Little Sister (28 page)

“I’m sure that’s very hard on you,” Beth said softly, “but if that’s what she wants—”

“You knew what was in the letter because you made her say it,” he shouted.

Beth stared at him with wide eyes. His face had turned a mottled purplish red, and the cords on his neck stood out as he yelled at her. He was baring his teeth like an animal.

Uh-oh, she thought. Okay. I get it. I’m to blame. That’s what’s going on here. She took a step back but kept her eyes glued to his face. Be very careful what you say to him. This guy is a little out of control here. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. “I’m telling you the truth, Andrew. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“You lying bitch,” he snarled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

Beth was about to protest, but she stopped herself. There was no point in arguing with him. It would just antagonize him. God, they were right about him. Cindy and her father. Everyone. He really is crazy, she thought. She had to get him out of here somehow, but she couldn’t think how. She looked nervously into the kitchen.

“What are you looking at?” he demanded. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“I was just looking at the, uh, phone,” said Beth. “I was thinking I could have Francie call you when she gets back and you can talk with her and straighten this thing out.”

“I’m waiting right here,” he said. “You won’t even tell her I was here.”

“It’s just that—well, you might have to wait a long time. I don’t know when she’ll be back. You could call her yourself, if you don’t—if you want to be sure she gets the message.”

Andrew put his face close to hers. “This is your favorite game, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice.

Beth’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Telling everybody what to do. You call the shots.”

“It’s just an idea, Andrew. Why should you wait around here when you could be—”

At that moment the kitchen door opened, and Francie came in, lugging a bag filled with notebooks, her gym suit, a box of candy, and some books. “I got everything,” she said, kicking off her boots. “Beth, I saw Mrs. McNeill, but she said you already called her.”

“I did,” said Beth, trying to sound composed. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“I do?” Francie’s pale cheeks were reddened from the cold, and her glasses were steamed up. She took them off and wiped the lenses and then put them back on and looked at the darkened doorway.

Andrew sneered at Beth and then dropped the arm that barred the doorway. He took a step toward Francie. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi,” said Francie. She avoided his outstretched arm. “I was looking for you. I heard about your mom. That was terrible. You must feel awful.”

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, cocking his head toward the door.

“I can’t,” said Francie. “I’ve got to put this stuff away.”

Beth watched Andrew from behind, uncertain what to do. He seemed less agitated now that Francie was here, but it reminded her of the sickly stillness of the sky before a tornado.

“I ripped up the letter,” he said.

Francie grimaced. “I feel bad about that.”

“I know you didn’t mean it. Don’t worry. I threw it out.”

Francie opened her mouth to protest, but Beth said quickly, “Andrew is very upset about the letter,” in a warning voice. Francie looked at her with a perplexed expression on her face.

“Who asked you?” Andrew demanded, turning on Beth.

Beth shook her head and looked down.

“Come on,” he yelled at Francie. “Let’s go.”

“No, Andrew, I can’t,” said Francie. “I have a lot to do. I have to get ready to—to go,” she concluded softly.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “To go where?” he asked.

Francie sighed and made a face. “Look, there’s something I have to tell you. I know you’re going to be mad, but—”

“What are you talking about? Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to Philadelphia. To live with my sister,” Francie whispered.

Beth steeled herself as if for an explosion. He was looking at Francie incredulously, as if the information were taking a long time to register. But then, instead of the eruption she anticipated, Beth saw a calm, sly smile spread over his face.

He gave a short laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, babe. You don’t have to listen to her. She can’t make you do anything.”

“Andrew, she’s not. Listen—”

“Look,” he said, “I have fixed everything for us. I know you’re mad ’cause I didn’t pick you up when I said. But there was something important I had to do. It was for us, believe me. That’s why I didn’t come get you the other night. But everything’s perfect now. I’m not going to tell you about it in front of her.” He gave a curt nod in Beth’s direction. “But we are free now. We can be together now, just like we planned. No problem. Don’t be afraid of her. She can’t make you go with her. You’ve got me here to protect you now.”

“She’s not making me go, Andrew,” Francie wailed. “Really. I want to get away from here. I don’t want to live with my aunt and uncle. And I like it in Philadelphia. But it doesn’t mean I’ll never see you. You could come down and visit me there.”

Andrew looked wildly from one sister to another, and then the sly look returned to his eyes. “She’s making you say these things.”

“No, she isn’t,” Francie insisted. “She asked me to come there to stay, and I said I would.”

“Do you want me to go in another room?” Beth asked Francie. “Maybe if I’m not here—”

Andrew turned on Beth. “Shut up,” he screamed. “You can’t tell her what to do. Don’t give me this crap. ‘I’ll go in another room.’” He mimicked her. “You can hear through the walls.” He turned back to Francie. “She’s forcing you. It doesn’t matter what you want. Not to her. Oh, no.” He shook his head at Francie. “I understand,” he said. “Believe me. I know what’s happening.” He shook his head slowly, staring at Francie. Then he turned on Beth. “You cunt.” He spit the word at her.

Francie gasped.

“All right,” said Beth. “That’s enough. You get out of here.” She pointed toward the door, hoping he could not see her hand shaking.

Andrew’s eyes blazed at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to come at her. Beth glared at him. “I mean it,” she said. “Get out of here, or so help me, I’ll call the police.”

Andrew gazed at her for a moment as if appraising her threat. Then a mirthless smile sliced his face. “I know what you’re up to,” he said. “You can’t put this over on me. I know every trick there is. Every one of them has already been done to me. I know how you can make people say what they don’t mean to say, no matter what they want. You can make them do it. But you won’t get away with it, this time. Oh, no.”

“I told you to go,” said Beth. She could not conceal the tremor in her voice. He had hunched over into a kind of crouch, as if he were going to spring at her.

“Don’t be mad, Andrew,” Francie pleaded. “Please.”

Andrew turned to her and then straightened up and, with a gentle, faraway smile, reached out to stroke her ash blond hair. “I’m not mad. I understand. Believe me. I’ll see you later.” Without another look at Beth he headed out the door into the night.

Beth ran to the door, slammed it shut, and shot the bolt. Then she leaned against it and looked at Francie.

“I can’t believe the way he was acting,” said Francie.

“He’s crazy,” said Beth.

Francie looked at Beth with troubled eyes. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on him like that. His mother, and now me leaving. It’s all just too much for him.”

“Look, I don’t care why. He sneaked into this house. He practically threatened me. You heard how he was talking.”

“I don’t think he meant all that stuff.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Francie. He’s ready to snap.”

Francie did not reply.

“Keep this locked tonight,” said Beth. “I mean it.”

Slowly, sadly, Francie nodded agreement.

HE BURST THROUGH THE TOWER DOORS,
his machine gun blazing as he mowed down the last of the guards. Francie turned from the barred window, her face pale from months of imprisonment and held out her arms to him. “I saw you leading your men this way,” she whispered as she crushed herself to his chest. “I couldn’t believe my eyes.” His camouflage fatigues were soaked with sweat and blood from the battle, but she didn’t seem to care. He picked her up and carried her down from the tower and out onto the balcony of the palace. Outside the palace walls hordes of people were chanting his name, blessing him for saving them. He waved to them, acknowledging their homage. Then he guided Francie over to the edge of the wall and pointed with the gun into the courtyard below. The tyrants were there, prisoners now, lined up against the courtyard wall. A firing squad stood at the ready, waiting for his signal. One of the prisoners looked up at them where they stood, the shouts of the crowd still ringing around them. It was a woman, her eyes defeated, her face haggard. She was gazing up at Francie, pleading for mercy. “She wants you to save her,” he whispered to Francie. “She thinks you’ll let her go free.” He looked down at the ash blond head. Francie was shaking it from side to side. He squeezed her to him and raised his gun. “Fire,” he screamed. “Fire.”

A light flashed on in the darkened trailer down the street as Andrew approached his house. He heard the sound of his own voice echo in the frosty night. The door to the trailer opened, and a man’s silhouette appeared, framed by the doorway. He looked up and down the street and then called out, “What the hell are you yelling about?”

“Sorry,” Andrew called back. “I didn’t mean…sorry.” The man shook his head and then slammed the door of the trailer, Andrew hurried up to the house and entered through the basement. Quickly he undressed and had his shower, straining to listen, through the cascading water, for the sound of the phone upstairs. She was sure to try to reach him. But as he emerged from the shower he was surrounded by silence.

He rubbed himself off with a stained, soggy towel that lay on the floor and then put his dirty clothes on again. He buckled his belt and trudged up the stairs, realizing, with each leaden step, that the call would not come. She would not be able to call. She would not be allowed to use the phone.

His head began to throb as if someone were tightening a metal band around it. He tried to recall the fantasy of rescuing her, but the pounding in his head prevented it. He went to the front window and stared out into the black night. He had no weapon, no army. He didn’t even have a fucking car to get them out of town. For the thousandth time he regretted the loss of the car. He didn’t even have the money to buy a car. Andrew ground the palm of his hand helplessly against the throbbing in his eyes. The band seemed to tighten around his forehead. There was no money in the house. His mother never kept any around the house, and he had gone through her purse before he put it in the car with her, and she had only a few dollars on her. He knew she had some money in the bank, but he couldn’t get at that. He had tried to get money from her accounts once and found out that he was “unauthorized” to take it out. That’s what the zit-faced teller had informed him. Unauthorized. His mother had laughed when she heard it. “I figured you would try that,” she had said, her eyes flinty, despite the laughter. “I’m always one step ahead of you.” But even as his skin prickled at the thought of her ugly, laughing face, he suddenly realized that things were different now. She was not ahead of him any longer. She was gone, and he was her sole survivor. Her heir. All he had to do was find her will and wave that under their noses at the bank. They’d have to give him the money. It would be his by law.

The thought excited him, and the band around his head seemed to loosen. All he had to do was find the will. He bolted up the stairs to his room and picked up her keys. She had always kept the door to her room locked. She had never let him come in. That’s probably where the important papers were stashed. He went down the hall and unlocked her door. He shuddered a little as he pushed the door open and thought he detected the scent of peppermint. Moonlight threw the lace pattern of the curtains onto the frayed rug. Andrew hesitated for a moment and then rushed to the bureau and switched on the dim pink bulb under the tasseled shade. He looked around warily.

The room was neat and still, a light coating of dust on the furniture tops. His heart thudded in time with his headache as he tried to decide which drawer to open first. Go ahead. He prodded himself. She is gone. With a defiant movement he threw open the jewelry box on her bureau and reached in. He pulled out a handful of worthless ropes of beads that trailed from the box like shiny intestines. He threw them down on the floor and plunged in again, unclasped pins sticking into him as he clawed through her junky collection in search of his legacy. He turned the box over, and the last few earrings tumbled out, but there were no documents. He tossed the box aside and began on the drawers.

One after another they yielded nothing but worn clothes, scarves, and underwear. Andrew tore through them, cursing her as he went, wanton piles of ripped clothing collecting on the floor around him as he emptied closets and drawers.

He had ransacked every hiding place he could think of when the trunk caught his eye. He had seen it as he scanned the room but had paid no attention to it. She used it as a piece of furniture. It was covered with a lacy cloth and an assortment of flowerpots holding the withered remnants of plants. But now, as he looked at it again, he noticed that its hasp was padlocked. For a moment he thought triumphantly that he had found it. She would keep her secret papers locked up like that. Then, in the next instant, he went weak all over as he realized what might be in there.

It was large enough. There was no doubt of that. Andrew sank to the floor, surrounded by wads of peppermint-scented clothing, and stared at the metal trunk. She had never told him what she’d done with the body. Wasn’t it possible? He felt as if he could see through the metal sides, beneath the cloth and the rust-colored pots to the hideous contents of the trunk. Was there flesh left, or only bones? He imagined eyes bulging from the skull, wisps of hair still attached to rotting flesh, the old blue coat sheltering a putrid skeleton. She would keep it here, her evidence against him. Countless times she had threatened him with it, refusing to say where she had hidden the body.