Disclaimer: Ya know, the usual. We own everything that you don't recognize and nothing that you do. ;)

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for checking out the story me and Queen Jane Approximately wrote. We'll be adding to it as often as possible. It's going to be a series of stories, modeled after the Ten Commandments. This one is Disobey, and will be followed by Steal, Covert, Lie, Kill, etc. So let us know how good or bad the story is thus far, we really appreciate any reviews we get! And I have nothing more to say, so enjoy!

Thou Shalt Not
Disobey

Sinners Must Cry

"Brian, this is the last time I'm going to tell you to get into bed."

Tara Taylor stood in the doorway of her nine-year-old brother's bedroom, one hand planted firmly on her hip. She was trying her best not to laugh at the death glare he was giving her, for there was nothing sinister about it—he couldn't frighten a ghost. He sat on his bed with his legs dangling over the edge and his arms crossed obstinately over his scrawny chest, a clear indication of his youth. He wasn't submitting that easily, but his big sister was tired and no longer in the right frame of mind to play games with him.

"All right," she sighed. "I guess I'll just have to unplug the TV for a week and tell all your friends that you're sick …"

He sat up straighter, and challenged her authority confidently. "You wouldn't do that."

"You wanna bet?"

And that's always when the game ended—when Brian realized that she was serious, which she always was. He was under the covers before she could turn out the lights.

"Good night, little man," Tara said, her exhaustion at arguing with him almost tangible. She couldn't understand why children resisted bedtime as much as they did. Sometimes, after a long day, sinking into her pillows and under her covers was the pinnacle of her very existence—sometimes nothing was better. But that just wasn't how it was for little kids, and on those days and those nights that she took care of Brian, she'd just have to endure it.

"Remind me never to become a mother," she said wearily, joining her sister Callie in the girls' shared bathroom.

The eighteen-year-old regarded Tara with a disproving expression. "I believe you've already assumed that role. We're almost out of toothpaste, by the way," she continued. "But I saved you some. Here."

"Well, you know what I mean. Thank you."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to add that to my list of Things to Remind My Sister Never to Do." She stuck her toothbrush into her mouth as she spoke, so her words came out garbled and unclear. "This will be number two hundred and fifty-six – never have children of your own."

"And what are the other two hundred and fifty-five?"

Callie grinned. "See? It's a good thing I made the list."

And then, for a while, consumed with their nightly rituals of face-washing and hair-combing and changing from one garment into the next, the girls did not speak to one another, preferring not to provide each other with distractions. Callie was focused and bent on brushing her hair one hundred times in a row, an obsessive habit she'd picked up at the age of seven, and it wasn't until she approached comb-through number ninety that Tara interrupted her, looking serious and sad.

"Callie."

"Yeah?"

"You do remember what tomorrow is, don't you?"

The younger girl furrowed her brow and got to her feet, feeling suddenly sentimental. "Of course I know what tomorrow is," she said. "How could I forget?"

"Well, I'm taking off work." Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then tightened her bathrobe so that it hugged her thin frame. She was apprehensive and tense. "I'm going to give Grandma and Grandpa an extended break and take care of Brian for the day, too. He's already got a play date with a friend from down the street set up for the afternoon. You can stay home from school if you want to."

"Thanks, but I think I'd rather just go," Callie said. She moved slowly down the hall to her bedroom, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger the way she always did when she felt the sharp tinges of grief and stress beginning to prick at her otherwise passive emotions.

Tara followed her, tightening the robe again. It squeezed her waist now. "Are you sure?"

"If I go, I won't have to think about them. I'll have other things to focus on."

"But … you can't—"

"It bothers me to think about them, okay?" Callie didn't look at her sister as she turned down her sheets and aligned her pillows, or when she picked up her book and curled up on her window seat, noticing for the first time the branches scratching at the glass like long fingernails. "I just think I'd be better off if I didn't have to. And Cheyenne can give me a ride home, so don't worry about picking me up, or anything."

Tara nodded. "Okay. Well, if that's what you want to do. Just don't forget, all right?"

"What kind of daughter would I be if I forgot my own parents?" Now Callie did look at Tara, their eyes meeting slowly. The shadow of the tree branch on the pale yellow wall behind the older girl appeared to be waving sullenly.

"I'll see you in the morning," Tara said, her voice quiet. "Sleep well."

"Yeah. You, too."

-----

"And she asked me if I wanted to stay home from school today, too. There was no way I was going to do that."

Callie leaned her head against the cool window of her best friend's Mercedes. She felt as if her skin was on fire, and the chilling sensation of the glass on her forehead was inviting and soothing. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing her tense muscles to relax.

"Why not?" Cheyenne accelerated through a yellow light and Callie's stomach lurched. "I don't think I'd want to be in school on a day like today if it were me. I wouldn't be able to focus."

"That's the point. I told her I wanted to be in school because then I wouldn't have to focus on my parents. But that's not really why I didn't want to stay home."

"Uh, okay? Elaborate? I guess I'm not totally grasping what you mean here …"

"Because I know what happens there on this day, every single year. They come back."

Cheyenne laughed. "Come on, Callie. You can't be serious. They can't 'come back.' That's impossible."

Callie sunk lower in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child. "That's what you think."

"I just don't believe in that stuff. I think it's crap."

"Yeah? Well, what about last year—that car accident on Orchard? Same day, same road my parents were killed on? What about that?"

"So there was a freaky coincidence," Cheyenne argued. "Big deal. Callie, your parents have been gone for eight years. If they ever 'came back' at all, it probably would have been right after they died, or something. If that's what you think is happening now, then I think that's kind of random and weird."

"I am finding it increasingly pointless to argue with you about this," Callie mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Nevermind." She unbuckled her seatbelt as Cheyenne pulled into her driveway and changed the subject before her friend had the opportunity to question it any further. Best friends forever or not, Callie knew she didn't understand. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. You gonna be all right?"

Callie nodded and grabbed her bag from the seat. She stood in her driveway and watched as Cheyenne pulled away from her and disappeared down the quiet road. It was a chilly afternoon, overcast and pale, and Callie felt weary and drawn from the entire universe. Everywhere else, people were busy with their lives and their families and their friends, but here in Callie's world, it was just a day that she wished she didn't have to relive year after year – as far as she was concerned, and probably Tara too, once a year was one year too many.

A light snow began to fall gently around her as she dug her house keys out of her bag and fumbled for the right one. The snow dusted her hair and the dead grass with a frosty mist that melted just as quickly as it appeared, and an icy breeze colored her cheeks a dusky rose. Callie shivered as she pushed open the front door, grateful at once for the warmth of the inside.

"Tara?" she called out. "I'm home!"

There was no response. Immediately puzzled, Callie bit her lip and glanced from the front room into the dining room, wondering why her sister wasn't acknowledging her. That wasn't like her. She knew Tara was here – the car was in the driveway, and there was an empty mug and a Newsweek magazine sitting open on the coffee table. Wherever she was, she couldn't have gone far.

"Tara?" Callie tried again, raising her voice just a bit this time. "I'm home, in case you didn't hear me …"

Still nothing. The house was eerily quiet, and Callie was beginning to feel as if she'd just stepped into a Stephen King film. Her heart was pounding and the heightened sensation of her blood buzzing in her veins was making her dizzy. Something was very wrong. She set her bag down on the couch and walked through each room, checking corners and closets, fearing the worst at every turn. She thought she'd watched enough horror films with Cheyenne over the years to be prepared for anything. Except for this.

She stopped cold in the kitchen and just managed to choke out, "Oh my God", before an immeasurable fear consumed her and she let out a terrified, bone-chilling scream. There on the tile lay her sister Tara, unconscious, her feet bare and her skin flushed. The oven door hung open as if she had just been about to put something in, and the room was warm because the appliance had never been turned off.

Hands shaking furiously, Callie reached for the telephone, never once taking her eyes off of her big sister. She panicked more and more each time she swore she saw some sign of life that only turned out to be her imagination.

Tara couldn't have done this, she thought helplessly. Not today. Not ever.