The Truth Commission (23 page)

I walked down the driveway and back to Neil and Dusk.

If this was a fictional story, it would end with a happily ever after. The parents would come to their senses and put down their feet about the way the family was portrayed in the Chronicles and the sister would apologize and burn the new book and emotional justice would reign.

This is not a fictional story, even if it may not be the truest or most complete story ever told. Not because I lied or made things up, but because the more I write, the more I realize that when you tell a story, you shape the truth. What you leave in, what you leave out, every word and every emphasis changes the meaning. Writers create the truth, for better or worse. I've done my best to make this story as accurate as I can. And the truth is that nothing ended neatly. It didn't even end.

What happened is this.

I told my creative writing teacher about my sister's book. I didn't plan to. I had to submit my proposal for my Spring Special Project, and it wasn't ready. Ms. Fowler called me into her office and asked me what the holdup was. I told her. She called in the principal. You have to remember that my sister is Green Pastures' most famous alumna. I was impressed that they didn't just tell me to be quiet in the hope that Keira would give them the endowment she'd been hinting at for as long as she'd been talking about paying off my parents' mortgage.

They asked what I wanted to do. They asked what I needed. They put me in touch with the school's lawyer. No one knew how to handle the situation. They didn't know if I had any rights. But Ms. Fowler and Principal Manhas stayed when I said I wanted to call Sylvia. I thought my sister's agent might be able to help.

I was wrong. We had a seriously non-funny, uncharming chat, and I got a lesson in how Sylvia earns her 15 percent.

Keira must have called her already, because for once Sylvia wasn't friendly. At all.

“It's Normandy,” I told her, even though I'd already announced myself to her assistant.

“Yes?”

“It's about Keira's new book.”

Silence.

“She can't publish it.”

I could practically hear the ice crystals forming over the phone line.

“Normandy, I'm not sure what gave you the impression that you have any say in what Keira publishes.”

This set me back on my heels, until I remembered I was now all truth, all the time when it came to my relationship with my sister. “I
do
think I have a say. For starters, Keira's been drawing and publishing pictures of me without my permission. And her new pictures have crossed a line. I'm not a public figure. I'm a private person. What she's doing is wrong.” I looked down at the notes Ms. Fowler and Principal Manhas helped me prepare so I wouldn't go back to tongue-tied, intimidated silence. I cleared my throat. “I, uh,” I said. Cleared my throat again and tried to hide the shaking in my hands.

“Normandy, I thought you were more sophisticated than this. The Chronicles are fiction. Pure fantasy. They take place in an alternate universe, for God's sake.”

“She's drawing me and my parents, and you know it. You've always known it and you've never cared as long as you got paid.”

I cast a quick glance at Ms. Fowler, who nodded encouragingly.

Sylvia, whom I'd always thought of as the world's coolest city aunt, dropped her voice into a phone-harassment register. “Do you have
any idea
how much is riding on this project? It's two years late. Viceroy has paid mid-six-figures for it. The studio included it in the movie option with the other books based on a partial. This is no time for you to begin behaving like a child.”

“I know that.” I took a deep breath. “It's time for me to start acting like an adult. I don't want to be in any more of Keira's stories.”

Sylvia made a hissing noise through her teeth.

“If Keira does publish that book, I'll tell everyone what she did. How she told me she'd been raped by her teacher. How she hinted that she had something to do with his death. All so she could see how I'd respond. And then she drew it all happening to me!”

As I spoke, I realized that I didn't know what any of this would mean. Keira's fans probably wouldn't care what she said to me or why. Her demented mind games would just add to her allure. Maybe the world thought she could represent me any way she wanted. Well, the world could suck it.

“You are being very selfish,” said Sylvia finally. “Inter-fering with your sister's career in this way.”

After that, the situation got even more unhinged. Let me lay out the facts in the least exciting possible way. I don't want to influence anyone's opinion with my overly persuasive prose.

After presumably consulting with Keira, Sylvia arrived in town the next day to fix things. She gathered up my parents, and Ms. Fowler and Principal Manhas and I met them in his office.

“Kiera can't be here. She's too stressed by what's happened and has to focus on her deadline. I'm acting as her representative in this matter.” Sylvia leveled her expensive eyewear at me. “Normandy, you're saying some pretty irresponsible things. These kinds of accusations could have long-term ramifications for your sister's career.” She'd apparently decided that calling me selfish on the phone hadn't quite gotten the message across clearly enough. She wanted to have the same conversation all over again, this time with my shell-shocked parents sitting beside her.

“I told you I don't want to be in Keira's book,” I said. “Especially not in
those
drawings.”

“Now, Normandy,” said Sylvia. “You know that's not you in those pages.”

“I
know
it's not me. Flounder just
looks
like me. A
hideous
version of me.”

“It's art,” she said.

“It's stealing,” I said, my head thumping. “And her new story is lies.”

I looked at my parents. What could I say to get them to understand?

“Keira's taking pills,” I blurted. “Drugs.” That was how Brian had found out where Keira lived. They shared a dealer, who had mentioned the crazy artist girl in the almost-empty, new, high-end town house on Prideaux Street.

My mother stared at her knees. I think she was medicated herself. My dad offered up a smile best described as “cringing.”

Sylvia was unmoved by this revelation. “If she's developed a little problem, we'll send her to rehab.
After
she finishes the new Chronicle. You're upset, Normandy. Tell me what we can do for you. I've already told your parents that Keira's going to look after the mortgage.”

“That book can't be published. Not with me in it. It shows me getting
raped
.”

My dad winced, and my mother looked quickly away.

“Whose parents
are
you?” I said, my voice cracking.

“Normandy,” said my dad. “I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. A misinterpretation. We want the best for both of you.”

Sylvia smiled. Her veneered teeth looked like they belonged in the face of a cartoon shark. “The story is fiction. None of the characters are real. I've spoken to our lawyers, and they've assured me there are no legal grounds for anyone to interfere with the publication of this book. There is
a lot
riding on it. I think it's going to be the biggest one yet. Especially with the films.”

I closed my eyes and felt the throb of blood moving through my brain. I imagined someone playing me on-screen. On countless screens. Or an animated me. I wasn't sure which was worse.

“No,” I said simply.

“I'm not going to argue with you, because I know you're going to be reasonable once you settle down.”

“I'm going to contact Mr. Reid's husband.”

“Keira wasn't even there with the teacher on the mountain the day he died. She was making the whole thing up,” said Sylvia.

I shook my head to clear it.
Another
lie? I had no idea what to believe. If what Keira had told Sylvia was the truth, I didn't know whether to be relieved or disgusted. My sister had used Mr. Reid's accident just like she'd used us. On the plus side, she wasn't a murderer.

If what she'd told
me
was the truth . . . well, that meant my sister was a monster. In that moment, I decided that Keira had told her agent the truth. Because that's what I wanted to be true.

“I'm going to tell Mr. Reid's husband that Keira used what happened to Mr. Reid,” I said after a long pause.

“Prove it,” she replied.

I just barely stopped myself from screaming a swear word at the ceiling.

“I think that's enough for one day,” said Ms. Fowler.

“Norm,” said my dad, “things get confusing.” He looked like he wished he was making chili. In spite of everything, my heart hurt for him. I thought of how brutal this was for me, even with all of the support I had. My friends, my teachers. He had my mom, who wasn't big on coping, and my sister, who wasn't big on caring about others. And he had me, who had never let on that I wasn't thriving under current management. My dad wasn't a bad person. He was just too tangled up to see a way out.

On that decisive note, the meeting broke up. I never spoke directly to Sylvia again. I doubt I ever will. In the months since that meeting, I haven't spoken to directly to Keira, either. So many people gone so quickly.

What happened after that? I moved in with Neil and his dad. Dusk had asked if I wanted to stay with them, but we both knew that her parents weren't really easygoing, add-another-kid-to-the-mix people. The Suttons had a lot of extra room, and Neil's dad told me about twenty times how happy he was for me to stay with them as long as I needed to. “Forever, if you want!” he said.

As Sylvia had promised, my threats and complaints didn't change Viceroy's plans. They were going ahead with the new Chronicle.

So I did what I could to tell my truth. The same day the film option and the publication date for the new Chronicle were announced, I sat down for an interview with
Comic
, the comic arts and animation journal. I told the reporter what it was like to be the unwilling subject of my sister's stories. I talked about how those stories had changed our family and partially paralyzed all of us. I told her about the new Chronicle and said I thought Keira had slipped a few gears—the new book wasn't rooted in any kind of truth. Instead, my sister had played a vicious game with reality to get the images she needed in her mind.

The article blew up, by which I mean it caused a controversy. My sister didn't respond, at least not directly. Sylvia issued a carefully crafted press release full of faux regret at the comments of “certain misguided individuals.” It speculated that recent revelations were a result of “ongoing rivalry” and that Keira was not responding directly in order to protect the privacy of her accuser. It was pretty much a masterwork of indirect character assassination.

Critics and artists weighed in, and there were follow-up articles online and on paper. People took sides. Keira's most serious fans accused me of being jealous and bitter. Some well-known writers of creative nonfiction said Keira had been reckless and irresponsible in her handling of other people's stories. Academics began to discuss our family relationship in their classes in the same breath as the conflict between Augusten Burroughs and his adoptive family.
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Libertarians said people should be able to write and draw anyone and anything they liked.

Some artists thought Keira should be more sensitive and responsible in her storytelling. Some thought she should be allowed free rein.

It all would have been extremely interesting if I hadn't been in the middle of it.

My sister is famous enough and the story was juicy enough that it got picked up by the mainstream press. At least, they tried to pick it up. Reporters from
Vanity Fair
and
Esquire
and
Maclean's
and the
Globe and Mail
and the
New York Times
called and emailed, asking for interviews. Talk show producers called. But I'd said all I wanted to say, and Mr. Sutton and the school directed the reporters to the interview in
Comic
.

Keira didn't respond to any of the commentary. Her silence made me look worse, at least according to people who'd already made up their minds.

Then Viceroy pushed back the new Chronicle a season. Keira's fans got the idea that I'd delayed the new book and maybe endangered the movie, and I became the target of their Internet rage. I was the Yoko Ono of graphic novels. Flounder hate sites popped up. My name became synonymous with sisterly jealousy. I pretty much had to get off the Internet, because Keira's nutbag fans made my life a misery. Then people started to fight back.

It started, as most protests do, locally. In this case, at Green Pastures. Someone broke into the display case in front of the office and removed the first edition copies of the Diana Chronicles and a self-portrait my sister had given to the school. They were replaced with small figurines of Santa, the tooth fairy, and Pocahontas. Art school. What can I say?