“My little sister.” I looked at the dates again and realised the girl had only been fifteen when she died. “What happened?” “I killed her.�... I lost my balance and staggered back. “I’m sorry, what?” He turned to face me and forced a weak smile. “No, I don’t mean I murdered her, but it feels like it though.” “What do you mean?” “I told my parents I couldn’t babysit, so they left her at home on her own and she got into some trouble. Took an overdose.” He stood and started to walk away from me. My. Eliza must have heard the commotion, or at least a larger commotion than she usually drowned out with her music and descended the stairs. "Daddy? Oh god! What did mom do to you?" "I'm a-alright-" "No you aren't. Don't you feel it?" "Feel what?" "She broke the skin dad. You're bleeding. I don't think she shocked you, that's a knife wound." Eliza had whispered the entire time, seeing her mother cleaning the knife she used of its blood. A demented smile decorated her face, more so than her. More

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