(Rewritten)  

Murder.

I can't shake the thought from my mind. Everything seems unreal. Rick has been in jail for almost a week now and still there's been no mistake.

Staring at my light blue walls, I feel numb. Uncrossing my legs, I walk towards my door. My body on autopilot.

Twisting the cold doorknob and opening the door, I step into the chilled hallway. I shiver slightly. I'm halfway down the stairs when I hear the raised voices. Freezing for a moment, I lean around the polished rail. I catch sight of my parents standing by the living room, their postures are stiff.

Their argument drifts over to me.

"Dave! You can't just stop working! Do you know how much a good attorney will cost! I can't support this family by myself!" My mom's distraught voice, makes my eyes widen.

Dad wants to quit work?

My dad speaks up and I can hear the angry undertone of his otherwise calm voice.

"Honey listen. I need time to look for an attorney and I can't do that when I'm working myself into the ground at the hospital! Not to mention right now I am a danger to the patients Elizabeth! I am not stable. Emotionally or physically!"

Gulping, I lower myself down one step, my bare foot making no sound as it hits the wood. Clutching the railing, my knuckles turn white.

"Oh! And I'm stable! You think this has been easy for me!" My mom screeches, on the verge of hysteria. "What about Reagan? You think this is easy for her! Her brother is currently in jail, she should be getting ready for college not a godforsaken trial!"

Taking a deep breath, my mom continues shouting. "Now that I think about it! She'll be leaving this house soon and she still doesn't know!"

My ears perk up at this.

Know what?

"Lower your voice Elizabeth." My dad's gaze flits up towards my room. I strain to hear them as their voices turn to whispers. Taking another step down, the stair creaks and I freeze as the whispering abruptly stops.

"Reagan, Honey?" I draw back at my mom's tentative voice which is directed towards the stairwell. Fleeing back upstairs as quietly as I can, I slink back to my room. Shutting the door carefully behind me, I slide down to the ground. I let out a choked sob, but immediately stop myself.

No. I need to be strong, for Rick.

But what are my parents hiding from me?

I'm yanked from my thoughts as a car door slams outside. I rush to the window to find my mom pulling out of the driveway.

Stepping back out into the hall, I carefully inch my way down the stairs. As I pass my dad's office I peek inside, only to find his head in his hands. A half empty glass of scotch sits before him and I jerk back before he can catch sight of me. Flattening myself against the wall, I clench my hands into fists. Pushing myself off the wall, I head back upstairs.

Sitting on my bed, I grab the framed picture which sits on my nightstand.

Caressing the wooden frame, I give a small smile at the sight of four familiar smiling faces. All so happy in the picture. All together.

A family.

The picture taken before Rick had left for Harvard. So long ago.

I study Rick and my smile slowly drops from my face.

Rick. The guy who's more than just a brother. He's a best friend.

How can he have committed murder?

He'd never hurt anyone. Rick's always been the hero. Always the one to save the day. Countless memories from over the years serve as that reminder.

"Oh my god he's not breathing!"

The sudden shout which echoes from close by startles me into tripping over my gangly tween legs. Rick's muscular arm is the only thing which catches me from face planting. I curse.

When he's positive I'm steady, Rick runs towards the sound of the shout.

I follow him. The hot afternoon sun closes in around me. Children's joyful laughs come from a nearby playground, unaware that anything is amiss.

Getting closer to the origin of the shout, I find a small crowd gathered around a man who's laying on the ground.

Rick is already kneeling next to the man. He begins to calmly ask a woman questions as he attempts to find a pulse at the man's wrist.

The woman's wrinkled hands clasp her pale face as she speaks quickly.

Rick nods briefly, then turns his attention fully to the still man before him. Folding his hands, he begins to do what I recognize as chest compression's.

Eyes widening, I realize he's doing CPR. The woman who'd spoken first is placing a call to 911.

Countless minutes pass. Rick continues to pump his hands into the man's chest methodically, before blowing two bursts of air into the man's mouth. Anxious looks are passed around the crowd when the man continues to lay still.

Moving closer, I spot Rick's mouth moving in whispers. I catch a few soft words.

"You're not going to die on me. You're going to be fine."

An ambulances siren pierces through the silence which has fallen around the small group.

In seconds, EMT'S rush over to us. They speak abruptly to Rick who has only just halted the CPR. Backing off, Rick allows them to take care of the man. The EMT'S try to reassure the crowd that the man will be fine.

One of the men turns to the woman who Rick had spoken with. They talk in hushed voices and the woman's hands fly to her chest in distress. The woman runs over to where Rick and I stand off to the side.

She grasps his hand tightly and mutters incoherent words. All I can make out is one sentence.

"You saved his life."

Drawn out of the memory, a silent tear makes its way down my face.

Rick. Always ready to jump in and save the day. Save a stranger. Help. Never one to take a life. No, because no matter what evidence they have, Rick isn't a killer. He never will be.

Even as I repeat this to myself, I can't help the small ounce of doubt that crawls it's way into my heart.

~

The days pass by in a hectic blur. My dad makes countless phone calls to the best attorneys in the state. My mom stumbles home late at night, exhausted. Working herself into the ground to keep the money coming. And me, shutting myself in my room. Trying to let my music drown out the sound of the raised voices which come from downstairs every night. Shut away, each minute is spent rifling through memories.

As the trial date looms infinitely closer, each day holds the weight of a ticking time bomb. Because once it hits zero, the memories sheltered carefully in my mind may be the last happy ones I have of me and Rick.

Pouring myself a glass of apple juice in the kitchen, I'm startled by the shouting that comes from my dad's office. At first I'm confused, my mom is at the hospital so it can't be her he's arguing with. Setting down the carton of juice carefully, I walk toward's the direction of the shouting. I peek inside my dad's office.

My dad's back is turned to me. He has the office phone clutched tightly in his large hand. Running his free hand through his hair in a frustrating motion, he falls silent as someone speaks over the phone. There's more silence before my dad begins to shout again. I jump slightly.

"What do you mean he can't provide you an alibi! He's innocent isn't he?" Eyes widening, I take a step back at this onslaught of information.

When did my dad find an attorney?

And Rick won't give an alibi.

But that means...

No. I won't let my thoughts stray there. He's not guilty, he can't be.

"Do you have any idea how guilty he'll look without an alibi? We may as well bid him goodbye this minute." I gasp and quickly cover my mouth with my hand before any words can fall out.

Is my dad so ready to give up on Rick?

I slink quietly back into the kitchen, rubbing my temples. If Rick doesn't have an alibi then this attorney better be the best in the state, because one wrong step and that ticking time bomb encasing Rick may send the entire case up in flames.