The Alphabet Theory

Prologue

I'm a freak I'm a full on freak. No, I'm not. Yes, I am. I am a freak.

Being a freak was how this whole thing started. But if I wasn't a freak the murderer would've gotten away with all of the murder they did.

Just to warn whoever reads this, that I am a psychopath, a monster and a freak show. Just to warn whoever reads this, I am a psychopath, a monster, a freak show. It's a label I've grown accustomed to, one that follows me like a shadow, always lurking just beneath the surface.

My parents—horrible people, blinded by their own prejudices and expectations. Maybe if I wasn't such a freak, so different from their narrow definition of normalcy, they would love me. But deep down, I know the truth—they hate me because I'm bisexual, because I refuse to conform to their outdated beliefs that a man and a woman is the only acceptable form of romantic relationship.

It's a heavy burden to carry, this weight of being deemed abnormal by those who should love and accept me unconditionally. I have nothing against orthodox Christians, or any type of Christians at all, but my parents thought that gay people were sinners and would burn in hell. I never understood whenever my grandparents on my mam's side would tell my parents about Leo Varadkar coming out in 2015 and they said that the country should not allow a homosexual man to be the Taoiseach of Ireland when he became Taoiseach in 2022, they said that he would rot in hell for sinning, which is complete and utter bullshit, even though I was only six when he came out as gay I didn't believe for a second that he was wrong for liking men. My mother's parents were worse though. I hated going to their house with a burning passion. I'm glad that they are dead now, they scared the shit out of me. My dad's parents are pretty chill though. I don't mind them. They're alright. I don't see them that often anymore since we moved to England when I was nine. Occasionally we go to their house for Christmas or Easter to see my other relatives. Alyssa moved before she turned eleven. She had been going to Satrapi ever since she was old enough to.

It was the first time I had ever been in the middle of a real murder mystery, and Oh mo Dhia, was it a hard one, the victims of this murder were my cousin Alyssa Byrne, Beatrice Clearmont, Chloe Dunne and Delilah Eoghans. They were all in the same friend group along with another girl called Evelyn Franklin. It wasn't that shocking in my opinion, because not a lot of people genuinely liked my cousin and her "friends". Once they knew your secret, they would threaten you with it if they wanted something that was yours, so I can completely see why someone would bump them off. I would have if I had the chance. This is also a case that I solved quite marvellously. I solved it all on my own Vincent helped, and is currently standing over my shoulder as I type this up, so I don't get off of track and say that it was all me. He doesn't trust me to say that I had help. He is very annoying at times. He is alright I suppose. Just to set the story straight, and so that there is no misunderstanding, I would have been 110% perfectly fine and capable on my own and could have solved it by myself, but he helped me in several ways, so I suppose I should give him a bit of credit. Over the course of this term, I have come to realize that he is not as bad as I made him out to be at the start. He has stuck by me through thick and thin, so I think that makes him my friend, probably my best friend. He is quite a trustworthy person, so people trust him with all sorts of things, like secrets or gossip, so he is a reliable source. I have no idea why, but I trust him. As I am writing this, I can feel Vincent smiling and looking down at his feet. He is like a five-year-old child when someone calls him pretty. It has sort of become a habit of his whenever he is happy. I stopped hating him around the time when he helped me examine the body. He helped me uncover a massive clue. I started liking him and enjoying his company when we first went into town on the weekend and since then we have tried to be nice to each other. I underlined tried since we do argue a lot bit over who's right and who's wrong. I'm always mostly right. Naturally. When I first met him, we fought a lot a bit and we got a bad impression of each other but now that I got to know him, I know that he is a genuinely decent person and is fiercely loyal to me, which is nice for a change because not a lot of people like me. He is still sometimes an asshole but not as much now then when he was at the beginning of the term when I met him at the train station. Vincent is making me strike through the things he thinks are unnecessary or completely untrue in his oh-so-humble opinion. He said that his opinion is very humble indeed.

Anyway, I had better get on with the case. And how Vincent and I became friends, which is apparently very necessary for us to remember that I punched him in the face. He said to cross that out. I won't be doing that any time soon. Welcome to the life of a disappointing teenage amateur detective. I'm only an amateur for now, until I get out of this prison cell [ yes that is a Queen reference to those of you who know.] and get a real job as a detective. Vincent says he would like to join me but he likes to do a lot of things. Like buy me apple juice when we argue which is cute. I won't tell him that, I need to keep him level headed.

 I think that he'd be a good therapist for people like us.

As I said a second ago, I had better get on with it now. This time for real.