Losing Light

Prologue

Prologue

"He called my brother a faggot."

I really couldn't see why he had done that. I couldn't picture my youngest brother as anything but my little brother. The one that drew me happy faces and gave me a Mother's Day card instead of to our mother. The audacity of that child, to bully my shy and lanky brother into the extinction of his self-confidence.

"So you killed him just because of this derogatory name?"

"No. He called my brother other derogatory names. Bastard, son of a bitch, fucktard, motherfucker, fugly, and told my brother he should stick with his faggoty instruments instead of with soccer."

"You do realize you killed a child because of name-calling?"

I try to plunge deeper into the investigator's eyes. He sits across from me with a notepad and a pen, eagerly taking notes as if I was a celebrity and he a reporter. The suit he wears irks me. It's dark blue, and he wears a black dress shirt and a white tie. A white tie. I'm not quite sure how to feel about that.

"I wasn't intending to kill him. All I did was push him on the bench, so he would calm down and we could talk rationally. How was I supposed to know about his fragile skull problems? He shouldn't have even been playing soccer in the first place."

"On top of that, he had hemophilia. Did you know that?"

"Not at all. But it would explain why no one saw the blood from when he was cut by the bench. The jerseys were the same color. He probably didn't notice until he started saying it was cold. It was at least eighty-five degrees outside. He was sweating and complaining about how cold it was. Now, everyone knows it was because of blood loss. His mom called an ambulance that didn't come fast enough. The kid died on the way to the hospital. But I'm sure you already know that." I tell the man with the annoying tie across from me.

"Did he do anything else to your brother?"

"Glad you asked. He grabbed my brother's penis."

He scribbles down more stuff. I've told him this shit more than enough times. I'm so tired. "When?"

"After a practice. The kid pretended to get his soccer ball that was in front of my brother at the time and groped him."

"What was your brother doing at the time?"

"Drinking water."

"Did you notice the violation?"

"No. Like I said, the kid played it off like he was grabbing his water bottle, and he played it off real good. I couldn't tell. I was just waiting to drive my brother home. The only thing that was relatively strange was my brother's face, but I assumed he was choking at the time."

"Did he do this any more times?"

"I've seen the kid brush his hand across my brother's penis a few times. Probably did it even more often. I always asked my brother if there was anything going on, but he always said no."

"When did you find out?"

"My brother had a nightmare, and I was the only one who heard him scream. As I was comforting him, he spilled. I don't know if he told me everything."

"What did you do after hearing that?"

"I didn't tell anyone. I confronted him after my brother told me about it. This was before the bench incident. But he cut me off by saying how my brother turned into a faggot just like me."

"Like you?"

"He must have seen my girlfriend and I together. I was opening the car door for her and she gave me a thank-you kiss on the mouth. He must've seen from where the team was practicing before one of their games."

"Are you and said girlfriend still together?"

I give him a small smile empty of emotion. "Killing a child really puts a damper on a relationship. Especially when we were engaged."

"You were engaged?"

"We were going to get married after I graduated. We were not sure of an exact date. It could've been the summer before college, or after college. We just wanted to marry each other."

It really depresses me to think of Reyna again. I've tried not to, trust me, but everything reminds me of her. I can't not think of her; she's my soulmate and it physically aches to be apart from her. I wonder if she feels the same way. Probably not. Who would pine over a child murderer?

He scribbles more. "So then what went on with the confrontation?"

I sigh and repeat the answer. "I was shocked by his reply, and he smirked like he knew he won. It was so adult. He didn't look like a kid anymore. And at that moment, every cell in my body burned with hatred. It's not natural to detest a child. I know that. And knowing that scared me the most." I pause, then add, "May I please go back to my cell?"

"Of course. After one final question."

"Sure."

"Would you say you're guilty of killing Ethan Chang?"

"Yes. I believe it would be best if I just rot in my cell." I say honestly. I've never spoke more truth in my life, yet the investigator looks unsure. He waves the guard over, who accompanies me to my cell.

"Thank you." I say to the guard. "Have a good night."

The stout guard merely nods. He's the closest thing I've got to a friend, yet he's never said a word to me. I love him for it.

I slump in my bed. Uncomfortable, but familiar. I don't have a fellow inmate sleeping in the bed above me. My bed is alone in the dim cell. Apparently, I'm seen as dangerous. I've overheard the guards say I present no harm at all, and debate whether I'll crack or not. I've felt quite sane of mind, really.

I toss and turn to try to find a decent position. The kid's face, Ethan's face, still haunts me. He spilled what I did before he died. I would have confessed anyways, but his mother was firm on the idea that I would've let the cause of his death stay silent. She especially hates me. I've apologized so much to her and explained everything, but she wouldn't hear it. She believes I'm a monster and her darling son was an innocent victim.

I end up falling asleep, but not well. Ethan taunts me in my dreams with the big bad bully expression on his baby face.