The Night Sister

The bed with the straps was still there. On top of it, Piper made out a sleeping bag and a flashlight. She moved toward it slowly and reached for the flashlight. When she flicked it on, she expected that the batteries would be dead. The sudden brightness hurt her eyes.

So the light hadn’t been sitting down here for twenty-odd years. She did a quick sweep of the room to reassure herself that she was alone. The heavy chains still hung from the wall. But there at the ends, where the shackles were, she saw that each cuff had a new addition: a small brass padlock that was run through the ends. Piper moved closer for a better look. The brass shone in the light, not even slightly tarnished.

Someone had added these locks recently.

She pointed the beam of the flashlight back at the bed and saw that the sleeping bag looked nearly new, the quilted nylon covering not the least bit frayed or dingy. But it had a strange lump in the center, like a boa constrictor that had just had a large meal. She patted down the outside and felt something definitely hidden inside. Slowly, she unzipped the bag; the pull-tab moving down the metal teeth was incredibly loud in the silent room.

Once the bag was unzipped, she shone her light on the objects that had been tucked away inside.

Piper recognized the old book on top right away: Mastering the Art and Science of Hypnotism. And she knew without looking that there would be an inscription on the first page, “To Sylvie, the world’s greatest chicken hypnotist, with love from Uncle Fenton, Christmas 1954.” And in the margins she’d find Sylvie’s careful notes recording her experiments with hypnosis.

Below the hypnosis manual was the battered old leather-bound scrapbook they’d found in Sylvie’s suitcase, full of pictures of movie stars from the fifties and sixties. Sylvie’s scrapbook, her book of dreams and wishes. Beside all this were three packs of Juicy Fruit gum, one of them opened, the wrappers crumpled up and tossed in the sleeping bag. This was the source of the sweet, fruity smell that seemed to fill the room.

And tucked under everything, a typed note, neatly folded.

Dear Sylvie,

I’m sorry, so sorry for everything that has happened.

Some things, as you know, simply cannot be helped.

Please forgive me.

Your sister forever and ever, no matter what,

Rose



Piper pulled out her cell phone and called Margot.

“Still having trouble with the thermometers?” Margot asked.

“This baby-preparation business is harder than I thought it would be,” Piper said in what she hoped was a light, rueful tone. “Hey, listen. I was thinking I’d like to pay Amy’s mom a visit. Do you know what nursing home she’s in?”

“Sure,” Margot said. “She’s up at Foxcroft. But according to Jason, poor Rose is in rough shape. Hardly knows her own name.”

“I think I’ll give it a try anyway. Maybe I’ll head over—if there’s time, before I see Lou; if not, I’ll stop by after,” Piper said. “Who knows what she might be able to tell me?”

Like who (or what) was being kept down in this room.





1989





Piper


“Grandma,” Amy panted. “Gram! You have to come quick! Call the police. We found her! We know what happened!”

They came tearing into the kitchen, Amy in the lead. Piper’s hands were shaking; her legs felt rubbery and strange, and her cut throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Amy’s grandma was standing at the stove, browning a pan of ground beef and onions. She kept cooking, as though she had not heard Amy.

“Gram, you need to come with us right now,” Amy said, voice desperate, pulling on her grandmother’s sleeve like an impatient little girl.

“What are you on about?” Grandma Charlotte asked, turning from the sizzling meat to look at the girls. “Come where?” She looked more tired than ever, dark circles resting like bruises under her eyes. She hadn’t put any powder on today, and Piper could see blue veins running under her skin, like lines on a map. Rivers and highways.

“To the tower. Please. You’ll see.”

“You aren’t supposed to play in the tower,” Grandma Charlotte said calmly. “It’s dangerous there.”