Everyone was devastated after mom's death. Sure, we had known what was coming, but that's the difference between just knowing and then experiencing. The difference is pain, So much more pain.

Anyway, everyone seemed to have their own problem and everyone wanted to deal with it on their own. Dad couldn't sleep. I guess it was the thought of the cold unoccupied side of the bed that gave him an ultimate dread and stopped the sleep from coming.

Don's short temper shortened drastically. Simple words would set him off. Time after time he would snap at me, but thankfully he never hit me, though I did give him reason. As for me, I was the worst of them all.

I stare endlessly at the bottle on the floor. It had to have been 5:00 in the morning when I finally found myself at home. I remembered dad's pills as soon as I walked in. He stopped using them a while ago but I recall the bottle to still be quite full. When we finally decided to do something about his insomnia, that's when the doctor recommended that he take Clonazepam, sleeping pills.

I rushed into the bathroom with all of my pain hitting me full force. I tore open the medicine cabinet and managed to clumsily knock all of the bottles into the sink or onto the floor. I had scrambled to the floor to find what I was looking for, and that's were I am now; staring at it as it lays unmoving in the middle.

I reach for it, my mind finally slowing down, when a knock on the door alerts me that I have woken dad up.

"Everything alright in there Charlie?" I stop and pull my hand back.

"Yeah, I just lost uh…" I pause shakily, unable to produce a semi-believable excuse.

"Your lunch?" Dad supplies leaving me confused. Why would I be eating my lunch in the- oh! I remember the term and feel utterly stupid if only for a moment.

"No, Dad I'm fine." I hear him sigh and now I feel worse. I managed to wake Don up for nothing and now him. I always get in people's way.

"Alright, but if you are sick tell me so I can call you out of school." I do a double take as if trying to hear his words again. I shoot up to the door and crack it open with wide eyes.

"What did you just say?" He turns from walking down the hall.

"I said I was going back to bed. Maybe you should get your ears cleaned out." He grins and continues his path.

I shut the door and lean against it. My mind racing again. Racing around and around, turning over every rock and remembering every skeleton. I need to stop it. The clock in the bathroom hits 5:10am; glancing dazedly at the bottles on the floor, my eyes only seem to focus on that one, almost full, bottle of pills.

I sit unmoving on the couch; my eyes trained on dad and Don. They're taking care of funeral costs. Low large rimmed glasses hang off of dad's nose while Don rubs at his eyes. If life costs a lot, then death must cost ten times as much because we are definitely having trouble meeting the cost.

"Do we know a date yet?" Don asks as he gets up. I assume he's going to get a beer.

"Tuesday," Dad says as he pulls off his glasses and places the current stack of papers he'd been reading down to the table.

Numbers, I'm good with numbers, but not anymore. Normally no one can separate me from my numbers, but now it's different. Now you can't get me near them.

"Would you get off your ass?" Don asks exasperatedly as he passes me.

"Be nice to him Donny, this has been pretty rough on him." Dad says and stands up to walk over.

"It's been rough on all of us, but why do we get stuck with all of the work. Speaking of work, I can't really keep taking days off; I'm going to get fired." Dad stops mid way so now it is Dad standing on one side, me sitting slouched on the couch, and Don standing on the other side.

"You mean they're not giving you anymore days off? Your mother passed away, I'd think you'd be entitled to more then just 4 days." Dad states and elbows me to get me to move onto the middle of the couch. Once I am there he sits down heavily.

"To tell you the truth, 4 days was actually pushing it." He sits on my other side just as dad did.

We all stay quiet for a while. Touching family moments take time, but something tells me that this isn't going to end up as one. Don might not sound angry, but I know deep down he wants to scream at me; tell me that I am worthless. He won't do it now because he'll only stress dad out more. I'm glad dad's here.

"Well, I'm going to see if I can pack up some more things from the bedroom." He gets up and walks brokenly to the stares.

"I'll come help you." Don makes to stand up but dad stops him with a calm wave of his hand.

"I think I want to do this myself, Son," He mutters, and walks up. This has all the making of a good fight and I can't think of any way to stop it. Don turns a little and looks at me. Here it comes.

"I love you," I whisper weakly. Don doesn't look surprised, he only stands up and walks to the kitchen. I sigh, that's one fight successfully avoided.
Is there such thing as taking too many sleeping pills? Because in those five minutes it took me to practically down the whole bottle, I completely forgot that doctors set limits for reasons. Am I trying to kill myself? No, I'd never do something like that.

The Rest of the Story Will Be Told From Don's Point of View.

"I don't think he did it." I say to Terry after I come out of the interrogation room.

"He confessed Don. Everything adds up," She says plainly and we start walking down the hall. It's about 5:00 in the morning, but I was called in when the "murderer" came in to confess.

"Charlie mentioned something about more then half of those kids going to one of his teaching things. I think that's more then enough to warrant for some suspicion." I reply thinking back to when Charlie had come into his apartment.

"So, he could've still done it. And why would he confess if he didn't?" She tells me as if I've gone crazy.

"But he's not linked to the school in any way. Wouldn't you think that just maybe this guy should be in ties with the school?" Terry shakes her head even before I am done explaining.

"It sounds like a coincidence." I sigh and turn a corner. Terry stops and looks after me. "We're you headed?"

"I need to talk to Charlie," I call down the hall. Now that I see logic in what Charlie told me, no one else sees it.

"How can you just stand around and do nothing? Can't your "genius" brain see that Dad and I need help with this, Charlie?" I shout at my little brother. My voice echoes through the empty house. We had successfully managed to get rid a lot of memories. Dad had said it was better this way.

"We're hurting too. Dad's at the doctors for his insomnia. He hasn't slept in over a week. He almost passed out while helping me move the desk. If you would stop moping around and help, none of this would be happening!" I press my hands tightly against the kitchen counter and Charlie lays his back gingerly on the sink.

I'd be hitting him if not for the counter in front of me. But if Charlie doesn't start explaining himself soon, I might just jump it.

"ANSWER ME! Why are we suffering while you just sit there? You know what, Charlie? It was you! You killed mom, and I hope you're happy with yourself because you have to live with it forever!" I push the box of knives and forks onto the floor. The metallic clang mixed with my voice causes Charlie to flinch visibly.

Even though that happened more then a year ago, the memory is always as fresh as if it had happened a mere few minutes ago. Every time I snap and yell at Charlie, I hate myself a little more.

I pull my car up to the house and stare at it for a moment. Dad's light is on, which is strange because it's barely 10 minutes after 5am. Before I can think more about it, the light dies down. Now the house is pitch black; except maybe the rooms in the back which I can't see.

I step out of the car into the chilling morning air and make my way to the door. This is a bad idea. I can tell that Charlie hasn't been sleeping well, so waking him up won't solve anything. I stop at the door. My watch shines a bright "5:15am."

I reach out, debating. Charlie doesn't need to see me. I turn around and practically jog to my car. Charlie is fine; I'll give him time to think.

0000821

Hmm, answer to a question that was asked surprisingly a lot. Nah, the numbers that separate scenes mean nothing. Wouldn't it be cool if it was like a count down 'till some one died? Oh well, 's a pity.

Man! What would've happened if done went in? Would he find Charlie before it was too late? Bet ya' he'll kick himself when he finds out. Oh yeah, sorry for the shortness!

Reviews are nice. They make me feel all special!