Alfred sat at the dining table in a very expensive apartment; this was what a penthouse looked like, huh? The floor was expensive oak wood and a crystal chandelier hung over the table. Nothing was gaudily extravagant, the table wasn't huge and the chandelier was small. Still, everything was of expensive taste. Katyusha sipped her hot chocolate that steamed in the chilly air. By habit, the girls kept the rooms fairly cold. They were used to no heating from their childhood, which was probably better since it would have cost an arm and a leg to pay for, though the two could probably fork the money over with no problem. As it was, Natalya was painting, her back to him and a gray painter's beret on her head. From what he could make of her work, it was her brother. Without any reference, she was amazing. He looked as though he could reach out of the paper and ask for the officer's help.

On the table before him were the file and a matching cup of cocoa. They had been discussing the events that had led up to Ivan's disappearance and all those who had seen him. Now Alfred wanted to see their childhood home.

"Did the two of you sell the property or did the government take it over?" he asked casually as he sipped his drink. It was hot, but he pretended it didn't bother him.

Yekaterina shook her head, "Since I was a minor, Djavakhi took over the property until I became eighteen three years later. I couldn't bring myself to sell it. I guess that little twinge of hope that Vanya would come back and he'd be lost if we sold the house to someone else. Also, the majority of the house is still in shambles. Just like the childhood days. I can't change it."

"I understand. Do you mind if I take a look around by myself once I leave here?"

"No, not at all. Ah, Natasha? Can you write down the directions to the old house for Officer Jones?"

"Of course sister," the little voice from the other room called. Alfred watched as she stood up, revealing her completely picture. Her brother was at eyelevel with a sunflower in his hand and a wide smile on his face.

"Can you describe to me, to the best of your ability, what he was wearing the day he disappeared?" he asked, snapping himself

"He was wearing a tan overcoat that buttoned on the right side of the chest right here," she showed him with her hands after placing the cup on the cherry wood table, "It was a tiny little thing that reached his ankles. He wasn't that big, really, just barely taller than Natalya who was two years his junior. He was wearing knee high boots with his pants tucked into them. They were also tan, but a shade darker than the coat. He also wore a turtleneck, it was worn though. I don't think it did much to keep the cold out. Oh and he wore this scarf I made him-."

"Was it, like, huge? Way too big for him that covered his face up to his eyes and flew behind him when he ran?"

Her big blue eyes blinked, "Why, yes. How did you know?"

'Because I saw those exact clothes on that boy at the performance last night.'

"I saw a picture of him wearing it somewhere. I might have left the photo at home by accident. May I ask why you made it so big? It's kind of irrelevant, but I am curious," he said quickly. Easy enough lie.

Yekaterina bought it easily, "I wasn't paying attention when I made it really," she laughed, a sweet, bell-like chime, "I just kept crocheting and didn't notice when it was already pooling on the floor. I was listening to a book on the radio. What caught my attention was when he came into the room and just gawked at the cloth and shouted, 'Katyusha! That's TOO big!' I was so surprised, but we started laughing and Ivan put it on. I told him I could cut it short, but he said he loved it the way it was. It just showed how much I loved him in every stitch." She sighed, looking back at the memory, "He was five at the time and the winter was so bad. I didn't like it when he went out in those old cloths." Suddenly her eyes turned pained, "If I had known I would only have one year left, I would have done so much more. I would have done it differently, right from the beginning. I would have kept stepfather from hurting him. I-I."

Natalya had come through the door and gently placed the paper on the file before rushing to her sister and holding her tightly and murmured to her in a different language. Once the older quieted down, Natalya glanced at Alfred before leaving. After she was gone, the blonde looked back to the young woman. "She seems very strong," he commented about the younger sister.

"Yes that she is. She hasn't cried once since the day after Vanya disappeared. Sadly, nor has she smiled," Katyusha commented, wiping her eyes on a kerchief.

Feeling bad, Alfred finished off his drink in one motion, ignoring the burning in his mouth. "I'll head over there now. If I find anything strange, I'll bring it back here, okay?"

"Yes, of course."

Natalya showed Alfred the way to the door, before he left, she roughly grabbed his arm. He turned to have her lips press against him. He flushed a deep shade of pink. Once she pulled away, she didn't give him time to speak, which was probably better since he would have looked like a total idiot instead of the decisive detective he wanted to portray.

"That is for wanting to find Vanya for us. Please, whether he be alive somewhere or if he should be brought in a body bag, please bring him back. I know you probably have procedures you must follow in your line of work, but do what you must. Katyusha may not want the one who has caused us this heartache to be punished severely, but if you can, I want them dead."

Before he could even respond, the door was closed. That was one freaky ass baby sister. But he'd probably say the same if Mattie had gone missing. He made his way to the ground floor and lit a cigarette before stepping into his car. He thought about Katyusha and Natalya. Then he thought about how he'd feel if Mattie had been taken . . . or Arthur. He ground the butt out in his palm.

He'd want justice.

The house looked rotten from the outside. Even wore from the inside. The floor was cheap and worn. The rugs were dull and frayed, some moth-eaten. He looked through the house, every room. It was exactly the same as when the police showed up twelve years ago. He looked in the living room and stood stiff. In the middle of the room was a fake Christmas tree made of cheap material, covered in lights and Christmas ornaments. Over the fireplace mantel was a wreathe of holly and a sunflower rested at the very top. At first, Alfred thought it was a replication of life as everything else was, but once he touched a petal only to have it fall into his hand leathery and warm, he knew it was real. It was amazingly preserved, most likely picked in its youth during the late summer and pressed in one of the many large books until winter. What made Alfred stop wasn't the Christmas display, but the paper all along the ground. Wrapping paper littered the floor, the shreds varying from brilliant gold to yellowed newspaper.

Puzzled, Alfred looked around once more and spotted a small candle in the large window facing the street. That wasn't so confusing, but it was lit and the officer could have sworn that no light had been in the room when he first entered.

"Creepy," he muttered and went to pick up a piece of thicker paper. As he had suspected, it was a card, yellowing from age. Written in a child's wobbly scrawl were the words

To Vanya

From Natalya

I miss you brother.

Alfred frowned before yelping in surprise. The fireplace suddenly held a flame that made an audible fwooshp sound at its birth. The American dropped the card, his hands shaking wildly, his eyes flitting every which way as his hands became clammy. Only his closest friends knew of his phobia and paranoia of ghosts, and if there was a ghost here . . . . Oooh damn.

Licking his lips, the blonde quickly left the room. As he entered the hallway, he noticed a light in the far bedroom to the left. He pulled out his gun, just to be safe, and made his way to the door which was left ajar. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed it open before jumping into the door way with his gun raised.

A child with large violet eyes exclaimed in surprise and clutched the flute tightly to his body. Alfred stared at him in shock. He wore a thin turtleneck shirt and khaki pants tucked into knee high boots. On the bed was an overly long scarf and tan trench coat. The officer looked back at the child who was now watching him curiously. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Slowly he reached out to touch the child, only to have his hand go through the little body.

Then the ground rushed up to meet him.

A/N: Yes, Alfred is still terrified of ghosts. Yay~!

Next Chapter: Alfred talks to Arthur about the case and has to try and force himself pass his fear of ghosts.