Heaven Gained Another Angel

Dear Katie,

You died, that’s a fact, my dear sister, you died too young to even know what living really is. Only 12 years old, no one at that age should be able to die. There should be a law forbidding anyone from dying with so little time of life, but since no one thought tragedies like this could happen to girls so young, you unfortunately died. Not only died but were murdered so cowardly by someone so perverse and cruel. And, to avoid going insane like our parents after this unfortunate fact, I decided to write you a mental letter. Yes, mental, because if it were physical, where would I send it? To the stars in the sky, which people claim you became one of after your death, but which I only think is a bunch of nonsense, since it doesn’t seem like they’re receiving letters yet. So for now I write to you here from my thoughts, so you know I’m telling you the truth. There’s no way I could lie here inside my head. You would know if and when it happens. I’m not perfect, but this is the best I can do.

In case you, for some reason, don’t know who I am, it’s me, your brother Dorian Bradley, 18 years old, tall and skinny, brown eyes and straight brown short hair. Your old big brother, as always. After you left, Katie, mom, good old Anna Bradley, locked your room and didn’t let anyone else go in there. It was hard to convince her to let Rosa go in to clean, but she got this “special permission” after swearing on her life and her children’s that she would keep everything as she found it, that is, the way you left it the last time you were here with us, with your school bag open and some books scattered, the songs you downloaded and put on your flash drive, which was mine and you took without asking, but I don’t even dare get close now or mom would tear me apart, so it’s all yours, and the letter papers scattered on the desk, partially written with your romantic and ironic poems that I always liked. I’ll miss reading them out loud with you asking me what I thought of them. But back to mom, she’s dealing with it her way, not healthy and very melancholic. Dad, good old Casey Bradley, is dealing with it in a strangely silent way, walking around the house always in his oldest clothes, you know the ones he loves to wear at night before bed, even with the same holes we loved to tease him about saying “Went to war, dad?” And he never leaves the house. It’s been weeks like this, he asked for leave from work and I don’t even know if he’ll ever go back. He’s always in his workshop building his horrible birdhouses, and I think by now he must have made at least 15 of them, I don’t know what he plans to do with so many, but it’s better than seeing him sighing sadly in the corners, biting his lips in anger when he remembers what they did to you before taking you from us.

Tonight’s dinner is spaghetti bolognese, your favorite. I didn’t even dare mention it to mom so she wouldn’t freak out and start crying like crazy for me reminding her of it, so I just eat it thinking you’d probably be there at dinner finishing all the grated cheese and complaining that mom should have bought more.

— Pass me the salt — says dad.

Mom is absent-minded and doesn’t seem to hear anything, staring at nowhere. I simply get up, grab the damn salt and hand it to dad, who thanked me. The deadly silence at this dinner table is driving me insane.

— I was thinking of going out with Jonathan later — I say.

They both completely ignored me.

— I was thinking we could go to the old quarry — I say. — Use drugs and alcohol and have sex with each other without a condom. I’ve never sucked a dick before, I was thinking of starting today, you know — I said, still being ignored. — Swallow all his cum and then go to sleep without brushing my teeth.

— Fine, son — says dad apathetically.

Mom stays there in silence.

I got irritated and just threw the fork hard on the plate, startling them both.

— I just said I’m going to practice gay sex and smoke weed with my friend and neither of you paid attention to that — I say. — Isn’t that fucking awesome.

— Watch your mouth — says dad.

I get up, irritated.

— I’m going out — I said, throwing the napkin on the plate. — I’ll be back when I’m back.

— Use a condom — says mom, still apathetic, staring at nothing. — When you suck your friend’s dick at the quarry.

I look at her and don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

— Thanks, mom, for the tip — I say, going to kiss her on the cheek. — Don’t wait up.

I take dad’s car and go to Jonathan’s house, trying not to think of you, Katie, impossible, because the damn radio is playing that Winona Tyler song you loved, Break My Heart Again, fucking song, and instead of turning off the radio I decide to turn up the volume and listen to it all, trying not to cry, I’m training to pretend I’m stronger than I really am, but you know me. And I’m proud to say I only cry at the end of the song, but just for a short time because that bastard Jonathan’s house is only a block away. I went to his house, where I actually smoke a joint with him in his basement, even though his parents are upstairs watching TV. I don’t think they care about the fact that their son is a junkie and drug dealer. I never told you this, sister, but I’m best friends with a damn 19-year-old drug dealer. Nice, I keep imagining if you were their daughter, if they’d be so calm now. They say grief changes people, but luckily Jonathan has no siblings. So maybe I’ll never know.

— Hey man — says Jonathan, sitting on the couch. — Did you think about what I told you?

— I’m not interested — I say.

— I know someone who can do it — he says. — And don’t worry, this one’s on me.

— Get lost, man — I say, pushing him. — I don’t believe in that crap.

— She’s really good at it — he says. — Once she made me talk to my dead grandma.

— I’m not going to look for some drugged medium to talk to my dead sister, fuck.

— And what if Katie tells you who her killer was? — he asks. — We could finally catch him.

— Jonathan, stop talking nonsense — I say. — I’m not doing that, fuck. Just put that in your shitty head.

— I really have to go there tonight — he says. — Just come with me.

— You’re an idiot.

— Please, Dorian — he says. — I promise it’ll be worth it.

I don’t even know why I go with him to see that damn fake medium with no desire at all, I just wanted him to stop bothering me with all this crap. Sending me messages. We get there and he knocks a few times on her door. A regular house in the suburbs.

— Who is it? — she asks.

— Damn great medium, doesn’t even know who’s at the door — I say, rolling my eyes with my hands in my pockets.

— Stop it, Dorian — he says.

— It’s Jo — he says. — Open up.

We go in and this young woman, not more than her twenties, flowing red hair, brown eyes, comes to greet us wearing only a robe.

— Got my stuff? — she asks, standing by the door, looking around suspiciously.

— You bet — he says, going into her house and I just follow him. — This is my friend I told you about last time, the one with the sister. He came for the session.

— I’m sorry for your loss — she says. — The session will bring results tonight, I feel it, the winds whisper in my ear.

I just shake my head with a forced smile, thinking this is the biggest crap I’ve ever heard in my life, but I just wanted that shit to end soon. Without results Jonathan would finally leave me alone.

We sit at that table in her kitchen with a damn crystal ball in the center, where, after getting ready, she comes to us, sits down, and starts with all that nonsense of running her hand over the ball and trying to talk to spirits.

— I see everything white — she says.

I just smile, bored.

— She sees everything white — says Jonathan. — That’s good.

— Maybe you just need to adjust the antenna to get a better signal — I say, skeptical.

Jonathan slaps my arm and tells me to take it more seriously.

— I’m starting to feel something — she says.

I scratch my head and was almost getting up to leave. All of this is bullshit.

— Please, call her for us — says the woman to me, stroking the crystal ball.

— Me? — I ask, pointing at myself.

— Yes, you — she says. — You’re the one here who has the strongest connection with the deceased.

— Hi, Katie — I say, rolling my eyes.

The crystal ball starts to turn white.

— Is this shit for real? — I ask, watching that pathetic horror show. — Are you pressing something? — I ask, looking under the table and seeing nothing unusual.

— Keep calling her — says the woman. — I feel she’s getting closer.

— Katie, Katie — I say and then start humming. — Katie, Katie, oh Katie, don’t cry for me. — I say. — This is ridiculous.

Suddenly, I hear a faint female voice coming from the globe.

— What the fuck is this? — I ask, looking at Jonathan, laughing.

Looking at the woman, she seems to be in a trance with her eyes closed.

— Stop this theater, fuck — I say, standing up.

I hear the same voice again, now a little clearer.

— This isn’t funny — I say, getting pissed. — Can we leave now, Jonathan?

— Dorian — says the voice, which I immediately recognized as my sister’s.

I laugh, not understanding.

— How did you get my sister’s voice? — I ask. — This isn’t funny at all.

— Dory, I’m scared — says the voice I’m supposed to believe is you.

Dory, only you call me that. What idiots.

— You’re dead. How can you be scared? — I ask cynically, looking at that scene, thinking it’s all ridiculous.

— The bad man got me, Dorian.

— The bad man — I say. — Does he have a name or are you going to keep playing this shitty guessing game? — I say, shaking my head. — Let’s go, Jonathan — I say to him, who looks at me excited with the whole scene, actually seeming to believe it.

— Jimmy Hopkins — said the voice. — It was him.

— We’ve got a name — says Jonathan.

— No, we don’t — I say. — Just stop this nonsense.

— Man, stop being an idiot and take this opportunity — he says. — This is your chance.

— You know what, fuck all of you — I say, storming out furiously.

Jonathan comes after me and tries to convince me to go back, but I refuse and only don’t hit him right there because, even though he acted like an asshole dragging me into this, he’s still my best friend. I just go home as fast as I can, barely able to look at his face on the way back, I’m so angry at him.

— Jimmy Hopkins — he says. — Do you know anyone with that name?

— Just shut the fuck up — I say angrily.

— Man, I’m sorry — he says. — I just wanted to help you.

— By exposing me to a fraud?

— She’s not that at all, Dorian — he says. — But sorry, buddy. I didn’t think you’d get so pissed about it.

— Well, now you know — I say, mad.

I drop him off at his house and after getting home I just lock myself in my room and want to pretend that shitty night never happened.