I was herded home in a police car, with my snivelling parents either side of me clutching my hands that did not need to be held. Rain streaked down the glass of the moving car with beats that fitted the distress of my numb heart. Dim streetlights luminated the sleepy towns with the rows of unknowing houses with their neatly pulled curtains. How could it be that such atroities occured right outside the doorstep and people did not even notice? Seemed like such a small world in time like this.
A cup of tea was shoved against my palm as I sat muted in the kitchen, which I took upstairs with me. Leaving it in the windowsill to chill, I sunk back against my covers. I had left the window open and my breath shadowed above me in a thin cloud. I wanted to be that cloud, to disappear with a single gust of wind and broken up into a thousand pieces. The odd, mismatched pieces of furniture made black shapes infront of my eyes and the fifty or so pairs of eyes on my posterss stared down at me in accusation.
It was my fault he died. If I hadn't let this whole business get to me, we would still have been friends and I would not have gone out. Then Leon would not have died. I now saw my room through the eyes of a murderer; 'ooh, that book could be used to hide a knife', 'that floorboard squeaks.' I was the murderer, the real one. Picking up my phone, I dialed my most familiar number with shaking hands and through a veil of tears.
"Hannah!" I cried as she picked up, answering in her usual cheery tone, "Hannah, please! I can't do this on my own! You have to help me." I pressed my fist against my chest to quench the vicious sobs about to break out.
"Emily, Emily, what are you on about?" She was laughing but trying to hide it; at the time I thought she must have ben doing something else.
"Leon was murdered." I breathed down the phone.
Hannah was silent.
"Hannah? I'm going crazy here!" I panted.
"You're going crazy?" And with that she hung up.