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= Creepy Sister =

A San Diego Noir Thriller by John T. Cullen

Page 1

Chapter One: Anna

title by John ArgoWhen you come from a dysfunctional family, you learn to start over. You have to, if you want to survive and stay sane.

I've made the big move of my life from Upstate New York to sunny, wonderful San Diego, California and I think I am finally free of all the old dirt and ghosts and creepiness back in Sharpsville.

This morning, I'm sitting on the third-floor balcony of my apartment building overlooking the San Diego River in Mission Valley. My cute, charming new boyfriend Charles left early this morning to work hard at his own real estate business. I'm due in at mid-morning in my own job, as assistant manager of a restaurant downtown.

Things are looking up at last.

In San Diego, starting over should be easy. There's year-around balmy sunshine, rustling palm trees, whispering surf, and that faint perfume in the air of eucalyptus and jasmine. It's like a drug that helps you move on and forget the past.

Including my horrible sister Bella, who always acts so superior and mean.

I put distance between myself and all of them. Well, almost. Bella moved to San Diego with a computer systems development contract, by coincidence. I wish she'd stayed in Upstate New York with the rest of the clan, who rarely ever write except two or three obligatory Christmas cards from uncles and aunts who'd just as soon stab you in the back as say a few kind (edgy, false) words. I visit with Bella a couple of times a month. It's hard not to, when she is your younger sister by one year, some would say spoiled, and I'd say just that she's got an attitude. We all know she is the smarter one, although not by much. She got sent to college, and I had to work (while going to college). So yeah, no surprise; I'm still about thirty credits away from a degree, if I ever want to finish. Bella has her Bachelor's in Computer Information Systems from NYU and helps write documentation at a big firm here in San Diego. So whatever… let go, enjoy the moment, and move on. The past is water under the bridge. Speaking of bridges and water… Here I am, living in beautiful San Diego, the Sunny City. Who has time to bitch about phantoms from the past?





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