She rang me a few hours later.
"Emily, I think I'm going crazy too."
"You think you've got it bad? My brother died!" I yelled, close to running to her house and tearing her throat out.
"The police took everything, didn't they? The iron, the blood, your brother." The giggle reappeared, "The footstall streaked in blood lying by the radiator?"
I was silently breathing heavily into the phone, terrefied, "What?" I rasped.
"The flowerpot smashed. Clothes left out to be ironed now splattered with blood."
"Emily, please, you cannot know this!" I begged, crying.
"A patch of blood in the shape of the star. I made that pattern, Emily. It was all me. I killed your brother."
"No, please, please Hannah, not you, please."
"But it was me, Emily. I killed him."
"Why?" I gasped.
"Because I hated him. Could you not see the signs? The torture plans? I knew you would not go through with them, so I did it for you. Are you proud, Emily? Are you happy now he's gone?"
"No!" I choked.