Chapter 3: Suicide or Murder

The sound of people crying echoed through the thin walls. I didn't go back into the living room. The fact that he was dead didn't hurt as much as the fact that he had killed himself. Part of me didn't believe he would just leave me like that, but the only other explanation was that he had been murdered by someone who had the exact same handwriting he did. Or a psychopath killer had forced Asher to write a suicide note, before killing him. Or a parasite had invaded his body and mind-tricked him into slitting his wrist. Ok, enough with the conspiracy theories. My brother had just died and my mind was swirling around with theories, theories that involved everything but suicide.

"You put up quiet the fight there, kiddo." Dad poked his head through the door I had left ajar. The door squeaked on its hinges as Dad opened it wider.

"It's not Janet's fault," my father tried to reason with me. My father Carl Cote was a very small man, with a dimpled chin. He had wrinkles that mapped out most of his face. He had the kind of face that people would associate with wisdom. He was an accountant and often had to dress like a business tycoon in black jackets and ties, which is what he was wearing now. Unlike me he managed to pull formal clothes off really well. I was sitting here in a black, collared dress, feeling like an old granny who could barely walk without tripping over.

"Except that's exactly what Asher said in his letter," I mumbled under my breath.

If dad had heard me, he decided my comment wasn't worth recognition. "Janet just left."

As I didn't take the hint, he carried on speaking. "You can go and see your brother."

Yay! Who wouldn't want to see their 18-year-old brother lying in a coffin, with a pale, cold face and nice suit?

I sluggishly climbed out of bed. I owed Asher this much.

Back off," Asher shoved Caspian Orion against the blue metallic lockers.

I cringed, poor Caspian.

One of the benefits of having a big brother was that he would always protect you. One of the disadvantages was that he would make sure you never went on a date in your entire life. Sometimes Asher couldn't distinguish between protecting me and embarrassing me. And this was definitely the latter.

"Asher," I whispered, trying to calm him down before he disfigured Caspian's pretty face.

Asher turned to the surrounding crowd. "Let this be a warning to every male here," Asher fumed in his gruffest voice. "Stay away from my sister."

My brother let go of Caspian's collar, watching his body fall noiselessly to the floor.

Asher walked away with a scowl on his face and grabbed my arm as he passed, taking me with him. I didn't get a chance to apologise to Caspian on my brother's behalf.

I looked back and saw Caspian staring at me with a pained look in his ocean-blue eyes.

This was the first and only time Asher got violent. Well, apart from the incident with the bird. It was also the first time he got detention. Seeing Caspian at the funeral brought back the memory of this fight. I really hadn't expected him to come, not after my brother had almost killed him. Caspian looked like a surfer, with his light blond hair, blue eyes, and perfectly tanned skin. His cute, dimpled cheeks surprisingly did nothing to hide his bad boy vibes. And he probably had a beach-bod. Not that it mattered, since all my chances with Caspian had been ruined. The thing was I'd be happy to see Asher ruin my chances with another boy. I'd be happy to have Asher ruin my chances with all the boys in the school. I would just be happy to have Asher back.

I felt a stabbing ache aimed at my heart, as I peered into the coffin. This wasn't my Asher, not even close. His mouth was twisted into what looked like a grimace, which some might think was a smile. His face didn't shine brightly with the freckles I loved. I don't know why, but I had expected his eyes to be open, so I could look into them one last time. But his eyes were shut. The first thing that puzzled me was that the Asher in the coffin, had short, spiky hair. I thought back to the Asher that was with me on the butterfly day. I could still see how his long and curly coffee-coloured hair fell onto his shoulders.

I noticed something else queer: above Asher's collar was a small, ink tattoo. I had to move closer to see what it was. A bee. If Asher wanted a tattoo, why did he choose to get a bee? I would have thought he would get a butterfly. Unless he thought butterflies were too feminine. But Harry Styles had a tattoo of a butterfly and he had a long line of groupies, all girls. I hadn't noticed the tattoo before, not on Asher at least. I had seen that exact tattoo somewhere else. I just couldn't recall where.

I walked to the back of the room, puzzling around the two small details that seemed to bother nobody but me. Why would Asher cut his hair, if he knew he wanted to die? Same went for the tattoo. Unless he didn't want to die, and someone had taken that option away from him. Suddenly my theory about a murderer forcing him to write a letter didn't seem too insane. Maybe it wasn't Janet's fault he was dead after all. Maybe he had never wanted to abandon me. Among all these 'maybes' there was one thing I knew for sure: I would get to the bottom of this mystery, or my name wasn't Madelyn Cote

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