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Thin air

Кейн Рэйчел

“In exchange for changing the weather.”

“Exactly.”

“Where?”

“Ah.” His teeth flashed, white and slightly crooked, just enough to give him character. I could see how Sarah got sucked into this guy’s orbit; she didn’t strike me as especially strong, and Eamon just radiated competence. Bad competence, sure, but…“I’ll show you, but not until we have an agreement. Do we?”

“No. We don’t.”

“Damn. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to raise the stakes, but you really leave me very little choice.” The warmth drained out of his smile. “Things can happen to your sister. Terrible things. I’m not saying that I would personally do them, but such things can be outsourced these days, and it’s such a cold, cruel world for a sensitive woman with a drug problem, yeah?”

I was almost speechless with fury. “You-”

“Ah!” He held up a long finger and waggled it gently from side to side. “Let’s not insult each other. We both understand that Sarah’s a dependent personality; if I want her to stay with me, she’ll stay, no matter how I treat her. No matter how much I hurt her. If you want to ensure your sister’s future safety and happiness, you’re going to have to pay me off. And that means this one simple favor.”

“Fine,” I snapped. He raised his eyebrows. “What, you want me to sign it in blood? You’ve made your fucking point!”

Eamon sniffed the air. “Is that brimstone I smell? Love, I’m not the devil. I don’t require signatures, and I wouldn’t want your grimy, well-used soul, either. Don’t play the i

That spoke volumes about things I didn’t remember, and was glad I couldn’t. I shuddered, but I did it inside, where he couldn’t see. “Let’s leave the past out of it,” I said. “So I do this thing for you, and you’re out of my life? Out of my sister’s life?”

“Once and for all,” he said. “Truthfully, I’m a bit sorry I ever came back into it. She’s…difficult. But I did-and do-care about her. Please believe that. It’s not all about leverage. If it had been, I’d have kicked her to the curb weeks ago, when she ceased to be amusing.”

Strangely, I did believe that. Or wanted to, anyway. “I wish you had,” I said. “She’d be better off.”

He gave me a pitying look. “When I take the trash to the curb, I put it out in plastic bags,” he said. “Think, love. I never claimed I was a good catch. But in my own way, I have tried to do my best for her.”

“Just not enough to keep her off of drugs,” I said.

He shrugged. “The only person who can keep Sarah clean is Sarah. You know that.”

Eamon’s philosophy of personal responsibility was convenient, to say the least. I got up and paced the trailer’s worn carpet. The floor creaked. Eamon watched me without appearing worried about anything I might do; I stopped near a lopsided scattering of framed photographs and stared.

There I was, with my arm around Sarah. Happier times, clearly; I had a smug grin, and she looked rosy and glowing with happiness. Younger, both of us. There was another photo next to it of an older woman sitting on a beach, looking out to sea. There was a contemplative air to the picture, and a kind of sadness. I reached out and touched the face with a fingertip.

“I haven’t seen this in years,” I said. I was taking a guess that Eamon wouldn’t bother with family photos-if he had, and I was pointing at a picture of his dear old mum from Manchester or wherever, I was probably screwed. He already knew my memory was faulty; I just didn’t want him to know the extent of it. He’d probably assume it was confined to a specific period-hell, I’d have assumed that, in his place. The alternative would have seemed ridiculously unlikely.

Whatever he thought, he just said, “Sarah loves that photograph. She said it was your mother’s favorite, as well. You took it, didn’t you?”

I decided the safest course was not to answer. I picked up the picture and stared at it, trying to read its secrets. My mother. What had she been like? Had she been protective? Proud? Absent? Abusive? So many questions, and I knew I wouldn’t get the answers here. Not out of Eamon, anyway.

“Not that I’m unsympathetic to your current stroll down Memory Lane, love, but there’s a deal on the table,” Eamon said. “And you know how much I like to close deals.”

Some dark, velvet tone of amusement in that made me put the picture down and turn to look at him. I hadn’t, right? Oh, tell me I hadn’t slept with my sister’s skanky, possibly homicidal boyfriend.

Man, I was changing my ways if that was the case. Possibly joining a nu

“You show me where you want the weather changed,” I said, “and I’ll make it happen.”

He smiled slowly. “I know you will. Because you’re not stupid enough to double-cross me twice.”

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I wasn’t too surprised to find that while Eamon and I had been trading threats and barely concealed attacks, Sarah had taken the opportunity of self-medicating herself into oblivion. Not surprised, but sad. I found out what her poison of choice was, because it was in plain sight on the nightstand…an orange-brown prescription bottle of OxyContin. At least, I thought, it wasn’t meth. But Sarah would have found meth too low class, no doubt. To me, high was high; it didn’t really matter whether you blissed out from prescription drugs or something a toothless wonder cooked up in a pot on his stove. The problem was the same.

I got her out of bed. She opened her eyes, and the pupils were hugely dilated. She yawned as I tossed clothes at her. There were bruises on her arms and legs, and I felt a newly sick sensation bubbling deep in my stomach. Those were not exactly the signs of a loving relationship, but then, what had I really expected? Consideration? Dependent personality, he said, and although I hated him for it, Eamon was right. Sarah had hooked up with a guy who’d treat her like crap, because deep down that was what she expected to get. And maybe he was what she needed to continue eroding her own nonexistent self-worth.

How could two sisters be so damn different?

“Where are we going?” she mumbled. I helped her put on a floral shirt with ruffles down the front; it would have looked like crap on me, but on her it looked fresh and pretty. It offset the haggard lines in her face, anyway. She needed sleep, and not the kind induced by chemicals. And an environment where she could find out just how powerful she could be, if given the chance.

“We’re going on a little trip,” I said. “Sarah, look at me. Look at me. You recognize me, right?”

Her wandering eyes focused on me. I was eerily reminded of Cherise’s time-delayed attention, but this was different; Sarah had at least chosen this. “Of course I know who you are,” Sarah said, and put a hand to my cheek. Her skin felt cool and clammy. “You’re my sister. You’re all I’ve got. Sometimes I hate you, though. But mostly I love you.”