My younger sister. Somebody help her. She’s living a path of destruction. Shannon is a spoiled brat. I am too, but she’s worse.
Our father is Raymond Mitchell Dayton. His great-great-great-great grandfather opened the Dayton Hotel in New York in the 1920’s. Since then, the Dayton Hotel chain has spread out to twenty countries. Dad runs the one in Japan. So, we run into the party life easily. I managed to avoid it. Shannon didn’t.
It all started when she was ten. Dad and her mother constantly ran parties at our house. (That’s right. Shannon’s my younger half-sister. Dad left my mom before she was born.) Dad never got us a babysitter. We went to bed and stayed quiet. I did that—most of the time. Shannon did too at first. But then came the Christmas party.
I was twelve and she was ten at the time. We couldn’t sleep that night. Shannon sat on my bed, staring at me.
“Big brother!” she whispered. “Big brother!” I stared at her in the dark.
“What?” I groaned.
“They are too loud,” Shannon complained.
“Yes, yes,” I grumbled.
“What are they doing downstairs?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Adult stuff. Go to sleep!”
“But I can’t!”
Shannon frowned at me. “Meany!”
“I want to sleep!”
My sister sneered at me. She walked back to her bed. And that was it.
Or so I thought.
Around eleven at night, I happened to look up and notice that Shannon wasn’t in her bed. I looked around in the dark.
“Shannon?” I asked. “Now where did you go?” I looked over and noticed the door opened a crack. Oh, that wasn’t good. I crawled out of bed and peeked out.
“Shannon?” I whispered. “Where are you?” I wandered into the hall. The music blasted my twelve-year-old ears when I stepped out.
“Ack!” I complained. I quickly covered my little ears and kept walking.
“Shannon?” I asked. “Come on! This isn’t funny! Where are you? Shannon! Shannon!” I followed the music down the stairs. The party looked to be winding down for the night. Most of the people were passed out drunk on the floor. I looked around at the carnage. A sneer came onto my face.
These are what adults do?, I thought as I watched two drunk people dancing to their own off-beat music. It looked pathetic. But then, a small groan caught my ear. I looked up and saw my sister lying on the ground in pain. I raced over to her in panic.
“Shannon?” I cried. “Shannon! What happened?” She looked up at me. I drew back in shock.
“Shannon…” I mumbled. My little sister had drunken a half-empty bottle of sake. Oh shit, I thought. I had to drag her up the stairs back to our room. She was so sick in the morning.
It didn’t end there.
Shannon’s turned to be such a party girl. She drinks worse than any fish in the ocean. Her blood could catch fire from all of the drugs flowing through it. Every man in Tokyo has seen her naked. Her mother’s death only made things worse. Dad doesn’t do anything to stop her. He lets her do what she wants. I’m running out of ways to save her. But now, there is something that could.
Shannon is number thirty-two and I am number thirty-one in Namie’s twisted game.