Hetalia Murders – Love and Death
Chapter One: Victim Number One
It was a cold night in the village. The moon was full and a few stars glittered among the dark velvet blue sky. A slight breeze was in the air; too cold for wearing summer clothes, but rather for winter woollies. Hardly anybody was walking along the village streets. A few cars drove by.
Well, actually one person was out, walking away from the horde of houses. He was carrying a small suitcase. He had short blonde hair with a double curl sticking out at the back. A cross that was painted red, blue and white like the Nordic flag, was placed in his hair. He had deep blue eyes that looked to have no emotion in them. It was rare that he showed emotion but only showed it to his brother. His dark clothes made him blend well in the night. He turned a sharp corner, which was often difficult for drivers to control. He came across nothing but a long stretch of trees and grass and a long wide road. He carried on walking, wanting desperately to get out of the village. His steps faltered.
He turned around and gazed at the village. A soft tear came into his eye. The man had left his brother all alone, lying in his bed, huddled in the warmth of his blankets, whilst he had packed his belongings and quietly left the house and him all alone. But he had to...he had no other choice. To get away from the thing that caused his nothing but trouble since he and his brother came here.
The man wiped his eye and carried on walking. He was halfway down the road when suddenly he saw a light, his own shadow splitting the light in two. He spun around and saw the bright light coming towards him. The man gasped and ran. The car was picking up speed and heading straight towards him. The man tried as best he could but knew the car was picking up the pace.
Suddenly, the man was thrown from his feet and landed by the side of the road. His suitcase flew from his hand and landed in a bush. The man groaned as he rolled across the road and stopped. The car had braked to a halt and the engine turned off. All was quiet. The man slowly opened his eyes and got up. His clothes had been ripped. The cuts and scrapes on his palms and knees screamed at him. But he ignored them. He looked around to see the silver car sitting there, its lights off and the engine no longer purring. The man knew he had to make a run for it before it was too late. He limped off down the slope by the roadside and headed off into the forest.
He was in for it now. He never should have left the village. It wouldn't have mattered either way. He had to get way now before anything else happened. He suddenly heard a car door slam shut and the man forced his legs to go faster but his injuries screamed in protest. The branches of trees and the stray bushes, clawed at his clothes, ripping them more and clawing at his wounds. He groaned in pain but fought on. He must have been about halfway through the dark forest when...
BANG!
The man cried out as the bullet hit his ankle, knocking him to the ground. The man tried to get up but the pain was too much for him. The man crawled by a tree and sat behind it, trying to keep low. He could hear the sounds of snapping twigs under feet and the clunking of a shotgun being unloaded and reloaded. The man quieted his breathing and stayed still. He could see in the darkness the tall man walk by him a few trees away, looking for him. The man stayed quiet, deathly quiet to his attacker. Then a twig broke under his foot and his attack looked round. The man on the ground tried to get away but it was no good. The attacker grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back against the tree.
"Please...please don't do this." He whimpered.
The attacker shook their head. It was difficult to tell who this person was with the clothes they were wearing.
"Why are you doing this?" the man asked.
The attacker lowered his gun. He peeled off a few clothes and the man on the ground gasped. His blue eyes widened in horror. No, it couldn't be...
"No! No, please. Please...please!"
In the distance a gunshot went off. It echoed off the trees and around about the forest.
In the village, a figure wearing black perked their head up at the sound of the gunshot. They chose to ignore it and opened a gate to a quaint little cottage fit for two. They walked up the garden path and bend down in front of the letter box. They reached inside their jacket and pulled out a large white envelope and slipped it into the letter box. The frown turned into a smirk and then the figure dressed in black turned away from the house and off the depths of the village.
The next morning, the huge road outside the village was surrounded and blocked by two ambulances, several police cars and two forensic vans. Police men and women tracked carefully through the forest, looking for clues. Halfway through the forest, two police men with blonde hair and wearing black suits were standing by the forensic team. A Chinese man walked over to them followed by a girl with long hair tied back into two high pigtails.
"Moring, Arthur, Alfred."
"Morning, Yao." DCI (Dectitive Chief Inspector) Arthur Kirkland said, looking down at the bloody corpse of the man that lay slumped against the tree.
"He's name was Lukas Bondevik, originally from Norway, been living with his brother." Yao said, pointing over to a man with white blonde hair was sobbing uncontrollably, against a police woman. "Brother, Emil, phoned up the police to report him missing. We soon found him and phoned up Emil to tell him the bad news."
"Poor sod." Arthur muttered. "What have we got on him?"
"Well," said Michelle. "There was an abandoned suitcase that was not too far from the road. We think he may have done a runner but never got far."
"We also found, scars and cuts as though he had fallen to the ground and the gunshot to the forehead indicates the cause of death."
"How long has he been out here?" Alfred asked.
"Well, he's been dead for ten to eleven hours." Yao said. "We'll have a clearer result when he get him to the lab."
"Excellent." Arthur said. "Keep me posted on this."
"Will do, Arthur."
"Jones, come on." Arthur said, as he began to walk over to Emil, who had finally calmed down. Alfred followed on behind, grabbing his notebook and flicking it to a clean page."You're Emil, aren't you? Emil Bondevik?"
"Half correct." The boy hiccupped. "Emil Steilsson. Lukas...was my half brother."
"I heard that you were living with your brother."
"That's correct." Emil said, wiping his nose on a handkerchief. "I have been for the last ten years."
"You never thought to live on your own?" Alfred asked, jotting down the notes.
"No, I didn't want to. It was hard trying to find a job around here. Lukas said I could live with him until I saw fit to leave. Nothing ever came up."
"Can you tell us why your brother was leaving the village?"
Emil hiccupped again. "I don't know. I didn't even know he was. I had a rough day yesterday with Ivan and he stayed with me until I fell asleep. He never gave anything away about leaving."
"Who's Ivan?" asked Arthur.
"He works at the Brandenburg Crown pub with Antonio and Lovino."
"Where can we find them?"
Roderich Edelstein was a manager of a local theatre group and was married to Elizabeta Edelstein. With the money he had been receiving he would have had enough to buy the manor house by the edge of Nympsfield. He walked down the stairs in his dark blue dressing gown, greeted his wife with a kiss as she cooked breakfast and made himself a cup of strong milky coffee. He sipped his tea as he wandered down the small hallway to gather the morning post. There was a letter from the landlord, reminding Roderich of the new refurbishments that his theatre would be getting next week. There were only a few bills that needed to be paid and a huge envelope with his and Elizabeta's name written in big biro ink across the front. He opened the letter and took out a big sheet of paper and a photo. Roderich gasped and dropped his coffee with a loud clunk.
"Roddy!" Elizabeta called. "Roddy, what's wrong?"
Roderich stared dumbfounded at the piece of paper in front of him. Elizabeta walked in.
"Roddy? What is it?"
Roderich said nothing. He held out the photo and the piece of paper and Elizabeta gasped in horror.
"Call the police." The bespectacled man said.
A/N:
Hello, a new story I'm starting which is based on a British TV show called Midsomer Murders. I don't know if you Americans out there reading this get the show at home, but for those of you who don't know, it's a murder mystery/crime show sort of like CSI or NCSI or Colombo or Murder She Wrote. This is sort of a little out of my writing range but I'm giving it a shot and seeing how it turns out. The plot was quite unbelievable when I was conjuring it all up. It took a couple of hours just to get it figured out so that it wouldn't be predictable or get boring halfway through. Now, I wanted to get this finished soon as, as it's nearly midnight and I have to get up early in the morning.
Anyways, chapter 2 will be up soon. I hope you've enjoyed reading this. Reviews are love :) mmmwah, goodnight everybody!
M.S.P
Xxx