Killing someone, even by accident, put Heath off using his powers for a while.

He couldn't stop thinking about the eerie silence where there should have been thoughts and how close the woman was to his age. 

It was all his fault that that person was dead.

He'd never wanted to be freak. Now he was both that and a murderer.

He never told anyone other than Poppy that he had killed someone, and it was weighing on his conscience. He lost the little concentration he'd had in class and his grades fell again. He couldn't think of anything but what he had done.

Just when he thought he'd gotten a handle on his life, it had flown out of his control again.

So he put all his concentration on figuring out the mystery of his brother's killer. He sat on his bed in his bedroom and went over the clues he had located and tried to piece together something, some sort of story, anything.

It simply wouldn't work though. Too little evidence, too many suspects and too many uncertainties. He knew Andrea was most likely the killer, but why had she killed him? It could always be jealousy - she'd been rather proud of her and Caleb's relationship and resentful towards him when they broke up but would that drive her to kill him?

And what had she used to kill him? When had she killed him? How had she manage to move the body all the way to the field without being noticed?

Heath sighed and put his head in his hands. He gave up. He wasn't making any progress anyway.

Maybe he should prepare himself for someone to come looking for him after he had killed the woman. Maybe the killer wasn't a killer at all and it had been an accident.

He lay back, staring up at the ceiling while he thought of what he should do next. What was there to do? He had no new clues.

He stood up and looked out the window, eyes searching the area around him as his mind raced, in a last, futile search for answers. No answers came. Frustrated, he slammed his fist against his wardrobe, his fury and irritation overwhelming the pain and turned away from the window. Why did it have to be so hard to solve a mystery? Why couldn't the person who had caused his brother's death jump out and admit it?

Heath wandered absentmindedly into his parents' bedroom. He quickly wished he hadn't done so.

The room was covered with pictures of Caleb. He smiled out of every frame, laughter looking so easy on his perfect face. Heath wished he could smile like that. Alas, his smile was lopsided, making it look like a smirk. Not to mention he only had one dimple, which looked odd when he did smile properly.

He wished he could do a lot of things like Caleb. But the world had decided to be cold and cruel, cursing him with powers that seemed to do little other than cause harm, while it blessed his late brother with all desired traits.

He took one of the pictures off the top of the cupboard and sat down, admiring it.

It had been his first day in secondary school and his brother had been keen to show him around. His parents had been so proud and they'd insisted on taking the camera everywhere. With his brother, plenty of people wanted to talk to him and get to know him.

He bit his lip as the tears threatened to spill. Though he was often envious of his brother, his heartstrings tugged at the memories, longing to see him alive again.

He put his head against the glass covering of the picture. He choked on invisible tears, wishing he had payed more attention to Caleb's killer than to stupid adventures with Poppy.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice almost inaudible,"I'm sorry. I should've thought about you. You were always the better one of the two of us. You would've solved it by now. I'm so sorry."

His brother's lively bright eyes stared out at him, but they did not see him. It was only a picture after all, and it wasn't his brother. It was just a piece of paper with a doppelganger of his brother printed onto it.

He felt an overwhelming urge to throw it against the wall, but upon looking at it once more, his heart ached, like a cramped muscle, and he put it back on top of the cupboard with care.

"What are you doing?" a shrill voice said from behind him, causing him to jump.

He turned around and was met with eyes the same colour as Caleb's, but sharing none of the warmth or compassion. His mother's gaze was cold and her lips were pursed.

"I-I-" he stammered, suddenly finding that he had forgotten every word in the English language that had been taught to him.

"Leave the room immediately," she said, her voice like ice, cutting through the silence of the room.

He scrambled to leave, his heart in his mouth and feeling as though it was trying to make him vomit.

He heard his mother's sobs from the next room but he found he could not relate to her misery in the slightest. He didn't care for her troubles, since she had caused him so many. He didn't view her as the same woman who had raised him for sixteen years.

He sat down hard on his bed, white-hot rage licking at his veins, a piece of paper fell out from behind the pillow. He picked it up, unraveled it and struggled to understand his own untidy handwriting.

He could make out the words 'Andrea' and 'abandoned shack' and then it clicked into place. He'd promised to himself to check out her abandoned house.

He barely managed to remember what the house looked like, since his encounter with Andrea had been almost a week ago. He knew it was small, and there was paint peeling off the walls, but not much else.

He decided it was best to check it out on the Internet first, before running out to look for the house. He once again searched for abandoned houses in the area. After about a half hour, he was ready to give up when the one he remembered had popped into view.

It was a a few miles from where Andrea lived, and seemed to be in poor condition, but not so bad that it couldn't be used.

Pulling out his phone and taking a photo with it, he took a deep breath and pulled on his light jacket. He left the house swiftly, ignoring his mother's sobs from the nearby room, and shutting the door as stealthily as possible. He didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like his absence was going to be noticed anyway.

He began in a run to the house but by the time he had arrived he was walking slowly. He didn't want his noisy exhausted breaths to be heard if he was going to be searching through the house.

He noticed the house immediately. It stood out as the unused, dilapidated house in a posh neighbourhood, a few metres away from their pretty mansions as though it had been cast out. The silence was deafening and a pin dropping would've been heard from a mile off. The street was dim and there were no lights in the nearby houses. It was far too early for lights though as the sun was only beginning to hide behind the trees and say its goodbyes.

Every step he took was careful and cautious, his eyes darted to and fro, searching for any unwelcome visitors. His heart was beating so loudly that if someone did happen to walk in his direction, it would be a dead giveaway that he was there.

He opened the door, wincing at every creak and rushed inside. He closed it quickly, hoping that would result in less noise being made but it made little difference.

The interior was similar to the exterior, like it was in poor condition, with unpainted walls and bare floors. However, it was cluttered with stuff, from more small bags like the ones he'd seen on that night in the school to valuable jewellery and expensive vases. The extremely valuable things were carefully stored while the bigger items, like ovens, and small bags were discarded all over the place.

Heath searched his surroundings for a moment, finding nothing that could possibly be used as a murder weapon. He sighed, then paused, listening for signs that someone had heard him before beginning to rummage through the crowded house.

He shoved aside bulky armchairs and carefully lifted fragile china cups; he peered through tiny cracks between two huge desks and crawled under high cupboards; he knocked tables over carelessly and moved slowly around desktops carrying jewels.

Yet he couldn't find anything that Andrea possibly could've used to kill his brother.

He did, however, find Ms. Allen's ring. His eyes narrowed. How had that gotten here? He hadn't done anything with it that would result in it ending up here. He'd only given it to Poppy and...

Poppy must have given it to Andrea. Was it in exchange for something or was it just a gift?

He was distracted when he spotted a rusty silver object. He pocketed the ring and moved over to the rusty item.

He pulled it out of the bottom of the pile with great care, ensuring that the pile didn't collapse on top of him. The object, a wrench, was heavy in his hand and rusted around the top.

This definitely could be used to kill someone. Beat them to death, for certain, but what about the cut on the back of Caleb's head?

Maybe he had been beaten to unconsciousness and then his head was cut off a rock or something, killing him?

Suddenly, from outside, a voice yelled out.

"Andrea?"

Heath froze. His heart thumped in his chest and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He stayed still, hoping the person would leave if they heard nothing.

"Andrea, you there?"

The person's thoughts indicated that they were going to approach the house, but Heath pushed that to the back of his head. He wasn't going to use his powers ever again.

There was a tense silence, every sound like a footstep, every pant sounding as though it was from outside.

Heath felt like he could breath safely again after several minutes and no sign of entry. The person had probably left.

The door knob turned and the creaky door swung open.

Yeah, I know I updated late. Sorry :/

School's back in a few days and I was pretty focused on that. Also, I was really unhappy with chapter, so I edited it for a while. It's still crap though.

Thanks for the 376 reads though!