I close my bedroom door behind me, a way of having a stronger feeling of privacy. A part of me knows it is slightly stupid, especially because there's no one else in the house right now. But I still feel better with the door closed.

  I sit at the desk, a paper in front of me, a pen in my hand. I bite it, almost unconsciously, thinking about who would want Thomas dead. The only person in my mind is Constance, with her high pitched voice and expression deformed by the rage while she closes her fingers around Thomas' neck at the party. I shake my idea. I can't think about who would want Thomas dead. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. Which means that everyone is suspect. So, who did Thomas know? Too much people. Who did Thomas know and knew the house well enough to get his room without wasting too much time searching for it?

  Constance. She was in his house a lot of times while they dated and at the party. And she also knew that Thomas used to take pills to sleep when he was nervous. And she had a reason. Thomas had broken up with her and she was mad. She even tried to suffocate him! But it was a reaction controlled by the alcohol in her system, would she be able to do that without it, a cold blooded, planned assassination? And was she strong enough to pick Thomas up and took him to the garden without a sound? Probably not. But she is still a suspect.

  Sebastian. He was part of Thomas' team, so he went to his house a lot since it was Thomas who usually hosted the team parties. And as part of the team he probably knew about the pills. And Sebastian hated him with all his heart. He hated him because Thomas was better at football, more popular, more beautiful. And he liked Constane. Everyone knows the story of how he tried to start a fight with Thomas because of her. It should have been horrible to him see Thomas breaking up with Constance and understand she still wanted him. Probably hurt him and made the hatred he felt grow even more. But would he be able to kill Thomas, was he that cold and careful to appear and get out without a trace? The second part probably but I am not sure about the first. The thing is he had a reason and the capacity to do that as he was as stronger - or almost as stronger - as Thomas. An important suspect, undoubtedly.

  Vincent. Thomas' best friend. Good-looking, popular and funny just like Thomas. And even if he pretended to be tough - which he could be if he truly wanted -, who knows him well enough also knows he is one of the sweetest, caring people someone can ever known. And even if he was strong enough and undoubtedly knew the house, what reason would Vincent have that was strong enough to kill his best friend? None, right? But it wouldn't hurt to know where he was in that night, would it? And if I know then I'll be more than 100% sure it wasn't him.

  Jaden. He is also part of the team and  a good friend of Vincen, I think. I don't really know a lot about him but he seemed really kind today. I don't think he would have any reason to kill Thomas even if he also had the strength. But discover where he was in that night is important and a good way to understand what I should think about him.

  Chris, A.J., Eric, Nathaniel, Arthur, Xavier and George. The rest of Thomas' team. I saw them in parties Thomas hosted an they are pretty popular considering they are part of the football team so of course I know who they are. But despite I'd talked with them once or twice before I've no idea about their personalities. They have the strength but what would be the reason? They could be jealous of Thomas (even of Thomas was always really kind and always tried to help everyone improving) but was it reason enough? Probably not. But I can always try to find out what they were doing that night.

  I stop writing for a moment, staring at the paper that some time ago was empty and now is almost entirely covered with letters of black ink. Names, reasons and capacity or not to execute the crime. I stop writing because a part of me doesn't want to let me write the next names, because a part of me knows how wrong it is to even think about them.

  Thomas' parents. They were in the house, they had the opportunity and more than time. But why? Why would they kill their own son? I know the answer - they wouldn't.

  I see Thomas' mother in my mind, her small body always involved by silk clothes, making her look so, so fragile. I remember the way she screamed, the way she broke in front of me when she saw her son dead, swinging back and forth, a rope around his neck.

  I see Thomas' father in my mind, a businessman that's undoubtedly handsome with his really short black hair and piercing black eyes. And his athletic body undoubtedly helps. See a man like him, that seems to always have everything under control loses his posture is something scary, to say the least. But I saw that, I saw the shock in his face when he saw his son's dead body and then the tears he tried to hide when he embraced his wife.

  And his uncle... I don't know what to think about him, about his cold eyes and emotionless expression. He is always like that and not even Thomas' death got more than a surprised look from him, quickly hidden by a mask of indifference. Thomas said once that this mask was an heritage from a past in the war, an heritage of too many deaths, too many tears of loss that meant nothing because they were never able to bring the people back. He said that he saw a photo of his uncle when he was a child, a child with a big smile and shinning eyes, the opposite of the man that now exists, the child forever destroyed by the war. A man like that has no problem killing others but why would he kill a member of his own family? I bite my lip, not knowing what I should think about this man and then slowly I let the pen touch the paper again and the letters flow, letting a new name appear - Mark Hale.

  There's no other name to write or at least I can't remember other name I must add to the list. It doesn't mean those are the only suspects, I know it is not true. I can be forgetting someone. That's why the list is not completed, the list is on hold. It is a start, something I can read and with what I can start investigating, I can start with those people and then add more as the time passes and I start understanding more about what happened. I run my hand through the paper, touching the letters, the names, remembering everything about them. Is the assassin already in the list? Or is the assassin someone I am forgetting to add to the list?

  It was not an homicide. It was suicide. His words echo in my head again. What if he is right, what if the police is right and I am just becoming crazy due to my loss? What if I am creating a conspiracy, wanting to see an homicide where there's nothing more than a suicide? I shake my head, sending the words, the doubts away. No! I can't think like that, I'll not. Thomas did not kill himself. I know he didn't. He would never do that.

  I grab the photo on my desk, a photo of us - me and Thomas. It was my mother who took the photo. It was in the summer when my mother took us to Hawaii. We were laughing like crazy because of some stupid thing Thomas did and that I cannot quite remember now, our hairs wet because we were swimming. I stare at Thomas, at the way he is laughing, a large smile in his face, his blue eyes shinning with happiness. I can still listen to his laughter if I make an effort. His laughter... I feel a tear falling, rolling down my face and touching the paper, staining it. I can still remember his laughter now, listen to it in my head just like I am doing now. But and in the future, after five months or a year? It will happen exactly what happened with my father, with his voice. I remembered it so well but then the time passed and with it my father's voice started to fade away. One day I realized I could only remember some tones of his voice, like the one he used when he was angry. And then it also faded away. I couldn't remember his voice anymore. And I am afraid, I fear with all my heart, the day when it will happens with Thomas' laughter. The day when I'll wake up, try to remember his laughter and realize that I can't. That his laughter is lost forever.

  And then what will I have? Just photos, empty photos. Photos that will only hurt more, add more pain and because of it will be hidden. And his face will disappear too. And then I'll only have memories, memories of me and a shadow that once was my friend but whose voice is no longer audible and face is no longer remembered.

  With eyes full of tears I take a photo of the list made and put it in the first drawer of the desk. And then look at the photo again, recalling his laughter once again because I can still do that, I can still remember.

  Remember so many things...

  I remember the moment we met, in the first day of kindergarten. He was eating a chocolate, hiding behind his mother legs. My father was with me and recognized Thomas' mother, so he came closer to them. I whispered an "hi" and he tried to hide himself better behind his mother.

  I know that that day we didn't talk anymore. Nor in the next. But at a certain moment my memories of kindergarten start to always include him. He became my best friend. We painting to offer a drawing to our mothers in Mother's Day; we playing games; we singing those children songs; we starting a food fight because we thought it would be funny.

  And then we grew and left the kindergarten. But stayed together. I remember when we were nine and Thomas got his first girlfriend. Of course she was not a real girlfriend, just those "loves" we got when we are still a child. I remember that I got mad at him because he wasn't giving me attention so he broke up with her to make me happy.

  And then I remember his first real girlfriend, at thirteen. They dated for three months. Amber... She moved out the last year. That time I didn't go mad, I didn't ask him to break up with her. I supported him.

  I remember to watch his games, to celebrate with him when he won, to stay with him when he lost and his fury took the control.

  I remember those times we stayed at each other houses, doing the homework or just spending time, doing nothing special. Moments I thought that would mean nothing but now that I lost him mean the world.

  I hear my mother entering in the house, closing the door behind her. I expect to listen to her voice demanding me to go to the living room to explain her what happened in the school. But she doesn't say anything. I listen to her coming upstairs and wipe the tears away, doing my best to pretend I was not crying.

  But she opens my bedroom door before I have time to hide the photo of me and Thomas in Hawaii.

  "Layla?" She asks softly, coming close, her steps inaudible, which means she is barefoot.

  I don't look up at her. I can't or she will notice I was crying. I feel her arms around me, embracing me, and the smell of her Chanel No. 5 perfume hitting my nostrils, a indication that she had a meeting with someone important today.

  "I am here, my beautiful Layla. Do you want to talk about it?"

  " 'Bout what, mom?" I whisper, my voice breaking.

  "Whatever you want," she answers.

  Finally I look up at her, at her beautiful green eyes that stare at me, clearly worried.

  "How did you get over father's death, mom?"

  "You also lost him, Layla. You know the answer to that question."

  I shake my head. It's not the same thing. "I lost my father, you lost the love of your life."

  She makes a sad smile. "Things are not like that even if some people like to pretend they are. You don't have a person that is the love of your life. You have many. I had your father but I also have you, Layla. You're my daughter, you're one of the loves of my life. I may have lost my husband, Layla, but you lost your father. The pain is similar. We both lost someone we loved. Did you get over it?"

  I bite my lip, thinking about those scary moments when I think about sharing something that happened to me with my father, knowing he would enjoy to know that before remembering that I can't, that he is dead. "No," I answer.

  "Then why should I have got over it?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. "We don't get over someone we love's death. We learn to live with that death, we learn to live without the person."

  "It hurts," I whisper, knowing I sound childish, complaining like that but unable to stop myself.

  "Of course it does. You loved him, you still do. You always will. You can't stop that. But you can embrace that love and keep living, making your best to honour his memory, to have the best life you can, a happy one. Because if he truly loved you, and I am sure he did, then he would want you to be happy."

  "Thank you," I mumble, hugging her tightly, feeling the tears running down my checks again.

  "Anytime, my love," she simply answers.

  We stay like that for what seemed a long time, until my tears stop and I pull myself together again. And then I look at my mother once again and smile, thankful. She smiles back and then raises an eyebrow.

  "Now do you care to explain what happened at school?" Her playful voice tells me she knows exactly what happened and that she is not mad at me.

  "Sorry, mother," I reply.

  "Diane told me what that girl said. I understand what you did but don't do that again. That's not the right way to solve anything."

  "I know."

  "When the principal called he told me he was unsure if I should let you go to school tomorrow. That maybe I should make you stay at home some more time." She can't! I can't stay at home the entire day, I will go crazy! I want to ask my mother to do not do that but she raises a hand, signaling to stay quite. "He also told me to find you a psychologist. I..."

  "No way! Mom, you can't seriously be thinking about sending me to a psychologist!" I yell, unable to control myself.

  "I understand, Layla. Of course, you don't want to go. And you also want to go to school, right?" I nod, partially surprised because she didn't complain about me raising my voice at her. "So let's make a deal. I let you go to school tomorrow and you go to the psychologist."

  "Mom!"

  "One time, Layla. And if you don't want to go again, you don't. Deal?"

  One visit to the psychologist and in return I can go to school tomorrow? "Deal."

  "Thank you," she says as if she was not used to win.

  "One time."

  "Yes."

  I nod, not knowing what I should do but knowing that she'll probably go back to her business if this talk ends. And I don't want. I want her here so I don't think about Thomas, so I can try to keep living.

  "What if we go and cook something for us?"

  "Carrot."

  "What?"

  "Your carrot cake."

  Her eyes analyze me, wondering if she should accept or not. Her carrot cake was Thomas' favorite dessert.

  "Please."

  She nods and I hug her. "Thank you."

  We go to the kitchen together while I mentally thanks to my mother because she noticed I didn't want to be alone.

  I have just placed the flour on the kitchen counter when the bell rings. "Go and open the door, please, Layla," my mother asks while counting the eggs we will need.

  I open the door and see Thomas' father and Alyssa in front of me. "Hi?"

  "Hello, Layla. How are you?"

  "Fine and you, Mr. Hale?" I answer, already knowing the answer. He is not okay. He is clearly tired, with deep bags under his eyes, the unshaved beard starting to be noticeable.

  "As good as possible. Your mother is here?"

  Before I can answer my mother appears. "Who is... Richard!"

  "Désirée, how are you?"

  "Fine," my mother answers, trying to hide her confusion. It must be strange for Thomas' father to see my mother like that - hair in mess and barefoot - when she is usually so well-dressed when she goes outside. "What are you doing here?"

  "Well... I and Alyssa were..."

  It seems that just now my mother notices the little girl so similar to Thomas that's near Richard. Her eyes wide, in surprise, and she looks again at Thomas' father, her expression indecipherable. But something in the coldness of her eyes gives me the certain that she knows what he wants.

  "I had already given you an answer."

  Mr. Hale sighs, looking at my mother with eyes that seems filled with despair. "I know you did, Désirée, but rethink your decision, please. We can't... We can't do that right now."

  "You never could," she replies, coldly.

  "I know, I know. I regret that, I regret that I'd ignored him, his words, during all those years. If I had listened to him, if I had chosen to do not pretend everything's okay maybe he..." he stops, tears shinning in his eyes, tears he is fighting.

  "You cannot edit your past, Richard, but you can change your future. You can start doing the right thing. And what you want to do is not the right thing."

  "I need time, Désirée, time to change, time to accept. Please, please. Just a month," he begs and I cannot stand here, in silent, being ignored anymore.

  "About what are you talking about?"

  Mr. Hale looks at me, his eyes shinning as he seems to find a new opportunity to convince my mother about whatever he wants. He looks at his daughter, the little girl with wide open blue eyes in silence near him, and then kneels beside her to get her attention.

  "Alyssa, you like Layla, didn't you?" He asks, "You said she is kind and accepted to wait with you." He seems to have no idea about what that wait means, about what I accepted to wait with her.

  Alyssa's eyes narrow and she tilts her head while she processes his words. And then she looks at me and makes a shy smile before she looks away again while she nods her head. His father seems pleased with her reaction and looks at me.

  "And you like Alyssa, don't you? You seem to get along with her, to understand her."

  "Of course, I like her!" I answer, irritated. "But how does that question answer to mine?"

  "It doesn't," he replies, "I was trying to convince your mother to do me a favour."

  "What kind of favour?"

  "Helen and I need some time to pull ourselves together and well it would be easier if we had no worry, you know?"

  I clench my jaw, knowing what he is trying to say and definitely not liking it. He wants to make Alyssa go away. Adopt her out, maybe? I glance at Alyssa. It would destroy her, make her go away from the only environment she had ever known would destroy her as every single routine she has break in front of her. "You cannot adopt Alyssa out!"

  He steps back, clearly surprised. "What? No! I didn't mean that. I... I asked your mother to stay with her for some time, a month or so, just to give us time."

  "You want... You want my mother to stay with Alyssa?!"

  "Yes. Alyssa would stay in your home, with you. People that accept her as we should have done and never did, people that can give her the love she deserves while we pull ourselves together again. Convince your mother, please, Layla."

  I look at my mother, at the way she is staring at Mr. Hale, a deadly glare and know it will be difficult.

  I look at Alyssa who is staring at a carrot my mom is holding. No, not a carrot. She is staring at the little pendant in form of star that my mom has on her bracelet.  Mom doesn't like when I talk about the stars. She deserves to be free to talk about whatever she wants, to be herself and be accepted as she is. To be loved. And even if it'll be difficult, I know I need to convince my mother to accept Alyssa even if just for a month.