[ WP ] After years of searching for your sisters killer you find away to go back in time only to find the killer is you .

“ Food is ready! ” My mom yells from the dinner room. 
 I close the photo album and stand up. My thoughts are far away, but I feel I am hungry. 
 “ I ’ m sorry, son. ” My father put his hand on my shoulder. He knows what I am thinking about. And so does my mom, and my little sister. It has haunted me for years now, and it still does. I know that my parents think about it, about her, a lot too, but they aren ’ t obsessed with it like I am. Today, March 21th is her birthday, she would ’ ve been 21. But she never lived to be older than 9. I was seven years old when she died. Little Claire was only 2 then, she didn ’ t know Amelia. But I do, we were very close, I even was the last one to see her, to talk to her, but I can not remember what happened. I couldn ’ t remember it 12 years ago, when I was at the police office, nor can I remember today. I went to the cemetery this morning, and put new flowers on her grave. 
 
 Remembered with love 
 Amelia grace young 
 03.21.1990 - 08.12.1999 
 
 I talked to her, like I do every time, but she doesn ’ t hear me. She doesn ’ t answer me. I don ’ t know why I fell so bad about it. Maybe it is because if only I could remember what happened that day, she could rest in peace. But now no one knew what happened. The police decided it was suicide and closed the case. I know my parents didn ’ t believe it, but they accepted it. Something I could not do. I knew it wasn ’ t true. My sister would never kill herself, she loved life. Ever since that day I have been investigating. Now, 11.5 years later, I still didn ’ t know what happened. Maybe investigating isn ’ t my thing, but at the day of her funeral, I promised her that I would find her killer and take revenge. 
 “ Ethan, please stop. ” My father interrupts my thoughts. “ I know it is hard for you, but so is it for us. And it is over. It is not your fault, and there is nothing we can change about it. I know you ’ ve been looking in the photo albums. But if instead of looking for clues, you would just try to remember the happy things. You ’ re making it hard for us too. ” I see the tears in his eyes. But instead of apologizing, I slam my fist on the table, and run outside. 
 “ You just don ’ t give a single care about her! You never did! ” I scream as I slam the door behind me. It is still cold outside, but I barely feel it. I kick the tree so hard it hurts my knee. The tears stream down my face, I bite my lip to stop the tears, but it doesn ’ t work. I just have to do Amelia justice by finding her killer. And have enough evidence so he goes to jail. It ’ s a promise, and I don ’ t break promises. 
 I walk into the park and sit down on a bench, on the side of the pond. Some ducks squawk at me, but I ignore them. They know I mostly feed them when I go here, but I don ’ t have anything in my pockets right now. I silently apologise to them, but I don ’ t think they understand. A paper rolls by, I pick it up. It ’ s today ’ s paper. Even though it is covered with dirt I pick it up and start to read. One of the advertisements asks my attention. 
 Working time machine invented by Jacob Miller, 22 Queen Street. Looking for volunteer to try it out. 
 There is only one thing racing through my head now. What if I could go back in time and find who killed my sister. Queen Street is the other side of town, but I must walk by it now, just to talk to this man. I stand up and start to walk. I know where Queen street is, the only thing is that it is at least 45 minutes from the park. I avoid my own street, so that costs me another 5 minutes. I cross Park Ave, and William Street, and I smile when I see the sign with Queen Street on it. I walk down the street to find number 22. It is a small house, small but still 4 stories high. The door sign tells me it indeed is this house. 22, J. Miller. I take a deep breath and knock on the door. No answer. I knock another time. Just as I want to walk away, I hear someone walking on the stairs. The door slowly opens and a small, old man appears. He doesn ’ t look like how I imagined inventers at all. He looks a bit like my former sports teacher, but then a foot shorter. He wears an Adidas suit, and casual sneakers. 
 ( 1/2 )
