My big sister was born with a black spot on her back.

When she got older, it got bigger. These filthy black patches on her perfect skin. Daddy called it her blight. He once told me he couldn’t help but throw up every time he swaddled her; but he’d still hold her close, even as she got older and more rotten. When she was six, one of her fingers crumbled to dust at supper. It’s one of the first things I can remember; she didn’t even scream.

Mom prayed and prayed for it to go away. None of the doctors here knew how to treat her; it was like she was dying before she could take a last breath. When she was six, they drove her to some hospital in Kansas City because they said they might be able to help. I stayed behind with Grandma. She said my sister was “bad magic.” It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t help it; she was just born that way.

Back then, we didn’t have the kind of money for a hotel, so they planned to spend the night in the hospital lobby. They met a Mennonite couple who wouldn’t let them do that, so that night my parents slept in their basement.

The next morning the doctors still wouldn’t let my parents see her, so the couple took them to their Sunday service. And just like that, her blight went away. Her black spot shrunk down to the size of a mole on her back. Something about the cold made her okay.

They came home. We started going to church. Daddy installed an A/C unit. Her finger never came back.

I love my sister. I do. But knowing her has made me a worse person. She wasn’t the kind of girl you’d think she’d have been in high school. Kris McCarthy was the golden girl. Everyone liked her, even if she didn’t like them. She always had great style, the most perfect hair. A smile that made you weak. The kind of girl people would compliment just for walking by. She was always out of the house, but it wasn’t until later we found out she was getting into trouble with people she barely knew. Part of her bad magic, I guess.

Before I knew it, she graduated and left the house for good. Nobody around town knew where she’d gone. Like I said, people liked her, but boy, they barely knew her.

Mom got hysterical and tried reporting her missing but like he always does, Daddy talked her down. “She’ll be back for supper,” he’d say. “And if not supper, there’s always Christmas.”

We didn’t see her again until Grandma’s funeral. She’d shaved her head and looked like a bum. Smelled like one, too. They got into it when Mom caught her smoking a cigarette outside the funeral parlor. I didn’t hear much, but I got the idea. I was inside with Daddy, watching the preacher stand over Grandma. Kris stormed off and that was all I saw of her.

⋯ ★ ⋯

“You smell like death,” was all Kay McCarthy said when her big sister came home.

“And you look like hell, Baby Kay. Let me in?”

She did look terrible. She wore a faded Starter jacket and a ratty wool cap pulled over her grown-out, string-dry hair that frayed in ringlets around her ears. The knees of her jeans were worn out, covered in mud. Her socks showed through the toes of her sneakers. She carried a small knapsack.

Kay rolled her eyes. “Come in.”

She came in, slouching her bag off her shoulder. It was Sunday—the McCarthys were at church. She went to the kitchen and began rooting around in the cabinets for something to eat. Kay soon joined her in the doorway, armed crossed.

“You changed your hair,” Kay grunted, not looking at his sister, but rather down at her own shoes.

“Didn’t have a choice, Baby Kay. It’s a lot of work out in the country. Got tired of tying it up,” she said. Kay looked up and saw her picking through bland crackers and low-fat potato chips. She looked up. “Seriously, what do you eat here?”

“So that’s where you’ve been? The country? What am I supposed to do with that?” Her arms uncrossed and she took a step towards her sister, who didn’t budge.

“Relax, Baby Kay. I’ve got some buddies keeping me warm. And I’ve told you, you can visit anytime you want,” she assured, shutting the cabinet and reluctantly grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.

“You haven’t told me where that is.”

“We’ve been through this. I’ll only let you come blindfolded. If you know where I’m staying, so will Mom,” she said, in between snobbish bites of her apple.

“That’s not true,” Kay stammered. She was lying, of course. Ever since she’d left, the girls’ mother had been trying to track her down. Not to bring her home, just to keep an eye on her. Their father suffered her absence in silence. Kay was often a pawn in her mother’s schemes.

“Right,” she sneered, taking another bite of her apple, punching Kay’s shoulder as she walked into the living room. Asleep on the couch was a boy, about Kay’s age, with messy red hair shading his eyes. “And who might this be?” she asked, mouth full of fruit.

“That’s Teddy. My friend,” Kay whispered, pulling her sister back into the kitchen.

“And why is Teddy asleep on the couch?” Her tone shone with a bit of excitement for her sister; she wasn’t confident Kay had an interest in anyone, let alone the somewhat-cute redhead asleep in the den.

“Kris, you shouldn’t have come back,” Kay scolded. “If Mom sees you, I don’t know what she’ll—”

“It’s not really Kris anymore,” she interrupted. “And Mom’s not gonna see me.” She turned to Teddy. “And what if she sees Teddy?” she asked. “How’s she gonna deal with Baby Kay bringing a boy home to crash on the couch?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, Baby Kay,” she sneered, tapping her sister hard on the shoulder. She reeked of smoke.

“You’ve been smoking again.”

“And what about it?”

“Kris, don’t be stupid. With everything that happened when you were a kid—”

“Everyone just calls me Mac now,” she declared. She’d been so aloof since she’d walked in, but when she said this, she meant it.

“And how’s Daddy gonna take that?” Kay asked. Mac had long been the nickname for the McCarthy men, starting with their father’s father. Kay often eavesdropped on her father lamenting to his wife that they should’ve had boys. She didn’t know what to do with that.

“He’s not gonna take it any kind of way, cause you’re not telling him nothing,” she said. “I just came back cause I told you I was gonna teach you to drive. So c’mon, I just need to grab a few things from my room.” She stepped out of the kitchen, taking another bite from her apple but stopped when Kay called out.

“I already know how to drive, Kris. Daddy taught me over the summer.” Kay couldn’t see her from the kitchen, but she heard a sigh and retreating steps up the stairs.

“Right. I guess it’s been a minute.”

She came down a few minutes later, a box of her things in her arms. She’d changed into a flannel shirt and the purple starter jacket she came in wearing was folded over her arm. She set the box down in the entryway, her eye stuck on the photo mounted on the wall.

It was her senior portrait.

Her hair was much longer then, down to her hips. She wasn’t known for fancying herself up but her mother saw a chance, took it, and spent that whole morning weaving her daughter’s hair into two long braids that hung down her chest. She was actually smiling in the picture.

“You don’t look like hell, by the way. You look good, Baby Kay.” She put her hand on Kay’s shoulder and gave her a shake. Kay swiped it off.

“Thanks. You still smell like death,” she grumbled. But after seeing her sister’s face drop, she let a grin spread across her face. “I’m joking. Mostly.”

She extended the jacket on her arm to her sister. “Take it. It’s getting cold up there anyway; I need something heavier.”

“You don’t want to stay? I could cover for you with Mom.”

She shook her head. “No, you’ve got your hands full getting that boy out of here. Service is gonna be over soon. You better get a move-on.”

Surprising even herself, Kay couldn’t help but throw her arms around her sister. Something crunched under Kris’ shirt. She flinched. Her truck was gone by the time the McCarthys came back from church. As Kay stood watching her drive off, she couldn’t help but sense something magical about the moment. Maybe it was that bad magic Grandma was always talking about. Maybe she was just happy her sister wanted to teach her to drive, even after what had happened two summers ago. Maybe… her thoughts trailed off and she went back inside, hopeful that she wouldn’t end up being the last person to see her sister alive.

The next few months slunk by. Summer sun turned burnt orange and autumn winds blew west. Baby Kay started her junior year. Her father had a minor stroke. Her sister didn’t show.

⋯ ★ ⋯

I found a note Kris left me in her jacket. I put it on after she left and found it in the front pocket.

Now I wake me up to work;

I pray the Lord I may not shirk

If I should die before the night

I pray the Lord my work’s alright.

—M.M.

I didn’t know she still believed in God. She got us out of having to go to church a few years ago. I appreciated it, but I never stopped believing. I’m not sure she ever did.

The note was written on stationery for a shop called “Duckee’s Driver Side.” Never heard of it. Must be out in the “country” like she was talking about. I guess it was a clue if I ever wanted to find her. I just don’t know if she wants me to.

⋯ ★ ⋯

Daddy had another stroke. He’s getting a lot worse. Stinking up the house. They called an ambulance to pick him up after he passed out making dinner last night. Mom had just made him quit smoking.

She keeps asking me where Kris went, like I have any clue. She doesn’t think Daddy needs to see her, he just needs to know where she is. His miracle, she called her. I don’t know if I believe her.

Find her, she said. What kind of girl doesn’t want to know where her sister is?

I’m leaving tomorrow. I wrote a note and I know where they keep the keys to the truck. I asked Teddy if he wanted to come with me. Said he didn’t trust my driving. Teddy doesn’t like being in cars too long anyway. Oh well, I guess I have other things to worry about.

If anything’s gonna save Daddy, it kills me to say it’ll be Kris.

⋯ ★ ⋯

Today I spoke to a mechanic named Duckee who let it slip that Kris had been working for him. His friend, whose name tag said Dewey, got real jumpy when I mentioned the name Mac. I figured that’s what they’d know her as.

I must’ve followed the two of them around in their shop for an hour until Duckee took me outside and pointed at one of the mountains on the horizon before Dewey dragged him back inside. I would’ve thought they were brothers, they way they kept fighting with each other.

The shop was about a hundred miles west, out through the Rockies. From the road, I could see this huge white peak on the horizon, the one Duckee pointed out to me.

The shop felt right, like a place Kris would want to be. Not like in high school where everyone sought after her, wanted something out of her she didn’t know she had. Just some guys she could work with.

If Kris doesn’t want me to find her I won’t be able to. That’s the way she is. Not living for no one but her. I wonder if it’d be a tragedy if I found her. Not because of what I’d find or whether she’s dead or alive, but because she doesn’t want anyone to find her. If someone did I worry it’d spoil her fun.

⋯ ★ ⋯

“It’s cold out here.”

Dewey Bell shut the door he’d screwed into its hinges a few weeks ago and the wind stopped blowing through his curls. He held up a frosty six-pack.

Mac McCarthy stood up from the floor, her flannel pulled tight around her chest.

“Sure is,” she said. She hadn’t insulated the walls yet. The house was scrappy wood boards and a tin roof. “What took you so long?”

“I got held up with Duckee.” He set his keys down on the only surface in the place, a squat coffee table they’d been eating their dinners on. He kept his coat on over his grubby coveralls. “Some girl was asking about you today.”

Dewey set the six-pack down on the table and pulled his glove off with his teeth, taking a seat on the floor next to her, trying to conceal his reaction to her smell. Mac opened the first bottle.

“Little blonde shit, look like me?”

“She was in better shape than you, but yeah.”

“Yeah, she looks like my mom. That’s Baby Kay.”

“She was nice. Concerned something awful,” he huffed, his breath hanging in the air.

The wind rapped against the walls. They breathed for a moment.

“You didn’t tell her nothing?”

“I was unhelpful,” Dewey mused. “Duckee, though. He gave her an idea.”

“Good. She’s a smart girl.. If she wants to find me, she will.” Mac paused and looked around the room at the small life she’d built. “She better hurry up, too. She’s about out of time.”

She lifted her bottle and Dewey met her there. His throat lurched as he tried to speak. He knew how bad it was. But he loved her.

“Mac, I know you’ve made your peace with—”

She shook her head. “You’ve got frost in your mustache, Dewey.”

“I’m serious, Mac—I know it’s getting worse, whatever it is. I can smell you.”

She didn’t say anything. She knew he was right. Before it had really set in, Dewey would spend the night there, holding her. Now she can’t take off her shirt before bed.

“Have you got a smoke?”

Dewey sighed, reluctantly pulling a fresh pack from his coat pocket and tore off the cellophane. Mac reached out her hand, but Dewey flinched back. Carefully he flipped one of the cigarettes upside down, so the tobacco stuck up, not the filter.

“Smoke that one last. If you get to it, you’re lucky,” he said, pawning the pack to her.

“Just like we’re in the army.” She lit two between her lips and passed one to him, pinching the filter flat.

“You always do that,” Dewey said, the smoke he hadn’t inhaled slipping from his lips. “It’s not gonna run away from you.”

Mac took another drag.

The smell of mildew and rot replaced itself with smoky oak as she fell into him, the scent of the shop drawing her closer to him. Smoke seeped out a hole in her neck.

Later he held her close in a small bed, which was really a mattress on the floor. They both wore their heavy coats. He kissed her goodnight and paid no mind to the smell or the black creeping up her neck; he knows she doesn’t want her to. Under their quilt, they’re warm.

She told him to be gone by morning.

⋯ ★ ⋯

My big sister killed somebody with her car two years ago. We didn’t even bother getting out. Whoever he was, we knew he was dead.

It was dark, she was drunk. We wanted to believe it was just a deer. I think even now we both still think it was, or at least I do. That’s easier to rationalize than what actually happened. We didn’t know what to do, so why not pretend?

I stayed in my room for a week. We were scared to call anyone so we just left him alone in that ditch beside the road.

I never told her that I found out who it was.

When Teddy and I first started going out, we talked about our siblings. Kris had been gone for a few months at this point and I was starting to get seriously worried about her. Teddy knew exactly what I was going through, because his brother had gone missing two years back. They didn’t find him in that ditch until the next winter. Frozen and picked to death.

Part of me thinks Kris deserves whatever’s coming. Part of me doesn’t. I’ve been waiting so long to get mad at her I think I forgot how.

⋯ ★ ⋯

The next day broke cold and black, exceedingly cold and black. The cold should have been enough to break her, but Baby Kay McCarthy kept walking up the mountain. She had forgotten her gloves in the car, stuck in the snowbank some mile and a half down the hill. She only had her sister’s Starter jacket to keep her warm.

Up ahead she saw a light through the haze. She slipped, her hands sinking into the snow. Her fingernails chilled, almost burned. When she stood she found she couldn’t move her fingers, like her joints had been frozen solid.

Before her was a house, if you could even call it that. Really it was just four walls and a roof. A lantern swung on a hook by the door. The snow was picking up now and Baby Kay couldn’t see much else. But she could smell something.

She knew what it was. She’d been smelling it at home for years.

The door was unlocked. Snow blew in through the windows and the wood beams had frosted over. The walls shook with each gust of wind. A trail of blue smoke hung on the ceiling. Kay’s eyes fell to the mattress in the corner, a figure sitting up, facing away from her. Its limp, black hand held a cigarette.

She puked right there on the floor. The figure in the bed still didn’t move.

“Baby Kay?”

Kay sidestepped the vomit on the floor.

“Kay?”

Another step. Another.

Then she was face-to-face with what was left of her sister.

Mac’s face drooped, black and covered in frost. The rot grew like a fungus on her face, beautiful blooms of tar outlining her perfect features: her black eyes, her jaw, her teeth. Nothing like her portrait that hung in the hall.

Her torso was caved in, her lungs crawling out of her chest. Her hand moved to her face to take another drag. As she inhaled, Kay watched the smoke snake down her throat, expand into her lungs, and seep out her ribcage. She didn’t exhale.

“Baby Kay, you weren’t supposed to come here yet.” Her throat mutilated her words, dragged them out of her lips, but Kay could understand her. “I didn’t get the place set up for you.”

Kay’s hand rose to her face. Tried to say something. All that came out was a brief sputtering, and then more vomit, spewing between her fingers. Her sister had practically melted to that bed. The arm she held the cigarette in was the only one she had left. A pile of black fleshy mold lay where the other should’ve been.

“You get my note?”

Kay nodded, scrunching her face; it was too cold to cry. She couldn’t tell what was mucus, vomit, or just plain old tears.

“Jacket looks good on you, Baby Kay.”

Mac took one last drag of her cigarette and her throat crumbled away. She tried to speak, but the noise that came out made Kay cover her ears and look away. Still, Mac moved. Kay didn’t know whether to pull her sister up and beat her to death herself, get in bed and hold her until she stopped moving, or to smash the lantern on the floor and burn the place down. Something told her she wasn’t supposed to be here, even if she had all the clues.

In the end, all she did was stand and watch until Mac stopped moving.