Help for the Haunted(129)

“You can say that all you want,” I told her,      stepping past her and starting down the stairs. “But I’m about to prove you      wrong.”

“Where are you going?”

I did not answer as I made my way to the first      floor, then cut through the living room toward the door that led to the      basement. The entire time Rose was right behind me. When I pulled open that door      and stared down into the shadowy darkness below, lit only by that yellow glow,      she stepped in front of me and said just one word: “No.”

“Yes,” I told her. “Now move.”

Rose lifted her hands and shoved me. I stumbled      back, losing my balance and falling. The newspaper article slipped from my      hands, landing in the space between us. I stared at my sister’s sneakers on her      small feet, thinking of that day in the truck when I crawled around, scraping      for the money I’d earned only to end up with loose change.

All our lives together, Rose won every fight with      her words and with her might. Never once did I stand a chance. But now as my      hands began to shake, as my heart banged in my chest, I stood and reached up      and, with everything I had in me, I shoved her back. In an instant, she lost her      footing and stumbled toward those stairs. For a moment, it seemed like we could      stop what came next. She reached her hand out, and I grabbed for it, because I      hadn’t meant for this to happen. But our hands didn’t catch one another in time,      and so she tumbled backward down the stairs.

After Rose hit the cement floor with a great crash,      a thick silence followed. I thought of that cassette tape when my parents’      voices had stopped, those tiny wheels spinning round and round as their words      echoed in my mind: I guess what I am trying to say is that       we are like any other parents. We are trying to raise our daughters with       good Christian values in a world that is increasingly secular. A      feeling of shame, a feeling of pure horror, filled me up at the realization of      what I’d done. Useless as it sounded, I spoke to her down in the basement. “I’m      sorry, Rose. I’m so so sorry.”

My sister did not respond, and the dread that this      could be more grave an accident than I first understood took hold. I pounded      down the steps to where she lay, her right leg bent in the most unnatural      position. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Please tell me you are okay.”

“It’s my leg,” she said, and I heard in her voice      that she was crying, releasing the kind of exhausted sobs I’d never heard from      Rose before. “You did something to my leg.”

Those flyers on the bulletin board at the police      station—in my panic, they came back to me. Hadn’t one advised never to move a      person in the event of an accident? Get help—that was always the advice. I was      about to go back upstairs to the phone and do just that when Rose spoke through      her tears, “Remember that rule they always used to say?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mom and Dad. The rule that we could always tell      them whatever we were thinking or feeling, and they would do their best to      understand. Do you remember that, Sylvie?”

“Yes,” I told her. “But let’s not—”

“It wasn’t true,” Rose said. “It wasn’t true.”

I didn’t want to talk about any of that now, but      even so, I heard myself asking, “What do you mean?”

“When I was fourteen, I first told them. They      encouraged it, after all, always repeating that dumb rule. But when I said I      felt different from other girls, you know what they did? They acted like it was      some sort of f*cking possession. They prayed over me      like one of those supposedly haunted people who came here in need of their help.      And they told me to keep my feelings a secret. The more it didn’t change,      though, the more they prayed. I tried to give them the daughter they wanted. I      tried to be more like you. I brought all those boys home. But it didn’t work. So      they sent me away to that home where I was supposed to get better. And you know      what? I did get better. I met Franky.

[page]“Even though Franky’s parents had sent her there      too, she already knew the place was a joke. She made me realize there was      nothing wrong with the way I felt.” Rose’s words sputtered out as her crying      grew stronger. “ ‘Her coming was my hope each day,’ ” she said in a broken      voice, “ ‘her parting was my pain; the chance that did her steps delay. Was ice      in every vein.’ ”