In a bout of panic, Milan jerked backward. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this sight. His parents. Dead before him.

He pulled up his phone, about to slip out of his hand. His vision blackened, and his arm reached out, searching for anything nearby to maintain his balance.

He called the police. How he managed to do that, he had no idea. The phone was shaking. No, not the phone. His hands were shaking.

He didn’t know what he told them. A deafening silence spread in his ears. He couldn’t hear himself. Or anything anymore. Not the screeching ringing of the alarm clock or his own heartbeat or breathing. One moment he was on the phone. The next, his insides flipped, and he threw up. He clung to the thick wall at the doorway, his fluttering fingers gliding across. He had to get out of here. For a second, he thought if he should check if they were really dead, but thinking about it made his stomach churn. Besides, it was obvious they had been dead for a while. Patches of purple and gray all over their bodies, their clothes drenched in dark blood, and their eyes. Their eyes were devoid of light. Plain dead.

Milan flumped on the floor, his arms swathing around his knees. His legs felt like lead. He tried to calm his breathing, but they came out short and heavy. His mind went blank as he waited. What was he waiting for?

The thoughts in his mind collapsed, plunging into the void one after another. The world whirled around. What should he do now? What could he do?

He couldn’t make out a single thing. He’d lost his perception of everything.

“Police, coming through!” A voice from the outside hit his ears. How long had he been sitting here for? The front door cracked open, and they pushed in.

Milan tried to move, but his body felt numb. His vision faded, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, falling unconscious.

* * *

When Milan opened his eyes, he didn’t know if he had opened them. He blinked. The room was dark, only lit by a jaundiced, pendant light flinging yellow on the table. A chair sat on the opposite side, and behind it was a small door in the wall.

Milan tried to move his arms, but a rustling sound struck his ears. Metal clung tight around his wrists. He wrung his hands. A burning sting shot through his body as the cuffs chafed his skin.

Shit! He thought. What was going on? Where was he? A sour, acidic taste reached his mouth. The space was confined as if the dull, gray walls closed in on one another. The light, although faint, stung his eyes.

He took a breath and exhaled. He had to calm down. What had happened, and how did he end up here, in chains like a criminal?

The cold spread throughout his body to the end of his fingertips, as the options rolled into his brain. Could it be he was abducted or something… by his parent’s murderer? What were they going to do to him? Torture him? Kill him?

No, wait, he was chained up like a criminal. That was it. The police had broken through the front door to his house. Had they arrested him? Now when he thought about it, everything in this room, the light, the table, the chairs, it was all arranged like an… interrogation room.

His heart hammered, and goosebumps tickled his forearms. Could it be they suspected him… for killing his own parents?

Milan shook his head. That was dumb. Him? Killing his parents? As if. Evidence would be lacking. He had no motive either. He also had an alibi for the entire day. They would realize it soon enough. He couldn’t have killed them.

Killed them?

Milan’s heart plummeted. His parents were dead. Murdered. He would never see them again. His father smashing on the table when he got too excited and annoying his mother, who was still willing to watch action movies with him once in a while. And his mother taking care of everyone before herself, and her obsession with flowers. It didn’t matter if they were dahlias or dandelions, she loved them all equally. Years and years of his childhood flowed through him. When he was born, they were there. On the first day of school. They never missed a single one of his birthdays. Always the same strawberry cake and ice-cream, his favorite flavor. Making sure he was satisfied and happy. They were there when he finished middle school with top grades in his class. When he got accepted into Pine Hill High School. All of that flashed through his mind, and his chest felt heavy, like it was about to burst.

He closed his eyes. He could still see their faces before him. Hearing their voices in the distance. If they were here, what would they do? What would they say to him right now? To keep moving forward? To be strong?

His heart wrenched and twisted. The image of their dead bodies had been stamped into his mind. The way they had been thrown out of the closet as he had opened it, stacked upon each other like folded clothes.

His eyes hardened. What was the point in thinking all that? They were gone. That was the reality of his life. But for now, he had other things to worry about.

As if on cue, the door slammed open and Milan gave a start. A tall, masculine figure and a petite woman with round glasses and a tie around her neck entered. Her body was tiny compared to the chair she lodged herself on. The man stood with a rigid back in the background.

“Milan Whitfield, seventeen years old,” she said in a high-pitched voice. She organized the block of papers in her hand. “I am Detective Leonia Knight, and this is John Hughes, correctional officer.” She motioned her hand at the giant. “Let’s cut to the chase,” she said. “You’re a suspect in the murder of your parents, David and Caty Whitfield.”

Milan’s body froze. His brain couldn’t process the words. Sure, he first thought the same, but for it to be true…

“I want a lawyer.” Milan stared dead in her eyes. His voice came out husky as if he hadn’t used it for a long time.

“Not to worry, we’ll have an attorney at your service. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you...”

“You’re not getting a word out of me,” Milan said.

John stretched his neck and cracked his knuckles. Cold sweat ran down Milan’s back. A jolt ran through his body when the giant grabbed his chair.

“Listen, smartass.” The voice was raspy and deep. “Think of this like a video game with different levels. There is an easy mode. And a hard mode.” He leaned forward, face inches away from Milan’s, eyes drilled into his. “Now tell us. What the hell you were up to. Nine p.m. last night.”

His breath stank like mackerel fermented for ages. Milan craned his neck backward.

“I told you. I’m not answering. And I don’t even play video g-”

The man gripped the hair on his head and rammed it against the table. Milan’s vision doubled. The pain shot through his head every second. His nose burned, and a metallic taste hit his tongue. The blood dripped onto his pants.

“Need another round?” he said.

“Now, now.” Leonia pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Let’s cut back on the violence, shall we? Or you will have to leave, Hughes.”

The giant grunted.

“I haven’t seen a crime this disturbing in a while, which is why we seek to discover the truth, as I suspect you do as well, Whitfield.” She bent forward, placing her elbows on the table with interlaced fingers. “Now, for us to do that, we need your cooperation.”

Milan spat out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth. Cooperate? What a joke. They thought he would cooperate after smashing his head onto the table? That just proved they were against him. Were they interested in catching the culprit, or did they just want to make it seem like it was him?

Milan’s stomach sunk, and he clenched his teeth. She was right, though. He did want to find the murderer. The piece of shit that had dared to lay their hands on his parents. The question was, what should he do? What could he do? If he spoke, he could obtain information about the murderer. But if he said something reckless, they could use it against him if he was tried in court.

But Milan still didn’t understand something. They suspected him. But they wanted to know what he was doing last night. Up until now, Milan thought they were murdered after he left the house this morning. But what if…

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“They were murdered last night?” Milan’s throat felt like scratching sandpaper. “Is that what you’re saying?”

The detective’s eye twitched. “You catch on quickly. Yes, the autopsy report revealed they were murdered last night at around nine p.m.”

Milan dropped his head, lines forming on his forehead. He could’ve prevented that from happening had he not gone to Hope Park. How could he be so stupid? The letter had to have been used to distract him and lead him away from the house. Whoever wrote the letter killed his parents. It couldn’t be any other way.

“If we can establish and confirm your alibi, we have no reason to suspect you,” Detective Knight said.

Establishing Milan’s alibi would be a piece of cake.

“The letter,” he said. “In my jacket.”

“We already searched your jacket. There was no such thing.”

“What!” Milan’s mind raced back and forth between his memories. “I know I put it there. Search again.”

Leonia gestured at the officer, and he left the room with a mumble.

“So, what is this so-called letter about?” she asked.

Milan bit his lip. It was too late to turn back now. He had underestimated the situation he found himself in. Nothing had made sense since he woke up. The disappearing phone alarm, Mrs. Mallory acting weird, the exam question, the Lord of the Universes, or whatever game. And now the letter wasn’t in his jacket. What if someone had removed it?

A sinking feeling ejected in the pit of his stomach. He was in real trouble. If only he had a witness. He should’ve told Damien and Travis about the letter before going to the park. That would’ve been a help right now. Because if the letter was gone and no one could back up what he said, he was screwed.

“This is the jacket?” John set foot in the room. He held Milan’s jacket in front of his face.

Milan nodded.

He held a plastic wrap containing Milan’s keys and wallet in his other hand. “This is the only thing we found in the jacket. No letter.”

Milan opened his mouth, but the giant continued. “We searched the schoolbag, too. And the pocket pants. We searched the whole house. No letter.”

What the hell? How was he going to talk this way out of this?

“Okay, I may not have an alibi.” Milan’s voice trembled. “That doesn’t make me the culprit.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Leonia said. “We have other reasons for suspecting you. Like the murder weapon.”

A knife, Milan thought. That was what he remembered. The knife sticking out from his mother’s chest. Acid pushed through Milan’s internals, and his breathing came out in irregular gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t think about it. Don’t lose focus.

“Do you need a break?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Milan answered. As if they would give him a break. Liars.

But anyway, a knife. Anyone could get any knife from anywhere. They could’ve grabbed one from the kitchen in Milan’s house. Or from any kitchen. That didn’t mean the culprit was Milan.

“As I was saying about the murder weapon. Through our investigation, we have found that the knife belongs to your classmate, Damien Cox. He informed us that he, Travis James, and you were studying for an exam at his house before you left at 8:40 p.m. in a hurry. He also noted that you went into his kitchen at some point.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, but according to his testimony, he saw you take the knife. The same knife used as the murder weapon to kill your parents.”

Dead silence engulfed the room. No way could he talk his way out of this. They had to be lying, either them or Damien. Milan had made sure Damien had not seen him. Hell, his head had been submerged in that video game. Besides, if Damien’s knife was the murder weapon, it only proved it couldn’t have been Milan. Milan’s parents were murdered at nine. But at nine, Milan had been at Hope Park, and he had taken that knife with him. Hell, if only there was a way he could prove he’d been there.

Could the culprit be Damien? He could’ve sent the letter, snatched a knife from his kitchen, and killed them during the time period when Milan was gone. But Travis was with him that night. No, what if Travis had left shortly after Milan? Or what if Damien and Travis had been working together and used each other as alibis?

But would they have done it? Why would they kill his parents? He couldn’t think of a reason. Milan’s parents always welcomed them, showering them with good food, smiles, and false compliments whenever they came over.

Maybe they didn’t do it because of his parents. They did it because of Milan. It was a way of getting back at him for something he did. Maybe he wasn’t the best friend ever, but what could he have done to drive them to commit murder? He couldn’t think of a thing.

Milan took a deep breath. Did it make sense for them to do it? Would they be smart enough to pull it off? No. Damien once bought a goldfish and a tank, filling half of his room. It died a few days later because Damien forgot to feed it. And Travis once fell asleep on the streets on his way home because he was ‘technically too tired to walk’. He’d literally been five minutes away from his own house.

Aside from that, it wouldn’t make sense for Damien to lie about seeing Milan grab the knife if they hadn’t done it. That could mean this woman in front of him was lying about it. Who knew? They could say whatever they wanted to get Milan to speak.

The detective loosened the tie around her neck and cleared her throat. “We’re having our forensic team look for fingerprints. But I must ask you, Milan.” Her eyes struck through Milan’s soul. “Did you do it? Did you murder your parents with that knife?”

He sank the clump in his throat. “No,” he said. It came out weak. Too weak. It made him sound like he was lying.

Leonia tapped her pen on the table, her eyes flicking down the papers. She pursed her lips, fingers pressing against her chin. She glanced at him for a second before dropping her eyes again.

“That’s it for now.” She stood. “Hughes, take him to his holding cell.”

Hughes grunted. He unlocked Milan’s handcuffs from the chair and clasped his beefy hand around Milan’s upper arm, yanking him out of the room.

Milan squeezed his eyes when they entered the hallway. The light was blinding, and Milan couldn’t even shield his eyes from it. They just had to cuff his hands behind his back. His legs staggered as he plodded along. How much time had passed since his parents died? How long had he been out for?

No. The question was, how long was he going to stay here? The detective had mentioned a holding cell. Milan. In a cell. For something he didn’t do.

But this couldn’t be a prison. It had to be a detention center or a jail. Only if he was declared guilty in court he’d go to prison. His life would never be the same. Not that it was the same as before now, but he still had time to make it right and at least fix the things he could. He needed an attorney who knew how to do his job. Milan was innocent, so there was no way he should have the chance to be declared guilty, though the evidence was telling a different story.

If they’re even telling the truth about the evidence, Milan thought.

He traced the narrow, dull walls with his eyes. A sanitary smell, like a hospital, invaded his senses. They turned. Numbered steel doors were bolted into the walls. 101, 102, 103…

The place was silent; only their heavy steps echoed in the hallway. Except for an occasional scream flaring from one of the cells. What was wrong with that guy? A mental disorder? It wouldn’t be unusual in these kinds of places.

“Where is this place?” Milan asked.

John raised an eyebrow. “Rockwood Detention Facility. For adults. Awaiting trial or placement.”

As expected. Milan turned eighteen in a few weeks. He was practically an adult. And he was charged with a serious crime. No wonder they didn’t go easy on him.

“It’s here.” John pressed a card into the electromechanical lock reader, and the metal door, with the number 131, clicked unlocked.

The inside of the cell wasn’t much better than the outside. Two tiny bedframes sat across from one another, clamped to the walls. A desk was mounted to the wall in one of the corners, and a stool rested beside it. In the other corner, a rectangular, blue pod was positioned. Most likely the bathroom.

A click resounded as John unlocked the handcuffs surrounding Milan’s wrists.

Milan snugged his fingers around his sore wrists and exhaled from the pit of his stomach. It was as if he could breathe again.

“Your cell,” John said. “Bed. Desk. Bathroom.” He pointed with his sausage finger to each of them because Milan couldn’t have figured it out on his own.

“Can I get some paper and a pen?” Milan asked as Hughes stepped through the doorway.

The correctional officer narrowed his eyes and nodded. Then, he slid the door shut. Locked.

Milan plopped himself on the bed. A set of blue clothing had been folded on top of it. Under the mattress pad, the metal bed frame squeaked as if about to break. It looked that way, too. Rust ate its way up the legs, leaving them tarnished.

Milan gazed at the black mold, creating an odd pattern in the ceiling. This was his life now, in a cramped cell with musty air. Never had he thought he’d find himself in a place like this. But then again, never had he thought he’d fail an exam, seeing his parents’ dead corpses and getting arrested for killing them. It was wrong. Everything about today had been wrong.

Milan’s eyelids were heavy. The day had been wrong, but it had been long too. He hoped it wouldn’t last longer.

As Milan occupied himself with these thoughts, the cell door clattered open, and in came two faces. One was an officer, but not John. The other was a short girl with a cap too big for her head, her dirty-blonde hair flowing out. She had to be around the same age as Milan. She wore the same blue clothing he’d found on his bed.

The officer removed the new girl’s handcuffs and exited, leaving them alone. Her eyes were curious, shining, as she reached her hand forward.

“I’m Eli Easton! And you?” Her voice was light.

Milan was speechless. This girl grinned, baring her pearly white teeth. Her cheeks were rounded and flushed, her nose crinkling. This girl was beaming with joy.

Milan didn’t understand. How could anyone be smiling like an idiot in a situation like this?