Those hazel eyes are soft; eyes that don’t belong to a killer. Guess what?

They don’t.

I know it, I was there.

I was there as he stared in shock at his sister’s dying body. As he tried to pull the knife out and keep the blood in. To save her. Stupid. It only got him in trouble for the fingerprints all over, the blood staining his hands.

And I know for a fact who killed his sister. It wasn’t him. I know, because…

It was me.