The Night Sister (19 page)

Alfred Hitchcock

Universal Studios

Hollywood, California

September 18, 1961

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

I feel like an actress already. Playing different roles for different people. Sometimes I almost forget who the real me is.

Does that make any sense?

Do any of your big stars ever feel that way when they're playing a role—that they get so caught up in pretending to be someone else they start to forget who they really are? I can't imagine Janet Leigh or James Stewart getting lost like that. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe any one of us can get a little lost sometimes.

Sincerely yours,

Miss Sylvia A. Slater

The Tower Motel

328 Route 6

London, Vermont

Rose was awakened by a gunshot. Daddy's rifle. She knew the sound by heart. Daddy had taught her and Sylvie to shoot, practicing with old tin cans on the fence out behind Fenton's trailer.

She leapt out of bed, glancing at the clock; she'd overslept again. Sylvie's bed was already neatly made.

Mama and Sylvie were sitting at the kitchen table, steaming bowls of oatmeal in front of them. Sylvie looked up, saw Rose, then shot Mama a worried glance. Mama pursed her lips.

“I heard a shot,” Rose said.

Mama nodded, eyes down on her oatmeal.

“What happened?” Rose asked, heart sinking into her stomach.

Mama sat up so that her back was as straight as the chair she sat in. “Honey, Lucy got worse. She wasn't able to stand at all this morning.”

“No!” Rose said. Daddy wouldn't do it. He couldn't possibly shoot Lucy. Not without letting Rose say goodbye.

“She was in terrible pain,” Mama said.

“No!” Rose cried again, running out of the kitchen, through the front door, down the steps, across the yard, her robe flying out behind her like a cape. Fenton and Daddy were coming back toward the house. Daddy was carrying his Winchester rifle.

“How could you?” Rose screamed.

“Rose, the animal was suffering,” Daddy said.

“You could have called the vet! You could have woken me up!”

I could have fixed her. I could have gotten her to stand up and eat.

Daddy shook his head. “There was nothing either you or the best veterinarian in the world could have done for that old cow, Rose. Her time had come.”

“It's not fair. You don't get to decide!”

“It was the kindest—” Daddy began.

“You're a murderer,” Rose spat.

Daddy looked at her but didn't speak. His eyes looked hollow, sad. “I'm sorry,” he said at last, and walked past her, into the house.

“I hate you,” she called after him. “I hate everyone in this whole terrible family.”

Daddy didn't so much as pause; he just kept right on walking, gun in his hands.

Rose started to head for Lucy's pen, but Fenton grabbed her. “No,” he said. “It's best if you don't see her.” She shook him off and ran across the yard and to the fence.

There was her beautiful cow, a small round bullet hole right in the center of her forehead. Rose opened the gate and lay down beside Lucy, buried her face in the cow's still-warm fur and cried.

She cried for what felt like hours, days. Flies came and landed on her and Lucy, and Rose flicked them away, used the sleeve of her robe to clean the blood from Lucy's forehead.

She had lost her only true friend.

“I'm sorry, girl,” she cried. “I'm so, so sorry.”

“She had a good life,” Fenton said.

Rose turned around. Fenton was there behind her, leaning on the fence. Had he been there the whole time?

“If she'd been any other cow, she would have been made into hamburger years ago. Your daddy, he loved Lucy. You don't know how hard it was for him to shoot her today. And you know what he wants to do? He wants to bury her in the back field. Dig a big old hole and have a real funeral. Send her off right.”

Rose kept her face buried in the cow's warm chest, ran her hands over her ribs, her shoulder blade, down her bumpy spine.

“I should have been here,” Rose said. “I didn't even get to say goodbye.”

“Now, Rose, your dad didn't want to upset you, that's all. I think he still sees you as a little kid, fragile. You're tougher than he knows, Rose.”

She lifted her head, nodded.

“Smarter, too,” Fenton said. “Your father—both your parents, really—they don't give you enough credit.”

For a second, Rose was surprised. Then, she thought,
Exactly.
For once, someone had it right. “Thank you,” she said.

“In fact,” he said, “I bet there's not a whole lot that goes on here that you don't know about. I bet the things you know would surprise everyone.”

She nodded up at him. If only he knew the half of it. But then, feeling the need to prove herself, she said, “I know about Daddy.”

“What about him?” Fenton said.

“That there's another lady he sees. Her name is Vivienne.”

Fenton blew out a breath. “You know about that, huh? Well, do us all a favor and don't mention that one to either of your parents.”

“Mama knows already,” Rose said.

“Yeah, well, just 'cause she knows doesn't mean she needs to be reminded, right?”

Rose nodded. She felt strangely powerful. The keeper of grown-up secrets.

“Hey,” Fenton said. “Seeing as how you've already missed the school bus, how about you come to the trailer for a cup of cocoa? Then I can give you a lift to school when you're good and ready. How does that sound?”

Rose wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Okay,” she said, standing on rubbery legs. She followed Fenton past the swimming pool (closed down for the season), and across the grass to his blue-and-white trailer.

“Take a seat,” he said once they were inside. Rose sat at the little table while he moved around the small, efficient kitchen, heating milk, stirring in cocoa powder and sugar.

Clang, clang, clang,
went the spoon in the saucepan. Maybe it was Rose's imagination, but there was something odd about Fenton today. He seemed out of sorts. Nervous. He wasn't quite looking her in the eye. She guessed he was just feeling bad about Lucy. Men had a hard time expressing emotion. She'd read that in an article in one of Sylvie's magazines and believed it was true.

They were quiet a minute while Fenton worked at the stove. Rose looked around. Fenton's trailer was always clean, but cluttered—paperback books, tools, and motorcycle parts covered every surface. In spite of the apparent chaos, Fenton always seemed to know where everything was.

“This what you're reading?” Rose asked, picking up the paperback in front of her. There was a napkin stuck in it, being used as a bookmark.

The Stars My Destination,
the cover said.

“Uh-huh,” Fenton said.

“Is it good?” Rose asked.

“Pretty good. People can teleport. It's actually pretty interesting.”

“I wish I could teleport,” Rose said.

Fenton grinned at her. “Where would you go?” he asked.

“Anywhere,” she told him. “Anywhere but here.”

“I know the feeling,” Fenton said. He got two mugs down and carefully poured the cocoa into them. He put a cup right in front of her. She wrapped her hands around it, fingers soaking up the warmth.

“Do you?” Rose asked.

“Sure. I mean especially now, things being the way they are. The motel, the whole town, it's all in pretty bad shape, right? You've gotta wonder if we all wouldn't be better off someplace else.”

Rose nodded and took a sip of her cocoa. It was perfect: sweet and chocolaty and just what she needed.

“Sylvie wants to go to Hollywood,” Rose said. Her sister had covered her side of the bedroom with pictures of movie stars cut from magazines. Above her bed, she had a drawing Fenton had done for her of the Hollywood sign up in the hills.

Fenton nodded. “I know, and she will one day. I'm sure of it.”

Fenton drummed his fingers on the table. He took a sip of his cocoa, then pushed the cup away and reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He shook one out and lit up, squinting at Rose through the smoke.

“Rose,” he said, “there's something I want to talk to you about.”

His voice was as serious as serious gets. Was it about Lucy? About how crazy Rose had been acting? Maybe he was going to give her hell for ruining Sylvie's birthday cake—everyone else already had. Maybe it was more about Daddy and Vivienne. About how her parents' marriage was in rough shape, just like everything else around here.

Whatever Fenton was going to say, she was sure she didn't want to hear it. She wanted to do the little-girl trick of sticking her fingers in her ears and singing loudly so she wouldn't hear. But she wasn't a little girl anymore.

“What?” Rose asked, setting down her mug. Suddenly the cocoa was so sweet it made her teeth ache.

Fenton took another drag of his cigarette. The smoke drifted out of his mouth like blue-gray fog.

“About what you saw last night.”

The words hit Rose right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

“What I…saw?” she stammered once she had her breath back.

Fenton nodded, looked her right in the eye. “Out in the tower. After you followed your sister there.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Rose said, pushing herself up and away from the table. She backed up on shaky legs.

“Don't play games,” he said, rising, stepping toward her. “This is serious. Do you know what could happen if people find out?”

“Find out?” Rose croaked, backing farther, feeling for the door behind her, remembering her sister, how she hadn't been simply Sylvie anymore, but some sort of hideous monster—something with extra arms and wings.

What
would
happen if people found out?

And how was it that Fenton knew? Had he known all along, been in on her secret? Was he one of them, too? Another monster?

“Rose,” he said, “I need you to promise me that you won't tell. If you did…” His eyes flashed with a strange rage Rose hadn't expected. They had a reddish glint in the dim light of the trailer.

“I have to go,” she said. She turned and pushed the door open, jumped down the steps, and started heading across the field.

“Wait!” Fenton called. “Don't you want a ride to school?”

Rose didn't answer. She ran back to the house and up the stairs, past her mother doing dishes in the kitchen.

She got to her bedroom and locked the door.

Fenton knew. Fenton was Sylvie's protector. Had she turned him into a monster, too? Could mares do that? She couldn't recall Oma ever mentioning it—but, then, she hadn't known just how closely she should have been paying attention to Oma's stories.

How far would Fenton go to keep Sylvie's secret?

Rose flung herself down on her bed to think. She pulled the covers up over her head and shut her eyes as tight as she could, trying to bring on darkness.

At last, she knew what she had to do.

She rose from bed, went to Sylvie's desk, and sat down in front of the typewriter. She carefully loaded in a sheet of clean, white motel stationery and began to type.

I know what you are and what you do. You have to stop. If you don't, I will find a way to stop you.

Rose left the note there in Sylvie's typewriter. Then she got herself washed and dressed and asked her mother if she could please drive her to school.