It is kind of funny in retrospect
So I guess you can laugh at my face That what ended up a crime scene Started as our favorite place

Our secret summer garden Our special hidden spot But you buried it all under deep deep ground And now it’s surly not

No weapons were drawn No blood splattered out But you left me in ruin Alone and in doubt

No alarms sounded You were never caught
But you destroyed me And watched me slowly rot

I’m sure you never loved this girl I’m sure it was always just a game I’m sure this was all just part of your plan But you fooled me just the same

With a smirking grin you stole my heart And decided not to return it So of coarse I had no way to fight As I witnessed you shatter and burn it

A dark, cold criminal you turned out to be I hope you are feeling proud of your work To steal the hope from someone’s life That is something that really hurts

“He did it, he did it,” Emma moaned, burying her face in her hands to hide her tears, though it was obvious that they were there.

The walls of the station were wolf gray, the exact shade of his shirt before it soaked with blood… but it wasn’t his blood. This just made her even more hysterical.

“Who did it, Miss?” An officer questioned, and it was obvious he was starting to lose patience.

“He did…” she continued to sob. She just couldn’t believe that he had.

“Miss Pritchett, so far this has been a 2-hour long murder trial, you’re the only witness, and the only information we’ve managed to get out of you so far is that the culprit is male,” a police officer with a long ponytail and a stony expression said exasperatedly.

“I’m sorry…” Emma continued, choking on a sob. “I… I can’t say.”

“Why is this, Miss Pritchett? Has he threatened you in any sort of way? We really need to know.” The police officer with the ponytail whipped out a notepad and pen with such force one would think it was a weapon.

“No… not exactly,” Emma said, swiping her nose. She looked around self consciously and adjusted herself on the small metal chair.

“What do you mean by not exactly? Miss Pritchett, if you don’t start giving up information more willingly, we will have no choice but to force it out of you. You are the only acclaimed witness to the murder of Isabella Stanton, and if you don’t start telling us what you saw, we will resort to assuming you are indeed a suspect,” the male police officer said.

“Uhm… I didn’t see much,” Emma confessed, “the guy.. uhm, his name’s Mark… he, he took me to an alley and.. told me to wait there for him…”

“Okay, and who is Mark? What’s his last name and what is he in relation to you?”

“Mark… uhh, I don’t really remember,” Emma said, “I’ve only known him for a week.”

“Miss Pritchett, why did he take you to an alley?”

“I don’t know, okay? I met him at a… at a party about a week ago, like I said. He was coming on to me, so I left, but he’d been following me and wouldn’t leave me alone,” Emma lied.

Mark wasn’t a stalker. He was her boyfriend. Mark wasn’t even his name. She well knew his full name. And she well knew that she was lying to a policeman. But she just couldn’t tell them. She was ashamed — ashamed that she loved him for him, or, who she thought he was.

But once the lies started rolling out of her mouth, she couldn’t stop them.

“He told me to wait in that alley, and so I did, and about fifteen minutes later he came back with… with…” her words dissolved back into tears.

“Isabella?” The officer with the ponytail asked gently, sensing Emma’s grief.

“Bella,” she moaned, just the thought of her best friend sending a spike of sadness through her body, striking her in the heart. She had to keep going. Had to keep feeding them the lies. What was wrong with her? Mark had killed her best friend… he killed Bella… yet, she still couldn’t force the words out of her that so wanted to come out.

“Bella was… she was tied up… gagged, and she was fighting his grip, she was fighting so hard.” Emma sniffled.

“And did you try to help her at all?”

“Of course I did,” Emma said — truthfully this time. She didn’t try to hurt Mark deliberately, but she did try to pull her best friend out of his grasp.

It was a moment of weakness. Looking back, she knew she should’ve — she could’ve — fought tooth and nail for Bella. She should’ve known Mark was messed up like that after two years. But she couldn’t seem to do it.

Scratching notes in the pad, the officer said, “Thank you, Miss Pritchett. Now we just need to know the details of death. We already have a general idea, but we’d like to confirm it with you.”

Emma breathed in heavily. Here came the hard part.

The last person to see her alive was me. The last person to speak words to her was me. “The only reason your too afraid to change is because you can’t!” I had screamed her face streaming with tears. “I have forever to change. I’m trying.” She had yelled back. “Forever isn’t long enough,” I had whispered, my face inches from hers. “If you keep making excuses.” I walked out of her house that night, my house. Only to find her gone the next morning. With no sign of where she’d gone. Then hours later. Bars in front of me, sleeping in a cell next to murderers. Criminals. Feeling like if I fell asleep it’d be the last time I ever did. “You alive?” The voice came from the back of the cell. I’m the darkest corner. I turned to face whoever it was, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah,” I answered, “I am.” He let out a small chuckle, “How old are you. 15.” “Eighteen,” I correct, instantly feeling self conscious. He let out another laugh, “And already your in here. For murder.” I shook my head, “I’m not a criminal. Or a murderer.” He came out of the dark, his face dirty, “Let me tell you something,” he said, standing a few feet away from me, “you see, we all think that the only criminals and murderers are people who have done wrong. In reality we all do wrong. We’re all bad, it’s just only some of us get caught. Like you and me. And the others, they go on breaking hearts. Hurting feelings and making people so depressed that they end there life’s.” Something told me he had had something happen to him. Maybe something I didn’t want to know. “I trust you,” he said, sinking back into the shadow, “You don’t have that glint in your eyes. Everyone who’s ever ended a life has had it. Part guilt, part regret and part revenge. But you, don’t.” I couldn’t stop the smile from forming, “So you know. You know it wasn’t me!” He laughed a hand reaching out from the shadow, “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that who ever did this, they’re good. Too good. And framing a kid like yourself. That’s were they messed up. You kids couldn’t plan a murderer if it was your dream.” Now he wasn’t making sense, “Huh?” I asked, leaning against the cool cement wall. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Matt.” “Well Matt. I’m saying that maybe you should figure this out. Whoever killed your sister. They could be dangerous.” My sister? The girl I had been talking to wasn’t my sister. She was my friend. Since third grade. “She isn’t my sister.” He laughed, “My bad. I assumed. it’s the same either way. He’s dangerous.” Something about him was rubbing me the wrong way, I knew for sure he didn’t kill Rebekah. Because I already knew who did. But still, something about him made me feel scared. The person who killed Rebekah isn’t dangerous. She might just be the nicest person ever. But maybe nice can go evil with a few minutes. Maybe he’s right. I just wish I could tell someone this. Rebekah’s long lost sister can’t be on the lose anymore. Not if she’s this close to ruining another life. “How?” I asked, “How do I do this?” He came out of the shadow once more, “That’s for you to figure out. And for you to solve.” The cell door opened and a girl was thrown in. “Get your hands off of me!” She screamed, rubbing the red circle on her arm. She looked at me her eyes instantly filled with fear. I recognized her. Light blonde hair, always in a pony tail. Dark almost black eyes. Mallory Claire. “Matt?” She asked, still rubbing her arm. She let out a laugh, “Could this get any weirder.” I nodded stepping closer, “Maybe. Why you here?” Her smile vanished, she started rubbing harder, “Why is anyone here?” She took a quick breath fling her arms, “You know the real question is, why are you here?” I laughed, “Because you made it seem like I killed your sister. My best friend.” Her eyes looked genuinely confused, “Rebekah?” She asked. “I’ve been gone. For ages. I’ve only just come back. I haven’t even seen my sister.” Maybe she’s good a lying, or maybe she’s telling the truth. I wanted her to be lying, I wanted a reason against me. “Matt,” the man in the shadow stepped out, he had a spark in his eye. A glint. “Maybe you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Rebekah Claire died of an hit to the head. He stuck a hand in his pocket and brought out a small rock. At first I thought it was the lighting in the cell but then I realized it was blood. Rebekah’s blood. “You?” My voice was shaking, for five seconds I had thought it might have been him. It didn’t make sense. Mallory made sense. Long lost sister, never to be seen again. No one would believe me. But then again it set her up for scam. The perfect way to blame me, to blame her. The perfect way to make two people go crazy. To make a murder that no one could solve. Except it was so simple. So easy to see the truth. But why couldn’t anyone see it? He had the rock, he had everything.

I stood, frozen as they swarmed in, metal clinking and their voices loudly rumbling. If I had slept at all last night I don’t know I could be sure that this was reality. It felt like every movie scene when the killer gets busted. But I wasn’t the killer. I knew they had to come sooner or later, but it didn’t make this sudden sense of helplessness any easier to process. I was pushed to the ground, hard, I could hear him screaming but his words were slurred in my ears. I didn’t do anything. This was a losing game from the beginning. But I love her.

“You, Viatrix Alsair, are sentenced to death by hanging for the murder of Count Delroy!” Came the final blow, the judges voice ringing through the room. Death. Hanging. Murder. A murder I didn’t commit.

The part where I didn’t kill him wasn’t the problem. Or the fact he was dead (I never really liked him anyway). The part I had a problem with was that I knew who had killed him and they hadn’t bailed me out.

Bit rude, actually.

I mean, smart, but after 3 years of dating you would think they would have mentioned this, or even just not framed me. I decided I had better use my one phone call to talk to them.

“Hello? Meilyr, you there?” I stuttered. I doubted he could make out what I was saying, the line was that bad. But there was no other way to talk to him.

“Hello?!” I was getting impatient now. I didn’t even know if he had (or would) picked up, but I was desperate to talk to him. I needed to know why he had chosen me to frame. Didn’t we do things together? Talk about important stuff? Or was that just a foolish notion he had allowed me to entertain?”

As the answering machine’s monotone voice began to speak, I dropped the phone and fell back into the corner of my cell. He’d really left me. The crushing feeling in my chest forced me to sit on the stiff block that was supposed to be my new bed. I couldn’t believe it. He’d left me.

                                ***

Brum brum brum brum brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! The noise rang in my ears, grinding my bones. What a way to wake up! This had better not be the alarm in prison. Looking at the clock, I was shocked to see it was only 1.37 am. Was this the time they woke us up at every morning? I might actually kill someone if this happened daily.

“Hey, idiot! Did you miss me?” I whipped around. There, looking in through the broken bars of the cell ‘window’ stood Meilyr, grinning. “You know you were talking out loud right? What kind of alarm did you think that was? It was just me and the chainsaw!”

“Why do you expect me to trust you? You framed me! I know you did!” The problem was, I did trust him. In all the time I’d known him, he had never failed me. So, as much as I hated to admit it, I knew I was here for a good reason.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. It’s just I’ve had run ins like this with the Shurta before and I knew if they got me I’d be dead before the court even heard of the incident. But you, you wouldn’t get killed right away. I told you I would get us away from this place, I just didn’t tell you how. So hurry and we’ll get out of here! The vans already packed with everything we need.” He offered me his hand before adding, “I brought Piggles too.”

I flushed bright red as I clambered out the window. It was hard to hate him when he had even brought my teddy bear.

“All right then. Let’s go.”

I had this case. Messed up for everybody…the understatement of the year.

Frank Bulgaria—old money with a smile like a dentist’s best friend—he was sitting in the interrogation room, cuffs around his hands and a whistling like a bird.

I walk in and say, “How’s it going sport?”

He shoots me a, “I’m already serving time for this. You got me, Officer. Why am I here?” from across the table.

Out of my envelope, I spread out photos from the scene found in his basement. “Any of these look familiar?” The pictures are of teens, girls who turned 18, then vanished.

His eyes glance the photos, then he says, “I couldn’t help myself. They were all so… young.”

He plays evil so well.

I nod. “Yeah, not buying it. 20 years married. By the photos in your living room, you seemed happy. Doesn’t make sense that you come home one day and off your wife.” I take up the pictures. “When are you going to turn him in?”

“Officer, I don’t know—“

“You Goddamn well know! But no! He’s just a kid? Your son’s DNA is everywhere!”

“He lived there! But I’m the one who—“

“Where is he?!”

Frank turns his eyes then lifts his cuffed wrists. “You tell me.”

“Who’s gotta die, Frank? Who’s gotta die before you give him up? Oh wait. There’s one picture I haven’t shown you.” I pull from deep in my envelope, dropping the photo of my daughter, Isabella, and his son.

He laughs.

“He’s safer inside. We both know what I’ll do if anything happens. You can’t protect him forever.”

He turns his face to one side. “Would you turn in you’re own daughter?”

“The law is the law, Frank.”

“An absolute, huh?”

Slim wrists wrapped in reflective silver. Delicately severe links overlapped forming a chain. Binding your bracelets together, restricting movement. Perched on a bench of metal slats; biting into the flesh of the thighs. Weary eyes glued to the floor. Rat tails fell about a heart shaped face, drowned in the rain. Dejected soles squeak on linoleum flooring, given their marching orders.

Question after question. Blurring into a stream, washing over your ears, barely touching your mind. Then suddenly the handcuffs are gone and a heavy metal door slams closed. The sound echoing, reverberating, down the corridor and through your bones. No longer clad in rain washed clothes, your frame was encased in blaring orange overalls.

Curling up on the stiff mattress you tug the thin scratchy blanket around your shoulders. Cool water rolls over your cheeks soothing the burning flesh. That night you cry yourself to sleep, not for the first time in many years. When morning breaks your head is pounding with injustice. Ignoring the breakfast bell you remain staring at the chipped cream wall.

Your sentence was light, a month at the most. For what? A petty theft too many. “Shoplifting,” the judge had said. Never had you have stolen anything other than your partners heart. You had turned a blind eye to the warnings of your friends. Except friends are always right; they were hiding a dark secret. Always promising to go to therapy to help with their thieving ways and never following through.

If you had to suffer four weeks of hell, then you would. If loving was a crime then you’d serve the time. Anything for your love to walk free. You didn’t live with your partner not yet even after three years, you had asked before… more than once. Always rejected. Money wasn’t a motive. They had a well paid job. If money wasn’t the driving force, then what pushed them on. Each time they stole, they leaned further into the danger. Each time you were there to bail them out and provide an alibi.

The swirling storm of thoughts was interrupted by a knock on the door. Barely able to muster any energy, you grunted. Shifting your head on the flimsy lumpy pillow to watch the door tiptoe open. One of the prison guard’s stuck their head into your cell, “Morning, I bought you breakfast.” They placed the tray on the table before turning to leave.

“Thank you,” you whispered through cracked voice and chapped lips. A small nod before they vanished into the blinding light. Rolling over, you felt your stomach growl. Padding on aching legs to the rickety seat, you sat down. Tucking into the meal your heart skipped before falling still. Someone bringing you breakfast was never heard of, a simple gesture that filled you with warmth. Just as the sun kisses the fragile wings of a newly hatched butterflies.

Chewing slowly on toast coated in a buttercup sheen, you wondered what your partner was up to. Fear flickered and lapped lowly in your gut. A swarm of wasps buzzed over your skin, forcing ripples to run through your muscles. Steadily your heartbeat rose. Each breath caught by tiny barbs in your throat. Tossing your head wildly you tried to shake away the creeping dread. Was this love?

As soon as that seed of niggling doubt was planted, it begged to be fed. Bouncing up you paced the cramped space. Adding tiny bits of kindling to the ever growing fire; you soon had a seething forest fire consuming every cell, devouring every carefully constructed thought around love and turning your bones to ash. Gnashing fiery teeth severed the remaining fibre that clung together.

Hammering violently on your door, your whole arm trembled with the shockwaves of pain radiating from the metal panel. Heavy boots raced down the long corridor, ringing out in alarm. Hastily, the little window slid open and the prison guard, who brought you breakfast, gazed back sternly.

“I have a confession!” The words shot out of your mouth before your hand could clamp down on the loose gate. Steady orbs of ocean breeze regarded your wild appearance. Abruptly, the fire went out dowsed in a cool balm. Your entire being aligned and then it hit you. Love shouldn’t bring fear, it should be a quiet whispered ‘hello’.

Quirking a smile they unlocked your door, beckoning you to follow. You felt the judgmental stare of the building, as you drank in the view before you. Entering the interview room, your arm brushed against their arm. Ducking your head you tried to hide the blush that shook itself out over your cheekbones.

Through gritted teeth you laid bare the truth, as much as it pained you to do so. “I know who the real perpetrator is… It’s my partner. Ex-partner. But they don’t know that yet. They do it for the thrill, adrenaline rush. It can’t be money because their job pays well. Um, well, every time they’ve been bought in I’ve bailed them out. Shoplifting is their main crime, but I know that there is more to it; you’ll have to speak to them as they won’t tell me. If you like I can give you their contact details and home address?”

“Please,” the guard handed you pen and paper, watching how your letters gracefully swirled across the pristine page. Nodding as they studied the details, they turned off the recording machine, “Thanks for this. Umm I will get them bought in and you’ll have to talk to them first.“

Several hours later you sat face to face with your partner. Fighting the urge to let go of rationality and fall back into their snare. “You and I, we are over. Now you will talk to the police and I will not be bailing you out again.” You spat out the words like as if they were poisoned bullets.

Their shallow face crumpled, easily as paper, tears welled up yet did not tumble. Throwing themselves at you they wrapped you in a suffocating embrace. Gently, you tried to push them away but they just clutched your overalls tigger. “Please no! I love you, I can’t lose you after everything else I’ve lost. Stay. I can build you a life, a life of luxury and dreams. Give me a chance to prove myself-“

Yanking sharply away, you shook your head clearing out the bees that promised sweet honey. “NO!” A single forceful word. Backing away as they approached, arms raised and lips pursed. Stumbling through the door, which miraculously had opened, you found sanctuary in the air conditioned hall.

Spinning around you found yourself face to face with the only person that offered your soul peace. “Hey, thought I would rescue you from that toxic trap.” Softly the guard took your hand, running an anxious thumb over your knuckles, “Um, I know you just broke up with someone and well it’s a bit soon-“

“-Stop rambling and tell me straight,” you spoke with a poker face. Feeling your mind drift away into the clouds, anchored only by a single point. Maybe you could learn what love was really meant to be… If you gave them a chance.

“Fine! Will you go on a date with me once you get out of here? Oh and your criminal record will be wiped clean.” Their eyes twinkled lightly, as they covered their face. Embarrassment fizzed from their uniform, sending their hair- a shade of fascinating earth- swirling around like a halo.

Smiling a proper smile, for the first time in years, that reached your eyes, neatly folding the wafer thin edges, “Sure, I would like that! Tell me your name first though.” Punctuating your sentence with a wink. Grinning as their wheezing laughter filled your ears.

The e-cuffs were doing their job just fine, he couldn’t move his hands in obscene gestures and his feet had no possibility to flee. They were humane, those cuffs that is, they left no chaffing marks on wrist or ankle. He was pulled from his thoughts, at least they were his own on a day like that.

“You understand and are of clear of your own mind why you were brought here?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I need to hear a word for the records.” The judge waved her gavel in a moody half arc.

“Yes, your honor, I understand.” He tried it for fun to see if his middle fingers could rise and show his true opinion. They were immediately forced back into their natural position.

She straightened the lace collar that she had crocheted herself on her plain black robe. She pulled her tablet up from her lap, the glow making her face show its many years of exasperated wrinkles. “You are hereby charged with carrying the one who committed the aggravated murder of seven cerebral citizens. How do you plead for yourself?”

He didn’t feel it was aggravated at all, he had watched as a witness, all he had done was simply turn them off. Forever. Except for one.

All lawyers had been delicensed thirty years before. With the new Cerebroplugs a crime could be solved with a switch. But it was not so easy with him. He had taken the job and been approved because of his strong constitution and mental stability to be a TV. Not the old century before meaning of TV, but the new one of that new century: Thought-Vessel. He had been designated as TV289 after having passed all tests and exams. For over two years he had been carrying the thoughts of those in Cerebro-Stasis. With their personal fortunes still earning in the real world, they could pay a rental to leave their After-E-Life in a host vessel and be part of the world again. Some simply went to the board meeting of their companies, others went to see their great-great-great grandchildren take their first steps or graduate from college. It was a job he liked, making both sides happy. Until yesterday.

“Mr Collins?” She politely tried to pull him from his distractions, even though her patience had begun to tap her gavel lightly on the wood of the judicial bench.

“I’m innocent.”

“That’s not what I asked. We have the video of you entering the main frame. We’re not sure how you got in. But we know it was not you.”

A dry swallow shook his throat. He knew it wasn’t him either. He knew who it was, who had been in his head. But what he had done he did not do out of malice. The other seven were tired. Tired of being held in an electronic coffin and making it worse being able to just for a short time go back into the world. Most of them could no longer recognize or feel any connection to their descendants. Their businesses were boring. They had no senses, just thoughts electrically stimulated. The outwitting of death in an electronic realm had made them feel deader than ever.

“Mr Collins?”

“Yes, your honor?”

“Please answer.” She placed her gavel down and folded her hands one in the other. She looked out at him as if she were trying to be an understanding mother.

Then he heard a click in his head, he felt the microchip alarm, someone was having illegal access. There was nothing to do in with those e-cuffs holding him tight. He couldn’t reach for the reset button, but then he heard the voice in his head: Jake tell her, it’s ok! I knew this would happen, I wanted to be completely dead too. But the others needed me to guide you to turn off their lives. Now, it’s your turn to turn off mine.

He felt the tears start to roll from his eyes. Mr Tamaka had been one of his favorite rides as they explored the world together and he told him how things had once been. He had always tipped so well with a bevy of credits as he slipped back into those electrical circuits. He heard the voice again: do it Jake, it’s fine.

He swallowed a few times to wet his throat, he squeezed the tears from his eyes, then in a stable voice he said, “Your honor, it was Mr Tamaka who turned off and freed the others at their request.”

Her hands came undone and she looked directly at him, “That was not Mr Tamaka’s choice. Only the law can end life.”

His head became heavy on his shoulders and he heard that voice one last time: You know I got to go Jake so that you don’t have a shock when they turn me off for the last time. Then for a moment he felt like an empty vessel. Nothing seemed to be inside. Then the gavel pounding on the wood brought him back to his senses.

“Mr Tamaka found guilty of aggravated murder. Termination is done.” Then she looked at him like a mother to a son, “I’m requiring you to go to a week of therapy sessions to learn how to keep the professional from becoming personal.”

She forced a reassuring smile upon her face. Her gavel struck three more times. She pressed a button and the e-cuffs let loose.

“You are free to go, Mr Collins.”

As he walked out of the court his middle fingers rose, but they weren’t directed at anyone. Just the world he lived in.

There was two rules when you’re talking to the cops. First, don’t lie. Second, know your right to an attorney.

In his confusion, Benjamin was following one of those rules more strictly than the other.

“Benjamin Wild” the man seated across from him asked sternly.

“Y-yes. Why am I here?”

“Where were you between the time of 10:00 to 10:45”

“Working, why?”

“Because a women by the names of Jasmine Waller has been raped and assaulted on the grounds of the city park.” A women said, throwing down a photo in front of him.

Benjamin flinched as the the comparing photo. On the left was a young woman, round face, black hair, full lips, sleek eyebrows, fairly attractive. On the right her lip was busted, she had a black left eye and a bruise on her right cheek.

“Look familiar Benjamin?” The woman asked again.

“No, I don’t recognize her. Why are you showing this to me?”

“Because Jasmine claimed to be attacked by a man with your description, and the park security camera shows you walking away from the crime scene at 10:37, five minutes after the time of the assault.” The man explained as the women placed yet another photo in front of Benjamin.

Benjamin felt his heart plummet. It wasn’t him. But he did recognize that face. There was only one person he knew that looked so similar to himself, and yet, he had an empty hope it wasn’t him.

“T-that’s not me, it can’t be.”

“Oh, and why is that?” The women asked.

“Like I said, I was working at that time.”

“Can you verify that alibi?”

“Yes, yes, my coworkers, uh, Kennith and David, they were both working at that time. My boss, Mr. Janklin, he was there too.”

“Oh was he now?”

“Yes, he was.”

“So, you do not recognize Jasmine, and you claim to be working at 10:30, where?”

“Donald’s Cornerstore, 1489 Laurel Street.”

“Donald’s Conerstore. Well, I suppose we can’t hold you any longer then. We will be looking into these alibis of yours, and listen here, Benjamin.” She said, leaning closer. “If we find out you have lied, we will pin this on you.”

Benjamin was shocked. He didn’t know what to do.

“You’re free to go.”

Benjamin didn’t hesitate to go home. Once there, he immediately called up a phone number he had all but memorized. At each dial tone his chest clenched tighter. Then he picked up.

“Eric? It’s your brother. We need to talk.”

It all started with the letters. Those small, threatening messages printed on antique paper with chard edges. “Watch your back, you never know what could be lurking behind you,” or “You’ll regret ever meeting me.”

At first I thought they were a joke, a little prank from one of the boys. After I’d find them they’d disappear, and a portion of my sealing wax would disappear also. My desk would be in disarray: ink splattered across my desk, papers strewn across it and scattered onto the floor, wax droplets everywhere and my candle still burning.

I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. Nothing was adding up, what could it have possibly meant? One of my siblings taking on one of my crafts, a newfound interest in my favorite hobby? I knew it had to be one of them. Maybe Toby? Or Andrea. Or perhaps Harvey.

It couldn’t have been Ella, for she was too young and not allowed to even think about lighting a candle, let alone melt wax and make a mess of my room. But Andrea. Oh, sweet Andrea, I wouldn’t put it past her to make trouble.

I just hadn’t expected this.

The police had arrived at my doorstep at 3:15. I had expected them to have information, Andrea had been missing for nearly a week at that point. But no, they asked to look around our house and take our fingerprints. I obliged, of course. I didn’t want to cause a problem.

They were in and out within the hour. But a deep pit formed in my gut, and an heavy sense of dread loomed over my head.

The next morning I woke up to find a letter on my desk. This one was sealed in my favorite wax and addressed in sloppy cursive. My desk was as it should be, nice and tidy. My overly active OCD would’ve gone rampant if it hadn’t been.

Everyone was still asleep.

I went over and peeled the letter open. A small pendent dropped into my hand, a sunflower. They were Andrea’s favorite. The letter had only three words...

Don’t. Tell. Anyone.

Oh Andrea. She was only sixteen. I couldn’t have imagined she’d do anyone harm. Or anyone was cause harm to her.

But then I noticed traces of ink on my fingers. They had been stained by the black substance. But I hadn’t written anything for the last couple days, and normally I would use blue ink, not black.

A few hours later there was an urgent knock at the door. The police had come back. And this time they did not seem as talkative.

Not even a second after I’d opened the door the officer spoke, “Sadie Hawkins, you’ve been charged with the murder of both Andrea Hawkins and Lucile Randol. You are coming with us.”

Without further notion handcuffs were shoved onto my wrists and I was taken to the patrol vehicle. My parents stood at the door with utter shock. “Wait, please you don’t understand I-“

“-Ma’am anything and everything you say can and will be used against you in court. Please, I suggest you remain silent.”

This wasn’t right. Something had gone wrong. Andrea wouldn’t have done this. But she’s dead.

Someone killed them both. And I’m going to find out who. I just need to know if Andrea was part of this or not. But deep down I knew. Andrea had murdered Lucile. And someone had killed Andrea.

This was going to get messy.