Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Sisterly Love

She feels the tears run down her face, but the feelings of sadness no longer wash over her as they did days before, even though the tears still flow. The door to the small room opens, and a man in his early to mid-forties storms in, his light blue shirt stained in the armpits from excessive sweating, and his raggy facial hair looks unkempt. He slams a folder down onto the table in front of her and paces around the room, lights up a cigarette, and takes a long, deep drag on it.

“You’ve got to stop lying, Allison. Enough is enough!” he says, thrusting his fists into the table and leaning over towards her, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Where did you bury their bodies?”

“I to…”

He slams his fists into the table again—kicking the chair opposite her to the ground. “I’m sick and TIRED of hearing the same FUCKING story! I want the truth. Don’t they deserve it? Doesn’t your sister deserve the chance to grieve for her children? Don’t you owe her that much? Don’t you owe your husband that much?”

“I don’t OWE her anything. She’s the one who’s concocted this BULLSHIT story! SHE’S the one who laid the blame on me! I’VE done nothing wrong, Detective. I deserve my right to a fair hearing, so either charge me with their murders or let me the FUCK go! Or DO I have to get a lawyer here to make you play your hand?”

He clenches his fists tightly until they turn white, and stares sternly into her eyes. “You think this whole ‘I don’t need a lawyer’ shit proves you’re innocent? You think playing the wrongly accused sister, who never did anything wrong, grants you a free pass? I think you wanted revenge. I think you wanted your sister to pay for sleeping with your husband. I think you wanted to make her feel the pain you felt. I think you’re FUCKING guilty, and I’ll prove it,” he says gruffly.

She sits there, crosses her arms across her chest, and nervously smiles, leaning back in her chair. “Sarah slept with Nathan?” she says softly.

“Cut the FUCKING act, Allison. We know you confronted them at Medazines last week. You made a whole spectacle of it, threw a glass of wine in his face, and told Sarah you’d get even, you’d take everything she loved away. We’ve got a handful of witnesses who all say the same thing. It’s an open-and-shut case, so just stop doing this and allow your husband and nephews to be laid to rest properly instead of in some unmarked grave out in the middle of nowhere!”

She lets out an awkward laugh, arches her back, looks up at the interrogation room’s ceiling, then takes a deep breath and looks back to the detective. “It was Sarah who caused the scene at Medazines, detective. She was the one who was threatening me. She dated Nathan when we were all in college. They broke up when she went to live in Germany for a year. When she came back, we were together, and Sarah always hated me for it. That’s how she ended up with Michael. She was trying to get back at me by taking my best friend away, but when she fell pregnant, he convinced her they had to get married. When Michael died last summer, Sarah changed. She was lost and turned to Nathan for comfort. Last week she threw herself at him, and he knocked her back. She was pissed and blamed me for taking him away from her again. So, she came to the restaurant drunk, SHE threw the wine in Nathan’s face, and SHE was the one who threatened me!” Allison says, frustration seeping out in her words. The detective takes a step back, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“I-I-If what you’re saying is true, it mean…” his words trail off as he rushes from the room in a panic, leaving Allison alone. She shuffles in her chair and smiles to herself.

“I told you I’d ruin your life, sister,” Allison whispers under her breath as she stares at her reflection in the two-way mirror.