Milan rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants before inserting the SD card into Amica’s phone. It contained only one file, an MP3. He sat with a rigid back on the sofa, between Amica and Eli. He had to know what this card contained, but he didn’t feel ready. He had a sinking feeling about this entire situation. And he understood why when the audio file started.

“Hello, future self.”

Milan’s blood ran cold. It was his voice. But it was inimical, void of emotions.

“I’m guessing you don’t remember recording this. You probably don’t even believe you did. You don’t believe you killed our parents. And I bet you think everyone’s going insane, thinking it was you. But they’re not insane. You’re insane. We’re insane.”

Milan swallowed the lump in his throat. The killer was playing with Milan. It was a game to him. But the fact stood clear. Milan didn’t remember killing them because he didn’t. Simple.

The recording rolled on. “But I have proof. Concrete evidence. I will tell you something only you know. The only one in the world. Maybe you’ll then realize it was you recording this. And realize you’re the culprit.”

Milan’s heart pounded in his ears. He could barely hear a thing. He breathed in, trying to calm himself.

“Ten years ago, on that scorching summer day in July, you bought yourself a chocolate ice cream. You probably remember. It was so hot the ice cream melted down the cone before you could eat it. You were on your way home from Hope Park after spending time with Colin and Silas, two of your friends from elementary school. But you knew something was wrong the moment you stepped inside your house. You hid behind the ajar door to your parents’ bedroom. They had no idea you were there. But you heard everything.”

Milan stretched his collar as if it would make him breathe easier. This couldn’t be what he thought. If it was, it would mean Milan was the one who…

He shook his head.

“They were fighting. It was your first time witnessing it. They had never fought before. Not in front of you, at least. But their conversation made it clear — they hated each other.

“‘I can’t stand your guts’, Mom said. Her voice was filled with a mix of different emotions. ‘You’re driving me insane with all your unconcern and carelessness. You either spend time with your friends or watch your horrible action movies. You’re beginning to neglect Milan and forget me.’ She threw her arms up to the air in defeat. ‘If you didn’t want to take responsibility as a father and as a husband, I never should’ve married you.’

“Then, the sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering into tiny shards resounded throughout the house. Mom gasped. Upon hearing that, you knew it had to be the vase on the windowsill. Her favorite red vase with her favorite flowers.

You peeked into the room for one second.

“Dad said: ‘You know what? Not a second goes by that I don’t regret marrying you. You’re an annoying bitch, always complaining about this and that. I’m trying to live my life here, but I’m buried under the mountain of responsibilities you put on my shoulders. I’m doing everything I can, why don’t you do anything for a change?!’ He roared and the entire house submerged in his voice. ‘I’ve had it with you. I’m leaving. For good, this time.’ His voice sent shivers down your spine. You had never heard him so angry. Mad. But for better or for worse, Mom made a proposition.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“‘Wait. Think about our son.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Do you not notice him at all? The way he looks at us when we’re all having fun? When we cook together? And every time we’re on vacation, he never wants to leave. If you leave this house now, he’ll find out his entire life was a lie and it’ll crush him,’ she said. ‘Let’s pretend to be loving parents in front of our son. We won’t ever have to talk when he’s not there. We can get a divorce if that’s what you want. But let’s stay together until he moves out.’

“Dad gave it some thought but had to agree. Even if they hated each other, they still loved you enough to want to deceive you. They were ready to sacrifice their own happiness, so you could be happy while remaining ignorant. Knowing this, you stormed out of the house and walked around in circles in Hope Park. When the sun was setting, you finally came home. The dinner was on the table. You pretended as if nothing had happened. So did they, and you never told anyone. Ever.

“Do you see it now? I’m sitting here, Milan Whitfield, in the flesh, telling you a story only you could know. In other words, your past-self recorded this, and that can only lead us to one conclusion: you killed them.

“But I honestly don’t blame you. No wonder you grew up being so suspicious of other people. Your parents lied to you for years. No wonder you wanted to kill them. We wanted to kill them. And we did.”

The recording ended. Milan’s hands trembled. He felt as if the world blackened before him. The bricks he had placed upon each other to convince himself he was innocent fell even as he clung to them. His thought-out plans to escape jail and find the culprit had gotten him to this point. Everything ignited on fire around him and there was nowhere to escape now. What he had fought so hard to achieve was wasted. All his efforts to prove himself innocent had backfired. He was guilty all along. And the proof was in front of him.

“That’s not right.” Amica was the first to speak. “Your parents didn’t hate each other. Right, Milan?”

Milan lowered his head and threw the phone on the coffee table with a quick motion. He couldn’t look at her. “They did.” His voice came out raspy. “What the recording said — it was all true.”

“All of it?” Eli said. “Also, that part where it said you killed them?”

Milan’s throat swelled. He opened his mouth to say ‘no’, but the word was stuck. Then, he tried to say ‘yes’, but his heart leaped, and his vision blurred.

Milan stood. “I need some fresh air.” He wandered out of the house, closing the door behind him. Then, he leaned his back against it and let himself slide down until he sat with his knees to his forehead. He looked at his hands. These were the hands that had killed his parents. Murdered them in cold blood. Stabbed them, getting their blood all over him. He wrenched his brain, trying to remember a second of what happened. What did his parents feel as he hovered the knife above them? He wondered about their facial expressions as they took their last breaths.

He didn’t want to be the one who did it. He’d rather kill someone else. That correctional officer in the breaker room or whatever.

Milan’s heart wrenched and twisted in his chest. The worst part was not even knowing why he’d done it. What did they do to deserve their own son killing them? So what if they had lied to Milan? They were trying to protect him. They sacrificed their own happiness for Milan, and this was how he repaid them. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t…

Liquid dropped to his open palms and a snivel came out of his mouth. He’d kept it together for so long, so why now?

He clenched his fists and pinched his lips, trying to hold his explosions of emotions in. Soon, Amica or Eli would be looking for him. He didn’t want them to see him like this. And no matter how many times he told himself that, the tears kept coming, and it was as if they never stopped.

He missed his old life. He missed his parents. Even knowing that they hated each other and pretended to be happy, none of it could be compared to Milan’s current situation. He’d give anything to get it back. His perfect grades, his dream of studying physics at the university, hell, anything.

Milan buried his face in his knees. He’d finally found the culprit.

And it was himself.