It was so strange to see the tombstones with the names of my parents.
And it was almost immoral to see one of them, which was dedicated to my little brother.
He looked so innocent: his little body did not fill even half the length of the coffin, and his skin was paler than during his lifetime. Although his face was made up, this was understandable because the freckles on his cheeks were not visible, this did not save the situation too much.
Silence surrounded us when the priest uttered the last word, saluting them.
The gray sky ideally fit in, which was covered with thick, formidable clouds, it was clear that rain would soon pour. It's good that I took an umbrella with me, so, in case of rain. However, all my attention was focused only on the little brother.
My mind was spinning.
I recalled our first meeting when my mother first brought him home. I was so struck by his crystal-blue eyes, and his pink cheeks harmoniously fit into his pretty face, I still remember his smile. His tiny pen was in mine, Chris' fair skin contrasted with my tanned one.
I remembered my mom's excitement when Chris said his first word mom.
I remembered his first steps; a huge smile adorned his face, however, as always, my mother was never so proud and happy before.
I remembered the first time I went with him to kindergarten. I suggested this myself, although this should be more typical for parents. However, Chris was not too shy. He was always eager to meet new people and make new friends. He was a popular boy among peers, so today many boys with their parents attended the funeral.
His short, infantile life flashed before my eyes, and I cried again.
I cried because he would no longer have a chance to grow up.
This chance was selfishly taken from him, snatched from his little hands.
He had to grow up, so why didn't he get this chance?
He has not done anything terrible in his entire life. He was too small to do this.
He was so innocent.
He was so clean.
Then why did God take his life from him?
And why did he take my parents with them? Of course, I still had a grandmother, and I also had an aunt, but she lived in a different state. But I still felt lonely. Abandoned.
I felt that I should be dead with them.
Is that why I stayed alive?
You are alive because you were hiding in the closet like a miserable coward. You let your sibling die.
It could not be said that I thought a little about it, but there were times when for a moment I calmed down. Only three days passed, I still could not take it all calmly. All I heard was my brother's piercing scream, and the lifeless bodies of my parents, covered in their own blood, were always in front of my eyes.
How will I live with this?
I looked down at my brother, carrying his beloved baseball mitten in my arms. Our dad gave it to Chris, they played the ball almost every day, regardless of the weather. Trying to suppress my sobs, I carefully put her in Chris's coffin.
it was paintuitor me to see nim tnere. He snouia not be there. He naa to live. He should not have died.
He must be alive.
I was the one who was supposed to die.
"Let's go," my grandmother whispered, holding me by the shoulders. Her voice sounded soberly, albeit with a broken heart. "We have to go."
"He is my brother," I whispered. "I have to stay here as long as necessary. I can't leave him here."
"You need to breathe light"
"No, granny," I growled under my breath, shaking my shoulders to free myself from her hand; I didn't want to look away from Chris. It was hard for me to speak now, because my lips quivered at every word. "I can't leave him again."
"You must say goodbye," she whispered.
It made my sobbing get even stronger, tightening my grip on the umbrella, I said, "Goodbye?"
Goodbye.
Although I said goodbye to Chris, he was always in front of my eyes after what I did. This time, when I said goodbye, it really meant that this was our last meeting. I will never see him again.
This was really the last time I saw it with my own eyes. But he was not able to look at me in return.
"I know it hurts, Avery," my grandmother muttered, pulling me into her tight arms. I had to bend a little, because she was lower than me. I absolutely did not feel any comfort from her warm embrace, I only cried harder.
Why did someone want to kill Chris?
Why did God want someone to kill Chris?
Where was he when we needed him so much?
I am sure that I have said enough prayers.
All these terrible and negative thoughts filled my mind. Such questions have never visited me before. I always tried to find something positive in each situation, and to reveal a certain moral lesson.
But not in this situation.
I must admit that, despite my religious beliefs, I was very angry with God. But how could it be otherwise? Only a week ago I had a peaceful and calm life, and in just a couple of minutes everything changed. My family was ruthlessly shot, and that's all because someone didn't want the police to find out about their dirty deeds. My family was no longer there, and I should have suffered the same fate.
Perhaps God saved my life for a specific purpose. Maybe sometime I will dissuade a person from jumping off a bridge. Maybe I can change someone's life. Maybe by donating money to a small child, I will improve his future.
My possibilities were endless.
But these negative thoughts clouded my mind so much that it was too difficult for me to realize even such simple things. I only understood that the evil, rotten Devil took the lives of my relatives. But I did not understand why such terrible things happen to people like us?
I pulled away from my granny and again looked at Chris, bending over and gently rubbing his cheek.
"We will find them," I whispered in a trembling voice. "We will restore justice for what they have done to you. I promise. I love you very much, Chris. I will always miss you and I will never forget you. Goodbye." It was very difficult for me to say the last word, but I forced myself to do it. I felt the warmth of my grandmother's hands on my shoulder, I saw her lips move, but the words never reached my ears.
I turned back to the people, feeling like a movie heroine. Everyone was dressed in black. And when I turned, the downpour immediately began. I easily opened the umbrella to protect myself from the rain, everyone did it, even the priest.
All, except for one person who stood a little distance from us.
I went to her, squinting my eyes to better see the figure.
And she froze when she saw the familiar emerald eyes.
"Hey, granny," I whispered, looking away from him for a second to look at my granny, who was praying near Chris. I wanted to ask who this man is and what he is doing here.
But when I turned around, I noticed that he had disappeared.
--------------
"Detective Morris, I need to ask you a question," I began, clutching my hands tightly on my lap.
He had just finished talking on the phone when I entered his tiny office, behind him was a blackboard with many photographs on it, and even under some of them there were notes. It seems that he suggested that some of them were responsible for some crimes.
"I hate to say that phrase," he said in an apologetic tone. "Come on, just fast. I received an abduction case, and I need to deal with it before tomorrow morning. Have you heard anything about Shelley Green?"
"No."
"She is seven years old, she went missing two days ago, some saw her sitting in a green Sedan. Have you noticed anything suspicious?" honestly, this man looked very nervous, and for a moment I imagined how terribly her family was feeling. But I could not even imagine how terrible it was to lose a daughter, knowing that she was alive, and maybe now he is injured or she is very hurt.
But then I know how they feel when your family dies.
"I wanted to ask if you have any new evidence regarding the murder of my family?" I said.
He scratched his bald head and it immediately became clear to me that I would not receive good news. This could be said by the way his forehead wrinkled.
"Well, you see, Miss Smith, I will do this business tomorrow, if I can. Understand that the abduction case is much more important, and I already have some suspects," he explained.
"Yes sir, I understand that. But my case came three days ago," I replied.
"Yes I know. And I understand your concern. We took DNA tests from all crime scenes, but it didn't give us anything. We only know that your family was shot with a pistol, but the criminals did not leave weapons at the crime scene, so we can't take their fingerprints. And even if we remove the bullets from the bodies, we still don't..."
I could not understand this. Three days ago, it seemed that this man was determined to catch the murderers of my parents, and now he is busy with another matter? He pushed my case because of the abduction of some girl?
I know it sounds awful, but my family.
"So my case is not a priority for you now?" I asked, unable to hide my anger. I couldn't do anything about being angry. I really counted on Detective Morris.
"This is a priority," he insisted. "But Shelley is still alive, and we can save her."
"And my family is already dead, right?" I growled. "They are dead, and so you can beat them and move on, am I right?"
"You are not looking at this situation that way," he protested. "The priority is for us to save human lives, this is what we are trying to do."
"You must bring people to justice," I said hotly.
"Listen, I didn't want you to be so furious about this. I'll get back to
business tomorrow."
I stood up, my cheeks flushed with pure anger, "Oh, take your time. Just keep up the good times when the killers of my parents kill even more people as they travel from country to country. This should not mean anything to you, of course," I turned around in my heels and left, I know that it looked like a child, but at that moment I felt great.
----------
"Avery, look at that!"
"I can't, Chris." I have a lot of homework, and tomorrow I have an important test.
"Avery, your brother wants you to see something," my mother said. "It won't take long, dear."
I sighed, putting the pencil to the side and getting out of bed, "Good, good, I'm going," I was very upset that no matter how hard I worked on the math assignment, my answers did not agree with those that the teacher gave us. And how am I going to write tomorrow's test?
"Avery!" Chris shouted again.
"I'm coming! I can't walk faster!" I answered, rolling my eyes as I opened the door. He built the railway, which was shared by a huge bridge, Chris's proud look was riveted to his labors. It was obvious that he spent a lot of time planning and building this all.
However, I could not believe that I only called me because I looked at the railway.
"And that's why you wanted to see me?" I asked, unable to hide my impatience.
"Isn't it cool? Look, Thomas Engine can even drive through this tunnel!" answered Chris, passing a small blue train through the tunnel. He looked expectantly at me, expecting to see a shock on my face. But he could only notice that I was bored, I was absolutely not impressed with its structure. "You don't think this is cool?"
"I was almost finishing my studies," I answered dryly. "Did you call me to look at your railroad?"
He froze from my uncharacteristic sour tone, his smile as if there was none. With shame in his eyes, he took the train in his hands and muttered, "I thought you would like to see this."
I no longer gave him my gaze; instead, I turned around and headed for my room. But, nevertheless, after a couple of minutes I felt terrible because of the way I talked with Chris. I understood how bored and depressing I looked for him. He is a child, and it was typical for him to be surprised and interested in something so simple. And besides, his railroad really impressed me. I doubt that I could even come up with such a thing.
I was just about to go and apologize to him, because it was mainly my fault, but the door opened through my room, through which Chris walked, holding in his hands a small, bright calculator that was completely unable to cope with my math problems.
"I'm sorry to distract you," he said softly. "But can I help you if you want?"
My heart immediately thawed from my brother's kindness; but he cannot help me in any way. He was much younger than me, and he did not study all this, because he still does not go to school. So I just grinned and pulled him to me, patting his hair and kissing the top of my head.
"It's all right, Chris. Do not worry about that."
I woke up in my bed, despair overwhelmed me. Darkness covered the whole room, grabbed my blanket more firmly, trying to calm down and stop crying.
Honestly, I'm tired of crying.
That was all I've been doing lately, but I have nothing to do with it.
Everything reminded me of them. Every little thing.
There were times when I woke up in the morning and forgot; this incident fell out of my memory, I thought it was just a nightmare. Excitedly, I got out of my bed and climbed into my grandmother's kitchen, calling my parents and Chris behind me. But only when they did not respond, I remembered where I was. And most importantly, why.
And these men, most likely, are not going to pay for the justice they committed. Most likely, they are still alive. Most likely, they don't even remember me, or Chris, or my parents.
As soon as I calmed down, the lamp that was on the small table near the chair suddenly turned on. I screamed, although not, rather screeched when I saw a guy sitting in an armchair, one of his legs was lazily thrown over the other. He had dark emerald eyes that looked directly at me.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when he crossed his arms together, and with a prickly grin on his lips said, "We have a few things we need to discuss, Avery."