I cautiously scanned the room. My father was seated at the head of the table, his unkempt blonde hair cascading down over his broad forehead and small eyes. He looked like a bear that had just woken up from hibernation in winter. As I gazed at him, he raised an eyebrow and squinted as if trying to figure out why I was there.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, competing with the news anchor from the TV and my mother's twitching nose as if she had smelled something burning. Silverware clattered against ceramic plates, and wine glasses clinked merrily together as everyone sat around the long dining room table.

The walls were covered with paintings of my father's ancestors, all of whom glared down menacingly at me. The chandelier's reflection sent shadows dancing across the tablecloth while My father seemed pleased with himself, his mouth curling into a satisfied smile and his eyes closed.

I sat in between my parents, feeling the warmth of their presence and love. My mom's light fingers ran through my hair, a familiar gesture of affection I always enjoyed.

The room was filled with pleasant sounds - the crackling fire, the news anchor coming from the TV, Mom's nose twitching as if smelling something burning, the clatter of forks and spoons against our plates, the clinking glasses raising a toast to life. The shadows cast by the chandelier moved like dancing ghosts on the white floral patterned tablecloth.

Mr. Klein cleared his throat before speaking. "The station was mostly quiet today," he said between sips of water. "Karen was... well, Karen, but other than that, it wasn't too bad." He gave a faint smile, but something about the expression seemed off.

"They found a body in the woods today," Hazell boasted. Dad cleared his throat, almost choking on spaghetti. Then he sipped his wine again.

"Who told you that?" Dad asked. I groaned in the background, still playing with my food. "Students wouldn't stop talking about it. Were you on the case?" Hazell asked. My dad hesitated momentarily, gulping down the rest of his wine.

"Hell, yeah. I was working on that case," Dad grinned, looking at me for a second. I scraped my fork against the glass plate, distracting myself from Hazell's obnoxious and creepy Cheshire grin.

"Ezra! Don't do that. It's like nails on a chalkboard." Dad roared.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I replied, shifting my eyes away from the table. I couldn't believe it. My mom and dad didn't know we murdered a guy this weekend in the basement while they were gone—no fucking idea. Hazell grinned, looking at me for a second, taking a bite of spaghetti and meatballs.

"Yeah, and it'll become another cold case. Just one more unsolved murder on your—" I stopped, watching my mother clear her throat.

"Ezra!" she shouted, scolding me.

"What? He's not wrong. Four student murders and still nothing." Hazell spoke up. My father slurped his spaghetti.

Dad asked, "Where'd you hear that, bud?"

"You. You told us while you were drunk the other day. You went on and on about finding no fingerprints, leading you closer to solving the cases. Am I wrong?" Hazell said. My father wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"No, you're right. We're just trying to keep the case private." My father ran his hands through his thinning hair before sighing heavily. "It's like we're an old water pipe with so many leaks," he muttered. Hazell sat beside him, wide-eyed and innocent; her face lit up when Father told us he'd taken on the case of Peterson's body.

Hazell turned to me and, in between mouthfuls of spaghetti and meatballs, asked if I thought the murderer was still out there. A mischievous smirk crept across my lips as I leaned forward in anticipation, eager to hear what else Father might say about this latest cold case.

My frustration was boiling over. I had been trying to help, yet no matter what I said, my dad dismissed it with a wave. And then here he was, gossiping about his drunken ramblings over a dinner table like nothing was wrong. I had heard him when he had said it that night, but that doesn't mean we should discuss it now.

I couldn't hold it anymore, slamming my chair back and abruptly pushing away from the table. My feet carried me into the kitchen without thinking, and I threw my plate in the sink before quickly retreating to my room. I felt my mother's gaze follow me as I left, her voice piercing the tense silence that filled the room, asking my dad to show some restraint for drinking. She had never done it before—but maybe things were changing now.

My eyes fixated on the door, the reflection my entry had taken of me. It was a foreign being to me. My eyes narrowed as I peered at the door—one of the few places where my reflection existed. The door had a mysterious air; it acted as an ethereal boundary between my room and the outside world. It was average in every physical sense—a wooden slab with a polished oak veneer, a scuffed doorknob of brass finish, and a sharp, antiseptic smell that suffocated the space.

I stepped into the room of memories, illuminated by morning sunlight that dispelled the darkness from yesterday. My gaze fell upon the bed; grief engulfed me like an ocean wave. Nothing had been the same since then.

The thick silence in the room pressed upon my chest like a weight. How could Hazell be so flippant when faced with the consequences of his actions? Dad told me what Principal Gaye had said, and I knew we were both doomed if anyone found out.

∆∆∆

Hazell reclined on his bed, a smug smirk sending an icy chill down my spine. Without emotion, he uttered the truth of what he had done — something so irreversible, yet it meant almost nothing to him. I jumped up from my mattress and grabbed a comic book, doing anything to keep myself from exploding with anger. I returned to my spot and glared at my brother, trying to understand how someone who shared my blood, my body, could be so unfeeling.

"Yes, Hazell," I spat. "What will happen when Dad or the rest of the school finds out about that or our secrets? You ended a life... Do you even feel anything?"

My blood ran cold as the lifeless words came from Hazell's mouth. Instantly, my anger boiled over, and I spat at him, "No. Am I supposed to feel something?" Desperately needing some escape from the confrontation, I flung myself back on my bed and lifted the comic page before me for protection. "Relax," Hazell suddenly spoke in his usual calm tone, though his eyes were full of a menacing fervor. "We have to reunite with the guys in a little while... We have a murder-catching adventure, remember?" I trembled at the thought that this may be our last night together but still gave a slight nod of agreement.