AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But last night, she made it so I couldn’t get my brain to shut up.
JP was killed while I was still in high school.
I knew JP was going to be president one day—that was made clear when I was in middle school. Admittedly, back then, I thought it was just one of those things people say. That he had the ability to do it. Dedication, hard work, and a little luck would make it an achievable dream.
It wasn’t until I was told I’d take up that mantle when I discovered that he—that I—am going to be president one day.
2040, to be exact.
When I found out JP was dead, I cried. I locked myself in my bedroom and hid under the blankets.
The following morning, Father literally dragged me out and forced me to sit at the breakfast table like nothing had happened. I wasn’t hungry, but I was told if I didn’t eat, he would force the food down my throat.
Then, as I was trying to eat my toast like it wasn’t making me want to throw up, my father told me if I was to continue being that weak and pathetic, he’d give me something to cry about. There are still scars on my back from when he carried out the same threat when I was eight, after my dog died.
After that, I did everything I could not to think about what happened to JP.
Last night, or rather, this morning, still unable to sleep, I turned on my laptop and started looking.
The Keyinghams aren’t famous. We’re not a household name. At least, not in the traditional sense of a celebrity. In the right circles though, everyone knows who we are. And it’s almost impossible to go a week without our name appearing in the news.
JP’s death—and Cole’s murder trial—garnered a lot of attention. Article after article. Some commented on the outfits my mother wore to court, but mostly about how JP’s loss would affect the Keyingham empire. Politics and his future role. Finance and the billions of dollars of various Keyingham companies…
And yet, after a couple of hours of scrolling, I couldn’t tell you how he died or why.
I only thought I knew how he died because my father told me it was blunt force trauma to the back of his head. That Cole Reynalds had attacked him. But the more I think about it now, the more I realize I don’t know what he attacked him with.
Blunt force trauma could be a bat. A hammer. A rock. Hell, getting run over by a car is classed as blunt force trauma.
Not once have I ever really thought about what caused his injury.
The other thing missing in every article is the why.
That. That was the reason I wasn’t able to sleep, and that I’m currently driving upstate.
I pull into the parking lot, find a space in the almost empty lot, and then walk straight over to the gates. Visiting hours aren’t until the afternoon, but my phone call this morning guaranteed entry.
After I’m ushered through security, I’m led to a private room. Inside, there’s only a table and two chairs, both of which are firmly bolted to the floor. Instead of taking a seat, I stand by the “window” made up of thick mottled glass cubes. I’m fairly certain if I could actually see through it, the view wouldn’t be the outside world.
I don’t have to wait long before the door opens, and my brother’s murderer walks in. The guards lead him to the table, handcuffing him to the bar that’s been put there for that purpose. Then they leave, closing the door behind them.
The only time I’ve seen Cole was on the day he was sentenced, nearly four years ago. Back then, he looked like any other eighteen-year-old college kid. Now, his face is half-hidden behind a thick beard and unkempt hair.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him.
Cole stares at me with green eyes, which are eerily like Tori’s. “Yes.”
“Did you kill my brother?”
“Yes,” he says, without a moment of hesitation.
“How?”
The guy continues to stare at me, his expression remaining the same. He doesn’t move, but I do notice that his hands, which are clasped together, tense. “I hit him on the side of the head.”
“With?”
“A rock.”
