Where the Red Pools. - H.S. -

"Listen to me very carefully, Noah. It's very important that you repeat to me in detail what you just told the police." My mother's hand presses against my knee, forcing me to stop my obsessive fidgeting. A wisp of steam rises from the cup of fresh mint tea she has placed on the coffee table in front of me. With two trembling hands, I take it and begin blowing softly. They watch every move I make, as if I could fall apart at any moment.

"I don't think this is a good idea right now, Mum. She was in there for four hours and I think she needs to rest now. She has barely slept last night." It feels exactly like all those times I stood behind Louis when things got too much or simply too scary as a kid. He has been my voice more times than I can even count. All those times he answered for me in school when the teacher asked me something, or every time he ordered my drink for me in a restaurant. I have always been shy, but now it almost feels as if my voice has disappeared completely.

I should be screaming, really screaming with everything that I have got. But no sound comes out- maybe I've forgotten how to speak? My brain is completely frozen, forming a word- it feels like an impossible task. Her hand has slipped from my knee; she paces past me towards the window where she starts pacing back and forth. "We all had a bad night's sleep, Louis. The moment you finally decided to come home at four in the bloody morning, I was the one who had already spent two hours comforting her. You didn't see what I saw, you didn't hear what I heard!" Her hand briefly rests on her forehead. "It was bone-chilling."

"If I had known what was going to happen, I would never, ever have left my phone at home when I went out- you know that, so don't try to guilt-trip me! I would never have left her alone! Shit, I wish I had been the one to walk in first. That I had been the one who-" His voice trembles, and he drops his head. "I would do anything to turn it back, but I can't. I can't- I can't go back in time and save her from this- this- fuck..." It feels as if someone is twisting the knife that has been lodged in my chest since last night the moment Louis breaks down in tears, and I manage to move my hand over his. He grips my hand tightly in his own. "I'm s-so sorry, Noah. This is all my f-fault, I shouldn't have left."

When I open my mouth to tell him it's not his fault, my broken voice still refuses to cooperate. All I can do is cry with him. Maybe I screamed my voice to pieces last night.

"This isn't helping, Louis. You're only making her more upset this way." My attention shifts back to my mother, who places her cold hand on my cheek. I am forced to look at her. It has changed all of us- I realised that immediately. Nothing is the same anymore. "Listen, Noah, it's important that you don't talk to anyone about this. Nowadays, the police are completely unreliable, and the last thing we want is for the whole town to get involved. Besides, we need to salvage what's left of our reputation. If they hear you were there, what if they think that you-"

"Shut up- shut up," Louis spits quietly. "Not another word, because I know exactly what you're trying to scare her with. It's bullshit and you know it! He's still out there, and we need to leave the investigation to the police. They know where to start, and it's the only way we will ever get justice. Noah needs to talk about this, otherwise, she'll never be able to move past it. We need to get her professional help."

In this short time, I have also realised that closing my eyes will never be the same as before. Before, I could spend hours daydreaming about anything and everything, but now, the only thing left when I see the darkness is the only sound that had filled that silent space. My sound, and his sound—that will never be there again. And the realisation, the realisation that I will never hear him tell me how proud he is of me again.

The realisation that I will never come home from school to find him waiting for me with stories about his work, questions about boys, and all those endless lessons. He turned everything into a lesson because, according to him, there was so much to learn. My whole life, he gave me everything he had—his life experience, or at least the experience he thought he had. And his love, because he had so much love. Not just for me, but for everything he owned. For everything he dedicated himself to. Not many people can say this, but he made the world a better place. And now- now we're just supposed to let him go? Now I have to keep breathing as if any of this still makes sense- how is that possible? I can't even breathe anymore, I can't breathe.