1 Part One: Chp.1

Seven months,

Sometimes, I hear you. And I know it's weird but I'm not kidding. Sometimes, at night, I think I hear you, listening to your music or video calling your friend. And at those times, I forget you are dead. I forget that you got murdered. I forget mom crying in the night. I forget dad coming late home from work with red sunken eyes.

And when I wake up in the morning, I see my charts hanging all over my room. Charts about you. Charts about how you died. Charts to solve everything. Then, I'd remember. I'd remember that I never saw you before they buried you. I'd remember and hate everything all over.

I wish you were here though. I wish you were here. I wouldn't even mind when you'll tease me and taunt me about how I'm such a nerd - even when getting straight As didn't mean that. I'll even let you steal my share of the pocket money if that would get you to come back.

You used to say that New Jean is bigger than a normal town. Then why do I feel like this place is lonelier now that you're gone? Nothing's the same. Because the parents blame you. The ones who lost their kids when they went with you. You always needed a tight screw, they had said. They think you're the reason their children died. But I know otherwise.

You told me that Skylar had planned the camping trip. You said you're only going because your friend Susan insisted. You said you hate camping. And when the police found all of you girls dead, why was Skylar the only one alive? A girl you could have taken down easily. Why did you have to die? I blame this on Skylar. She planned it. You died because she thought camping was a good idea. Not you. You never lied to me. No matter how much we fought. At night, when one of us would feel guilty, like getting a C in math, we'd go to the others room at tell them. Even when you'd lie to mom and dad, tell them that you're going to the library; I'd know you were going to the movie theater.

You told me we'll always have each other's back. But it doesn't feel like that anymore.

It burns me from the inside when I see Skylar, chatting away in New Jean with a replacement of friends, sometimes even laughing. They'd give her so much sympathy even when she is alive. You died, Jesse, but everyone gives me these stares. Like I helped the murderer kill all those girls. I'd feel worse when they'd whisper about you being the murderer.

They describe you as a monster.

And I can't take it. Maybe that's why I parted from my friends.

I want to find out the real truth. I want to know what really happened that night. So that's why my room's filled with pictures of you and your dead friends. I take pictures of Skylar, too. Because she's hiding something. She's lying about something.

I was there when she was been questioned. All snuggled up in a warm blanket. Pretending she was scared. But I saw the snarl in her eyes. And I knew she was lying. The investigation barely went out for a month. And what did they do when they couldn't find the answer?

They blamed everything on you. So what if you used to spray paint all over the town? So what if you were caught cheating in exams many times? That doesn't give any reason for them to blame you!

And Skylar lied as well. She lied that you went mad and started stabbing every one of your friends. She lied that she snatched the dagger from you and fought you off. She lied that she killed you in defense.

But for everyone, she's a hero. For me, she's a ruddy liar. A cheat.

At first, I tried staying away from her, Jesse, but she kept on pointing her finger at me, screaming that I helped you kill her friends. But the police think she's just in shock. They think I wouldn't do such a thing because I was a good boy with good grades. Mom and Dad also insisted that I was never close to you. They're lying when they say that. Of course I was close to you! You were my sister!

They both think that you did it too. They think that they should have been sterner. Dad doesn't come home early like he used to. He works late and goes early. He prefers the peoples' stares than watching mom cry. And mom's always whispering under her breath about how you should have ended up like me. Should have had a better influence.

And I hate it when she talks like that. You were perfect just the way you were. I liked your risky personality and preferred it more when you dyed you hair with purple stripes. I liked it when you used to act chill when you'd miss the school bus.

You never took anything by heart. You never got offended easily. When I was little and used to get bullied in front of you but you wouldn't do anything. Just yell at me to stand up and fight myself.

You were perfect because you were you. And that's why I loved you. You would have laughed when you'd have heard this but now that I think about it, I used to enjoy our arguments. When we were little, you'd tackle me down and win, with blood coming out of your lips but you'd still have that winning smile. And I'd cry with embarrassment until you'll help me to my feet and let me slap you. Once.

But the people think this is all what caused you to become a killer. They say you can't be punished now that you're dead and they hope that you're rotting in hell. And they always cheer when they see stupid Skylar because she showed you, didn't she? She showed who the boss was. They punish us instead. Mom doesn't come out of the house, just hands me the grocery lists. Her garden's decayed like her but she doesn't care. Neither does dad.

And it makes me so angry. You didn't deserve to be known as evil. You should have been known as a small trouble-maker. A jokes-ter. A risk-taker. But never a killer.

I want to prove this town that you're not who they say you are. So I started my own investigation. You once told me you'd want to be part of a mystery like the kind you liked to read. Well, now, you aren't part of the mystery, Jesse. You are the mystery.

I'll prove them all that you're innocent. They'll regret everything they had said. And Skylar will regret it as well. And if she is playing a role in your death, Jesse, then I hope she's not hanged. I want her to suffer by staying in a one room jail. Alone in the dark.

But I want you to know that I'm doing this all for you. I want the people to realize their mistake.

It's been seven months since my research, but I have nothing on my hands. Not yet. But I won't stop till I find the killer.

I won't stop till I kill the killer.