The Wrong Sister

It has been a year since I shot and killed Lisa. Even though the actual act had been easier than expected, and even though she would have killed me if I hadn't killed her, I was plagued by random spells of guilt every now and then. Sometimes I wished I had someone to confide in, but I knew I couldn't risk going to prison. I'd rather let the occasional guilt eat at me instead. Corrupt or not, violent or not, I had killed a police officer. No one was simply going to slap me on the wrist. Although no one ever seemed to suspect me, sometimes I wondered if Mariska thought I might have had something to do with it. Unless I was just paranoid, I almost felt like she could see right through me whenever we discussed it—which luckily wasn't too often—but I guess in the end I was either able to keep a straight enough face or Mariska simply didn't give a shit if I had killed Lisa. She was a smart woman who dealt with criminals all the time, which meant she understood the criminal mind very well. She had to have known Lisa would never have given up on me and was, therefore, no doubt as relieved as I was to know she was gone. I still live with Mariska. I thought she was going to ask me to leave since Lisa was no longer a threat, but when she pointed out that our arrangement seemed to be working out quite well and that I was welcome to stay, I hastily agreed. Why change what worked? Life was good once again. Not great, but good. I sat in my comfortable room one night and logged into Facebook. There was a message waiting for me. It was very brief and to the point. I stared at the message from "Karmah Cawls" for what seemed like an eternity. No, I thought to myself. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. But the words were right there in front of me. I wasn't imagining them. I closed my eyes for a moment and hoped they would disappear when I opened them again, but they didn't. I stared at them in stunned horror. I KNOW YOU KILLED HER.