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Halifax, May 8
10:05 p.m.
The hallway was dark. There was a crack of light under the bathroom door. On the other side of it, Cathy knew her sister was getting ready for work.
Cathy knocked once and then opened the door. Trixy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying mascara to enhance the blueness of her eyes. Fresh out of the shower, she wore a pink terrycloth robe. Her hair hung in wet strands.
From the doorway, Cathy watched her.
“When will you be home tonight?” she asked.
“The usual.” Trixy didn’t turn. “Probably daybreak. Depends on how much business I pick up.” She capped the mascara and set it on the sink. “You need to get your rest. Remember what the doctor told you.”
Cathy felt the truth of that. Since her release from the hospital, it had been a difficult battle to regain her strength.
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
Trixy gave her a sideways glance. “You owe me, sis. You put me through hell. I thought I’d lost you.”
Torn, Cathy’s gaze fell to the floor. Trixy moved forward and touched her arm.
“Hey,” she whispered. “I just want you to get better.”
Cathy felt her stomach tighten. She could see the worry in Trixy’s eyes. By reflex she mustered a tentative smile. Her own sense of betrayal made her sick inside. Trixy remained the only person in the world who seemed to have any faith in her.
“I’ll get better,” Cathy said. “Baby steps for now.”
Trixy tilted her head, and a faint smile formed on her lips.
“I know you will,” she said.
Trixy brushed past, retreating to her bedroom to get dressed. For a moment, Cathy remained where she was, alone with her thoughts. After a few minutes, she drifted to her own bedroom, where she lay on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. She could hear Trixy in the other room, rummaging through dresser drawers.
Cathy brooded about how she had reached this point in her life. She was twenty-three years old. Just two years ago she’d been a clear-eyed university student who looked forward to getting her degree. Now her future seemed to be empty of hope.
Cathy shut her eyes. She could rebuild her life. Somehow go after her degree again. Somehow regain her life.
There were footsteps in the hall. As Cathy started to get up, Trixy appeared in the doorway. She wore a red leather jacket and black miniskirt. She held a red purse.
The time was 10:26.
“I’m leaving now,” she said.
Cathy followed her to the door, waited there as Trixy slipped on red stilettos.
“Be careful.”
Trixy flashed a white smile. “Always am, sis.”
Outside came the toot of a horn.
“Taxi’s here.” Trixy gave Cathy a peck on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”
Then she was gone.
Cathy locked the door behind her. She shut off all the lights and then went to the window in the living room, watching her sister climb into a yellow cab. As Trixy closed the door, her face appeared in the side window. Her hand lifted in a wave just before the cab pulled away from the curb.
Cathy couldn’t have known that would be the last image she would have of her sister.
She retired to her bedroom, where she took out a pen and diary from the nightstand. The cover of the diary had a sunflower painting by Vincent Van Gogh. It had been a gift from her parents last Christmas. Every day she would scribble in entries ranging from the mundane, to the most intimate depths of her thoughts and desires.
Somewhere during her move to Trixy’s, Cathy lost the keys to the locking clasp. She had to keep reminding herself not to lock the diary.
She read over her final entry and decided to add a few lines:
Another sleepless night. I’m doing my best to get through this. So many things on my mind right now. The Devil seems to be still knocking on my door, and he’s relentless. I know that’s my problem. So many times I just sit and stare at the phone. So many times I fight with myself not to pick it up and make that call. Trixy, I must remind myself, it’s all for her. One day I may look back at this period in my life and be proud of myself.
When she finished writing, Cathy closed the diary and put it back in the drawer. She shut out the light and slipped under the covers again. She tossed and turned until daybreak.
At 7:45, she got up, padded to the window, and opened the blinds. The morning sun spilled into the room with such intensity, it made her squint. Quietly, so as not to awaken Trixy, she pulled a bathrobe from a hanger in the closet. Then she went out to the hallway, where she stopped cold. Something was out of place. Trixy’s bedroom door hung open.
Odd. Her sister usually slept until after lunch with her door closed.
As Cathy looked inside the room, she saw the bed was still made. No one had been in it. Around her, the apartment felt still, silent.
Worried, Cathy went to the living room and called Trixy’s cell phone. After several rings, a recorded voice told her the person she was calling was not answering or was out of the service area.
That was strange. If Trixy had her phone shut off, it would go directly to her voice mail.
All at once, Cathy lost her appetite for breakfast. She refused to imagine her older sister in trouble. Not the strong woman she’d always admired. Impossible.
By ten thirty, Cathy had called eight times. She began pacing through the apartment, trying to keep tragic thoughts at bay. She had never felt so alone, so afraid.
She walked to the window in the living room and watched the street.
Maybe a man had paid Trixy to spend some extra hours with him. It happened before. But in those instances, Trixy had always called. Maybe she had simply forgotten this time.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door. They were light, a woman’s. Cathy hurried to the peephole. Through it, she saw the convex image of the elderly neighbor across the hallway, coming home in her Sunday dress. Cathy felt herself sag with disappointment. She leaned her back against the door. The plain clock on the kitchen wall read ten past eleven.
There had to be something she could do. She refused to call the police. Trixy would be so mad if she did.
Once noon arrived, Cathy had no choice.
