THE TAYLORS [H.S]

15.

T/W: Mentions of death!!!!

The police were never called in for a suspected murder. Of course they weren't. How could they be?

For them to be called, meant a police report would need to be filed. A police report filed meant that an investigation would need to be done because a murder wasn't something that was ever brushed under the carpet, no matter how badly every police officer wanted to see said person gone from the world. Having the police investigate the murder of my parents meant we were giving them an open show to the chaotic world of our lives, and that wasn't something that my brothers were in a position to do. It meant that secrets they couldn't afford to get out would, and it would lead the FBI right back to us. That wasn't happening, under any circumstances.

So instead, what did my family do? They covered it up. As they covered everything else up. For once, I didn't ask for any of the details. I didn't want to know the details. All I knew was that when the police finally did arrive, they had been informed it was a joint suicide and were only there to collect and transport the bodies away.

They had walked in, more focused on the marble walls and the large foyer than the bloodied up bodies of my mother and father that lay in their bed. I hadn't looked in their room though. I couldn't bare too. My brothers on the other hand, they weren't into detective mode as soon as they could. I genuinely didn't know how they did it. I couldn't even glance in that general direction.

Instead, I took place next to Harry, who had been awful quiet since the word broke out. He didn't offer any condolences or soft embraces. Not that I would of known what to do if he had anyway. I was oddly calm. Too calm. I was a conversation away from a breakdown, so I appreciated that Harry hadn't tried talking to me, though had snapped at the police when they tried to question me about what had happened.

I had stared at them blankly, my eyes stinging with exhaustion. I couldn't even remember what they had said to me, all I saw was their mouth moving in slow motion, and Harry's body shielding me when the police got too close.

Trent, Micheal and Johnny had appeared within the next second. I think they said something about talking to them before anything, and walked the officers towards the bedroom instead.

That was hours ago, and for whatever reason, none of us had left the house. How we could all still sit in the same house our parents were taken out of in body bags was beyond me, and yet here we all were. And Harry. Harry was also with us, of course, where else would that fucker be

My brothers and I sat huddled around my fathers desk, silence gripping the room in a deathly hug. Harry was stood in the far corner, watching all of us like it was his life mission. He shuffled on his feet from time to time though other than that, stayed relatively still.

None of us spoke, though we did drink. A bottle of Black Bowmore whiskey sat on the desk between us all. A bottle from 1964, that hadn't been opened until now. It was only supposed to be opened on a monumentally special occasion. How ironic that we opened it after the death of our parents though.

Trent had ripped into the office like a hurricane, tearing the bottle from the shelf as we all trickled into the room. He had said nothing has he opened it, grabbing glasses from behind my fathers desk. They all clinked together as he dropped them down. Harry had declined the offer for a drink, though I did feel his eyes watching me as I took too big of sips as I drank to add to the numbness that swirled through my body already. I wasn't in the mood to meet his gaze and have something witty to say.

My parents were dead. Dead.

Gone from the world. It made me grimace and take another sip of the burning alcohol.