The Wrong Sister

With the trial underway, all I could do was wait and hope for the best. Hope that the jury would buy me ten years of not having to look over my shoulder—not that Lisa couldn’t hire somebody to do her dirty work for her if she really wanted to kill me. Somehow, I doubted that she would, though. I really believed she preferred to take the honors herself, even if this was hardly much consolation to me. As long as she was alive, my safety would be a concern. I knew I would still feel safer with her locked up. One thing I learned while I was in the Witness Protection Program was that you could not only get very bored at times, but that boredom could also lead to stupidity and unnecessary risks. But when I sat there in my chair one day as the trial neared its end, tired of reading, watching TV, and playing Sudoku, I remembered Mariska telling me that my phone was untraceable. Needing to get some of my pent-up anger out at the very person who had put me here in the first place, I decided to give Lisa a call. Why not? She only had a few days left of freedom anyway. Before I could talk myself out of it—or simply chicken out altogether—I called her. It was about ten pm, and unless she was out on some stakeout, I expected her to be home. She was home, and her tired yet confident-sounding voice answered after just two rings. “Hey, you piece of shit. How’s it feel to know your days of freedom are numbered?” I expected to be yelled at and threatened, but instead Lisa laughed in what sounded like genuine amusement. “We’ll see about that, wifey.” “Oh, I’m not your wifey anymore. I may be legally, but you’ll never see me again.” Another tinkle of amused laughter. “Seems to me that you yourself used to say one should never say never. Remember that? I think you should take your own advice, don’t you?” “I remember that you beat the fucking shit out of me. Never really means never where you’re concerned.” “Yeah, well, you know what they say about taunting the police.” “Oh, is that what you think I’m doing, bitch?” “Just keep it up. You get cocky, you make mistakes. It’s that simple.” “No mistakes to be made. I’m calling from an untraceable phone. Do you really think I’m going to be stupid enough to make the mistake of telling you where I am?” “I know where you are.” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I really didn’t like how confident she sounded. Yet I kept up the bravado and said, “No, you don’t. If you did, you would tell me.” “You’re at the hotel.” My breath caught in my throat, and I thought, no. No way. She was just playing with me—and being very vague. “Don’t you think that’s being a little too general, like telling somebody you’re on planet Earth?” Lisa snorted. “I was at a hotel,” I lied, “but I’ve been moved. I’m just fucking with you because I can.” “You know what’s kind of funny, Shay?” “What, bitch?” “You wouldn’t dare say any of these things to my face.” “That’s only because we’re never going to see each other again.” She laughed, and even I had to admit that my comeback sounded rather ridiculous. “As I said, never say never.” “It’s very therapeutic to tell you what a sick fucking lunatic you truly are. You deserve every minute that you rot behind bars, and I hope that the murderers you’re locked up with give you a taste of your own medicine.” Lisa gave a sound that was a mixture of a snort and a chuckle. Then, a few seconds later, she said, “Pretty funny coming from the girl who writes in her blog about how I make her wet every time she just thinks of me.” “You destroyed that feeling with your fists and lies. You may always be good-looking, but you killed anything and everything I once felt for you.” “And now you think you can just make it on your own, right?” “I have a better chance of staying alive homeless and hungry than I do in your posh little condo. You knew I was no match for you. It takes a real coward to beat up on someone who’s hardly a challenge for you.” “Shaylin,” Lisa began in the almost scolding tone of voice one might use with a child, “you have physical and emotional problems that require regular maintenance. You stand no chance on your own, honey.” “And let me guess. You think you’re the one—and probably the only one—who can meet those needs for me, and so you must find me and get me back so you can take care of me like no one else on earth possibly could, correct?” “No,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Once I get my hands on you, I’m going to have my way with you one last time, fuck you with that strap-on you would never let me use on you, and then I’m going to torture the shit out of you before I kill you. Mark my words on that one. It’s you whose days are numbered, sweet stuff.” “Fuck you, bitch!” I shouted, feeling a hell of a lot more confident than I actually felt as I ended the call. So much for the call being therapeutic. Her words had sent a sickening feeling straight into the pit of my stomach. And I believed every single one of them.