The small white house smiles at me as I hold the tool to its owner’s death and to my success.

I fidget with my earpiece and listen to the voice on the other side. “Do you know what to do?”

“Yes, obviously. You’ve been repeating them to me for the past two hours.”

“Repeat your instructions.”

I fight the urge to say “Seriously?”

My brother, Malcolm, senses my minor annoyance with him through my pause. “Please, Sarah. For my sake.”

I sigh. “Go into the house, find the files, kill the old lady, get out of there. Make up the rest if things go awry.”

“What’s your definition of ‘make up the rest’?”

“Not sure yet. That’s part of improvising.”

He makes a noise of disappointment and worry which only makes me laugh. “Relax, relax. This is rather self explanatory, it’s not even possible to blow this up.” I clarify my analogy when I don’t hear a response. “For me to mess this up, I mean. The point is: it will be okay, I will be okay, and this will go according to plan.”

“Alright. But if you don’t get those files, Dad will never get out of prison.”

My voice lowers. “I know.” I rpause in case my little brother wants to speak. He doesn’t. “Okay, well I’m going in now. Don’t say anything unless it’s important. You annoy me.”

He chuckles and then turns off his mic.

I turn mine off too. If things get messy, I don’t want Malcolm to hear it.

Here we go.

I walk confidently into the house to raise no suspicion in the neighborhood. I unfold the flap of the envelope and reveal a key, which I use to unlock the door. 

Click.

Perfect. Malcolm’s master key actually works.

I open the door and close it behind me quietly but I make no effort to be stealthy once I’m inside. “Lady!” I call out, cupping my mouth with my hands to project my voice. “Where are you? I need to get something very important.”

A scurried noise comes from upstairs. It must be the grandma hiding from me.

I charge upstairs and take the gun from my pocket. I briefly run through the hallway and skim the rooms. All the rooms are open except for one. Judged by the sound from before, I conclude that this is where she must have hidden. 

I shake the knob. Locked. This is definitely it.

I use Malcolm’s key to open the door and find the old hag shriveled in the corner, her hands blocking her face. 

“Greetings, Mrs. Salazar.”

“What do you want?” She asks, voice shaking.

I bounce my gun between my hands to play with her fear. “I understand you’re a lawyer, yes?”

She nods.

“You took some very important papers a year ago. It was of a man’s case–a murder. His name is John Cunningham. He was accused of murdering his wife, Susan. Do you remember that case?”

Her small hands vibrate around her face, sending trembles throughout her whole body.

“I asked you if you remember that case, Mrs. Salazar,” I press again, a little less lightheartedness in my tone and a little more impatience.

“Y-yes. I remember that case,” the old lady stutters out.

“Good. Then you should know that he was wrongfully accused. He was innocent. My Dad would never murder the woman he loved. Susan killed herself.”

I step closer to her and she shakes even more. “I don’t remember that.”

“Yes you do. You’re the one who put him away when he was innocent. Your incentives for taking away a father? I’m not sure. But I know you have the legal documents that proves he isn’t guilty. I am here for that. Not the ones you forged.”

“What are you talking about, miss?

“Don’t lie to me. Where are the files?”

Her facade of confusion makes my blood boil.

“Where are they?” I repeat myself louder.

She points to a nearby shelf. 

I return the gun to my pocket and pull the shelf out of the desk and sift through it like a savage. It’s nicely organized; there are dividers for years and everything is sorted by last names. It doesn’t take me long to find the papers that locked away my dad forever.

I take the folder and place it into my messenger bag and pat the flap endearingly.

“What else do you want?” The stupid lawyer cries as I place the shelf back and wipe it clean of my fingerprints with a microfiber cloth that I return to my bag afterwards.

“Nothing else, really.”

Her body language screams for me to leave and I take joy in disobeying her desperate request.

“Will you tell anyone I was here?”

“No, no, not at all. I promise.” 

I look into her watering brown eyes for a moment, tantalizing them with my snarky facial expression. I plaster a glowing smile on my face. “M’kay.”

I playfully jerk my head from the lady, leave the room, and close the door quietly. I walk in place loudly and gradually get softer, mimicking my exit. After the sound of my footsteps completely fades and becomes silent, I hear her let out a sigh of relief. 

I laugh internally at the thought of her believing she’s actually in the clear. This is just too perfect.

I open the door swiftly and shoot her in between the eyes. I didn’t even give her any time to process her last moments. 

“I already lost one parent,” I tell the corpse. “You didn’t have to take away the second.”

The gun falls out of my hand and plops on the ground.

Wow. I am a cruel and horrible human being.

I stand still at the doorway and look at the victim before me. A small, raisiny woman sat up on the floor, blood dripping down her face. One eye open and the other semi closed. 

I did that. I am responsible for this.

I’m a… murderer.

This thought rings in my ears while the events leading up to her death replay in my mind like a stop-motion movie. My heart rate grows louder and faster as fear surges through me. 

I killed someone. Someone is no longer living because of me. People are going to mourn Mrs. Salazar’s death because of me.

I start breathing faster to compete with my constricting chest. A quick few seconds later, I fall backwards and lean on the door frame, gasping for air. Occasionally, I steal glances at the corpse I created.

“I just took a life,” I say for no one but myself to hear as my panic attack settles in. I didn’t think it would feel this bad. It’s a life for a life. She put my dad away so I took her life away. 

Why had the thought of killing someone not perturbed me before? Why now? Why do I feel bad now? She deserves this!

But this thought fails to ease my shame and disgust for my actions. I sit on the floor with my head between my knees and I absolutely lose my mind. 

I’m panicking on the site of a crime scene. I’m being ridiculous. This is no place or time for emotions. I have to remember what prompted me to kill her in the first place.

I force myself to cool down with one slow breath at a time and become cold hearted. I’m not functioning at my highest, but I’m well enough to get through this.

With that, I’m out.

Or… so I thought.

Before I can even completely get to my feet, the room spins and knocks me off balance, causing me to ram my head into the wall and fall to the floor. I try again, dragging myself upwards. I make more progress this time, managing to stand and almost walk, but then images of Mrs. Salazar flash through my mind and threaten my concentration. It doesn’t take me long to give in and let it override my stability system.

Just like that, I’m fighting for my life again. On the floor. On the crime scene which I commited.

Great.

My eyes steam and fill up with tears that streak my face horizontally. No amount of willpower will get me out of this one. I let out a long cry.

Mom and Dad would be so disappointed in me if they knew I was a murderer.

A small crackling noise trickles in my ears. “How are things?”

I don’t fully process Malcolm's voice.

“Sarah?” he calls again. “Was it a success? Did you kill her?”

I tap my earpiece to unmute the microphone. “Yeah,” I murmur, testing my voice to make sure I sound like the calm and collected big sister I’m supposed to be. “Mrs. Salazar is dead.”

“That’s great! Did you get the documents?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome!” He claps. “Are you out of the house?”

“No. I’m still in her room.”

“What? Why? Get out of there! Before someone comes.”

I dismiss his advice, still lying on the floor. “I’m starting to wonder if this was a mistake, Malcolm. Dad shouldn’t be in prison, but I don’t think Mrs. Salazar had to die.”

“Well, that was the only way to get him out. Life is full of tough decisions and this is one of them. The only thing we can do is handle it the best we can. That’s what you taught me.”

“Maybe.” I swipe at my soiled face. “She was a living human being though. She had a family.”

“We can talk about this later, just get out of there.”

“Alright.”

I rub the tears off my face one more time and attempt to collect myself. 

Then the door of the house opens and closes from downstairs. 

“Mom?” A man calls out. “Why was the door unlocked? Did you forget to lock it again? You can’t keep doing that.”

My heart leaps out of my chest and I curse myself for failing to leave sooner.

His footsteps sound on the stairs, likely heading to Mrs. Salazar’s room.

My eyes pop out of my head when I look at my surroundings: A gun is by my feet, I’m lying on the floor, and a dead woman is across the room from me. One look at this and he’ll know what I’ve done.

I need to leave NOW. I’ll be joining my father in prison instead of freeing him if that man sees me.

I beg myself to get up, but to no avail; I remain crumpled on the floor. I settle for kicking the gun away from me and towards Mrs. Salazar, although that won’t do anything.

“Mom?” The voice comes closer.

I brace myself for what’s to come, but release the tension soon after when I realize what’s about to happen won’t be so bad. I deserve it all anyway. As long as Malcolm gets to lead a bright future, I’ll be content with whatever happens to me.

A tall man rushes into the room and completely passes me. He drops at the sight of his dead mother. “What? Mom?” He runs his hands through his thinning brown hair. “What happened? Who did this to you?” He sits on the floor and cradles himself, followed by silent weeps.

I join him on the weeping aspect.

The son finally turns around to see me and jumps. “Who are you?”

I sit up and wipe my tears, pretending to not be scared or in shock. “No one important.” I want to add Just someone who killed your mother, but I resist the inclination.

“What are you doing here? Did you kill her?” He kicks the gun behind Mrs. Salazar so it is completely out of my reach.

I look at his brown doe eyes–which are painfully similar to his Mrs. Salazar’s–and contemplate telling him the truth.

“Sarah, what’s going on? Did someone catch you?” Malcolm talks in my ear in an alarmed tone. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them the truth. We’re so close to getting what we wanted. Don’t waste our efforts here.”

“Umm… I-”

“Well?” Mr. Salazar clenches his fists as his anger grows. “Did you do this?” He gestures behind him at his dead mother.

I suppress the temptation to hyperventilate.

“So you did, didn’t you?”

If I want to admit it, now is the time to do so. I just killed someone. What right do I have to get away with it?

“Keep your cool, Sarah. Remember what that stupid lawyer did to us. She took away the person we needed the most when our mother died.”

Mr. Salazar’s eyes burn into me. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you fully understand that you took the life of someone very dear to me? Someone very dear to her husband, friends, her daughter, and her grandchildren? You’re a heinous person.”

I cry unrestrained.

“Deny it please!” Sadness and rage glaze my brother’s voice. “Don’t feel bad for this. That old lady was the reason why you had to give up college and become my guardian at 18!”

“I should report you to the cops,” Mr. Salazar says. “There’s no way I’m letting you get away with this.”

I imagine getting hauled into the back row of a police cop and waving to my Dad in prison. Would that be so bad? I warrant a cruel punishment.

“What are you doing?” Malcolm yells. “Come up with something. Don’t just sit there and cry!”

My heart races even faster than before and my limbs tingle from anxiety. I hug myself and take slow breaths to try to calm myself.

“People like you disgust me,” the man says while fishing for his phone in his pocket. “People who take people’s lives… that’s unforgivable. That’s exactly the reason why my mother became a lawyer: To put people like you away.”

The irony in what he says is almost funny enough to make me laugh.

“Don’t do this,” Malcolm’s voice cracks. “I’ve already lost both of my parents. I can’t lose you too. I’m only 16. I’ll be all alone. Please. We’re family. Family comes first.”

A wave of clarity and reluctant determination hits me when I take in Malcolm’s words. 

He’s right. My job as his big sister isn’t over yet. I have to finish this.

I stand with confidence. “I didn’t do it. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Malcolm lets out a breath of relief and goes silent.

“What?” He puts the phone back in his pocket but keeps his hand wrapped around it. “Why else would you be here then? Clearly you killed my mother and now you’re crying because you got caught.”

“That’s not true, I was actually very close to Mrs. Salazar,” the lie sickens me but I have to go with it for Malcolm’s sake. “A few times a week I would go to your mother’s home to help her with housekeeping and cooking. Sometimes I would come just to keep her company, like I did today.”

He creases his eyebrows. “Why have I never seen you then? I visit my mom frequently.”

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” I shrug it off.

“She’s never talked about you either. She tells me everything.”

“She may have been embarrassed.” I make a guess to add authenticity to my alibi. “Mrs. Salazar was always the independent type, which was why she was opposed to accepting my help in the beginning.”

“I see. That part does make sense.”

I don’t know if I should feel thankful or guilty for Mr. Salazar believing my claim.

“How and why is she dead then? If you didn’t kill her, who did?”

“She did.” My stomach churns. “She killed herself.”

Mr. Salazar stiffens and his jaw drops. “What? No, that’s impossible. You’re just saying that to get yourself out of this. This is all fake. She never showed any signs.”

This next part feels personal. “They never do.”

“What?” He hangs his head low.

“She told me why she killed herself though.”

He raises his head just enough to look at me. “She told you but not even her own son. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” And I truly am, but not for what he thinks.

“What’s the reason? Why did my mom commit suicide?”

“She felt guilty for putting innocent people in jail.”
“She did what?”

I nod. “Apparently she lied in court and forged documents in order to make people look culpable.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. She never told me.”

“This is absurd.” The grown man breaks down like paper in water.

“Mrs. Salazar also confessed to me that she claimed my dad guilty and put him in jail for life, despite not possessing any substantial evidence. She told me how to get him out to undo this.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

I nod.

We both go silent and I focus on the sound of the analog clock, ticking away. I hadn’t noticed it before.

“I want you to know that I tried to stop her,” I blurt out, my conscience biting me. “I tried to pull the gun out of her hand but she fired it before I could. I’m so sorry.” It’s terrifying how realistic I sound.

“I see.” He frowns at the floor.

I just convinced this man his mother killed herself. Just like what the cops and Mrs. Salazar tried to do with me. How ironic.

I’ve done more than enough damage. It’s time to leave. 

“Mr. Salazar, I am truly sorry for your loss.” I slump as I walk out the door.

“Wait,” Mr. Salazar calls out. “I’m also sorry. For accusing you.”

I wish I could say that he had every right to do so, but I have to continue this false story for Malcolm. I settle for, “It’s okay,” and leave.

Just like that, I got away with murder.

Malcolm unmutes himself. “Thank you. Now we can be a family again.”

“Yes, yes we can.”

I just wish I didn't have to dismantle another family in the process.