Chapter 8: Asher's Room

My mind was still trying to wrap around what Caspian had told me. Why was Asher talking to the Queen Bee? It couldn't be because he had wanted to be a Stinger. Asher was never really fond of gang activity, drugs, dogfights, or any kind of violence. It was the kind of thing that it seemed was impossible to be appealing to anyone, and seemed to me like it was especially the case with my brother.

I walked down the hall and crept into Asher's room. I was home alone. Mom had gone out to buy groceries and dad wasn't back from work yet. It was the perfect time to investigate.

Nobody had been into Asher's room since his funeral. The air was stale and it made me feel claustrophobic. The darkness made me envision all sorts of creepy crawlies in Robin Hood's room, seeking refuge from the outside world and especially the birds. I didn't turn the light on. The dark seemed fitting. It felt like turning on the light would disrupt the natural course of life; Asher was living in darkness now, so his humble abode should also be a place of no light. This was the place in which Asher dreamt each night. And dreams provide light in the darkness. You need darkness to dream, just like how stars need darkness to shine.

There was a narrow single bed in the corner, covered with a navy-blue duvet. I sat down on the bed and the mattress sunk down. I could feel the wooden planks underneath me, immediately making me straighten my slouched back. I picked up Asher's pillow and inhaled his sandalwood scent. His smell was comforting, like taking a bath with rose petals. I buried my face further into the pillow and felt something hard dig into my cheek, no doubt leaving a mark. I slipped my hand into the thin pillowcase and withdrew a shiny, glossy pamphlet.

'New York City: Residential.'

"If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you go?" Asher enquired. His long wavy hair settled on his shoulders and his eyes were sparkling, as he waited for my answer.

I giggled. We were playing twenty questions. It was a childish game, but it was still our favourite; and Asher made sure to ask the most embarrassing questions. He usually asked questions like: 'How much would you pay someone to kiss you?' or 'Which boy in school is the most kissable?' So this question about choosing a country to live in was a relatively normal question.

"Paris," I replied. The city of love. Who needed Caspian when there was a country full of French boys.

"You?" I asked, changing the topic before Asher could ask me 'Why Paris?'

"New York City," Asher replied, before we moved on to the next question.

I hadn't asked why he chose New York, and now I wish I had. Had Asher been planning to go to New York?

I walked over to his dark, oak desk with the pamphlet in my hand. I was looking for Asher's phone, but I couldn't seem to find it. Maybe Asher's murderer had found it and taken it.

Before I could sink into the pits of despair, I remembered something, something useful. Chrissie's older brother James was a hacker. Companies paid him to hack into their systems, so that they could see if they needed more internet security. Maybe he could hack Asher's phone so we could get a clue as to who the killer was. Of course that might prove to be difficult since we didn't have the phone, but it was worth a shot.

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