I like my Brother. I always have, and always will. I have no doubt in my mind that he shares my thoughts on this very matter. We were inseparable as children, and despite our great resemblance in appearance due to being twins, our dear Mother still, somehow, liked him far more than me. I don't know how this favoritism developed, but I am happy for my Brother, as it lead to him having a most pleasant childhood. Her favoritism did lead to her downright loathing of me, but it was a small price to pay for the love and affection she showed my Brother. Of course, she would never do the Things She Did to me near my Brother, of course not, as she and he shared a mutual and affectionate bond.

My Brother and I would play games. Neither of us had any friends due to various reasons, but we enjoyed ourselves in each others company. We would play many games together. We would play Cops and Robbers, or in this case Cop and Robber, or we would play Tag, or sometimes we would simply play Pretend. However, these all followed a single and all-powerful rule. He was the Good Guy, I was the Bad Guy.

This even continued into adulthood. Indeed, the both of us became Cops in the end, but I cannot help but say that the games never truly did end.

I have always been fond of games, and so has my Brother. We may have lived in different apartments, but we were housed in the same complex, and even in the same corridor. Occasionally, one of us would go over to the other and we would spend the night playing board games and roleplaying. I never missed the cue to laugh out a “Mo-hahahaha,” and he would never fail to respond with “You villain!”

Today was one such day.

My Brother and I were seated at a table in his kitchen, playing Cop and Robber with nostalgic glee when both of our phones buzzed almost simultaneously. We exchanged a quick glance before each pressing a button and both responding with “Smith, what your emergency,” a little joke we had running between only the two of us. The one on the other line responded with a flat “5'th Avenue, Adolphson & Falk Street, Double Homicide,” to which I and my dear Brother both responded, in unison, “Yes siree.”

We traveled there in the same car, a deep blue SAAB 95. this was due to the fact that if we went somewhere we, in most cases went there together and therefore, only one car was required. This decision had been decided when we realized we wanted the same car. The ride to the scene was uneventful, and the dark, almost deserted streets were calm in the warm glow of the evening lights.

The scene in question looked almost poetic in the orange-ish lights of the streetlights. The two bodies were illuminated as if they were art on pedestals, which I could only think of them as. Both were female and completely nude. The skin and flesh on both of their forearms, shins, and scalp had been flayed, making all five protruding limbs and the head look like flowers, clean and almost glistening bone showing its beautiful almost crystal features from beyond the skin and flesh. Their faces were distorted into a painting showing, strangely enough, an image of pure bliss and ecstasy.

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However, none of the libs nor their scalps showed any sign of any blood having splattered from what must have been an amazingly pleasant one-way trip, considering the look on their faces. their bodies were as white as snow, and I noticed five distinct openings on each limb as well as a larger one in their chests. Despite these obvious wounds, however, I noticed that there was, in fact, No blood at the scene. How strange.

My Brother was staring as well, a look of distant admiration clouding his ever so clear green eyes. Soon enough he caught me staring into his deep, evergreen eyes, and the distant awe was grabbed, clubbed down by and most likely murdered by his overbearing sense of righteousness.

Another perk of being the favourite is that you naturally develop a sense of justice and what is right, instead of whatever it is I got.

“I will get whomever did this,” my Brother said through gritting teeth. “I have no doubts in my mind that you will, Brother,” I responded with a warm smile of anticipation and playfulness. He was, after all, the logical and intelligent of the two of us, so of course he would catch the foul Artist who just happened to use knives and saws instead of pencils and brushes. I cant say I wanted my Brother to fail, but I did wish to see what our dearest Artist had to offer.

Around the beautiful bodies a few heavily dressed men, it was, after all, November, were squatting and dusting for prints on several places, most likely without anything to show for it. A few of them turned their heads our way, their eyes hopping between the two of us without ever really being able to lay them on either one.

One of the men simply standing around doing nothing noticed the two of us and lumbered over with a smile on his lips. “Winston and Brian,” he asked, looking between us and at us and most likely trying to figure out which is which, without much success, if you were to ask his expression. “”Yes,”” we answered, not really telling him which was which, but if he wanted a specific he'd have to ask himself. “Uh, yes, um. We've got an ID on them,” he said hesitantly, looking down at a paper in his hand as if it was going to come alive and advise on how to speak with people, despite its usual silence. “already? That was quick,” my Brother, Winston, noted. “Ah, yes, well, the witness,” he said, nodding over to where a young girl dressed rather revealingly was sobbing into her hands while three uniformed men were swarming around her, “She knew them. Apparently they're her friends or something. Had just been to the movies to. What a way to go,” he finished with a small chuckle. What for, who knows. He continued when he noticed our silence, “Ah, ehem, the brunette is Amanda Harrison and the other is Frankie Harrison,” “Sisters?” I asked, and he turned to me. “Yeah. Not only that, twins,” a flicker of something glimmered in my Brothers eyes and he turned to me. I, however, was already looking at him, so we simply exchanged a glance before turning from the man and walking over to the witness.

I, however, had no need to know what she had seen, because I knew she had seen nothing. No, I didn't even need to know wether there were any fingerprints on the bodies. There were none.

How did I know this?

Simple enough.

I did it.