baseball movie, Field of Dreams, something about, If you build it, he will come. In the case of Eden’s bed, Hannah had thought, If you make it, she will come back.

  Now the bed was probably damp with rain in the spot under the open window. The curtains kept fluttering. Beyond the jail-like bars, Hannah saw another flash of lightning. The overgrown garden next door was briefly illuminated. She noticed the lonely, solemn statue of St. Ursula, unmoving against all the swaying foliage and flowers. The two Japanese maple trees on either side of the martyred saint looked like they might snap in the rain and wind.

  Hannah glanced at the digital clock on the desk behind her: 12:26 A.M. She wanted to switch on the lamp and read a little. But she hated the idea that anyone walking by could see her in here—on the ground floor. Of course, who in their right mind would be out walking in this rain? Who, besides crazy people and her half-sister? That was just the problem. She didn’t want any psycho out there peeping in at her. They could walk right up to the barred window if they wanted. And she couldn’t close the curtains without stifling the cool breeze.

  She really wished she were in her own bed at home, where it felt safe, where worrying about Eden was her parents’ job. Hannah couldn’t help thinking that the move to college—along with this sudden sense of responsibility for her half-sister—was turning her into her mother. Really, why should she give a shit if Eden wanted to stay out all night carousing? Carousing? God, she was even thinking in terms her mother used.

  Beyond the sound of the whirling fan and the pelting rain, Hannah thought she heard a strange click—inside the house. She threw back her sheets and jumped out of bed. In her blue gingham summer pajamas, she crept out of the bedroom. She checked the kitchen—and the back door. Nothing. She listened for a moment.

  A lock rattled. Someone was trying to get in the front door.

  Please be Eden, please be Eden, she thought.

  Hannah stepped out toward the kitchenette and paused by the bar. She noticed the empty champagne bottle on the counter. If she had to, she could clobber an intruder over the head with it. Biting her lip, she watched the front door open.

  Soaking wet, Eden stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her blond hair was in damp tangles.

  With an exasperated sigh, Hannah stomped back into the bedroom, dug a towel out of one of the boxes, and returned to the living room with it. “Here,” she hissed, practically shoving the towel in Eden’s hands. She brushed past her, double-locked the door, and secured the bolt. Th
en she swiveled around. “Where the hell have you been all night?” she whispered. “And could you at least take off your stupid shoes? You’re getting the floor wet.”

  “God, get off my ass,” Eden muttered, patting herself down with the towel. Her T-shirt and ugly yellow overall shorts were drenched and clinging to her. “What are you having a cow for anyway? It’s not that late. It’s only like ten-thirty Seattle time.”

  Hannah shushed her. “Rachel may be sleeping.”

  “Sounds like she’s got an air conditioner up there,” Eden said, lowering her voice. “I doubt she can hear us. I don’t think we’re interrupting the princess’s beauty sleep . . .”

  She headed into the bedroom, and Hannah followed her. “Here’s a crazy idea,” Hannah said. “Why don’t you turn on your stupid phone once in a while? Did you even bother reading my texts? You’re supposed to call home.”

  “I texted them about an hour ago, and they all texted back,” Eden replied. She started to peel off her wet clothes. “God, nag, nag, nag . . .”

  Hannah plopped down on her bed. “Where were you all this time?”

  “I told you—I wanted to check out the campus. I ended up having dinner at the Sunnyside Up Café. I met this creepy guy there. Or maybe he just seemed creepy because he was drunk. He’s a janitor with the college. He sure knew enough about this place.”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah asked, concerned.

  “He knew the setup, that we’re sleeping in this closet, and that Rachel has deluxe accommodations upstairs. Maybe she’s had him clean in here or something. I don’t know, beats me. Anyway, he also told me about a shortcut through the woods.”

  Except for her panties, Eden stood there naked and ran the towel over herself some more. She didn’t seem to care that the window curtains weren’t drawn. “It started raining when I left the diner,” she said. “I almost took the shortcut, but then I decided, screw it. There was something I didn’t trust about that janitor guy. So I went back to the café. I had some coffee and started talking to a few of the locals. One of them gave me a ride to the gate down the street. God, I really need a shower . . .”

  She wrapped the towel around her and headed out of the bedroom.

  Hannah remained on the bed and listened to Eden climbing the stairs. She was wondering about the creepy janitor when she noticed Eden had left her wet clothes on the floor in the middle of the bedroom. What a slob. And it hadn’t even registered with her that her bed had been made. Did she think it had just magically happened?

  Oh God, she thought, I really am turning into Mom.

  This living arrangement wasn’t going to work out. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, Eden had to go. Maybe there was a vacancy in another bungalow—or in a girls’ dorm. Eden would probably be happier there. And she’d be someone else’s headache.

  Hannah would talk about it with Eden in the morning. Right now, she was too upset to broach the subject. The two of them would just end up getting into a huge argument.

  Hannah climbed under the bed sheet and turned her face to the wall. If she could fall asleep before Eden returned, she wouldn’t have to talk to her at all.

  But Hannah was still wide awake when Eden wandered back into the room with a towel around her. Hannah wondered what kind of mess she’d left in the bathroom.

  “You didn’t have to make the bed for me, y’know,” Eden said. “I could have done it myself.”

  Hannah didn’t reply. She wondered if this was her half-sister’s version of a thank-you. She glanced over her shoulder. Eden now had on an oversized V-neck T-shirt. She crawled into bed. She’d left the towel on the floor.

  Hannah sighed and stirred under the thin bed sheet. More than anything, she just wanted to fall asleep, but she knew it was impossible. She held her tongue for another few minutes, but finally caved. “Y’know,” she said quietly. “I think we’re going to end up killing each other if one of us doesn’t find another place to live. You obviously aren’t crazy about Rachel. Well, I happen to like her—a lot. I want to stay. I’ve unpacked most of my stuff already. It can’t really matter to you where you live. Maybe at this orientation thing tomorrow, you can ask about relocating.”

  There was no response. Then Eden let out a moan and a single snore.

  Hannah couldn’t believe it. Was she actually asleep already? Her head had hit the pillow less than three minutes ago. Amazing. And in a strange, new bed, too.

  Hannah sat up and gazed at her half-sister, dead to the world.

  There was another crack of thunder, more distant and muffled this time.

  Hannah glanced toward the window to see the lightning flash—which illuminated the garden next door for a second. She saw a man standing by the overgrown plot.

  Her heart stopped. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. She could hardly breathe.

  It had happened so fast. She’d glimpsed him only in silhouette. But she could tell it was a man lurking out there in the rain—right by the spot where those girls were murdered.

  With a shaky hand, she reached over and shook Eden. “Wake up!” she whispered. “There’s someone outside.”

  Eden barely stirred. “What?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.

  There was another flash of lightning. Hannah expected to see the man on the other side of the window, peering in at her through the bars.

  But she saw no one—just the garden, so much like a little cemetery.

  Eden let out another solitary snore and rolled over in bed.

  Hannah grasped the bed sheet to her chest. She was afraid to move. She could feel her heart racing wildly. She hadn’t imagined the man. She knew he’d been out there in the downpour. But she couldn’t say for certain that he was peeping in at them. For all she knew, he could have just been walking by. Maybe he had a girlfriend in one of the bungalows, and he was meeting up with her in secret.

  Hannah told herself that if she was going to sleep in a bedroom on the ground floor, she’d better get used to seeing people walk by at all hours. She settled back in bed and closed her eyes. She was being paranoid. There were bars on her window. The front door was locked and bolted, and Rachel had a bodyguard on call who was just five minutes away.

  As much as she tried to calm down, Hannah knew it would be hours before she fell asleep tonight.

  She opened her eyes and gazed at the window again.

  She couldn’t help wondering if they put the bars up after the girls next door were murdered.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Friday, September 4, 2:35 A.M.

  He wasn’t very impressed with the results.

  The Sony compact RX100 had been featured in an online article about the best cameras for taking photographs underwater without a flash. He needed the camera for shooting at night. He thought it ironic that, with all the rain, he may as well have been underwater while using it earlier tonight.

  The video looked murky once he watched it full-screen on his computer monitor. Of course, he’d videotaped the two half-sisters in their bedroom with the lights off. The bars on the window kept getting in the way. Still, he was able to zoom in on them: Hannah, in her flimsy pajama set, and Eden, naked except for her panties as she patted off the rain with a towel. She was completely nude as she changed into a V-neck T-shirt before slipping into bed. He captured some good full-frontal shots from that. Why couldn’t it have been Hannah?

  He had better-quality video images of them in the well-lit living room, when Eden had come home from her night of prowling. He backed up the digital recording to watch it again. His eyes lingered on Hannah’s long, bare legs, and her breasts jiggling beneath the delicate pajama top. Watching the girls snap and snarl at each other amused him. But mostly, he was aroused.

  One of the first things he’d done when he’d gotten back here to his home base was peel off all his rain-drenched clothes. Watching the video of the girls in various stages of undress had made him extremely horny. There was something so intimate about being naked, too. He couldn’t help pla
ying with himself.

  He sat at a long desk in the second-floor bedroom of a mostly empty, deserted-looking farmhouse. The place was a leaky, decaying dump. But the utilities were paid up, and that allowed him to keep all the outside cameras running. They were planted around the house—out in front, in the backyard, and one inside the tool shed. On the desktop he’d set up the computer, the monitors, and all his surveillance equipment.

  The rain had died down. A cool breeze drifted through the bedroom’s open window. It felt delicious and slightly erotic against his bare, damp skin.

  He didn’t want to think about what he still had to do tonight. The awful smell from down the hall had been a reminder—until he closed the bathroom door. Most of the ice in the tub had melted, and Riley’s body was starting to decay. Opening the bathroom window and spraying some air freshener in there had helped. But then it smelled like something rotting in a watermelon patch. So he’d lit a few candles while he’d set out the saw, knives, and plastic bags on the bathroom floor. He figured, with all the blood splattering, he’d be naked when he cut up the body; then he could just shower afterward. The burial spot he’d selected was a higher elevation in the woods, so it wouldn’t be too muddy. He figured on finishing up by dawn.

  But he didn’t want to think about that now.

  In the distance, he could hear a muffled barking. But he really had to concentrate and listen for it.

  He looked at the monitor, the one picking up an image from the camera mounted near the ceiling of the little tool shed out back. Inside the cramped space, there would be enough room for a small table, a chair, and a cot. Right now, the shed was empty—except for the stray mutt he’d picked up the day before yesterday. It was a medium-size brown dog, part-retriever and part-something-else. The mutt hadn’t been wearing a collar. With a few Milk-Bone treats, it had been easy to lure him inside the car.