A/N: TW for implied and...not implied?...domestic & child abuse and neglect.
I really didn't intend for this story to be so dark. But here you go.
"Get back inside Lena."
Lena looked up at her husband, twirling the parasol protecting her skin from the sun nervously. "Patrik...my love," She swallowed nervously, looking back at their young son, who was gently poking at the fish in the angel fountain and giggling, his brown curls, the very image of hers, glittering in the bright sunlight. "Judith gifted me this lovely parasol, the sun won't-"
Patrik grabbed her arm harshly, her silver locket clinking against the chain as he jerked her off the bench, their son looking back, eyes wide and innocent.
"I have guests coming over," Patrik hissed, his blue eyes harsh and steely. "I will not have you looking unpresentable." He gave a dismissive wave towards their son. "Take him inside too. For all we know, you passed that disease onto him too." He turned around sharply and went inside the manor.
"Momma?" Her son had come up to her, his small, pale face looking up at her, as concerned as a three year old could be.
Lena gently took his hand and slowly led him towards the house, careful to keep the parasol between her exposed skin and the sun. "Roderich, my darling," She said gently. "Your father is going to have people over. Please be good."
Roderich nodded enthusiastically, even as Lena thought: ...for your own good.
Vash's eyes flew open, quickly realizing he was back in his own room. He sat up, his hands shaking. Closing his eyes for a second, he thought back to the dream he just had. It was one of the most realistic feeling dreams he'd ever had. Especially considering it was of the three people he saw in the photograph from the house he'd just helped inspect. The one with the ghosts.
He reached over to his nightstand, his hand finding the locket. It was still dark in his room, his alarm showing it was just past two in the morning. The locket was cold in his hand, but running his thumb gently over the texture calmed him. Turning the lamp on next to his alarm, he opened the locket and looked at the burnt picture within. It only confirmed that he had actually dreamed of the family, years before the picture was taken.
Closing the locket, he wondered if the memory was real or if he was making stuff up in his sleep. Mentally shaking his head, he thought back to the house. There was something supernatural going on there, so it almost wouldn't surprise him if the locket was sending him visions.
"Come back after dark. He will talk to you then." The words of the ghost woman in the house came back to him, and he looked outside. It certainly was dark. Also a great time to fall into a trap if it happened that he was actually crazy and she was real, wanting him to come back after dark, alone, so she and her crazy friend - or friends - could murder him.
But at the same time… he wanted to ask her if his dream was real. Maybe they were who he was supposed to save…
His eyes falling shut from a sudden wave of exhaustion, Vash was quickly pulled back to unconsciousness, the locket still in his hand.
"Again." Patrik's cold voice commanded Roderich, who gave a weak "yes, Father" and reset the sheet music, restarting the piece for the fourth time that day. His fingers were starting to cramp, but he didn't dare complain. His father didn't like complainers.
They were up in the attic. It was partially furnished. The beams were exposed, but the floor was done enough that it was safe to be up there. It was spacious, with no windows. The only piece of furniture was an old grand piano, where Roderich often spent his days practicing.
They had a beautiful grand piano in the sitting room, and Roderich would play that one when guests came over. They would ooo and ahh, commenting how talented and intelligent he must be. His mother would smile and nod, not speaking. She no longer wore her silver locket. His father would give a fake proud smile and give fake brags about his "brilliant" son.
However, after the guests left, he would drag Roderich up to the attic, to the old, worn piano, and make him play until he couldn't play anymore.
"That chord in the second movement was horrible. You embarrassed me again. Your incompetence disgusts me."
Roderich would just keep playing, the music the only brightness in the dusty, dark attic. But its brightness was marred by the man standing behind him.
"A wife that can't stand the sun and can't lift a broom, a son who can't even play Beethoven properly. I don't deserve this incompetence."
Sometimes, if Roderich's table manners weren't perfect or his bed wasn't made properly, Patrik would lock him in the attic for hours at a time. When he was younger, his mother was brave enough and healthy enough to unlock the door for him, but as her health and will deteriorated, Roderich would be left to fend for himself until his father decided he'd had enough and let him out. He would often pull out the silver locket his mother had pressed into his hand after a particularly nasty encounter with his father when he was six. She had covered his hands with her bruised ones, telling him she wanted him to have a part of her in case she left someday. Patrik had been burned out of the picture.
He longed to go outside, back into the sun. He would often huddle in front of a giant window when his father was out, letting the sun that shone through warm his skin. His mother couldn't stand the sun; she would get painful red marks, and his father would get angry, calling her "disgusting" and "ugly". Patrik would often confine her to a room at the back of the house along the left hall upstairs, which had the windows completely covered. She was only let out when guests were over, and carefully avoided the sun.
When he was 13, Roderich decided he'd had enough.
A new day, another home. Vash, Mathias, and Berwald had been assigned an old mill a few miles away from the mansion they'd just inspected. According to Berwald, the mansion was going to be dedicated as a historical site, and would be preserved.
"It was structurally sound," Berwald said. "It's too old to tear down."
Vash was relieved. The second dream the night before had left him more distressed than the first. It was just as realistic, and he could still hear the haunting melody of the Beethoven song the boy - Roderich - had been playing over and over again. He needed to go back and get answers. He needed to know the rest of the story.
The mill was fairly small and more dangerous than the mansion, since it looked visibly run down and decrepit. The trio donned their hard hats and went around together.
Distracted by his dreams, Vash kept running into things and nearly tripping. The third time he ran into Mathias, he turned around, looking annoyed.
"What's wrong with you? You look exhausted, and that hard hat is only goin' to help you so much if you get skewered by a pipe tripping over a pebble." Berwald rolled his eyes, but Mathias just looked at him expectantly.
Vash looked away and shrugged. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Mathias shook his head. "Just be careful. Don't go passing out on me. Kirkland would kill me."
Vash tried and probably failed to keep the embarrassed flush off his face as he remembered his last on-the-job fainting spell. Berwald just gave him a sympathetic look and gently pushed Mathias onward, away from Vash, who carefully followed them.
Six hours later found him standing outside of the beautiful mansion he had seen in both dreams and real life. The sun was setting and a cold breeze made his hair brush across his face. Vash pulled the locket out, looking at it in the dull light. It seemed to pull him towards the house, towards memories almost forgotten.
As soon as the sun completely faded behind the hills to the west, a gentle piano melody started from inside the house. Beethoven.
Almost in a trance, Vash walked up the steps towards the front door, which opened on its own accord, and Vash plunged into the darkness.
A/N: Thank you for reading! This chapter was a bit longer. I'm inspired.
Review if you're feeling like going into a creepy house with ghosts is a good idea. Or a bad idea.
