Prologue

Why did this have to happen to me? Out of all the people in the world who definitely deserved this pain more than I did, why me? I did nothing wrong, God. Nothing! And yet, you punish me by taking back my brother far too soon. I hate you for that! He was my best friend, my partner-in-crime…

…and you took him from me. You bastard!

I sure as hell didn't deserve this pain, this torture! I don't deserve to have this knife in my grieving, fragile heart for the rest of my life. No one should have to go through this. No one.

As you can't tell already, I'm definitely struggling from processing grief and heartbreak in a healthy manner. Allow me to take you back to why I felt this heartbreak, grief, and anger.

My twin brother Devin and I had just graduated from the University of Tennessee a year earlier than expected because of all the credits we gained from taking college-level classes in high school. I had graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Criminal Justice, working my ass off so I could go into the Secret Service for the United States government. I always had a knack for protecting people and doing what's right even if the metaphorical gun of fear was pointing in my face. I was, and still am, pretty stubborn and abrasive, unlike my caring, sweet twin brother. Though he graduated with a Bachelor's in Sports Medicine, he had the intention of getting his Doctorate and becoming a primary care sports medicine physician. Devin—God love his gentle soul—always had a thing for helping people and making them feel better, and this career was ultimately what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Well, that didn't last long.

Although we spent a lot of time together, we weren't attached at the hip. We often did activities by ourselves when we needed space, and both of us were perfectly fine with it. Despite loving each other dearly, both of us needed some space once in a while.

At the time of the incident, it was early evening. Late enough for an early sunset to be evident on the horizon, but early enough that it was visibly light outside. I was sitting in a local coffee shop in downtown Chattanooga, which I often did whenever I had work that needed accomplished right away. This coffee shop was within an earshot of my home, so it was convenient for me to go there whenever I needed space to concentrate on work that I needed to get done. I was here trying to find any job opportunity available for the Secret Service. Whether it was extra training sessions or paid internships, I was looking for every opportunity to go down to DC and serve as the president's bulletproof vest.

Typing and carefully combing the internet, I was entirely focused on what the screen on my laptop produced. Whatever I could find related to the Secret Service, I was more than willing to take a look at. I paid no attention to what was going on outside, even if my twin brother would occasionally go on his early-evening run around the downtown area. He often did this to keep in shape for baseball, the sport he loved so dearly. He lived, breathed, and slept all things baseball, something I never did. I never got into sports in junior high or high school, so I mainly kept to academic work, as well as part-time work at the local police department here in Chattanooga, Tennessee and going to the gym regularly. Yes, my parents were fine with this and supported me every step of the way. They wanted the best for me just like the rest of my siblings.

Devin happened to be running by the area whilst I was scouring any government database to find job openings. I kept to myself and intensely scoured while drinking my coffee. My attention was entirely dedicated to my laptop and the Internet.

That changed, however.

My gut was screaming at me, trying desperately to tell me that something was wrong. Something bad was going to happen, but I hoped that it wouldn't happen to me or any of my family, especially my twin brother Devin. He and I practically grew up together and were best friends. We didn't have a lot of friends growing up because we had each other. It would be simply painful to have something happen to me, my siblings, or my parents. Turns out, my hopes didn't stop life from happening.

As I just logged into a possible opening for the Secret Service, a loud, ear-piercing scream sent me into a mode of panic. It didn't help that five or six gunshots sent me into a panic prior to the scream. My mind was racing faster than a train on drugs, and my heart was beating out of my chest and into my throat, causing me to breathe quickly and panic wildly. Being the good samaritan I hoped to be, I dashed out of the shop to seek out the source of the scream. All I found at first glance was a black 1966 Chevy Chevelle zooming away from the dark alley across the street.

That's suspicious, ain't it, I thought to my panicking self.

Once I found an opening in the traffic, I bolted across the street and to the dark alley. A feeling of dread and imminent heartbreak awaited me, as I became uneasy. A feeling that I dreaded everytime I encountered it. As I slowly sauntered deeper into the alley, a rotten and horrid smell burned my nostrils and made me gag over its horrible odor. It only got worse as I got closer to a mysterious black dumpster. I knew I'd regret it when I did it, so I walked over to the dumpster to try and find the smell, thinking that it would just be rotten trash someone threw away. It was anything but. In fact, it was much more horrifying than that.

When I looked into the dumpster, I came across a horrible sight. It was my twin brother, and he was still. Absolutely still. His abdomen was covered in blood, and bruises riddled almost every inch of his body. Refusing to believe that this was really happening, I tried desperately to wake Devin up.

"Devin! Devin, wake up!" I said, growing more angry and upset as the realization that Devin was dead grew. "Devin, this isn't funny. Please wake up! Wake up, you son of a bitch! Wake up!"

Then, the realization of Devin being dead hit me like a high-speed bullet train. I felt my heart shatter in several pieces as my eyes filled up quickly with angry, depressed tears. Devin can't be dead! He's my twin brother, my best friend. How am I supposed to live without him?

In a fit of utter heartbreak, I called the emergency nine-one-one hotline to tell them what I had just found. Despite the operator telling me to keep calm, I never once had the strength to suppress my feeling of heartbreak and depression.

"My twin brother's dead! He's dead! He can't be dead. He can't!" I cried into the phone.

My hysteric ass stayed on the line until the police and ambulance came to investigate the matter. One officer, who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, gently and calmly walked over to me as I sat curled up into a ball, shocked and depressed over what just happened.

"Excuse me. I'm Sergeant Hayes. I'm with the Chattanooga Police Department. Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions about what happened?" he asked calmly.

I knew the name Sergeant Hayes. I often heard it come up while I worked my part-time job at the local police station when other officers chronicled their past cases or missions.

"I don't mind," I said in a depressed tone. "Ask away."

The officer then sat next to me on the curb, trying his best to comfort me. "Did you know the deceased person?" he asked.

"His name was Devin. Devin Crawford. He was my twin brother," I responded.

"And how old was he? Did you know?"

"Twenty," I said simply. "Fresh out of college."

"Where did he go to college?"

"University of Tennessee. Graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Sports Medicine and wanted to go for his doctorate to become a sports physician. We took college classes in high school, so we were both able to graduate earlier than usual. I graduated with a Bachelor's in Criminal Justice, with hopes of going into the Secret Service," I explained, "but lately, finding an opportunity to join it has been hard."

"What was your twin brother like?" the officer asked, continuing his questioning.

"He was a down-to-earth, very caring kid. He loved baseball, so much so that he played it in college. Got a full-ride to college to play it too," I explained.

"Going into what happened, do you know what happened?" the officer asked. "Just tell me all that you know."

I told the officer everything that I knew, even the fact that before I ventured into the alley, I saw a black 1966 Chevy Chevelle driving away from the scene. The officer, seeing that this information was important, jotted it down on his notepad quickly, careful to not miss any detail or fix it in a dramatic way. Though he didn't show it, I could tell that he was afraid of messing up one detail. One slip-up, and it could lead to trouble for him.

"A 1966 Chevy Chevelle? Do you know the license plate?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, I don't," I answered simply. "It sped away so fast that the contents on the plate were blurry. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Do you know your twin brother's birthday?" the officer asked.

"August 11, 1996. He just turned twenty."

"That's all the questions I have, so thank you," the officer said. "I'm sorry for your loss. Please send my condolences to you and the rest of your family."

"I will. Thank you," I said back.

Several days later, I found myself back on University of Tennessee's campus for a candlelit vigil in my brother's honor. Several people of various backgrounds—students, classmates, teammates, coaches, et cetera—came out to the courtyard, holding lit candles and mourning the loss of such a gentle, warm soul. Deep down, my blood was boiling, but I didn't let that show, for if I let it show, I'd be vulnerable. If I was vulnerable, then I'd be bombarded by all these people who feel sorry for me. I don't want that.

About a month or so later, I got a call from the Chattanooga Police that they found out who was behind my twin brother's murder. It was a couple members of the Petronella family, a mafia family relatively known to work in the shadows. I was then assured that the CIA and FBI were working hard to try and capture them, which made me feel a bit better. However, I wasn't at all better. It will take a long time to heal. Will I ever heal from this pain? I hope I eventually do.

ONE YEAR LATER...