Member-only story
The Killer’s Sister
Growing up on the fourth side of murder, the one we’re overlooking.
In the second half of the 90s, my uncle bought a pub. My aunt painted the walls with spray cans. Jazz in the night: Manhattan skyline and a sax player. When my mom worked afternoon hours, I loved to stay at the pub, but none of the adults involved felt like it was a good place for a child. Not after 5 p.m., when clients came in to order beers. So, I was left at home with my big brother.
In January of 1999, I was going to turn 10. At the time, my brother was 16. His schedule for any afternoon was to play videogames on his first Nintendo. To me, videogames were like watching a cartoon, so I tried to persuade my brother that I could stay in his room while he was playing. As a response, he printed a “WANTED” poster with my face on it and hanged it on the door. He made clear that a high reward was pending over my head, in case I’d enter the Saloon where he was Mario Karting.
Due to that “ban”, I used to do my homework in the living room. I always had the television on. I started with MTV because I loved music videos. They were my insurance policies against loneliness. Whenever I finished my homework, I zapped to TV shows.
That afternoon my daily episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch did not run at the usual time. On Channel 5…
