Listen, I know what I’m accusing my sister of. This isn’t some form of petty jealousy or harboured resentment proctored to ruin her image. Trust me, if I had a better restraint on my moral inhibitions, I wouldn’t be typing this shit down and posting it.
I love my sister. More than anything. You have to believe me. I don’t want her to go to jail.
To make a long story short; my parents were neglectful and Mary—let’s call her Mary—had to raise me in their stead. She’s my mother, father, and sister wrapped into one support system.
We have a thirteen-year age difference. Once she became a legal adult Mary grabbed me and ran. She has sole custody of me now although, in retrospect, I’m sure the documents pertaining to that guardianship are forged.
Mary’s always been a little rough around the edges. She started drinking and smoking young. Brought boys home even younger. Suspensions were a common occurrence. Whatever situation brought her to the principal’s office had the same gist about it; her aggression.
She’s violent. Mary enjoys hurting people, watching them scream as she pulls their hair or thrusts her fists at bone until there’s a gratifying crack.
It’s like she fucking gets off on it. I’ve seen a fair share of the beatings and the delighted laugh that erupts from her mouth once the victim stops fighting back makes my gut churn with bile.
And I’ve never done anything to stop it. Instead, I would watch her blood-soaked knuckles used to hurt cradle my face and bring me into Mary’s chest.
“It’s done now, sweetheart. You’re alright.” I’d let her comfort me. Let her brush away my tears and hand me the raggedy stuffed bear of mine she’d always keep in her backpack for me to snuggle with.
You just don’t get how she is with me.
Mary’s always been soft when it came to taking care of her little sister. When I had nightmares she would let me sneak into bed with her and hold me close, singing a sweet melody while caressing my hair until I fell back asleep. She’d steal clothes from the local thrift store and dress me up pretty like a doll for school so I wouldn’t be bullied for being too poor. After I got into fights with her about the violence and threatened to leave I’d get sick. Even though I was so cruel she’d still nurse me back to health without complaint. Mary would baby and coddle me until I was back on my feet.
I stole her childhood. She had to grow up too fast because her pain-in-the-ass sister needed to be fed or rocked to sleep. I’m not her child. She didn’t owe me anything.
I know what she’s done. I know what she is. But I love her because she’s always loved me. How am I supposed to deny that bond?
Anyway, now that I’ve given some background, I’ll get to my main worries.
I’m eighteen now and heading to college soon. I’ll be living with Mary for the first year and commuting. Although my sister’s managed to work her way up through the company she’s at, she’s still essentially a single parent. Dorms are expensive and besides, Mary says she can protect me better if I stay close by.
But now I’m hesitant to attend. There’s been multiple disappearances around my area and rumours have spun the story of a serial killer in our mundane city.
It’s the talk of my high school. There’s not a class or lunch break that goes by without theories being flung around or assumptions about the potential victims.
One of my close friends, Lily(fake name), has been one of the missing persons. She’s practically family and I’ve been pretty torn up about it.
Mary’s reaction to it is what has started making me connect the dots.
She’s the one that broke the news to me.
“‘Em, I need to tell you something.”
I looked up from my textbook to Mary walking to my bed and sitting down beside me.
“What’s up?”
“Your friend, Lilly. She’s been reported missing,” she brought my head down to her shoulder and pressed a quick flutter of lips to temple. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
I blinked, my brain flitting around with scattered thoughts too jumbled to decipher. Lilly? Missing? No. Lilly’s the one who solves the crime. She isn’t the missing. She isn’t the victim. Girls like her don’t end up dead.
Tears fell down my cheeks and I pressed my face into Mary’s shoulder, letting out a broken sob. I knew she was gone. I could feel it in my bones. Lilly wasn’t coming back.
Mary sighed, almost as if she was irritated. “‘Em, come on. Stop crying, hmm? You still got me. I’ll protect you.”
Who the fuck consoles someone like that? I didn’t want to hear Mary would be there for me. I didn’t want to hear her stupid mantras of protection.
I grew diligent after that.
I noticed the way she turned up the volume on the TV once the newscaster relayed the events of the disappearances. Mary’s eyes would brighten and a crooked smirk would play on her lips before reverting back to the permanent dullness she often wore with life.
During mealtimes, she’d only want to talk to me about the disappearances. Unaware or just not caring that I was still grieving for my friend.
“Whoever’s killing those kids, they’re smart.”
I dropped my forkful of chicken and snapped my eyes up to her conceited grin.
“None of the reports mentioned any murders. They’re just disappearances. Maybe they’ll come back.”
Mary’s features softened into that condescending look she often got when explaining things. She never really changed her perception of me from that dumb little girl who would piss the bed and come crying for her big sister.
“Sweetheart, they’re dead. The perpetrator wouldn’t hold them for this long. Lily’s gone.”
I shoved away from the table and stood up, emanating with rage. “Fuck you.”
Of course, I got sick again. Mary held my hair away from my face as I vomited and pressed wet cloths to my fevered forehead as silent apologies. Everything was forgiven.
But I didn’t forget. I kept on investigating.
One night when Mary thought I was asleep, she snuck out to the balcony of our apartment for a phone call. In the dark of the living room, I hid behind the couch and listened to her talk to the person on the other line. She left the sliding door open enough that her voice echoed in.
“The police are catching on. What the fuck are you going to do to fix this?”
I watched her dig nails into the metal standings as if it were the only thing holding Mary back from letting her fists fly.
“I have all of their shit in my jewelry box. I’m burning it all tomorrow, I don’t care about mementos or whatever sick fucks like you get hard about.”
She took a deep breath before lowering the phone so she could speak directly into the mic. “Get them off our backs. I don’t care what you need to do.”
I slowly backed away, hands encircling my mouth to keep from screaming. My brain focused in on the most significant part of the conversation; the jewelry box.
As silently as I could, I crept into Mary’s room and grasped the handle of the small container. When I opened it my eyes immediately centred in on the signature ring Lily often sported. It was the gift I had bought her for a middle-school birthday. I gingerly picked it up and turned it around, examining the exterior. There was a splatter of crimson I had to assume was blood.
As I took a quick scan of the other paraphernalia inside the box, I concluded it was the rest of the victims’ belongings. Fuck.
“‘Em?” Double fuck.
I heard Mary’s steps nearing the bedroom and quickly shoved the ring into the container and slammed it shut.
“What are you doing, Emily?”
I took a step away from the counter and took a glance at Mary’s stern composure. She quickly glanced at the jewelry box and I knew she was on to me.
Before Mary could think too hard about what I was doing so close to vital evidence, I quickly accepted the tears that stung my eyes and let them loose. I rubbed a knuckle against my lids, a move that often reminded Mary of an exhausted toddler me who would try to stay up past her bedtime.
“I had a nightmare.” I snuffled.
Just as I expected, it worked like a charm.
Mary softened, now reverted back to the maternal figure instead of a serial killer who would do what she had to to get away with it.
“Oh sweetheart, c’mere.”
My sister grabbed my hand and laid me down on her bed like the thousands of times she’d done before. She brought her arms to rest against my back and held me close, tucking my head under her chin.
“Everything will be alright in the morning, I promise. I’ll protect you.”
As I closed my eyes and relaxed my posture, I almost let myself believe her.
I know what I have to do. It’s the right thing, to inform the cops of the items hiding inside her jewelry box.
It’s the next day and I’ve had my phone locked on the emergency call screen for the past hour, finger always poised on the red button but never clicking accept.
Mary’s at work right now and still hasn’t disposed of the evidence. I’m certain she’ll do it once she’s back and I’m at a meeting for my high school’s sports team.
I want to be good. If not for me then for Lilly and all the other victims that have been hurt because of my inaction.
It’s just, I love her so much. She’s been everything to me in a world where I have only known negligence and abuse.
It’s like that famous poetic line.
When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.