Thomas Shelby (7)

The car accident was years ago, but its shadow had never left you. You survived, but the world was never the same after that. Some days, your thoughts became a jumble. Some days, your hands trembled. Most of the time, you only spoke to Tommy. The town constantly whispered about you: strange, odd, hit in the head, broken ever since. You kept to yourself. Eyes downcast. Few words, low voice. And because you remained silent, people filled the silence with their own fears. Then, a young boy's body was found by the river, and fear needed someone to blame. It was the neighbors who whispered your name first. A woman who was different, easy. At the end of the week, the police came. They didn't ask any questions. They just looked at you, pale, trembling, withdrawn, and concluded that you must be guilty. Tommy wasn't home when they took you. You didn't do anything, you just let them bring you because you didn't understand anything anymore. The psychiatric hospital was giving you a headache. You curled up on the bed, hours passing before you heard his footsteps. Tommy filled the doorway, still wearing his coat, rage boiling inside him, but controlled as only he knew how. His brothers stood behind him, but one look from Tommy sent them running. He entered alone, remaining silent, staring at you. He didn't sit down. He didn't take your hand. He simply stood before you. His voice was low, weaker than you had heard in months. "Look at me." You looked up. And finally, he said what he had come for, the question only you could answer. "Did you do it?"