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"It's ok my Clary. I promise I will always come back. Now rest and don't worry. When you open your eyes, I will be there, I always will be"
Those were the words that killed me. My little sister thought she was safe. I thought she was safe. I was wrong.
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Heather walked out of her apartment building. It felt around 60℉ .
Heather sighed. Typical.
She walked down the streets of brooklyn, her eyes searching for her new job. Heather checked her watch. 12: 37. Agatha should be here by now.
"Agatha!" Heather called out.
Heather's eyes searched the crowd for Agatha's messy blonde braided hair. Not to be seen. In the distance she could hear police sirens getting closer. Soon she could see it close, just a blur of black and white. Heather prayed goodluck for it, and that they catch the criminal. Her heart came to a stop when she saw the police car come back and parked in front of her. There were 3 cops in the car. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it sounded like they were arguing.
"She's just 18! She doesn't need to see the corpse of a 10 year old!" Heather could hear the female cop saying.
"The note in the hand said to talk to her." The man who now spoke looked about 19, with a badge saying Cop in training. He had silver hair and blue eyes.
Interesting. Heather thought to herself.
The third cop, this one looked in his eight thirties, approached her.
"Hello sir, how may I help you." Heather's voice was shaky. I haven't been approached by the police since I was a kid. What am I meant to do or say? She thought to herself.
"You are Heather Lydia Brown? Am I correct?" The cop's voice was low and unsettling.
Heather nodded her head. Nobody ever used her middle name. Never. Only officials.
The policeman led Heather around the car. The female police officer stopped her. A faint and sorrowful smile broke out behind the womens light brown hair.
"It's ok to cry." The woman said.
The Silver haired boy opened the trunk. Heather gasped, and let out a sob.
"Clary! My beautiful Clarisse!" Heather let out another sob.
The body of her sister stayed in the trunk of the car, unmoving.
Heather ran her fingers through Clary's hair.
"Who did this to you." She whispered.
The silver haired boy pulled her back. "This is evidence. Don't touch her."
Someone killed her? Heather thought.
She got a closer look at the silver haired boy. His eyes were brilliantly blue, and a scar scratched down his cheek. The tag of his shirt was sticking out, and she saw the letters chse. Chase. He held his body in a very straight and alert position. He repeatedly looked at his nails, and bit his lip. His eyes were cold. Not physically cold, but the kind one would fear.
"Chase. You are hiding something. You're looking at your nails and biting your lip." Heather attempted to say coolly, but her voice shaked quite a bit.
