“My sister Iris was a bit of a wild child,” Seri says.  “She spoke her mind, which our conservative, old-fashioned, military father didn’t care for too much.  She ran around with a lot of different boys in high school.  Mom was sure she was into all kinds of drugs, but I think she only smoked a little weed sometimes, nothing more.  Not in high school, anyway.”

“She was your older sister?”  Though I had previously not wanted to hear anything about Seri’s past, the mention of her sister’s murder has me intrigued.  Maybe intrigued isn’t the right word.  Is there a word for it when intrigue also scares the shit out of you?

“Yes, she was older, but only by two years.  She always seemed much older and wiser than I ever felt.  She knew what to say, when to say it, and was never afraid of what other people would think of her.  She didn’t care, not even when Mom and Dad were mad at her.  She and our dad fought all the time, especially right before she graduated from high school and moved out.  She went away to college and didn’t even come to visit until Christmas.  She always responded to my text messages, though, and told me everything was going great.”

I sense Seri’s change in tone, going from lighthearted childhood memories to something more ominous.

“She didn’t come home at all during the summer, and soon after, she stopped responding to my texts.  We found out later that she’d dropped out of college.  One of her friends from high school went to the same college as Iris, and she said Iris was hanging out with these two guys from town.  They weren’t students or anything, and everyone said they were drug dealers.  People were even saying that Iris might have been supporting herself as a prostitute.  I know that wasn’t true—she would never do something like that—but it’s what other people thought.”

I swallow hard.  I’d known a few pimps in prison, and they were nasty characters.  If Seri’s sister got caught up with people like that, it’s no wonder something bad happened.  The way Seri dismissed the idea of her sister selling her body is enough to convince me that it was probably true.

“Just after the first of the year, the police called my parents’ house, asking when they had seen her last.  The officer said Iris’s landlord filled out a missing person’s report on her when the rent wasn’t paid and that no one had seen her in a week.  Dad was sure she had just taken off without telling anyone, but when the police put her picture up on television, a woman came forward with information.”

Seri’s voice becomes monotone as she continues.

“The woman was a known heroin addict and a prostitute.  She said her boyfriend was a drug dealer and that he and his partner thought Iris stole some of their drugs.  She said the men beat Iris up, trying to get her to admit to stealing, but she wouldn’t tell them anything.  She is a fighter.”

Another chill runs down my spine, and I watch Seri closely as she recounts the tale like a police reporter standing in front of the press and reading facts from a dossier.  I don’t miss that she used the present tense when she called her sister a fighter, but I don’t think Seri even noticed the slip.

“The woman said she saw them haul Iris out of the house and into a truck and that she was bleeding when they took her,” Seri says, continuing her toneless narrative.  “She didn’t have additional information that was helpful.  The police investigated the men but discovered nothing to link them to Iris other than the witness.  Two days later, two boys found her body at the edge of the river.”

For the first time, Seri’s voice cracks slightly.

I look at her face and watch tears form in her eyes.  She stares into the fire for a few moments before she looks at me.  Her voice is small and quiet when she speaks again.

“The boys were only eleven or twelve,” she says as her voice cracks again, “just riding their bikes home from school.  They stopped their bikes by a big tree with a double trunk, and when they moved closer to the bank, they saw her in the mud.  They wanted to help, but they realized quickly that she was gone.  The police were called.”

Seri stops speaking and looks up at me as a shudder runs through her body, and the tears begin to fall.  I know I should do something to comfort her, but what?  Hold her hand?  Give her a hug?  Maybe I should offer her a drink—I know I could use one about now.

As I debate the options, Seri wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.  She has been holding herself together pretty well up until this point, but my stomach tightens up as I wait for an inevitable meltdown that I won’t know how to handle.

“She had…”  Seri stops and closes her eyes for a moment.  I don’t think she’s going to be able to finish, but she takes a few breaths and then starts again.  “She had been in the water long enough that any evidence on her had been washed away.  She had been so badly injured, they had to use her dental records just to identify her.”

“Shit.”  I mutter the curse under my breath.  It’s not so much my shock or horror at her words but the similarity to my own case regarding dental records for identification.

“You want to tell us who that is in there?”  The officer tightened the cuffs around my wrists and then shoved me into the back of the car.  He leaned against the doorframe and stared at my blood-stained face.

I didn’t respond.

“I assume it’s the owner of the house,” another officer said.

“They’re going to have to put his teeth back in his skull just to use dental records.”

“You want a drink?” I ask Seri.  “I’m getting myself a whiskey.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I get up and pour two glasses of Jameson.  As I sit back down and hand Seri her glass, Solo crawls up and pokes his nose into mine.  He scrunches up his nose and cringes at the smell.  I push him away a bit before I light a cigarette and blow the smoke toward the fire.  I offer the pack to Seri, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t smoke,” she says.

Seri takes a sip from her glass, and her expression mimics the kitten’s.  I try not to laugh.  She looks at me sideways, scowling, but then grins.

“I’m a little more accustomed to wine,” she says.

“Sorry.  I only have the whiskey.”

“It’s all right.”  She takes another tentative sip before she continues.

“My parents never got over the whole ordeal.  The police were sure they knew who did it, but they didn’t have any actual evidence.  They only had the word of a junkie prostitute who said she saw Iris leave with these two guys the night she disappeared.”

“I suppose it’s a lot easier when you find someone standing over the body with the murder weapon in his hands.”  My own words cause a shiver to run down my spine.

 “I don’t think that happens too often.”

“Sometimes it does.”

“You didn’t even try to clean anything up, Bishop.  You were still holding the axe when the police arrived.  You didn’t deny anything.  There were no signs of anyone else being in the house, and you were covered in his blood.”

“So, you’re my lawyer.  What do I do?”

“Take the deal.  It’s the only way you’re ever going to see the light of day again.”

Seri looks over at me with narrowed eyes, but I don’t meet her gaze.  If I look at her, she’ll know.  She’ll be able to stare into my eyes and know I’m a murderer.  She’ll start yelling again, probably screaming loud enough that people in Whatì will hear her.

She turns away from me as Solo crawls into her lap and attacks her shirtsleeve.  She plays with him briefly before he gets bored of her and runs off to attack a bit of fluff on the floor.

“I shouldn’t have told you any of this,” she says.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth in the first place?” I ask.  “It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”

“I don’t know why I lie about it,” she says softly.  “Habit, I guess.  I don’t want to think of her as a druggie or a lowlife.  I don’t want other people to see her that way.  She got caught up with the wrong crowd.  That’s all.  She was my big sister, and I loved her.”

“‘You can’t help who you love.’”  The words are ones Margot spoke regularly.  To her, that single phrase answered all questions.

“She took care of me.”  Seri sniffs, nods, and wipes her eyes.  “We took care of each other.  I miss her.”

Without warning, Seri leans over and lays her head on my shoulder.  I stiffen, not sure how I’m supposed to respond to the sudden, intimate contact.  When Margot was upset about something, I just gave her space until she was feeling better, and she seemed to appreciate that.  This is new territory for me, and I don’t know what to make of it.  Should I put my arm around her shoulder, pat her head, and say, “There, there”?  Should I wait for her to do something else?  What am I going to do if she grabs my dick again?

I’m clueless.

Before I can sort out what I should do next, Seri starts in with more questions about me.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asks.

“No.”  I reach forward to grab my glass from the floor, careful not to move my right shoulder too much and disturb Seri.  “I was an only child.  My mother was pregnant when I was about five, but she had a miscarriage.  After that, she wasn’t able to have any more kids.”

“Oh.  That’s sad.”

“Probably for the best,” I mumble but then regret saying anything at all and quickly change the subject.  “It sounds like you have a lot of good memories about your sister.”

“I do.”  Seri smiles slightly as she stares at the fire.  “We were close enough in age that we did a lot together.  She would always take me sledding when it snowed—there was a big hill just a block away from our house—and we’d come home freezing and soaking wet.  Mom would make us hot chocolate.”

“That sounds pretty nice.”

“It was.  Everything changed after Iris started high school and then even more when she got her driver’s license.  She didn’t have much time for me after that, but we still talked a lot.  At least, we did until she went to college.  Despite everything that happened later, we had a good childhood.  I wish there was some way I could go back and keep all of the bad stuff from happening, but that just isn’t possible, is it?”

“No,” I say, “it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Seri says as she takes a long, deep breath.  “I shouldn’t be unloading all of this on you.”

“That’s all right.”  I don’t know what else to say.  It’s better than asking me about myself.  That’s for sure.

Seri’s talking about her sister’s death has my body tense and my stomach churning.  Too many images from my own past flash through my head, and my temple starts to throb.  I take another long drink from the glass, and the liquid burns as it glides down my throat.  It calms me slightly, but the thoughts are still there.

“Thanks for listening,” Seri says.  She sits up long enough to take another drink before putting her head back on my shoulder.  “It’s not something I normally talk about.  It’s kinda nice to get it all out there.”

I can only nod in response.  I’m not sure why talking would make her feel any better.  Doesn’t that just bring it all back into the forefront of your mind?  Hell if I know.  I’ve never talked to anyone about my childhood, not even when they forced me to see a therapist while in prison.

“I would like to get to know you better,” she says softly.

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” I say.  I try to make light of it.  “I mean, you flipped when you saw all of me.  How are you going to feel if you hear all about me?”

Seri picks her head back up and gives me a harsh look.  I grin sheepishly at my bad joke.

“That isn’t the same,” she says.  “Not at all.”

“I guess not.”  I shrug.  I have no idea how the two are different really.  If I tell her anything about my past, I’ll feel far more naked than I had been this morning.

“I probably did overreact,” she says softly.  “I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me, like I said, but I still barely know you.  Seeing you like that freaked me out a little.  I’d still like to hear more about you though.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me,” she replies.  Again, she lays her head on my shoulder.  This time, she also moves a little closer, and our thighs are pressed together.  I swallow hard.

“Like what?” I ask.  “Talking about myself isn’t really my thing.  I need some suggestions.”

“Anything,” she replies.  “Tell me about your childhood or how you came to live here.  Tell me about your ex.”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Well then, tell me about where you got Solo.”

“Found him out in my barn,” I say.  “I don’t know where he came from.  I assume his mother must have been killed, but I have no idea how he managed on his own long enough to reach shelter.  He followed me up to the cabin, and he would have frozen to death if I just left him outside, so I brought him in.  He was so scrawny, I’m surprised he survived.”

“So, you rescued both of us.”

“I guess.”

“See?  You are a knight.”

“I’m not.”  I shake my head.

“Well, you are as far as I’m concerned.”  She leans against my body and wraps her arms around my waist.

It seems strange to just sit here, so I put my arm around her shoulders.  She leans against me a little harder, and I stare into my nearly empty glass.  For a few minutes, we sit in silence.

The quiet is starting to get to me, so I tilt my head to look at her only to find that she is looking at me. Our faces are close, and her cheeks glow in the firelight.  My gut tightens up, and the feeling moves lower.  I want to shift my weight to get some of the pressure off my groin, but I’m afraid to move.

Seri tilts her head, changing the angle slightly and moving our faces closer together.  Reflexively, I run my tongue over my lips just before she presses her mouth to mine.

It’s a soft kiss.  It’s close-mouthed, warm, and gentle.  She tightens her grip around my waist, so I do the same to her shoulder.  I’m still holding my glass in my other hand, but there’s no way I can put it down without breaking our contact, so I don’t even try.

I can taste the whiskey on her lips.  It’s sweet and makes me want to open my mouth and devour her, but I don’t.  I barely move except to return the pressure against her mouth.  When she pulls back, I open my eyes slowly to find Seri staring at me.  All of a sudden, her face goes flush.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly as she pulls away a little more.  “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“I didn’t mind.”  It’s an idiotic thing to say, but I can’t take it back now.

“You sure?” she asks softly.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  As I try to think of something to add to that, Solo climbs into my lap, crawls up my chest, and then digs his claws into Seri’s arm as he howls.

“I think Solo is jealous,” Seri says with a grin.

The transition is jolting.  Apparently, we’re going to change the subject and just forget the kiss happened as well.  Fine with me.  If I can ignore that we had sex, I can certainly ignore that we just kissed.

“I think he’s hungry.”

“You’re so good with him,” Seri says when I get the milk and bottle ready and place Solo on my lap for his dinner.  “Have you had other cats?”

“None,” I tell her.  “I never even considered owning a pet before and wasn’t so sure I wanted this one.  If I’d found him closer to town, I probably would have found someplace else for him to live.”

“What about now?  When the weather is better, will you get rid of him?”

“No, I don’t think so.”  I rub the kitten’s belly.  “I’m getting used to him being here, and he doesn’t take up much room.”

“Not like me, huh?”  She chuckles but then goes quiet.  She looks away for a minute before finally turning back to me.  “Hopefully I’m not too bad.”

“I haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You do ask a lot of question though.”  I finish feeding the kitten and watch him make his way back to his box for a good post-feeding snooze.

“We said we were going to try to get along,” Seri says, reminding me of our previous conversation.  “Hard to get to know each other if you don’t answer any questions.  You told me about finding Solo but not a lot else.”

“I suppose.”  I clean up the milk and settle back on the floor beside Seri.  “I’m not used to talking about myself.”

“I get the idea you aren’t used to talking at all,” she says.  “But it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

“I guess not.”  I shrug my shoulders again.  Talking about talking about stuff is something I generally find unnerving though I have to admit that it’s getting a little easier.

“Maybe you could tell me why you decided to live out here by yourself?”

“I’m not a people person.”

“I’ve gathered as much,” she says, “but why not?”

If I had any social skills, I would probably be able to come up with a reasonable answer, but I don’t and I can’t.  I feel like I’m leaning over the edge of a skyscraper while holding onto a thin piece of twine.

“I had a pretty fucked up childhood.”

“I figured as much,” she says quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about that though.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says quietly.  “There has to be something else you’re willing to tell me.”

I open my mouth, but without anything to actually say, I can offer nothing but silence.  I close my mouth and grab my whiskey glass.  Only a couple of sips are left, and instead of drinking, I just swirl the liquid around.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Seri says with a laugh.  “Open up a little, Bishop.”

Open up.

It’s a phrase I’d heard many times before, usually out of the mouth of some shrink assigned to me while I was incarcerated.  They all seemed to believe if I just “opened up” and talked about my life that everything would be all right again—as if talking about shit was going to make it all go away.

Then again, I’d been intimate with her, and that did change things.  Margot ended up learning about me through newspaper articles she found on the internet though she still pressed for more.  I never told her much, but sometimes I wondered if I should have.

Maybe I should open up.

“What do you want to know?” I ask quietly.

“You said you never graduated from high school,” Seri says immediately.  “Why was that?”

I steady my breathing before I go on.

“I didn’t graduate from high school because I was incarcerated instead.  I didn’t get out until I was twenty-five.  Being in that environment wasn’t the greatest when it comes to socializing with people.  When I got out, I didn’t have any marketable skills, and being an ex-con isn’t exactly great on a resume, so I couldn’t get a job.  As soon as someone ran a background check, they’d pass me up, even at fast food places.  I did a little construction work, getting paid under the table, but my parole officer found out about it, and he threatened to put me back in prison for some parole violation.

“With my record, I couldn’t get a legitimate job without a diploma, not in that state, anyway.  As part of my parole, I also wasn’t allowed to leave the state, and I had to see my parole officer every week.  I was living in a shelter with absolutely no prospects.  Ultimately, I gave up and took off.  Ended up crossing the Canadian border a few months later and eventually found my way here.”

“Didn’t anyone ever come looking for you?”

“If anyone bothered, I don’t know about it.  I assume I’m on someone’s list of wanted fugitives, which is why I don’t live in Yellowknife or somewhere like that.  All the business I do is in cash, so there’s no record of me anywhere.  I don’t have a phone or utilities to trace, and no one up here ever pried into my past much except Margot.”

“Is that why you broke up?  She found out about your past?”

“That’s part of the reason, yeah.”

Seri goes quiet for a moment, never taking her eyes off of me.  I know she wants me to elaborate, but I don’t know what else to say.

“Why were you in prison, Bishop?”

My insides go cold—far colder than the chilled air around me—and I look away from her.  I don’t know how the conversation got this far.  I never intended to say this much, and now I’m stuck with it.  There is no way she is going to retract the question, and if I don’t give her an answer, she may very well go ballistic on me again.

I briefly consider lying.  I know enough stories from guys I was locked up with to make up a plausible tale, but what would be the point?  She already knows I’m a fugitive and might very well look me up or even tell the authorities where I am.

I’ve dug myself a hole that I have no hope of escaping.

“I killed someone.”  I glance at her quickly, hoping to judge her reaction.

“Who?” she finally whispers.

“My father.”