Kieran had gone to bed early that Thursday night, complaining of a headache that hadn't stopped for a week. She and I shared a room, so when I was ready to go to bed for the night, I had gone up to our room and was walking around it as quietly as I could, until I realized Kieran was sitting up in bed in the dark watching me.
"Kier! You scared me!"
Her eyes were unaffected. "I'm sorry."
"Is your headache better?" I asked, traversing the room and sitting at our vanity. I turned on a light and went to work putting my hair in braids to sleep in. I had just showered and when I braided my hair before bed, it was full of soft waves in the morning.
Kieran's eyes had followed me in the dark. "It's worse."
"Worse?" I saw her vague reflection in the mirror, "do you want some Tylenol?"
She shook her head. "I'm going to go for a run."
I chuckled, "Oh, keep dreaming, Kier. You know it's against the law to go running after dark. It's dangerous out there. Not to mention you're not feeling well."
She had already spun her legs out of bed and was standing. She was already dressed in her running outfit. She walked over to the vanity and grabbed a hair tie from the counter top.
I looked up at my younger sister illuminated faintly by the lamplight.
"Kieran—no. You're not allowed to go out. If you get caught you'll—you'll…"
"I'll what?"
I swallowed, a ripple of fear crossing my chest. "You know what's out there." We were six miles away from the river, but they flew fast. They were shadows that couldn't be seen and couldn't be heard and if we weren't careful….
In the day time, Kieran often ran to the border, hung out at the guards office for a while with some of her friends that had applied to the guard, and then would run back towards the end of the day. Thus, she was in incredible shape that I was more than often envious of.
Kieran raised her eyebrows, an act of defiance. "I'm going to go running. I'll be back in a few hours."
She spun on her heel and was about to leave the room when I stood up from my seat, "Kieran! You can't go out there."
She gripped the door frame, her body arching back as if she were being pulled out of the door frame. "I have to…" she moaned.
My brows furrowed, "What?"
Her head snapped towards the window at the end of the hall. "What did you say to me?" She hissed, her vision hooked on whatever was outside.
"Kieran!" I grabbed her hand but she pulled it away from me with ease. She took a few steps towards the stairs, her wary eyes looking out the window. "I…I gotta go, Roxie." She turned and flew down the stairs quicker than I've seen her ever go before, and was out the door before I could get to the top of the stairs.
I ran down to the bottom of the stairs, cracked open the door and watched as my sixteen year old sister vanished into the fog.
It isn't easy planning a funeral for my sister whom I love. It isn't easy planning a funeral for someone when you don't have their body.
It isn't easy living, knowing your sister has gone to the other side of the river, never to return. It isn't easy, knowing the sister that you once knew has been replaced by the night crawlers that we, as humans, have all come to fear.
One week ago was when this all started. Monday afternoon, I came back from a long lecture at school and had collapsed on our over-sized couch, turned on some trashy TV and opened a bag of Chee-Z's. Moments later, Kieran walked in, her face drawn.
"Hey Kiera," I called from my lounging position on the couch. Our parents were still at work and wouldn't return home for a few more hours. Callum was in the garage with his new friends, playing some horrid music that was someday going to make them millions. During the afternoons, Kieran and I would sit in front of the TV and laugh at all of the horrible things they put on TV these days.
She turned her face to me. I recall her looking sad and distressed—the lines of her face etched deep with worry. She was paler than usual, but held the typical glamour of herself. Her long hair was curled, her outfit still looked as good as it did when we had purchased it months before, and her makeup was flawless. It was easy to say that I was jealous of my long and thin sister. "What's up?" I asked. "How'd that test go in calculus?"
"Shitty, of course." She stumbled into the living room and fell onto the couch beside me with a heavy sigh. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
"Too much drinking?" I giggled, tossing a Chee-Z at her.
"I have had this headache ever since I came back from running yesterday." She frowned. "I couldn't concentrate at all during school today. It's like a horrible throbbing pain and I—"
I raised my eyebrows in question.
She glanced at me, and smiled. "It's nothing that a good nights sleep won't handle." She reached into the back of Chee-Z's, "And maybe a few of these."
If only I had realized that that moment was the last time that I would ever see Kieran act as her usual self. If only I had realized that this headache was a part of something greater than any of us could have imagined.
The next day, Kieran was worse. She pressed the snooze button six times on her alarm clock before suddenly dashing to the closet, throwing on an odd assortment of clothing and running out of the house just before classes commenced. When she returned home from school, Kieran continued to complain about her headache. She popped a few pills, changed into her running clothes and left—hoping that a jog would ease the pain. Kieran didn't return home until well after dark, being escorted by the National Guard. She had been seen lounging at the rivers edge, chewing her nails.
Wednesday, it was almost impossible for Kieran to even get out of bed. She turned off her alarm entirely and refused to eat. She claimed that it was "against all normality" to want to eat chicken noodle soup—which had been her favorite meal before. All Wednesday Kieran slept in bed, and everyone found it difficult to even stir her. When anyone did manage to wake her up, she viciously hissed at them that she was not in the mood to associate with anyone. By eight in the evening, Kieran woke up, still with a headache but feeling "much better", or so she claimed. She remained up for the rest of the evening, and by the time school rolled around on Thursday she was nearly catatonic.
I managed to finally wake her up around noon on Thursday, and forced her to drink a glass of orange juice, which she promptly vomited up. I ditched my classes for the rest of the day and called my parents. They set up an appointment for Kieran at the doctor the next morning.
All Thursday, Kieran was acting difficult, to say the least. When she wasn't sleeping, she was moaning and groaning about something. She spent most of her time awake in the bathroom, vomiting up whatever she had left in her system. She was pale, and furious and not even willing to take any more medicine. I had managed to get her to drink a glass of water before my parents came home from work, but that, too, she vomited up. For the majority of the day, Kieran lay in bed, sobbing about something I couldn't decipher.
Around five, I left her alone to go about my normal day. Kieran, alone upstairs, hardly made a noise the rest of the day.
And then Thursday night happened. She went out for a run at about one in the morning and none of us ever saw her ever again.
Of course we went straight out to the National Guard, who promised that they would return her to our safekeeping. Kieran, they said, couldn't have gotten far.
She had gotten father than we imagined. And it wasn't until that Sunday afternoon that our horrible thoughts were confirmed; Kieran had crossed the bridge.
After my parents, Callum and I returned from purchasing Kieran's casket to be entombed the next day, we drifted off into the caves we had created for ourselves. I had chosen solace in the room where Kieran and I had spent happier days. Our room—my room—was eerily quiet. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything. I checked my email, but my inbox was flooded with an assortment of condolences from people that I didn't care to read. I didn't want to hear about my sister's death anymore than I needed to. I tried painting my nails, but no color seemed satisfying—most of the bottles were Kieran's anyway. I ended up laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Well into the night, I still hadn't fallen asleep. I tossed restlessly in my bed, doing anything to avoid looking at Kieran's bed across the room.
My thoughts were always centered on Kieran. I had wished better for her than what she ended up getting. I had seen promise in my young and--
I shot up in bed and almost died of fright. There, hoisting open the window, was Kieran.