Jonathon

Sirens were the first greeting we received in the middle of the night. We were tired, our eyes stinging from all of the tears we had shed together. We wanted to be left alone, we didn't want to deal with all of the pity.

My brother Jonathon, only three years older than me, was dead. He was discovered two weeks ago in the bathroom, his own blood painting the gray walls. I wasn't the one who found him, it was mom. I remember her screaming, thinking that she injured herself or maybe gotten scared.

They had just gotten home from date night, and I was stuck grounded in my room. I was angry, thinking that this punishment was utter crap. When I heard the sudden ruckus, I had poked my head outside my room, trying to rubberneck whatever was happening.

My legs kicked into motion, and I had barreled out of my room.

Jonathon was dead, and we were all oblivious.

We had called the cops immediately, everyone beginning to cry. Dad was too shocked to speak, so was I. To be frank, I was in denial. Jonathon was the lucky one, dumb luck that maneuvered him out of every single situation. He attracted trouble, but always was lucky and avoided it. He couldn't have been dead, right?

Mom was crying, every part of her shaking like a anorexic chihuahua. She curled her head on dad's shoulder, I was a statue, watching the police talk over their walkie-talkies.

Two weeks went by in a blur, and I still couldn't accept the fact that he was dead. There was no evidence towards his death being on purpose, and the funeral was already booked. I hadn't eaten at all, cooped up in my room, the house feeling barren. Jonathon's antics caused constant arguments and a few door slams every now and then.

Sometimes I forgot that he was dead. I'd assume every noise was Jonathon, and mother kept accidentally setting a place for him at the dinner table. I hardly talked to mom and dad, and they didn't seem to care. Without him, time seemed frozen in one place.

The funeral was the worst part of this experience. The directors put their staff to work, making Jonathon look perfect in a dashing white suit and makeup to hide the fact that he was dead. Everyone held pitiful expressions, and I felt suffocated by the environment around me. They kept apologizing, bragging about how Jonathon was a great kid. Some of my friends even showed up, and his friends did too. The funny part was that they tried to become buds with me.

It was two weeks after Jonathon died, and I still had yet to accept that he was dead. I started to stay up late, almost to the point of pulling an all-nighter. I was crying, alone, my eyelids feeling heavy and my throat burning.

First was the phone ringing out in the kitchen, second was the flashing of blue and red. I heard Dad get out of bed and head towards the door, then lighter footsteps behind him; which clearly belonged to Mom. I was curious and opened the door the my bedroom, and I saw a cop with sunken eyes past the door.

Why did they want at this time?

Was there evidence that he was murdered?

Dad opened the door, and quickly lashed out all the classic "grumpy and tired" lines to the cop. After what seemed like minutes of ranting and my increasing curiosity, our energy was through the roof.

That is when the cop opened his mouth to speak.

"We have found evidence that Jonathon Caldwell is responsible for three different trials, all involving murder of the first degree. We would like to search his belongings, with the warrant provided to us by the judge of this county."

It felt like I could my world and my parents' world shatter.

This couldn't be happening. This is all some sick joke. Not our Jonathon. He was violent, but never a killer. No way.

My parents were left in shock, staring at the officer with open mouths.

Our dipstick that couldn't even get a C in any class was deemed a murderer. And we were completely clueless.

I never involved myself in Jonathon's life. We weren't the siblings that you see in books that get along perfectly. We hated each other.

Though, hearing that right now, I couldn't help but wonder who the hell he is.