Page 21 of His to Haunt

In the folder that Stacy should have given you, there are instructions about the relics in the gallery and the supplies in the basement. Some of the pieces are complicated and not for sale.

I have this fear that before you finally get through reading all my scribbles, you will toss them into the fire because you will be so disgusted and appalled.

Regardless of what you may or may not think of me, I love you in a way you probably can’t understand until you have a younger sibling yourself or become a parent. I loved you as an older sister. Younger ones take elder ones for granted, which is normal.

But as your older sisters, embedded in me, under the mischievous layers of sibling dynamics, has always been a deep protectiveness. In my heart, you were my sweet munchkin who I adored. Life was so simple back then.

I often felt guilty when I pushed you away.

When I left, it was my first, and still one of my greatest, heartbreaks. I was torn. Part of me was devastated. I nevertotally stopped mourning the loss. It took my whole life to finally learn to let go of the inevitable reality that we were never meant to share our lives together again.

It’s all to do with having different dads. At least, I hope by now you realize that is the deciding factor.

This will be hard to hear, but…

I learned the hard way that the first man in my life who I idolized—Scott, the man I used to call Dad could do no wrong, even though he was never present enough, never invested enough, and prone to neglect and spontaneous violence—in reality, never fully thought of me as a daughter but as a female to groom in his own perverse way. To him, I was only a cute little human with female parts who grew into a pre-teen with a budding womanly shape. I know that Scott is your dad, and I’m sorry you have to hear this.

Funny how a child has no idea how adults externalize their own corruptions and deviations upon you. When I was a mere thirteen years of age, Scott told me at the beach that if I needed a condom, just ask. With no idea what he was talking about, I listened blank-faced as he proceeded to warn me that boys would be looking at me now. Looking at me like he was looking at me, in a way that made me feel yucky and awkward, twisting my stomach into uneasy knots.

That was before he tried to slide into bed beside me, hand brushing up my side. I left the bed, confused and freaked out. I crawled in beside Mom, on her side of the bed where he wouldn’t dare.

I didn’t understand. I only understood just enough to be rendered self-conscious in his presence, like Eve in the garden,feeling sudden perplexing shame where there had always been innocence over something that was never her fault, to begin with. She was framed, set up, preyed upon, and made to absorb the corruption of her idol, which in turn only instilled bitter insecurity in poor, stupid Adam. All odds were against Eve.

Eve the innocent, Eve the curious, Eve the daring. Eve the material, Eve the sensual, Eve the Evil—excuse my language, but fuck all that!

Needless to say, I didn’t understand much of this back then. Just as when I finally escaped him for good, moving off to my bio-dad’s, I didn’t understand his wife, my stepmother, analyzing my body with a frown. Unlike my stepfather, hers was a reaction of spite.

What is wrong with these malfunctioning stepparents when a kid turns pubescent?

Anyway, I recognized a type of jealousy in her that I wouldn’t understand until I was an adult. But this envy became the source of her own insecurity and the endless, subtle, and not-so-subtle revenge campaigns she waged against me.

She was the wedge between my father and me. Our relationship was already doomed since I didn’t grow up with him. I didn’t know him and wouldn’t ever trust another man fully again. Not since the first. I didn’t have it in me. But my stepmother only deepened the gap between father and daughter.

Dad at least taught me about the business. That was our focus and how we related to one another. We were the living helping the living by catering to the dead. For this reason, I embracedthe family business wholeheartedly. I wanted to be a good Byron, and I wanted to make Dad proud.

I came to realize that taking care of dead bodies is both a science and an art. But soon, I would learn a dark secret. In a nutshell, we were breaking the law. Oh, but that is not the worst of it. Not by a long shot.

One letter can’t possibly explain the enormity of it all. So, I’m asking for another promise. AFTER you read everything else first, open the envelope in my jewelry case hidden under my bed, under the floor. There is a piece of wood that is a darker shade of brown—the letter opener on my desk will open it. Oh, and the key to my jewelry box is on the key chain Stacy will give you.

Love always and forever,

your big sister,

Rach

xoxo

P.S. apologies in advance for my sometimes nonsensical or drunk rambling and attempts at poetry, and certain other embarrassing, crazy confessions.

City of Souls

Blood

Leena

My head spinning, I get up. I should eat something, but I have no appetite. My stomach is in knots.

I will check on Mom one last time for the night before Kimmie arrives, deciding that no matter what I read about Rachel, it won’t bring her back. Probably not by accident?

---