The Night Sister (29 page)

Even though Sylvie had disappeared, they made Rose go to school, pretend that everything was normal.

“There's nothing you can do moping around at home,” Mama said; she packed a tuna sandwich for Rose in a paper sack, tucked it into her school bag, and sent her on her way to meet the bus. Mama, who never cried, had been crying all morning. She wouldn't look Rose in the eye; she seemed eager to get rid of her.

Daddy called the police, Rose learned later. Sylvie was reported as a runaway. Daddy went down to the train and bus stations, flashing a picture of Sylvie, asking if they'd sold her a ticket or seen her. Nobody had.

“Probably headed for Hollywood,” Mama kept saying. “That girl has stars in her eyes. Has since the day she was born.”

Sylvie's friends were all shocked to hear the news; they denied knowing anything about a plan to run away. They did say she'd been acting strange lately, and they'd guessed that she might have a secret boyfriend. When asked for any details about this boyfriend, none of them knew a thing—it was just a feeling they all had.

Her closest friend, Marnie, suggested that Sylvie would go straight to Universal Studios to look for Alfred Hitchcock. When the police followed up, Mr. Hitchcock's assistant told them that he did not know anyone by the name of Sylvia Slater from Vermont, and Mr. Hitchcock had never received any letters from someone by that name. But, yes, the assistant would certainly contact the police if any girl fitting that description should show up at the studio.

Rose checked that all Sylvie's letters, the ones she'd stolen from the mailbox and opened over the years, were carefully hidden. She didn't want anyone to find them. For years, they'd been her secret view into Sylvie's world. But there would be no more letters.

That night, after her parents were fast asleep, Rose sneaked out of her bedroom and went to the workshop, where she grabbed the flashlight she'd carefully unpacked from the bag last night. She went down to the tower. She thought of the night before, of Sylvie speaking to her from the shadows: “What is it you want from me?”

Rose's head began to ache as she entered the tower, flicked on the light. She went all the way up to the top floor and shone her light around, half expecting Sylvie to be there, hiding in the shadows.

She remembered their fight, which had been so like a dance, and the expression on Sylvie's face just before she fell backward off the tower: utter horror.

Rose turned off her flashlight and sat with her back against the cold stone wall. She looked up at the stars and wondered what the night sky looked like in faraway places, places like Hollywood, where Sylvie wanted to go.

There were footsteps below, on the ground floor of the tower.

“Sylvie?” Rose called, half hoping it really was her sister. Not the least bit frightened anymore by the idea of her being a monster; of what she was capable of. If only it
was
Sylvie; if only Rose was all mixed up about Sylvie and Fenton and mares and luna moths.

Someone was climbing the ladder.

Rose heard breathing. She froze. Listened to footsteps move across the second floor and then steadily up the final ladder. She stood, holding the metal flashlight over her head like a club.

Hands came into a view, gripping the rungs of the ladder, reaching out to the floor.

Familiar hands.

Not Sylvie's.

Mama's hands.

“What are you doing up here?” Mama asked, as she pulled herself off the ladder and stepped gracefully onto the floor.

It was odd, seeing Mama in the tower. Even though Daddy had built the tower for her, Rose couldn't remember ever seeing Mama inside. She seemed, now that she thought about it, to avoid it.

“I couldn't sleep,” Rose explained. “I thought maybe I'd come down here and find Sylvie. She used to come here sometimes. At night.”

Mama looked at Rose a minute, considering. It was the first time Mama had looked her in the eye all day. But her expression was strange, unfamiliar, apprehensive. It was as though Mama was meeting a person she didn't know (and wasn't sure she liked) for the first time.

At last, Mama stuffed her hands into the pockets of her wool coat and said quietly, “I heard you and your sister fighting up here last night.”

There was a bright flash of pain in Rose's left eye. She pushed her thumb into the socket, trying to massage it away. She desperately wanted to climb back down the ladder, go up the driveway and into the warm safety of the house, crawl into her bed, and sleep. Maybe, if she went back to sleep, this whole day would disappear.

“You did?” Rose asked.

Mama nodded in the darkness. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Rose closed both her eyes. “I followed Sylvie to the tower.”

“With a backpack full of traps and chains?”

Rose swallowed hard, wondering how Mama knew about the backpack.

“I wanted to catch her. I knew you would never believe me—you'd never see her for what she really was unless I showed you.”

“What was she, Rose?”

“A mare—at least, I think so. I'm almost sure. 'Cause they
do
exist, Mama, just like in the stories Oma told me when I was little. And I know the reason she told me so much about them. She knew that Sylvie was one. She was trying to prepare me. To teach me all about them so that I would know what to do, how to stop her if I had to.”

And she
had
stopped her, hadn't she? Rose's head was pounding ferociously now, the pain shooting through her left eye like an icicle.

She clearly recalled the walk back to the house last night, the heavy knapsack thumping and clanging on her back; in her hands, she'd carried the luna moth in the net. It had struggled at first, then held still, resigned to having been captured.

Mama stepped closer to Rose. She settled on the floor beside her, leaned against the cool stone wall, and sighed deeply.

“Oh, Rose,” she said sadly, softly. “You've got part of it right: Mares
do
exist. Your grandmother was one herself.”

“No,” Rose said, “she couldn't be!” It didn't make sense. Oma had told her such horrible stories about these creatures and the things they were capable of.

Mama continued. “My mother never used to remember what happened once she'd transformed.” Mama's expression was one of pity now. And remorse. “She'd come home, clothing torn, blood under her fingernails—she would never have any idea what she'd done.”

Rose's head swam. “But…wasn't she dangerous? Weren't you afraid she might hurt us when she came to visit?”

She remembered the safe feeling of being in Oma's arms, the smell of horehound candy, the lulling sound of her voice.

Mama shook her head. “I wasn't too worried, no. My mother had learned to control it quite well—apparently, better control comes with age. As an extra precaution, there were pills she took at night, sleeping pills that kept her from transforming when her guard was down.”

“But, still…to invite a”—Rose thought the word “monster,” but could not say it aloud—“someone who could do those things, here, to stay with us…”

“Mares have a way of recognizing one another, of sniffing each other out, you could say. That is why I invited her, to spend time with you girls, so that we would know if either of you was a mare. She told me she was sure neither of you were, that we were safe.”

“But that wasn't true,” Rose said.

“No, it wasn't true. I believe my mother knew it, even then, and lied to me.”

“When did you figure it out?” Rose asked.

“I started to worry when you told me Sylvie had been sneaking out of bed at night. I watched her carefully, looking for signs. When I discovered Fenton's body in the tower, I blamed myself; I knew that I could have stopped it. But even then, I had it all wrong. I hid the body, cleaned everything up, and started to watch Sylvie. Finally, yesterday, I confronted her.”

“Did she know? Did she know what she was?”

Mama was silent a moment, studying Rose in the moonlight.

“Sylvie wasn't the mare, Rose.” Mama looked into Rose's eyes. “You are. It's been you all along.”

“I don't understand,” Rose said. She dropped to her knees now, head in her hands, the pain a great wave washing over her. She was sure she would be sick, her stomach was churning so.

Mama's words hung in the air, bright sparkles that only intensified her pain. Her mother looked small and far away, like she was speaking to Rose from the end of a long tunnel, her words small and echoey.

“I ran down to the tower last night when I heard you girls fighting. But then I heard another sound, a snarl and a growl, and I got there just in time to see Sylvie fall. I believe she died instantly, thank God.”

“No!” Rose said. “She transformed! She fell, but she turned into a moth and fluttered back up!”

“As I told you, that moth you captured was not your sister. She broke her neck. I saw there was nothing I could do and knew I had to hide the body—what if your father woke up and found us? I quickly carried her into the woods.” Mama paused here, took a deep breath, rubbed at her eyes. “When I looked back through the trees, up at the tower, I saw a dog's shiny black head peering down from the top.”

“No,” Rose breathed.

“I don't believe you meant to hurt her. I believe it was an accident. You were fighting, you started to transform, your sister was frightened, and in her struggle to get away from you, she fell over the edge.”

“But Sylvie,” Rose croaked out, “she's the one. She was the mare. I saw her….”

Rose thought of the nights she'd wandered off from her bed. The strange dreams she'd had, dreams of claws and fangs and blood. How she'd found fur on her pillow. She'd opened her eyes and felt like her body was not her own. She'd believed there was a mare sleeping beside her each night, but it was worse than that. The monster was inside her.

That's what Oma had been trying to warn her about, to prepare her for. That was why she'd spent so much time with Rose, why Rose was clearly her favorite. They were two of a kind, she and Oma.

Rose had dropped the flashlight. It shone on the wall and dimly illuminated the space she and her mother sat in. Her mother continued to speak, even though Rose wanted to beg her to stop, not to say any more.

“My mother said it usually skipped a generation, that I shouldn't have children of my own. But then I met your father, and he wanted children so badly.”

“Does Daddy know? About mares?”

Mama shook her head. “I never told him; I've never told anyone and prayed I would never have to. When he told me about the tower he intended to build, I asked that it have an oubliette, thinking that if either of you girls turned out to be a mare, I would have a place to keep you safe, to keep the world safe from you. I told your father a secret dungeon would give the tower an air of authenticity. I asked him to do it as a special, secret favor for me.

“I'd like to take you there now, to show you the room. You wouldn't have to stay there all the time, only at night, only until we find some other way to help you…control this.”

“A hidden room?” Rose asked. She thought of the story of Rapunzel, locked away in a tower by an evil witch. But Mama was no witch. And this was no fairy tale.

“I showed it to Oma when she came to visit. She was horrified. Said it was no place for a child. I suppose it's my fault she lied to protect you. I only wish…”

Mama was crying now: soft sobs that shook her whole body. “I blame myself for what happened to your sister. You can't help what you are. I should have stopped you. There are two dead now, and I can promise there won't be any more.”

Two dead.

Two.

“Fenton?” Rose whimpered.

Her mother nodded.

“No,” Rose said, inching away. “It can't be me. It was Sylvie. I followed her to the tower. I
saw
her transform.”

Mama shook her head. “Don't you know what Sylvie was doing in the tower? Don't you? She was meeting Fenton.”

“Fenton? Why?”

“She believed she was in love with him. She confessed the whole thing to me, when I confronted her about her nighttime wanderings, thinking she was the mare. She told me she'd been meeting Fenton in the tower at night for years now. They'd even discovered the secret room, but had no idea what it was for. She asked me about it during our talk yesterday, and I denied knowing it even existed. Anyway, in the beginning, Sylvie and Fenton would hide out down there and just talk late into the night. But as time went on and their feelings grew, they became…
romantic.
They were planning to run away together. To California.”

“But Sylvie—”

“Sylvie is gone, Rose. I took care of her body. Gave her a proper burial where no one will ever find her. The last thing we want is an investigation. If our secret was uncovered, I would never be able to protect you.”

Rose dropped her chin to her chest and began to sob. Mama moved forward and stroked Rose's tangled hair with tentative fingers.

“I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's going to be all right. Like I told you, my mother discovered she was able to keep herself from transforming by using sedatives at night. We can start trying them on you. We'll find a way, Rose.”

Everything Rose thought she knew fell away from her then.

“You can have a life. A normal life. I've lost one daughter. I won't lose both.”

Rose looked up at her mother, who looked at her with eyes that simmered with fear, regret, and something else—loathing. She knew, knew that, try as she might, her mother would never forgive her. Sylvie would always be the good daughter: the beautiful moth with pale-green iridescent wings. Rose, even locked in a dungeon or cured by medicine, would always be the monster.