Short but sweet. Would have been longer, but I'm exhausted. Excuse the last paragraph, it probably consists of a load of gobbledygook. I was literally sleep-writing!

Whirring. Whirring, blue and red lights flashing fast, giving the streets below an eerie glow. Whirring. The whirring sound of sirens, of his mind as he watched the tragic scene unfold from the high window of his office building. Whirring. And, as he stepped away from the catastrophe, it blurred, before becoming nothing more than someone else's problem. Someone else's hell. It was no longer any business. Though, Liam knew that it'd be no matter of time before somebody, anybody, discovered that he was the guilty party, particularly when he'd been bedding the victim's foxy sister. His eyes were two scarlet stones, cold and emotionless, hiding an internal pang of guilt from every wandering receptionist or machinist who happened to ask him for the time as he passed. He'd managed to reach his final destination unscathed; the bubble that he liked to refer to his office, from which he could watch in awe the consequences of his actions. Or so he'd thought. Having been in his life since the afternoon of his birth, Paul knew his brother as well as he did the back of his own hand. He could tell exactly when he was upset or angry or hurt, and this was most certainly one of those days. Cautiously, he approached him from behind, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder and making him jump a little in surprise.

"What's all that malarkey going on out there, then?" Paul asked, his eyes falling to the flock of ambulance and police service cars, the little antlike people speeding from one side of the street to the other in a matter of seconds. Liam sniffed, ducking under Paul's arm and returning to his familiar seat at his desk, trying to push all events of that day to the back of his mind.

"Rob Donovan's dead," he muttered, shortly, focusing on the few stray sheets of paper sprawled randomly across his desk. Paul could only stare.


"You heard."

"How do you know?" Paul asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Liam groaned internally, a curse word escaping his partially-parted lips. He ignored Paul's question for a while, creating a tense, unbrotherly atmosphere between them.

"I were there."

"You were-... What?"

"It were me, Paul." There was a stunned silence, Paul's mouth flapping open and closed in a fishlike manner. The four words had yet to embed themselves into his mind.

"Liam, I don't understand."

"What is there to understand? I were there when he died. He had a knife, he were threatening me with it and... And I sorted things out. Simple."

"So, wait a minute, you... You... Liam, help me out here, did you... No. No, you couldn't have, surely...?" Liam nodded gravely, gulping and therefore holding back a fresh round of salted teardrops and restraining an outburst of incoherent babbling.

"Yeah, Paul. Yeah, you're right. I killed a man, I murdered him. Whether I felt threatened or not, I still killed the poor bloke. I should have let him take me instead. I'm a murderer, Paul. A cold-blooded flamin' murderer."

Carla was perched on the edge of her bed, one leg tucked neatly under the other as music pounded away inside her ears through tiny little earbuds conducting sound from her iPod. Thankfully, she'd taken the afternoon off. Whilst she was supposed to be working, she had instead chosen to take the easier route and spend the day researching new Californian stock ideas. Of course, that made the poor, unfortunate PA's job of spilling all about the family tragedy her most challenging yet. As she noticed an intrusion into her private bedroom, Carla plucked her hot pink earbuds from ears and twisted her head to face her, her mind still wandering elsewhere. All she could think about was Liam, the softness of his lips when he kissed her, the heat radiating from his masculine chest as they made love, each gasping for breath yet perfectly eager to share one another's.

"Yeah?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, suspiciously, "I'm allowed to be here, you know. I'm my own boss and I work the hours that I want."

"No, no, this is not about your attendance, lateness or anything else Underworld-related."

"Oh. So, what is it about, then? Come on, spill?"

"It's about your brother." Carla frowned, glancing over her shoulder towards the ajar window and shifting her body closer to it as she became able to make out the faint whirring of sirens in the distance.

"What about him? He's alright, isn't he? Because he knows that, if he wants to stay on my good side, he has to learn to do as he's told and not go about ignoring—"

"No, Miss Donovan, it's not like that at all. This may be fairly difficult for you to digest... Your brother, he... His body was found at two o'clock this afternoon..." the PA replied, shooting Carla a sympathetic look. Carla, however, was eerily still.

"What do you mean? Is he unconscious?"

"No. Mr Donovan is dead. I'm sorry, but there was no other way to put it across."

"But... No. Who would want to kill him?!"

"They don't know. They're looking for fingerprints and items left in the area, but there appears to be no other evidence against one particular person."

"But who would have a motive?! He's my baby brother!" Carla exclaimed, her usually flawless face filling with an angry scarlet shade.

"Well, I'm sure there are plenty of people who your brother has angered over the years..."

"That's not funny! He's my brother. Yeah, he makes a complete cock-up of things at times and he does have a habit of doing the wrong thing, but he's still a good bloke... Or... He was..."

"I'll leave you in peace..." the PA murmured before turning on her heel and creeping out of the bedroom, carefully clicking the door shut behind her. Carla was distraught. Her tiny emerald irises flickered from left to right and back again. She couldn't concentrate or focus. Her vision was a blur. She was still sat on her bed, the angst-filled cries of Evanescence mere faint muffles against the silence that filled the air between she and the rest of the world. Her brother was dead. Her beloved baby brother. She couldn't accept that what she'd been plagued with was true. That he had been brutally killed. Somebody had wanted him dead, and that somebody had managed to get away with murder. Murder. The inhumane murder of her little brother. She couldn't believe that he'd gone, and she wasn't going to rest until she knew the facts, right down to the very last gory detail.