APARTMENT 302

“I had no other choice. This is the only way. I can’t bear it any longer.”

“When I look at you…All I see is everything I’ll never have.”

“You opened doors I had sealed shut. You made me feel again…something I had forgotten how to do.”

“And maybe that’s why it hurts so much.”

“You reminded me of who I was before the world taught me to bury it.”

“You made me believe in things I had already grieved.”

“But I must do it. I must.”

“I’m sorry…God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It never was.”

“I know this will haunt me. I know I’ll see your face every time I close my eyes.”

“But this is the only way to silence everything screaming inside me.”

“This isn’t out of hate. It’s because I loved you too much.”

_

October 24th, 2012

The room was cold, yet the window was closed. The AC was off, and so were the lights. There was no sound except the soft fluttering of a single strand of yellow tape at the entrance, dancing faintly with a breeze that shouldn’t have been there.

Amelia Collins was sitting outside on the hallway floor. Her face hidden in her hands, petrified, frozen by what she had just seen, her knees were pulled tightly to her chest, like she was trying to protect herself from the world, from the image that refused to leave her mind. Her phone lay beside her, the screen lit, buzzing softly as it rang again. She had dialed her mother three times, but her hands couldn’t stop shaking long enough to say a word. She wasn’t crying, nor did she say anything. She just sat there, repeating in her mind: “He would never…He would never”.

Inside the apartment, the silence felt heavier than death.

Detective Rios was the first to enter after Amelia. The hallway behind him still echoed with distant voices, neighbors whispering behind closed doors, the click of a camera from the forensics team. But inside the apartment, there was only Arthur Collins’ body.

He was hanging from the ceiling by a coarse black rope. His body swayed slightly, slow and unnatural. His face was bloated, a sickening blue, purple, and gray mix. His eyes were half-open, glazed over and lifeless, fixed on nothing. The skin around his neck was deeply bruised, the rope cutting harsh lines into the flesh. His fingertips were curled inward, frozen in a final, useless attempt to claw at the noose.

The scene was clean, almost too clean. A few drops of blood had soaked the beige carpet. Detective Ríos stood silently, letting his eyes scan the room. His jaw tightened. Crime scenes had a rhythm to them, a language. This one didn’t speak. It whispered. And the whisper said: something’s not right. Not a single broken window, nor an object out of place. Just the vast noise of silence…and the body

“Give me the big picture here,” Rios said, still scanning the room. “I want the full overview, everything you’ve got so far.”

“Arthur Collins, male, 27 years. Wrist cuts are superficial,” Detective Clark said, reading the notepad she had in her hand. “And two glasses with a handwritten note next to them on the coffee table. No one heard anything. The sister found the body 40 minutes ago.”

The two detectives stood in front of Arthur’s body, silent.The air felt heavy, like the apartment itself was holding its breath. Detective Clark kept her arms crossed, her eyes scanning every corner, while Ríos stared at the note, as if it might speak if he waited long enough. Footsteps echoed behind them, slow and careful against the polished wood floor. They turned. One of the forensic techs approached, fully suited in white, his gloves marked with faint traces of powder and dust.

“We found an empty bottle of benzodiazepines in the kitchen,” he said, voice calm, but his eyes flicked briefly toward the body. “It was tucked behind the sink. Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Ríos nodded once, his jaw tightening. Natalie Clark didn’t say anything, but the way her brows drew together made it clear; this didn’t add up like it should.

Reaching the kitchen, Detective Rios grabbed the empty bottle, examining the label. Arthur’s name was printed on it. The prescription date was less than a week old, and the dosage suggested should’ve lasted at least a month.

Ríos turned to face Detective Clark, the empty bottle still in his hands. His expression was a mix of doubt and something quieter, acknowledgment, maybe, or something closer to suspicion. He let the bottle hang between them briefly, like it might say more than he could.

“Either he took too many… or someone helped him,” he said, furrowing his brow.

Clark looked at him, almost incredulous. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight slightly, her patience thinning.

“Detective, how could someone have helped him?” she asked, her tone sharper now. “It’s clearly a suicide. How could he take too many and then hang himself? Come on, Ríos.”

She gestured toward the living room, where the crime scene techs were still moving quietly around the body, taking photos and collecting samples. The apartment was still, clinical, almost peaceful. But Ríos didn’t move. His eyes drifted toward the bedroom door, then back to the bottle in his hand. He didn’t respond immediately; he just stared, like waiting for something to feel wrong.

Outside the apartment, Amelia hadn’t moved.

Her back was still pressed against the wall, knees tucked tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to keep from falling apart. Her calls had fallen on deaf ears, each unanswered ring making the silence feel heavier, more suffocating. She looked like she was in a trance, her eyes open but not focused on anything.

Her mind had slipped somewhere far away, into a gentler version of the present, one where she had just arrived at her brother’s apartment and found him in the kitchen, barefoot, his hair still messy from sleep, holding a cup of coffee with a grin on his face. Waiting for her. Teasing her about something dumb, the way he always did. Still whole. Still the person she’d always known.

A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her back to reality.

Amelia flinched.

She looked up slowly, her eyes glassy and unfocused, like she hadn’t quite returned from that other world yet. A young officer stood in front of her, barely older than she was, wearing a hesitant expression and holding a small notepad in one hand.

“Ms. Collins, I’m Detective Clark,” she said, raising her hand to shake with Amelia’s. “Detective Rios would like to have a word with you…If you don’t mind,” she asked hesitantly, not trying to push her into more conflict.

Amelia kept staring at her, her mind still fuzzy from the situation. “Oh…yeah, sure,” she mumbled, rising from the floor. A sad look followed on her face as her body moved without consent while following Detective Clark.Everything around her felt blurry, far away, as if she were underwater and the world was above, muffled, unreachable. And still, she walked.

Not because she understood what was next, but because standing still felt even worse.

Reaching where Rios was standing, she felt even more dizzy. It was as if the ground beneath her was shifting, as if the air had thickened. Her knees trembled slightly, and for a moment, she thought she might faint.

Still, she kept walking. She had to. Causing a scene felt like too much right now.

“Hi, Ms. Collins, I’m Detective Rios. I want to ask you some questions,” he said, voice firm, his face unreadable.

Amelia blinked, trying to focus, trying to breathe.

“Okay,” that was all she could say. One word, barely more than a whisper, was all she had in her. It floated between them like fragile glass, ready to shatter.

“So, Ms. Collins,” he said, with a soft tone in his voice. Careful not to straddle her.“Can you tell me what happened when you got here?”

She blinked a couple of times before answering, trying to pull herself back to the present. “I…I just walked in, and the door was unlocked,” she said finally. “I thought that was weird…” She paused, swallowing hard, her throat dry.

Rios nodded calmly, encouraging her to continue. “And…?”

“And I…I called his name twice, even a third time. He didn’t answer,” her hands fidgeting with the gem of her shirt, something to hold onto, something real. “I walked inside and…and… I found him h…hanged”

Rios remained still, patient. No notebook. No pen. Just listening.

“Then I saw blood…I didn’t know what to do,” she said. Tears finally rolled down her face, slow at first, then unstoppable.

“I’m sorry, I…I can’t do this anymore.” There was a long silence after that, thick and heavy, only broken by the distant hum of voices in another room and the faint crackle of a radio.

Amelia’s arms crossed over her chest, more for comfort than protection. She looked at Rios, finally making real eye contact.

Just as Rios was about to speak, a voice called out from the background, echoing down the hallway.

“Amelia?”

“Mom?” Amelia said, her voice cracking beneath the weight of everything.

The moment she turned around and saw her, she ran straight into her arms, her body trembling, the sobs finally breaking free as if she had been holding them in for hours.

But her mother didn’t react right away. She stood there, frozen, as if the world had stopped around her. Her eyes scanned Amelia’s pale face, tear-streaked, her hands shaking uncontrollably. There was blood on her sleeve, and the sight of it made her mother’s breath hitch in her throat.

“Amelia…?” she whispered, the word barely making it past her lips. Her arms moved hesitantly at first, then wrapped around her daughter tightly, instinct taking over.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice breaking mid-sentence. She looked around the room, confused and overwhelmed, her eyes finally landing on Rios.

The way he stood, the grim expression on his face—it told her more than she wanted to know.

Her mother’s voice cracked through the silence.

“Where is Arthur?” she asked, worry heavy in her tone, her eyes darting between Amelia’s pale face and the unfamiliar surroundings. Her hands rested firmly on her daughter’s shoulders, grounding her, pleading silently for some kind of answer, anything that could make sense of this.

“Amelia… where is your brother?” she repeated, louder now, the fear rising in her chest like a tidal wave.

But Amelia didn’t move.

She didn’t blink.

Her mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, locked somewhere far from the present. Seconds passed like hours. And then, like something inside her finally cracked open, her voice came out raw and broken.

“He’s gone, Mom!” she cried, her whole body trembling as the words tore out of her. “He’s gone!”

The room went still.

Her mother stared at her, frozen, the color draining from her face. Her hands, which held Amelia with strength moments ago, now trembled with disbelief.

Hearing the noises, Detective Clark walked towards them, wondering what was happening.

“No…No, he wouldn’t do that…not my son,” Amelia’s mother whispered, her voice barely holding together as her gaze fixed on nothing, eyes wide and glassy. “I…I should’ve known.”

Amelia’s chest ached with her mother’s voice, as if someone was tearing her heart out. “He…He left a note, Mom. I…I didn’t want to believe it either.”

Her mother shook her head violently, as if trying to wake herself up from something unreal. Then, abruptly, she pulled away from Amelia’s embrace, almost stumbling backwards.“No. No, you don’t understand. He called me yesterday.” Her voice was rising now, desperate, frantic.

“He said he was going out. He said he was feeling better. He even laughed, Amelia. He laughed,” tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them.“He told me he was going to try again. He promised he’d try.”

Clark lowered her gaze. Not wanting to interfere too much. “Sometimes, people hide their pain too well.”

Amelia’s mom turned to face Clark with a sharp look.

“But I’m his mother!” She snapped.“I should’ve known,” her voice broke.“I should’ve known…”

She sank onto the nearest chair, her hands trembling as they clutched the sides of her head. The phrase kept pouring from her lips, again and again, like a prayer turned curse.

Amelia stood frozen, helpless. The room around her blurred, the sounds muffled, just her mother’s voice echoing in waves, crashing against the walls of her chest.

She thought of Arthur’s last message. The way he signed it. The way he said goodbye without really saying it.

“Okay, why don’t we take this situation to the station?” Rios said, his voice firm but measured, trying to interrupt the emotional storm and bring some structure to the chaos.

Detective Clark nodded, giving him a quick glance of silent agreement.

“We’ll talk more there,” she said, her tone now gentle, almost reluctant to pull them away, but knowing it had to be done.

Rios stepped forward. “We’ll need a statement from both of you. Just the facts for now,” he looked toward Amelia’s mother, who still sat in a daze, murmuring to herself.

“Can she come with us?” he asked Amelia quietly.

Amelia swallowed hard.

“She’ll want to… even if she can’t say it yet.”

They exited the apartment in silence. Outside, the sky had turned a pale grey, the kind that made everything feel heavier. Arthur always said that it made the city feel like it was holding its breath.

As they walked to the patrol car, Amelia turned to Clark.

“Do you think he meant to…?”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. The word die caught in her throat.

Clark hesitated. Then she said, “That’s what we’re going to find out.”