Criss-Cross

Chapter One

June, 1935

Caitlyn Harris was bored. She had been sitting in her room for about an hour now, after getting into a fight with her mother. Caitlyn was a typical young lady- she lived in Sussex, England with her parents, and younger brothers. Caitlyn never had much in common with her family, however. She was always different from them. Caitlyn remembered an incident from when she was eight- her brothers, William and Harold, six years old at the time, were wrestling on the ground. Caitlyn had dropped her knitting and excitedly moved towards them, hoping to jump in and join the fray, when she felt a hand grab the back of her dress. Her mother was looking at her disapprovingly. "Caitlyn Harris, I am ashamed of you! Why can't you be more like your sister?" Caitlyn had looked at her sister Emma, demurely knitting a perfect looking scarf, which looked even more beautiful next to Caitlyn' misshapen mess of an attempt.

Okay, okay. I know what you're thinking. So far, this story seems pretty typical. A tomboyish girl with a strict mother and perfect older sister, stifled by society. But I'm just the author- I can't change the story, but I can promise you it will get better. So bear with me and keep on reading.

After that day, Caitlyn felt that she was a disappointment to her parents. An odd ball, an anomaly. She knew she would never be on par with Emma, so after a while, she stopped trying. Caitlyn became introverted, staying in her room with old classics like Robin Hood and Kidnapped, and only coming out when they had company or had to make a call to someone's house. There Caitlyn would sit, quiet and awkward, fending off any attempts at conversation as her mother and Emma flitted about, charming all who met them.

All that changed when Caitlyn was 11. Emma had been out with one of her beaus, a young man named Edward Warington. They had been returning home when a passing automobile had driven through a puddle, soaking Emma. She had been rushed home and packed into bed along with several hot water bottles, but Mrs. Harris had begun to worry when her coughing refused to go away. A doctor had been called, and after careful examination, it had been concluded that Emma, 22 at the time, had pneumonia.

The days after that were a downwards spiral. Emma got sicker and sicker, and Mrs. Harris became more and more worried. Caitlyn withdrew to her room and only stayed updated by listening to the adults through a crack under her door. On Wednesday, a fortnight after the doctor's visit, a hush drew through the house. Caitlyn emerged from her room to find the house deathly quiet. She crept downstairs and paused when she heard sobbing from Emma's room. Caitlyn felt a cold, hard lump in the pit of her stomach. She did not need to look into Emma's room to know Emma was dead.

Caitlyn flew upstairs and threw herself on her bed. She had never been close to her sister, but they were still family. She thought about Emma's face, with her high cheekbones, shining dark hair, and brilliant blue eyes. Emma had always been beautiful, especially compared to Caitlyn's gaunt face, dirty blond hair, and queer (or so she thought) gray eyes. A sob racked through Caitlyn's body as she realized she would never be able to look into those blue eyes again- to share one of their rare secret smiles when their mother scolded their brothers. Caitlyn sat in her bed and cried for an hour or so, one thought coursing repeatedly through her head. It should have been me. No one would have missed me. It. Should. Have. Been. Me.

Later that evening, when her parents broke the news to her and her siblings at the dinner table, Caitlyn sat numbly. She had no more tears for her dead sister, just a pit of self-loathing in her stomach-one that remained with her for the next six years of her life.

There we go! I told you this story wasn't going to be boring- look, it's only been one page and someone's already died! There's no more irritatingly perfect older sister, and now we can get on with the story.