I always went into her room to wake her up for school, she never had mastered waking up in the mornings. She was more of a night owl, and I grew to love the constant blare of music wafting from her room late at night when painting inspiration struck her. When she went on weekend trips to art galleries without me, I would creep into her room and turn on her radio, so accustomed to its noise I could not sleep without it. She was six years older than me and a sophomore in our local community college. I adored my big sister.
Even though she had always been the weird girl who still blasted One Direction unapologetically and wore her chevron print and statement necklaces, I loved her dearly. She was my sister after all. Lately she had been more withdrawn and secretive. We didn’t talk like we used to and she did not seem quite as carefree anymore. I wondered if she had met someone at college who had made her change. She never went out anymore if she could help it and whenever she did she always seemed terrified about being in public. She had always been strange but this just took it to a new level. She started having hushed conversations with our parents without me that would stop as soon as I walked into the room. Maybe this had something to do with the family business I would learn about when I turned 18? What was my family involved in?
When I went to wake her up on a cold November morning, there was something different in the air, and her room was all wrong. It smelled off and it felt disturbed, as if someone else had been in there. Although she was a messy person in many aspects of her life, her desk was normally pristine. Today it was littered with ripped papers, a trail of which continued to the foot of the bed that was covered in an unfamiliar blanket. It was unsettling as she never slept under anything except sheets, even on cold winter nights.
My skin prickled and my breath came out forcibly, it felt like someone was watching me. She never woke up if I called her name, so I approached the right side of the bed she slept on. The floor was sticky and a thick iron scent assuaged my nostrils as I got closer to her pillows. The posters tacked above her headboard had been changed, and did not look anything like the boy bands she frequently played. What was going on and what was being covered up?
Pulling back her covers, I lead out a guttural wail. She was so cold and so very dead, that much was clear. My scream had alerted my parents to enter her room, both covering their mouths in shock and choking back sobs. The scene was horrible and I still can’t believe I hadn’t noticed the full extent of it when I entered to rouse her. Blood was splattered everywhere. Her room was torn apart as if someone was looking for something and she wouldn’t give it to them. The paramedics said she had been stabbed 47 times before the killer placed her body back into her bed. I was quickly caught up in questioning when the police arrived and set up the crime scene tape. Several hours later, the house finally fell quiet again after everyone left, and I numbly sat at my desk contemplating it all.
Her room had been carefully photographed and examined by countless officers. It seemed like hundreds of people had studied my sister’s room, which could best be described as the epitome of the 2012 teenage-girl room even though it’s not 2012 anymore. Her room, already a throwback, would now never get the chance to be changed by her in any way. I would never again get to help her choose between two equally cringy colors for a new coat of paint in her room, or sit on her bed as she got ready to present her new artwork waiting to give fashion advice. Yes, that is far too many stripes for one outfit.
We’d been living in the same house for 14 years, how could she be gone overnight? You mean we couldn’t eat popcorn together and rewatch the same corny makeup tutorials over and over that hadn’t been trending in years anymore? We couldn’t gossip about boys, and give each other advice? No more dragging her to concerts or going to abstract galleries that made my head hurt?
That night I turned up her radio to full blast and sat in my bed and cried myself to sleep. She might have embarrassed other people with her cringe, but I thought I would get forever with her. Before falling into a fitful sleep, thoughts swirled in my mind. Did I really know my big sister? What had she gotten herself into that got her killed? Whatever our family business is, I’m determined to find out the truth soon. I vow to avenge her.