Sisters

Amy turned the phone over in her hands uncertainly. Setting it down, she looked at the number her boyfriend had written down for her. He'd been adamant about the whole thing - call the number, get the appointment, get it taken care of, and don't let it happen again.

Like I tried to get pregnant, she thought rebelliously. She sighed and picked up the phone. It's this or lose him...Besides, I can't finish college if I'm taking care of a kid. Amy's finger hovered above the first button for what seemed like eternity, and then...

"Don't."

Amy spun toward the voice. "H-hello?" she called into the shadows of the living room.

"I said, 'Don't.'" Lightning crashed outside the window, illuminating the tall figure behind the couch. The figure took a step forward. "Don't push the button."

Amy backed up a few steps, keeping hold of the phone. "Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?"

There was no answer, but the stranger moved into the light of the kitchen where Amy could see properly. Her uninvited guest was a woman, probably only a year or two older than herself, with Amy's own dark hair and large eyes. But there was a mysterious sadness behind those eyes and the skin was marred by a series of narrow white scars.

"Why are you here?" The college student tilted her head in confusion. "Do I know you?"

"Not exactly." A wry smile fluttered briefly across the other woman's face. "But I know you."

"How?" Please don't be a stalker, please don't be a stalker...

"I'm your older sister."

Amy laughed shortly. "Nice try, lady. I don't have an older sister."

"Not alive, no." The other woman took another step forward, eyes growing sad again. "But I've always wanted to meet you."

"Well, you've met me. Now, if that's all you need..."

"It isn't," the woman said firmly; then she was silent again.

The way her visitor's eyes looked right through her began to bother Amy. "Fine, then." She ran her fingers through her hair, spiking it up in the front. "Do you want something to drink?" If this is a dream, I won't be able to drink anything, right? I'll wake up, I'll make the call, and then I can forget about this.

The visitor's lips twitched in a half smile. "I'm dead, Amy. The dead cannot drink."

"Uh, right..." Amy filled a glass with water and put it to her lips. Come on, girl, wake up, wake up... She had taken three swallows before her guest spoke again.

"I'm afraid that won't work, little sister. This is not a dream."

Amy set the glass down and crossed her arms. "Fine. So, how did you die?"

The other woman's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You say you're my older sister - my dead older sister. Why are you dead, and why don't I know about you?" Maybe she'll just disappear if I'm not scared. Maybe.

Her uninvited guest made no answer to her question; instead, she crossed the kitchen floor and reached out a hand to touch Amy's forehead.

The young woman jerked away. "What are you doing?!?"

She spread her arms. "I am answering your question. I cannot explain - I can only show you."

Amy eyed her nervously. "Is this...going to hurt?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

The figure's eyes glinted strangely. "On you." Her hand reached out again, and this time Amy let it touch her forehead. As soon as they touched, images and impressions began to fill Amy's mind.

A dim, warm room, filled with water that somehow did not drown her. A voice that she loved more than anything in the world - a voice that made her happy and comfortable as soon as she heard it. Another voice, one that piqued her curiosity. The second voice yelling at the Nice Voice, the Nice Voice beginning to cry. The Nice Voice talking to other voices, ready to cry again.

Amy was about to ask what this had to do with anything when a second onslaught of images hit her.

Blood. Blood spurting all through the warm room. God help her, it hurt! Squirming and struggling, losing her arms... In another flash, it all went dark. Another quiet place, where an Even Nicer Voice comforted her... The images stopped coming.

Amy's sister removed her hand gently, then caught the younger woman as she slid toward the ground.

The college student righted herself quickly and stood panting, looking into her guest's dark eyes. Lightning brightened the room again, drawing attention to the visitor's scars. Certain she'd regret it later, Amy reached out and lightly traced the scar that split her sister's arm just above the elbow. "Is that...where these came from?"

The older woman bowed her head in an affirmative.

Amy spiked up her hair again. "Do you hate her?"

This time her visitor just looked at her blankly. "Hate?"

"Do you hate our mother? For...For what she did to you?" Do you hate me, for living when you did not?

She shook her head and smiled sadly. "No." At Amy's puzzled look, she elaborated slightly. "She is my mother, Amy; I love her."

"Even though...?"

The visitor dipped her head again affirmatively.

"So....Why? Why are you, you know....dead?"

The woman shrugged. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. As history will tell you, it is a crime punishable by death." Those thoughtful dark eyes glanced at Amy's stomach again.

The young woman folded her arms. "I don't like where this is going." Her sister regarded her silently. "What, do you only talk when I ask a direct question or what?"

"I am trying to understand you. I have never spoken to a living human before."

"But... You can still talk?"

Her sister did smile this time, just a little. "Do you think that we spend eternity in silence? Of course I can communicate. It is simply.... You have choices left before you; we who are dead have already made all our choices - or, in cases like mine, had them made for us. Therefore, you are much trickier to converse with. You can...change."

Amy glanced at the photo of her boyfriend on the wall. "Yeah. We change a lot." She shifted her weight back and forth. "So... Is that why I'm still here? Because something changed?"

Her sister nodded. "Mother's relationships changed. Her resources changed. Most importantly, she changed. She...wanted you." The figure's eyes grew sad and she glanced at the floor. "It is a wonderful thing, to be wanted...."

"Yeah. Sure...." But, I don't want it. I can't want it.

"Him."

Amy looked at her guest. "What?"

The older woman gestured to her sister's abdomen again. "He is not an it, he is a him." Her slim hand came to rest on Amy's stomach. "And he wants you. He adores you."

"Why? I haven't done anything to make him like me." Unwanted images of telephones and business cards hovered before her eyes.

"No, you haven't," agreed the visitor. "But he doesn't know that."

Amy digested this slowly, then turned to glare at her sister again. "Look, why are you even here? If you're dead, you shouldn't be in my kitchen. You should be hanging out in some churchyard frightening neighborhood kids - you know, people who actually believe in ghosts?"

Her visitor blinked slowly. "Is this how you always handle your problems? By telling them they cannot, should not, and therefore do not exist?" Amy did not respond, so she went on. "As it is, nobody actually shows up to haunt churchyards - you think we do, because that is the last place you see our bodies. If we ever return to your world, Amy, it is because we have a purpose there."

"A purpose? Like what?"

"If you haven't yet guessed my purpose, I will wonder how you ever made it to college."

"Yeah, I know - you're here to make me change my mind about ending this stupid pregnancy. So, what, are we acting out A Christmas Carol, then?"

"If you wish."

Amy wrapped her arms around herself. "Okay. You've shown me how you died in the past. You've reminded me who I am in the present. What's in the future? Tell me we're not going to visit my grave or anything..."

"We are not," the guest confirmed. She stretched out her hand toward Amy's head. "May I?"

"Sure, why not?" It can't change anything. This whole mess is hopeless and it always will be.

Cool fingers rested on her forehead. "First off, here is where you are headed now." Amy saw herself as a student, pursuing her degree. She saw herself come home at night with her boyfriend, but she noticed herself talking to him less. There was a gap there now. She saw her moods change, she saw regret in her eyes. She saw herself and her boyfriend splitting up eventually and saw the depression continue to get worse. She worked, she had friends, but there was an emptiness she couldn't shake off - as if a part of herself had been torn out with the baby.

Her sister's voice interrupted the flow of images. "This...is another future that might be." Amy saw herself having a fight with her boyfriend; she saw him leaving her. She saw the anxiety and fear in her face as her abdomen grew larger. She saw herself screaming in the maternity ward and she saw herself cuddling her baby for the first time. He looked like a shriveled little gnome, but her eyes betrayed the notion that he was nothing short of perfect. She saw herself struggling to keep up with her schooling and job while raising this child, she saw the tress and the pressure and the terrible two's - but she saw herself smiling - really smiling, with her eyes as well as her lips.

Her sister's hand dropped from her forehead and she backed away.

"That's it?"

Her sister shrugged. "There are a thousand possible futures. I showed you two of the most likely." She held out her hand slowly. "Well. I don't know what to say, except..."

Amy looked surprised. "You're leaving?"

The guest shrugged. "I have told you what I came here to tell you. I can do no more. Goodnight, Amy."

"Goodnight..." She stopped. "Wait. What's your name?"

"Name?"

"Yeah, you know, that thing people call you....?"

Her sister rolled her eyes. "I know what a name is, Amy. And I don't have one."

"Huh?"

"The minute you name something, it acquires an individual identity, something worth preserving, yes?"

Amy fidgeted. "I suppose..."

"Our mother did not want me. Why would she name me? Naming me would mean acknowledging that I was a person - and destroying a person is a crime."

"So... What do I call you?"

Her sister shrugged. "If you want to call me something, you must name me yourself." That faint smile returned again. "I'll admit, I would greatly appreciate a name."

Amy shifted uncomfortably. "I guess..."

That cold hand rested on her shoulder again. "You have a lot to think about. I suppose I should say goodbye." She hesitated. "I am...very glad I got to speak with you. I've always wished I could."

"I...." Amy looked up into her sister's dark eyes. "I'm...glad you came. I think..." She looked down again and fidgeted with her hands, knowing she wouldn't be glad when her boyfriend came home. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, little sister." Was Amy imagining things, or was her visitor's face really becoming transparent? Impulsively, she hugged her; the guest stiffened in surprise, then held her close. "Goodnight..." she murmured, and kissed her living sister's forehead. Then she was gone.

Amy didn't realize until she changed for bed that night that her clothes had mysteriously acquired a scent of apple blossoms.

*   *   *   *   *

The little stone tablet really was very pretty, Amy decided, looking at the small memorial she had made. The pale grey stone was smooth and cool, like the woman it was made to recall. I'm glad I didn't use pink granite for this. It wouldn't have fit at all.

Amy leaned down and brushed her fingers across the words she had carved. In memory of Michelle Bates, sister and counselor. The breeze changed directions and, in defiance of the fresh snow, carried the scent of apple blossoms.

The young woman smiled and rested her hand on her stomach. "Come on, Michael. Semester finals wait for no one."

Author's Note

My brother asked if the apple blossoms had any special significance - before anyone else gets puzzled, they do. Apple blossoms are a symbol of hope and promise.

Besides, roses and lilies are overused.

Reviews

[Journey]

This is a great story. I was almost in tears at the end of this. I am happy that Amy got a visit from her sister; but some young scared girl will get a visit from your story. These words are ministering without being pushy. Showing the right way without being judgmental. I am so thankful that you shared this. I grew up around cherry blossom tree, so I like the thought of apple blossoms also.