It must be a joke, right? Some kind of sick, totally not funny, practical joke that Sharon was playing on me. Maybe even Dad was in on it, though that seemed very out of character for him. He was always either serious, laid back, or sweet. He was never much for jokes, and I couldn’t think of any time he’d ever tried to trick me.
But why would she do that either? We’d had our fights over the years, but overall, we’d always been really close. And unlike a lot of big sisters, she had never really been mean to me or put me down. And I couldn’t really think of a time she’d ever lied to me about anything. Plus, this would have to be the worst timing ever. Mom on her way back to see Bethany, Sharon and Dad already having some weird disagreement about…well, I didn’t know. But whether it was about us not getting to see Mom last night or something else, it seemed like a bad time to pull a prank.
I looked up at the profile of my father’s face. He looked calm and fairly content as he drove along, listening to the radio and happy to be getting some quality time with his two girls. I knew that part of his reason for the trip, aside from getting a break from work, was to spend more time with all of us. And even with everything going on, he was trying to stay positive and give us a good trip.
Anger began bubbling in my chest at the thought. What was her fucking problem? Was she so unhappy to be on the trip that she wanted to sabotage it? Or at the very least, did she plan on taking out her angst on her gullible little sister?
Well fuck that. I wasn’t that young any more, and if she’d gone to college just to learn to be a bitch, she could go back there. Stabbing at my phone with my thumb, I typed out a quick response text. Worried that it was too harsh and accusing, I deleted it and started over.
Me: What are you talking about? What is wrong? Text me something, I’m worried.
I heard her phone vibrate as she got the text, but after another twenty minutes of no response, I’d had enough. I thought about just calling her out in front of Dad, but something held me back. I really didn’t have a clue what was going on, and I needed to play it cool until I found out more.
Maybe she really was worried about something, and she wanted to confide in me. The thought of her coming to me with her problems cooled my anger, but if anything, it made my anxiety worse. What if something was really wrong?
We were coming up on a gas station and I saw my chance. I told Dad I needed to go to the bathroom, and smiling at me in the rearview mirror, he gave a nod as he started to slow the car. He said it was a good time to get gas and snacks anyway.
As we got out, I headed off for the bathroom, my stomach in a knot. I tried not to run, but I wanted to hear what Sharon had to say as soon as possible. Rip the bandage off quick to get it done. Had she been kicked out of school? Was she pregnant? Did she rack up a bunch of credit card debt and was afraid to tell our parents? What could it be?
Sharon had followed behind me at a slower pace, and seeing her face when she entered the bathroom made my stomach sink lower. She looked terrible, with lips pressed into a thin line and a weary gaze that couldn’t light on me for long before trailing off to the dingy tile corners of the room. It was a two-stall bathroom with a deadbolt on the outer door to the room, so after peeking under the stalls, she locked the door and turned back at me. The several heartbeats of silence that followed was more than I could handle, and rather than wait for her to start, I blurted out a question.
“Are you on drugs?”
Sharon did meet my eyes then, her own widening in surprise before narrowing into a frown. “What? No. Jesus. Is that what you think this is about?”
I shrugged, my voice thick with emotion. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on because you won’t tell me. You’re just being weird, and leaving me messages that…I don’t know, are you trying to scare me? Is this some kind of stupid joke?”
Her faced softened as she reached out and touched my arm. “No, Tree, it’s not a joke.”
Tree. I’d gotten the nickname when I was little, not because my name was Theresa, but because I loved a book called “The Giving Tree” so much that I carried it around with me when I was little. Sharon was the only one that still called me that, and even she hadn’t used the nickname in what…two years? Normally, the old name might have brought back a warm feeling of past memories and our bond as sisters and friends, but now…it seemed forced. Used as some subtle means of manipulating me. Of making me listen to her by trading on that sisterhood and friendship.
Of tricking me.
I heard the anger in my voice as I responded. “Then what the fuck is it then?” I saw her recoil a little and felt a thrill of satisfaction. I normally never cursed around my family—not even Sharon. But I was mad, and I wanted her to know that she wasn’t the only one that was growing up or could have a bad attitude. Squeezing my arm, she shook her head slightly.
“I’m going to tell you, but you need to promise me that you’ll really listen. That you’ll hear me out on the whole thing. It’s going to be hard for you to believe at first, and you may think I’m lying. I swear to God I’m not. But please, promise you’ll hear everything I have to say before you interrupt or try to leave. We will only have a few minutes before he’ll come looking for us, so I have to hurry. Okay?”
Again, she was calling him “he” instead of Dad or Daddy. Like he was a stranger. Glaring at her, I nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
She took a deep breath and began.
I don’t remember when they brought you home. Not exactly. I was only four at the time, and my memories from that age are murky. It’s kind of like the swamp we went to on your field trip that time—lots of dark water with little trees and hills sticking up here and there.
What I do remember is a time when you weren’t there. And then a time when you were. And I remember loving you, my new baby sister, from the first time I can remember seeing you.
But the thing is, I do have some memories from before you got there. We were a lot more…isolated…before you came along, and it wasn’t until we moved and you started going to preschool that we started socializing more. That didn’t seem weird to me at the time, but there were other things that stood out even when I was little.
For instance, I didn’t remember Mom ever being pregnant with you. I didn’t even know what being pregnant was until I started school in the first grade. I remember we had a substitute teacher that was a few months along, and at first I just thought she was fat. But then we talked about the teacher at recess, and the other kids made fun that I didn’t know what being pregnant was.
At first, I’d been more worried about being embarrassed, but over the next few days, something kept bothering me. It was this memory I had of Mom, laying out in the back yard in the sun. She’s always kept in good shape, and back then…well, in my memory, I just remember thinking how pretty she was. Her golden hair, her brown skin, and…her flat, toned stomach. She looked like the workout girls on t.v.
That memory was from a couple of years earlier. Before we moved, before I had started school. And I was only four going on five at the time, but I was pretty sure of when I’d seen Mom laying in the sun. It was just a few days before they brought my new baby sister home.
So I asked her about it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but her reaction…it wasn’t normal. She didn’t explain anything to me or even try to laugh or lie and brush it off. Instead, she looked at me like she’d almost stepped on a snake, standing frozen in panic for several seconds before shuttling me off to my room. Telling me to not leave or talk to you until Dad got home.
I don’t remember all the details now, but I remember being scared. Worried I was in trouble somehow. But then Dad came home and they came in to see me. They told me that my questions were perfectly normal, and how lucky they were to have such a smart little girl. That the truth was you were adopted. They had to explain to me what that was too, but they did, and I think I understood.
What I remember the most is feeling so much better when we were done talking. They told me not to tell anyone, including you, because it was a secret. That we all loved you so much, and we didn’t want anyone thinking we loved you less just because you were adopted.
For me it was the opposite—I felt like I was so lucky to have gotten such a great baby sister, and I felt even more protective of you after that. Like you were a gift I had to take care of. We grew up, became best friends, and for the most part, I’ve never worried about it since the day they explained things in my room.
No interrupting, remember? I’m not finished telling you everything.
Look, I never had any real reason to doubt what they’d told me about your adoption, but looking back at it now…I don’t know. Some of it was that I was young and I trusted them too much. Some of it was that I was willfully blind. Didn’t want to notice anything being wrong.
But over the years…I’ve seen things. He…he’s not right. Neither of them are. I used to think maybe they were just weird hippies or something…into new age stuff or meditation or whatever, right? But…well, you know how Dad has his workshop down in the basement, and we can’t ever go in there? Mom’s always said it was “his private space”, and I guess I get that, but...I don’t know. They’ve always been weird about it. The couple of times I poked around at the door or asked to go in there while we were growing up, Dad would just get real quiet and Mom would ball me out about it.
And there’s other stuff.
They’ve never been overly social people, right? He’s working most of the time and she’s either working or at home doing some project or another. How many times over the years have you seen them invite people over or go out with another couple or anything? And some people like to stay at home, and they’re older, so I get it. That’s not really what bothers me.
What bothers me is that they actually do have friends. Or at least people they do stuff with. Remember a couple of years ago when they went to Salt Lake for that convention? It was the month before I was going off to college and I was pissed because we had to stay home and I missed that summer orientation thing? Well, a few days after they got back, I was looking through the laundry for a shirt or something and I saw a piece of paper mixed in with the dirty clothes. I checked it before just throwing it away, and it caught my attention.
It was a rental car receipt for the week they were gone. But not for Salt Lake City. It was in Michigan—some little suburb of Detroit. And it was in Mom’s name.
Maybe I should have asked her about it, but for some reason, I was scared to. I just kept thinking about the times they’d get phone calls where they’d get an odd look and go shut themselves in another room. Or days I’d come home early and whatever they were on the computer for, suddenly they’d shut it down as soon as they saw me walk in the room.
And I’d say I was overreacting, that I was reading too much into things. Maybe they just like to look at porn, right? I know it’s gross to think about our parents watching internet porn, but at least I could wrap my head around it. The problem was, some part of me knew that wasn’t what was going on.
I’d been wrestling with what to do since finding the rental receipt. Do I talk to them, do I tell you, or do I let it go? I wanted everything to just be okay and normal, but I kept thinking back to all the times I’d wondered if something wasn’t off, if there wasn’t some part of themselves that they kept hidden from us.
And then, one day, Mom forgot to clear her browser history.
It was the weekend I was heading to college. Her and Dad were carrying my car to get checked while I finished the last of my packing. I was wandering around the house trying to think of anything I might have forgotten when I saw her laptop open and unlocked on the kitchen table. I already had a lie in mind if they caught me at her laptop. I just wanted to check the schedule of freshman events for the next day, even though my phone was right there in my pocket. My heart thudding, I sat down and opened up the browser.
There was a lot of normal stuff, but there was a lot of strange stuff too. The thing that bothered me the most was this strange website called The Black Room. It had a password to get in, and it wasn’t like it looked that sinister or anything, but its plainness…it almost made it more creepy, you know? Especially when I had no idea what it went to or why our Mom would be going there repeatedly.
Then I clicked a link to her cloud storage. Again, most of the pictures were normal stuff you’d expect. But there was a photo folder that was separate from the rest. Buried in a bigger folder of recipes. The photo folder was just called “The Group”. So I clicked it.
I…I don’t know what those pictures were. A lot of people, some hurting each other, some maybe having sex or something, some…it looked like a ritual or ceremony or…it was hard to tell in some of them, and I couldn’t stomach looking too close. But some of those pictures…I don’t really have words for them. I kept trying to tell myself they were faked, but I somehow knew they weren’t.
All that was bad enough, but it wasn’t until I got towards the end of the twenty or so pictures that I saw Dad in one. Then in the last one, they were both in the picture. I never saw them really…doing anything in those pictures, but it was clear they were a part of this same gathering that was in the other photos. I could barely breathe as I closed the laptop. It was like my entire world had contracted into just that day and that moment, and I couldn’t see anything else.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice they had come home.
I know they saw me on the laptop, but they didn’t mention it and neither did I. From their angle, I doubt they knew what I was looking at, and I just tried to act normal as my mind raced with what I should do. I thought about grabbing you and going to the police, trying to get some kind of help or protection…but from what? It may be they were part of some weird orgy group or something, but I didn’t have any proof they were hurting anyone or…well, really doing anything at all. And I didn’t want to upset you unless I knew for sure something was wrong.
So I left that day for college, and…well, that’s why I kept calling you so much that first couple of months. I missed you sure, but I was also worried about you. Wanted to make sure everything was okay. I kept telling myself that I was making the right call by not talking about what I’d found. It was their private lives, and if it didn’t hurt us or anyone else, what did it matter? If either of us saw signs of them being weird, I could always get you out of the house and tell you about it then.
But things weren’t really weird. Or no more than always. I definitely got a new perspective on how odd our family was when compared with some of my friends at school, but then everyone thinks their family is weird, right? And when I talked to you or came home to visit, everything seemed pretty normal.
Still, I noticed I was coming home less and less, and I was always tense while I was there. I worried I’d see signs of something that would confirm my lingering fears that something bad was going on, and I felt guilty that I was letting my concerns about them make me grow apart from you, Tree. I didn’t want that, but I didn’t want to be home any more either.
That’s one reason I agreed to go on this vacation. I figured it would give me more time with you, but it would also force me to spend more time with them. See them in different situations for extended periods of time. See if I had anything left to worry about, or if I just needed to let it go.
That first day, I was feeling pretty good about everything. But then the stuff with the blue van came up, and they both got really weird. Then suddenly Mom isn’t coming out of their room and he won’t let us “bother” her? And no, I haven’t had any luck getting ahold of her either.
I know this may sound dumb, but…I’m worried he maybe killed her. That either they were worried about the van, or maybe he just went crazy, or…I don’t know. I just keep thinking about how nothing that’s happening makes sense. About how I’m not sure how well we really kn…
“Theresa? Sharon? You in there?”
Sharon’s eyes widened and she held a finger to her lips briefly before turning to the door. “Yeah, Dad. We’ll be out in just a minute.”
A pause and then. “Okay, honey. Try to hurry if you can. And I’m parked on the right now when you come out of the store.” Another pause and then, “I got us drinks and snacks.”
After a few seconds of silent staring at the door, I turned back to Sharon with a frown. “So that guy, the one being sweet and buying us snacks, you think he’s in some weird murder orgy cult or something?”
My sister’s face darkened as she shrugged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t fucking know. But I can tell you that something isn’t right. I don’t want it to be true, but it is.”
I still felt angry, but I felt afraid now too. I didn’t think she was lying to me, but it all sounded so strange and impossible. “Why don’t we just confront him? Get it all out in the open if you’re so worried.” You should be worried too popped into my head and I pushed the thought aside.
Sharon was already shaking her head. “Because if he did do something to Mom, or they are part of some…whatever, who knows what he might do to us? We need to just stay calm, stick together, and see if anything else happens. Maybe it’s all bullshit. I hope it is. I don’t want to hurt Dad or Mom, or let them know I’ve been prying. Not unless we really have to. But if we can’t get ahold of Mom in the next couple of hours, or if he starts acting weird, you have to promise that you’ll trust me and we’ll figure out what to do next together. Okay?”
I nodded sullenly. “Fine. But Je…Sharon, it’s not going to amount to shit.” I paused and then added, “And I still think maybe you’re just on drugs.”
She gave me a strange smile before grabbing the sides of my head and planting a kiss on the top of it. “I wish.”
My nerves felt fried as we walked out of the bathroom together. There was a large part of me that was just angry at Sharon for making me worry unnecessarily. The idea that I was adopted? It was definitely possible, but it didn’t bother me like I’d thought it might. Plenty of people were adopted and didn’t know it. Not exactly a big deal. And whatever else she had seen or heard, she had to be blowing it out of proportion. I didn’t think she’d lie to me intentionally, but maybe she was having some anxiety or mental issues and it was making things seem worse than they really were.
Still, there was another, smaller part of me that was afraid. What if our parents were tied up in something bad? What if Dad had done something to our mother? I’d say it was impossible, but people did fucked up shit all the time, and everyone was always surprised when it happened to them. Maybe this was the first part of a story that would up on the news. One of those where the father kills his family and then hims…
No. Fuck that. I needed to keep my head straight for me and for everyone else. I’d pay close attention, and I’d take what she said seriously, but I wasn’t going to believe anything unless I saw it with my own eyes.
We were walking out of the store now, and maybe because I was so deep in thought, I turned the wrong way at first. Glancing around, I turned back to my right and followed Sharon to the car. It wasn’t until I was getting into the back seat that I registered what I’d seen at the far end of the parking lot, sitting silently in the last spot in front of the store.
---
Credits
Comments