Hannes stood in his home library, staring out the eastern row of windows. The hardwood floors reflected the warm glow of his lit fireplace, filling the room with the scent of hickory and charcoal. Brown, leather couches and loveseats sat atop white, fur rugs, all of them centered around the lacquer coffee table where Hannes and guests could put their feet up.

The ceiling amazingly heigh, allowing for everything to echo around the room. Six-shelf bookcases lined the walls and contained all of his favorite literature. Old, leather-bound books from the 19th century and onwards, art books, diaries, and more modern paperbacks all adorned his shelves. On this day, Hannes had no desire to read. He was waiting patiently for what came next after Johan’s death.

His cell phone rang in his pocket. He calmly pulled his phone out and answered it.

“Yes? Yes, this is Hannes Sommers.”

There was a long pause as the coroner’s office told Hannes something he already knew, that Johan Sommers was dead. A satisfied smile blossomed on his face, but his tone carried feigned concern and dread.

“That can’t be. What happened to him? No, I understand. I’ll be there right away. Thank you.”

Hannes picked up his overcoat, black gloves, and scarf from the couch before walking out the front door. Asked to confirm Johan’s identity, Hannes walked nearly an hour to the morgue on the west end of town. He walked with his hands behind his straightened back, not batting an eye as he passed by racing police cars and APC’s. He ignored each scene of rioting citizens, of Old Kingdom flags being set on fire and trampled in the streets, of tear gas canisters dispersing their irritating fumes among crowds of nationalist rioters.

Minavere was being torn at the seams by the massive dilemma created by Osamu’s genocide of the human race, and yet, Hannes seemed completely at home in the chaos. It didn’t faze him one bit. He wore that same, calm expression when he was at home, when he visited the children’s park, and even when he slept, like it was permanently affixed to his face.

When Hannes got there, he was greeted by the coroner and escorted down the hall and into the morgue. Unsurprisingly, the morgue was filled to the brim with the relatively fresh bodies of those killed in the riots, both police and civilians. Their bodies were stripped nude and wrapped in plastic with identifying bracelets and toe tags attached.

There were dozens of bodies lying before him, most of them tucked away in fridges, but others laying out on gurdies. The only body Hannes was concerned with was Johan’s. The coroner pulled back the white sheet covering one of the bodies on the gurdies, revealing Johan’s pale and lifeless corpse.

Hannes stepped closer to the body, caressing Johan’s cheeks and running his fingers through his hair. His hand traveled to Johan’s chest, resting just over his heart. There wasn’t even the slightest thump against his hand. Johan’s body was cold to the touch, his mouth stained by congealed blood.

The coroner had to wear a mask to stand the smell of death in the morgue, especially with so many fresh, bloodied bodies around. It didn’t seem to both Hannes at all. He took several deep breaths of the morgue air as he caressed Johan’s body, stopping only when the coroner spoke.

“Can you confirm his identity?”

Hannes nodded. “Yes. It’s him.”

“Thank you. The medics that picked him up said his death was an apparent suicide. There was an empty gun and a near-empty bottle of whiskey on his person when they found him. I understand this is a difficult time for you, but with your permission, we can proceed with an autopsy to make sure.”

“Of course.” Hannes said. “Please proceed with the autopsy. I’ll fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.”

The coroner was completely taken aback. He had made this exact speech many times throughout the years. People’s reactions to the death of a loved one vary, but it was rare to see someone so calm and composed while looking at the corpse of their father. Goosebumps formed on the coroner’s arms as he scanned Hannes’s tranquil expression for even the smallest sign of grief or woe, finding none at all.

“As you wish, Mr. Sommers.”

Hannes stayed with Johan’s corpse for nearly half an hour before emerging from the morgue. He signed the paperwork needed to perform an autopsy on the body, to have it cremated, and to organize Johan’s memorial. He left the coroner’s office just as casually and calmly as he entered. Hannes knew that Johan’s death would be publicly announced now that the coroner’s office had notified him first.

He could only imagine how Minavere was going to react to the news. Would it embolden the Yakutsk Lords and the West End, sinking the East End and the United Pacifist Party in despair? Or would it have the opposite effect? Would all sides of the political spectrum come together to mourn the passing of a man who served his people, or would his enemies dance upon his grave? Whatever would happen next, Hannes wanted to see it with his own eyes.

Instead of going home, Hannes waited on the bench at the children’s park. With the Scarlet Senate building under lockdown and the violence spreading throughout the East End, there were no children in sight. Hannes was completely alone, staring off into the distance as the snow piled up on his shoulders and melted into his blonde hair.

His face was red with windburn and his eyes seemed to be gazing a thousand yards past the serene surroundings of the children’s park. Just like Osamu, he was gazing at something far away, something only those willing to walk their own path were able to see. Osamu saw a new world and peace eternal. Hannes saw something different with those sapphire eyes of his. His world was pitch black. There was no sound, nothing to see, nothing to feel or taste.

He saw an endless void of darkness and nothingness, a vacuum where all life and light was sucked away and made nonexistent. It was the undoing of life and creation itself, the cessation of all things. He raised his hands and made a picture frame with his thumbs and index fingers, capturing the ice playground in its frame.

“Hannes? Is that you?”

Yura’s voice pulled Hannes out of his contemplative trance. He turned his head and gave her a welcoming smile. “Hello, Yura. You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Neither should you!” Yura exclaimed. “Hannes, is it true? Did Johan really die?”

“Oh…I see…” Hannes said, his smile slowly fading. “So, the news is already spreading. Yes, it’s true. I’ve already been to the morgue to see him.”

“Oh my god…” Yura gasped. “Hannes, sweetheart…I’m so sorry. There are no words.”

“Thank you. Your kindness means the world to me. I didn’t want to go home or be at the senate building. This park is one of the few places where I can think clearly and be at peace, especially with everything going on recently. Though, I suppose people will want to hear from me now that he’s gone.”

“If it’s okay with you, would you like to come back with me? At least let me serve you some tea and a little food. You haven’t eaten today, have you?”

Hannes shook his head. “You’re right. I am a bit hungry.”

“Come back with me then, darling. Let’s get you warmed up and put a little something in your stomach.”

Hannes went with Yura to her small log cabin in the West End, away from the police sirens, rioting crowds, and picket signs. Yura’s cabin was situated in a cul-de-sac and was surrounded by a short, stone wall with a black iron gate in the front. Stepping inside, both Hannes and Yura took their boots off at the front before stepping onto the hardwood floors.

Nearly every piece of furniture inside was made of either cherry wood or mahogany. Just looking around gave Hannes a warm, cozy feeling. To his immediate right was her kitchen, and down an L shaped to his left was the single bedroom. The cabin’s center served as the living room, with two couches divided by an oval-shaped, wooden table taking up the space.

“Please, go ahead and make yourself at home, Dear.” Yura said. “The bathroom is down the hall to the right if you need to use it.”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Hannes said, taking a seat at one of the couches. Six framed pictures on the table caught Hannes’s attention. They showed a much younger Yura alongside a tall, burly man with a bald head and a full beard. They stood together in their wedding photo, held hands as they walked barefoot in the snow, and posed with their four children in a family portrait. In her youth, Yura was a beautiful blonde with sparkling, blue eyes, much like Hannes himself.

“Those were much better days.” Yura said with a smile as she brought over two steaming cups of tea. “We came to Yakutsk almost two-hundred years ago. I was young and not quite ready to be wife, but he was a gentle giant. He was very patient with me.”

Yura took a seat on the opposite couch and slid Hannes’s teacup to him. Hannes removed his gloves and wrapped his fingers around the steaming cup, the warmth bringing feeling back into his windburned digits.

“Have you ever thought of marrying, Hannes? I know you’re still young, but you’re quite the looker and you’re so kind. Any woman would be glad to have someone like you as their partner.”

“I haven’t really found a girl I like, yet.” Hannes said. “Besides, the way you spoil me, they’d have quite the standard to live up to.”

Yura laughed and waved off Hannes’s playful implication. “Oh, you flatter me, Hannes! See, that’s what I mean. You have your father’s charisma and charm. I…I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I can. Great as he was, Father had his demons, just like any other person. He had many regrets in his life that he never quite got over. It only takes one bad day to turn a man’s world upside-down. That’s what happened to him.”

“Are you saying he…”

Hannes nodded. “Yes. He took his own life.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Hannes. And to have to see the body yourself…it must’ve been awful for you. Those vultures out there will want to shove cameras and microphones into your face. I’m glad you’re here instead. They’d never think to check an old lady’s cabin.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Hannes caught a peek at the copy of The Cherry Orchard that he lent to Yura tucked behind the black pillow to her right. The ribbon bookmark was placed more than halfway through the book.

“I see you’ve taken up reading again.” Hannes said, a polite smile on his face. “You’ve gotten far in just a matter of days.”

Yura was taken aback at first, but her eyes lit up as she realized the book was tucked behind her. She pulled it out from its hiding spot and sat it on her lap, rubbing the leather, front cover with her wrinkled hand. “Ah, yes! It’s funny, I always thought picking up another book would be painful, but for some reason, reading this has brought back wonderful memories of my husband. He would often sit where you are right now and read on his days off, and I’d be sitting here, just watching him. It was nice seeing him smirk and laugh when something funny happened. You know, he’d even tear up when the book got sad. It was hard for most people to imagine such a big man getting emotional so easily.”

“Like you said, he was a gentle giant.” Hannes said, leaning forward.

Yura chuckled softly and took a sip of her tea before setting her steaming cup back down on the table. “Yes, that he was. He was very open about his feelings. It made it easy to understand him and talk things out. That’s how we maintained a happy marriage for a century.”

“My father could’ve learned from him. He was never open about his personal feelings.” Hannes said, his eyes drifting downwards into his teacup. “But I suppose that’s because he wasn’t honest with himself in the first place. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so gloomy.”

“No, please. Let it all out, sweetheart. I don’t have a single family member left. If anyone can understand your grief, it’s me. Say what’s on your heart.”

Hannes put down his tea cup and leaned back into the couch. “Words can’t explain how grateful I am for you, Yura. Johan’s demons were plenty. You were around when he first got elected into office, yes?”

“Oh, of course!” Yura recalled. “When he campaigned for his seat in the Scarlet Senate, he told so many heartbreaking tales of his service from the Second Great Holy War. His pain and regret were…visceral.”

“Yes…it was.” Hannes said, his hands clasped together. “As harrowing of a tale as it was, it was also completely fictitious. Or rather, it’s more accurate to say it was plagiarized. To tell you the truth, Yura, Johan’s story was taken from someone else. He used the experiences of a dead man to create this image of himself and capture the hearts of his people. It was a cruel deceit, but it worked. In reality, Johan did serve under Dracula during the Second Great Holy War, but he wasn’t deployed to Japan. He never saw the fighting firsthand, only what he heard from those who survived and returned home.”

Yura’s eyes were stuck open in utter shock. “What? He…lied?”

Hannes smiled at his reflection in the tea, his thumb tracing the lip of the cup. “Yes. It was all a lie. Johan went on to do things he wasn’t proud of before coming here to run for office, things so horrible I can hardly speak them aloud. I suppose I should tell you that…I’m not really his son, either. He wasn’t even my adoptive father. I posed as his son to help him run for office.”

“If you’re not his son…who are your real parents?”

Hannes smile wilted away, and to Yura’s surprise, he changed the subject. “You said you lost all of your family? But I see you and your husband had children. Do they not live here?”

“Oh…” Yura fretted, putting down her teacup and averting her gaze from her own reflection. “Well…our kids died with him.”

“That’s beyond awful. I’m so sorry to ask, but…what happened?”

“It’s okay to ask, I know it’s shocking to hear.” Yura said. “We were vacationing in Turkey at the time. His mother lived there. Once he tracked her down, he had hoped to bring her back to live with us. We stayed in Turkey for about a month to help her take care of some personal matters before she left for Yakutsk. It was a lot. There was a family home that needed to be sold off, doctor’s appointments, medical conditions she needed taken care of before she could be cleared to travel.

“Anyway, while all of that is happening, I get a letter from my best friend at the time saying she had just lost her husband to suicide. I was torn between staying to help my mother-in-law and being there for my best friend, but my husband made the decision for me. He said he’d have everything wrapped up shortly and I should go back home to take care of my friend. So…that’s what we did. But I had no idea that would be the last time I’d see him.

“…The Armenian Genocide started soon after I left. My husband and his side of the family were ethnic Armenians. He, his mother, our kids…they were all trapped and scared for their lives. They managed to flee and take up refuge in Romania, but…they were shot. All of them.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s…I don’t have any words for that. I can’t believe you lost everyone you loved so quickly. You’re unbelievably strong to have kept living through such a dismal tragedy. What kept you going, Yura?”

“For a while, nothing. Life was like a bad dream that I couldn’t wake up out of. I thought of ending it all many times over. Yet, every time I tried, something would come over me and tell me to stop. I like to think it was my family. They didn’t want me throwing my life away. So…I dedicated my life to enjoying the simple things. This cozy cabin…the snowfall, the sunshine, and helping the young vampires around me, like yourself. All these little things began to add up. I still remember what I lost everyday, but I’m happy that I can see that life isn’t all just tragedy. All love that is lost will eventually return to us in a new form, be it new people or new experiences.”

Hannes smiled. “That’s a beautiful outlook on life. You managed to turn such immense grief into budding joy. I envy you, Yura. And helping the young, too? It’s no wonder it always feels like you’re the grandmother I never had.”

Yura laughed, her eyes sparkling with glee. “Goodness, you’re so kind, Hannes. I often see you helping the young yourself. Those kids from the park really look up to you. I was walking by the other day and saw you and that Anton kid reading a book together. He looked completely enthralled. Guess it’s not just me you’re giving good books to, huh?”

“Oh, the book wasn’t mine. It was his, actually. It was a photo book. It had so many portraits of old family members inside. We had a lot of fun looking through it and seeing what previous generations of the Kozlov family were like.”

Hannes took a quick sip of his tea, closing his eyes as a handsome smile bloomed on his face. “Turns out, his family weren’t named the Kozlovs a century ago, but the Dragavei.”

Yura’s expression instantly shifted from one of joy to abject horror. Her entire face went pale and despite clasping her hands, she couldn’t stop them from shaking.

“They were from Romania and were very wealthy.” Hannes continued. “At some point, they left the country and came to Russia to live here in Yakutsk, but when they did so, they renamed themselves. I didn’t understand why at first, but it seemed the patriarch at the time co-founded a rather controversial group called Lăncile de Onix. Over a century before we had Osamu Ashikaga and Hima Chinagaregawa, Romania had Cezar Dragavei and Lăncile de Onix. It was an ultranationalist movement that sought to establish a vampire safe haven in Romania.

“Something happened that splintered the group, and some members of the Dragavei family came here. Considering all that’s happening now, the name change is very fortunate. I would hate it if little Anton were to be judged just for what his family did in the past.”

Hannes raised his head to see Yura’s reaction. His piercing, blue gaze ripped through her very being. It cast her into an abyss as deep suffocating as the ocean. In an instant, all the inner peace she had spent years cultivating was torn asunder. Vicious memories of her family’s demise in Romania came flooding back to her and turned her tongue to stone.

“Yura?” Hannes said, his voice calling her back from her momentary plunge into the abyss. His expression remained calm and calculated even in the face of Yura’s apparent distress. “Are you feeling okay?”

Yura forced a smile onto her face and cleared her throat. “Yes, yes. You’re right. That would be…quite unfortunate. Here, let me make us some dinner. I know you must not have a very big appetite after today, but promise me you’ll eat a small plate of food, okay?”

Hannes nodded. “Thank you for your kindness, Yura.”

For just one evening, Yura set aside what she had heard about the Kozlovs and fetched Hannes a warm bowl of beef stew. After some convincing, Hannes agreed to spend the night at her cabin, sleeping on the couch while she retired to her bedroom. Since the sun and moon were locked into an endless eclipse, the morning came without a ray of sunshine. Every hour of the day was drowned in darkness, making it indistinguishable from the previous or next hour.

After a day of solitude and rest, it was time for Hannes to go back to his false life as Johan’s son. He bade farewell to Yura, who sent him off with a red umbrella to protect him from the snowfall. After saying goodbye, Yura went back inside and slowly walked into her bedroom. She fell to her knees and reached for a small lockbox underneath her bed.

She set the box on the mattress and opened up, revealing a loaded pistol and her husband’s gold pocket watch. She took out the pocket watch and opened up, surprised to see that the hands had fallen still. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t get the hands to move again. Frustrated, she threw the pocket watch across the room with a bestial scream and sunk her head as she sobbed into her duvet.

The pain and misery of losing her entire family came back to haunt her with a renewed vengeance and mercilessness. She had completely relapsed from over a century of recovery. She took the pistol into her right hand and took off the safety before aiming it into the side of her head. Her finger curled around the trigger as she sobbed violently in her own room, framed pictures of her husband and children watching her.

She opened her eyes and saw those happy snapshots of the past, of better days gone by. It didn’t purge her of her sorrow, but it did make her remember the other times she thought of ending her life. It made her remember that feeling she’d always get, that her family was watching her and didn’t want her to waste her life.

She walked out of the house in her nightgown, taking only her black overcoat for extra warmth. She marched down the street like a zombie with the gun in her hands and the light in her eyes replaced by in inescapable darkness. Seeing the two-story, Kozlov family home where Anton lived, she rang their doorbell.

Anton’s father, an average-height man with curly, black hair answered the door with a delighted smile on his face. The Kozlovs knew Yura as the neighborhood grandmother, a kind and caring, lady with a heart of gold.

“Yura!” He exclaimed. “Good morning! How are you today?”

Yura aimed the gun at his face, instantly turning his smile into a ghastly, fearful expression. He slowly backed away with his hands up, allowing Yura to walk in and close the door behind her.

“Yura? What are you doing? Please…put that down.”

“Peter…You’re the son of Cezar Dragavei, aren’t you?” Yura asked with tears in her eyes.

“Yura…”

“Aren’t you?!” Yura screamed. The noise alerted Peter’s wife, who was three months pregnant. She stood from the long, rectangular table in the dining room and ran towards the house entrance.

Peter, scared for his life, answered the question honestly. “Yes…I am.”

“Honey? What’s going on?” she asked as turned the corner.

Peter’s answer was all the confirmation Yura needed. She squeezed the trigger and shot Peter in his head, then turned the gun on his screaming wife and shot her once in the shoulder, then three times in the back as she tried to run. She collapsed in the kitchen, tipping several pots and plates off the granite counters as she fell. She wept in agony as she tried to crawl along the floor, her blood staining her long, blonde hair and leaking through her nightgown.

Yura followed her into the kitchen and shot her twice more in the back of her head. Just to make sure she was dead, Yura turned her over onto her back, seeing her eyes roll into the back of her head and blood pour from both of her nostrils. Knowing there was one more Dragavei in the house, Yura marched into the dining room in search of him, finding no one. She checked the downstairs bathroom, the living room, and even the pantry for any sign of Anton.

Her search took her upstairs, first searching Anton’s room. She checked under his bed, underneath his blue race car sheets, and then in his closet and bathroom. He was still nowhere to be found. Lastly, Yura checked his parents’ room. She walked in slowly and closed her eyes, standing completely still. She waited in one spot for over a minute, but those sixty odd seconds felt like an entire lifetime passing by. She suddenly turned her gaze towards the walk-in closet and flung open the door.

Found by Yura, Anton screamed in terror and raised his hands over his face. Yura shot him two times, the bullets passing through his hands and hitting him in the jaw and shoulder blade. He slouched against the back wall with blood pouring down the right side of his jaw and neck. His arms and legs twitched as he fought to get back up onto his feet, but it was too late for him. Yura shot him two more times in the chest, piercing Anton’s heart and killing him instantly.

Her task done and the house sunken in deathly silence. Yura fell backwards with her gun in her hand. Anton died with his eyes wide open and dyed red by ruptured blood vessels. His corpse stayed right at her, and Yura glared right back at him.

“Life’s…all done,” Yura muttered, crying softly, “…as if I never even lived it…”

Yura aimed the gun at her heart and pulled the trigger, killing herself. Stopped in the middle of the street, not far from the Kozlov home, Hannes heard the shots rang out over the course of six minutes. He closed his eyes after he heard a final shot ring out after the initial cluster used to kill Peter and his wife. Hannes knew the final, singular shot that came after a sporadic group of them meant the shooter committed suicide.

His calm, handsome smile returned to his face, his red umbrella casting a hellish, scarlet shade over his body. Without a word, he walked further into the darkness and snowfall of Yakutsk, disappearing from the neighborhood as though he was never even there.