A/N: The Evil Within 2 Drinking Game - Sebastian Edition: Take a drink every time Sebastian curses, says Lily or Myra's name, or mentions Beacon. Finish your drink every time you run out of ammo for a weapon.

Play this and the Stefano rules in the same playthrough for maximum liver failure.

It was quiet in the penthouse, deathly quiet. The soles of his shoes tapped loudly against the dark hardwood floor. Ledford walked across the empty living room and stopped in front of the sliding glass door. Beyond was the balcony and Krimson City's skyline. Letting out a frustrated breath, he turned away from the glass. Streams of light poured in from behind him, pulling his shadow far along the floor.

He had searched the entire penthouse—nothing. No sign of Chaparé or where she could be. The phone had no recent voicemails or outgoing calls. The place was clean. There was nothing to support Ledford's suspicions of Amonte.

A call was made to Hendriks. "Ledford," she answered. "Find anything?"

"Penthouse is empty," Ledford replied. "No sign of Chaparé."

The line was silent, but Ledford could feel Hendriks's disappointment. "Haven't had anything turn up either," she said. "No sign of Chaparé except for CCTV footage of her car going eastbound on 45th. I've got the parties currently scouting for that vehicle—right now it's the best lead we can follow."

"Right," Ledford said, stepping through the penthouse. "I'll do one more sweep here and join you."

"Good luck."

"Likewise."

Ledford hung up. Talking with Hendriks always seemed to clear his head from all the doubt and stress that seemed to love crowding it. Ledford stopped by the piano that sat at the far corner of the living room. It was a vertical piano—just like the one Bunny used to practice on. Only the one they had was a second-hand Baldwin bought at a garage sale, while this one was a slick black one. The elegant symbol of a harp rested over a golden, curling Steinway & Sons. Hell, even the logo itself looked expensive.

The piano seat was covered in studded cushioning. Ledford cocked his head as he examined in. His hand gently gripped the edge of the seat. He felt it move and lifted it. The piano seat swung up on a hinge like a lid.

Stored inside the seat were sheets of music. Ledford grabbed a bundle and quickly sifted through them. He'd never played an instrument before, but even he could tell these were complicated songs. Clair de Lune—ah, he recognized that one. Though Ledford wasn't sure if he'd ever heard it. There were some familiar musician names: Beethoven, Mozart. There was also Ludovico Einaudi, Felix Mendelssohn, and a whole assortment of other names Ledford had no clue how to pronounce.

It was just sheet music in here—again, nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until Ledford grabbed a second handful of papers. Then his eyes snapped down to the piano seat's cavity. Near the bottom was an anomaly. It was a piece of paper that had been folded into thirds. It looked old. Time had yellowed it just slightly. Ledford reached down and picked it up. As he did, something fell out from within it—what looked to be an old Polaroid. Ignoring it for the time being, Ledford opened the paper. It was a handwritten letter. The ink was a rich dark blue, and the penmanship was elegant.

My dearest Celestina,

I hope your time in America has treated you well. As such, I thought it would be appropriate to pen this letter in English. I watched your last broadcasted interview. You are getting so fluent. Maybe I'm just being silly.

Although I miss you terribly, my heart swells with pride whenever I hear your name mentioned. You were always my talented little angel. My sweet, I know we never really saw eye-to-eye when you were young. I wish I could tell you this in person, but I want you to know that I loved the both of you with all my heart.

I have other news to tell you, though this is a bit graver. Papa hasn't been feeling well these past few months. He's in the hospital right now. They're taking good care of him. Don't worry over him too much, but please try to come back home if you can to see him. It would make Papa so happy to see his little angel again.

I have enclosed something special with this letter. I found this while going through the old photo albums in the study. It's one of my fondest memories, and I hope it's one of yours as well. Take care, my sweet, and keep on shining.

Love,

Mama

Ledford glanced down and took up the photograph. It was then he noticed the ragged edge. About a third of the Polaroid had been torn off. As he traced the ripped edge, he examined the picture.

It showed a beautiful woman with short, chestnut hair in a loose-style evening dress. She had a hand that rested gently on the shoulder of a young girl that stood at her side. The girl had similarly colored hair and wore a midnight blue dress and white stockings. The child's other hand was loosely extended. Ledford caught another hand holding hers. The rest of whomever that other hand belonged to had disappeared beyond the torn edge.

Flipping the photograph over, the detective found the words 'Primo recital di Celestina, 1987' written on the back.

Ledford's brow furrowed, not sure what to make of this newfound information. But it had nothing to do with Chaparé, Valentini, or the missing women. He had no choice but to declare it irrelevant, and this search fruitless.

He put everything back into the seat and shut the lid. He turned away, heading towards the front door. There was nothing to it. Time to join Hendriks and the rest of the search.

It was evening when she heard him return. Her hands paused over the ivory keys, and then continued dancing over them. The song emerged from the deep, reverberating belly of the grand piano. Her eyes lifted briefly when he stepped into view before lowering back down to her hands. Through her peripheral vision, she watched him take a seat nearby to listen.

Every now and then, between measures, her foot would lift from the dampening pedal before pressing down again. Her hands moved up and down the keys, reaching for higher octaves, and then lower. As she neared the end of her song, she saw him rise and walk slowly towards her. Her eyes remained lowered.

When her fingers pressed down on the last chord, Celestina saw a gloved hand reach down and rest delicately over her forearm. Then it slid against her skin, climbing up her arm and along her shoulder. It stopped at the base of her neck, fingertips resting in a line along her collarbone. She took a deep breath.

"Amore mio," his voice rumbled softly behind her, "how beautifully you play."

Celestina suddenly smirked. She reached up and squeezed a hand over his. "We are both masters in our own right," she replied. Still holding onto him, she slid to the end of the piano seat and stood. She turned to face him.

Stefano regarded her calmly, lovingly. He looked so normal. If Celestina hadn't known better, she would have never suspected him of what he had done earlier that day. But oh, normal was so dull. "And what of your latest?" she asked. "Can I see it?"

"It's still in progress."

"Oh." Celestina huffed gently. "You know I detest waiting."

"Tit for tat. You kept me waiting all this time." A thumb came up and traced Celestina's lower lip. The leather was cold. She saw Stefano bring his face closer. As her eyes closed, they suddenly caught something. Celestina pulled her face down. Her hand touched his shoulder.

"What's this?" At her fingertips, a dark blot stained his blazer.

Stefano looked down to where her hand was. "Ah. This one had fangs."

"How terrible of me! To think, I put you in that kind of danger!" They both laughed at the notion. Suddenly, Stefano swooped down and caught her lips with his. Celestina's breath was quickly cut off. The suffocation was sweet, and she found herself disappointed when he pulled away. "So," she continued, teasing his collar, "where is she now?"

"Well hidden until she's ready to be displayed," Stefano answered. "Though…" Celestina smiled in anticipation. "Until then, I have something to show you." He stepped around her, still holding a hand against the small of her back.

A piece of burgundy cloth was draped over a long, rectangular object by the door. Celestina regarded it silently. Then she heard Stefano say, "Well, amore mio? Why don't you take a look underneath?" His hand left her back. Celestina glanced at him.

"It's not a puppy, is it?" she asked as she crouched down by the box.

"I'm afraid you should have mentioned that earlier if you wanted one."

"Oh," Celestina scoffed lightly, turning back to the box. "I'm not too fond of living in a house covered in hair."

"No, it's not a very pleasant experience."

Celestina shot him a backward glare. "Well, I'll be sure to start picking up after myself once you do. I don't suppose you left that hand in the bathroom while you were playing around with the KCPD?" She saw his chin tighten as his lips pursed.

Then he answered, "Why don't you look under the cloth, amore mio?"

Celestina pinched a corner of the cloth and whisked it off. Underneath was a terrarium. Within the glass confines was a dismembered human arm, which had been cut off right at the elbow. It was covered in a brown layer of something, but the exposed skin that could be seen glistened within a fine layer of honey. The brown coat appeared to be moving. Celestina leaned down and realized it was made up of ants that had swarmed to the scent of honey.

She stood up, eyes still glowered to the glass. "Hmm," she hummed. "This is different."

"Just thought I'd branch out a bit. I have a particular image in mind with this piece."

"How long will it take?"

"It should be stripped bare in a day or two." She felt him come up behind her and slip a thumb underneath the strap of her dress. With a light tug, it fell from her shoulder. "But there are things to do in the meantime while we wait." Celestina's lips twitched. She suddenly marched back towards the studio, breaking away from Stefano. He followed after her. She did love the sound—it reminded her of when they had first met. It was the sound of being wanted. For once.

"Make sure that thing is sealed tight," she said coldly. "I don't want those things getting out and crawling around. And get it out of sight in case that detective comes sniffing around here too."

She heard him sigh behind her. "Is someone else making you upset, amore mio?" Celestina stopped by the piano. She brought a hand up and pinched the pearls around her neck.

After a pause, she answered. "Mama called me again while you were out."

She heard Stefano stop. "I see," he said. "And?"

"He's in the hospital again. Third time. They thought he was getting over it, but Papa relapsed a few days ago." She looked over as Stefano walked over to the glass wall. At a small table, he poured himself a glass of brandy. "She was asking again for me to come home." With a sneer, she added, "Even talked about bringing you with me."

Stefano was silent as he brought the glass up to his lips. Celestina tried to read his silence, but couldn't. How she wished she could see what he was thinking. Finally, he said, "I understand you must be concerned."

"Impatient, more like," Celestina replied curtly, her hand tightening over her necklace. "But as they say, third time's the charm."

"How callous." Stefano turned away from the window to look at her. "He's your father."

Celestina tore her eyes away from his gaze, lowering them to the floor. He had no idea—he couldn't understand. When her mother had put Papa on the phone, he had called Celestina by her name. Oh, Mama tried to briskly explain that illness had weakened his mind and kept him from recognizing her. But that only made it worse. It told Celestina which one of the two Papa truly only ever valued.

"I have good reason for my lack of love," Celestina said. "As you said, tit for tat."

"You know, I've come to realize something." Celestina looked over. Stefano was facing the window, but he was watching her in the reflection. His transparent eye held her gaze. "I don't really know who you are. My own wife. Imagine that."

"Yes you do," Celestina said, lowering her hand. She lowered her hand and walked towards him. In the reflection, she saw his gaze dip down to her hips as they rocked with every step. "You are married to La Contessa. And you know her quite well."

Instead of answering, Stefano took another sip out of the glass. His eye stared forward as Celestina stopped by him. "You're going to show me what's behind that mask eventually," he said.

Celestina hugged his arm with both of hers, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "Why don't I show you what's behind this dress instead?" Her hand came up, tugging apart the top button of his shirt. But before it could go further, it was suddenly caught in Stefano's tight grip. Celestina's eyes flew up to his.

He let go of her hand. "Amore mio," he said. "Go play me another song." He offered her a small smile and delicately tapped her nose with his finger. Celestina paused before letting go of his arm. As she walked back to the piano, she glanced over her shoulder. At the window, Stefano took another sip of brandy.

She stopped by the Steinway but didn't take a seat. Staring down at the ivory keys, Celestina suddenly furrowed her brow. Her hand, rested against the glistening black instrument, clenched.

"If you want to listen to music," she shot over her shoulder, "then go play one of your records." As she turned sharply and headed towards the house end, she heard Stefano quietly say, "Why are you so peeved that your husband just wants to know more about you?"

As her steps slowed, she couldn't help but break out into a sheepish, nervous smile as she admitted, "I don't want you to know."

"Why not?"

Celestina looked over at him. "I'm afraid you won't like me."

Stefano tilted his head. "And why would that be?"

Celestina's hand quickly came back up to her pearls again. "I'm going to bed," she suddenly announced. "Good night, my darling."

"You're listening to Morning Talk on Station Ninety-Five point Eight. Good foggy morning, Krimson City. I'm Alex."

"I'm Sarah. Hopefully you're keeping safe on your morning commutes. The roads are a little slick today, and there's expected to be a mild thunderstorm this evening."

"That's right, but whatever the weather, we're here to help get you through your morning. First, an update on Marie Chaparé, the Broadway actress who went missing a week ago. Police are saying they are still searching extensively for her. Our hearts and prayers are going out to her friends and family, and we can only hope she returns to them safely and soundly."

"Hopefully that hasn't soured your morning coffee. Here's a bit of brighter news—a month ago, J.K. Rowling published her seventh and final installment of the Harry Potter series worldwide, and copies are still rolling right off the press."

"Yup, and I got mine the day of."

"You and several others, Alex. Within 24 hours of publication, 11 million copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows were sold. How far into the book have you gotten?"

"I finished it off within a week of getting it."

"For real?"

"I've been waiting a long time for this."

"Well don't you start spoiling it for the rest of us."

"What kind of person do you think I am? Anyway, another update on Krimson City's favorite lovebirds. After the delay from the tour and KCPD's false arrest, Celestina and Stefano are finally getting their break. The couple was seen departing from the Krimson City International Airport to go to their honeymoon location in the British Virgin Islands."

"Fan-cy."

"Didn't you and James go someplace nice for your honeymoon?"

"Cozumel, but we didn't rent out a whole island to ourselves."

"Is that what they're doing?"

"That's what the word is. A whole island. Some people just have money to burn."

"Well, there'll be a lot of space to sightsee—."

"I mean who even needs—?"

"—Each other."

His eyes were glazed over as they stared out the window. He was aware of sounds, but could hardly register them. His attention was stuck in the brooding quicksand pit in his mind. No use at this point, he thought grimly. By this time, KCPD's not searching for a missing person anymore. We're just looking for a body. I'm sorry, Marie. I tried—I really did.

"—son. Hey, Earth to Jackson. Get down from orbit."

Ledford blinked. Immediately, the vapid blur around him became an office. He was once again aware of the sunlight streaming from the window next to him and the hard edge of the desk he was leaning on. Ledford turned his head.

There was a woman in the office with him and Sebastian. She hadn't been there before. Ledford blinked and straightened up from the desk, turning to face the woman. She had short brown hair and was wearing the standard officer uniform. Ledford glanced at Sebastian. "Hmm?" he grunted.

"This is Officer Juli Kidman—she was stopping by," Sebastian said with a brisk wave towards the woman. "Seeing as you're here too, thought you might as well say hi. She's KCPD's newest addition to the force."

"That so?" Ledford said, looking back at Kidman. She gazed back calmly with her dark-colored eyes. She certainly looked smart—Ledford knew it was only a matter of time before she climbed the ranks and was made junior detective.

He shot a side-glance at Sebastian. The older detective was looking back with a silent glare that said don't you dare. Sebastian, and the rest of the force, was well aware of Ledford's devilish propensity to scare new recruits with exaggerated first impressions at every chance he got.

Ledford looked back at Kidman. "Welcome aboard, Kidman. I'm Detective Ledford, here with the homicide division so you might see me around here and hangin' with good ol'Seb."

Kidman paused, and then replied, "Nice meeting you too, Detective."

Ledford crossed his arms and looked back at Sebastian, who was still eyeing him like a hawk. Innocently lifting his eyebrows, Ledford announced, "Well, time to get back to work." He stepped forward and meandered around the young woman. Just as he was passing through the door, he turned his head and said over his shoulder, "See ya around, meat shield." He could practically see Sebastian slapping his palm against his forehead.

Ledford thought about returning to his own office, but his steps slowed at the suggestion. To be honest, that place was starting to feel more and more like a prison. The detective stopped in his tracks, eyes lowered.

He considered calling Hendriks for an update. They were taking in turns to lead the searches. Hendriks had insisted after seeing Ledford in the state he was in. But as tired and frazzled as he was, goddamn was he restless. Still, calling Hendriks now would only be nagging her. She was working hard—all the men and women out in the field were. But that didn't stop Ledford from being restless.

He decided to step out of the department. Some fresh air would do him good. The detective went out to the parking lot, looking out at the cars that were scattered loosely across the lots. With a sigh, he lowered himself down and sat on the edge of the curb. The concrete was damp and the air was humid from a few days' worth of storms. Ledford lifted his eyes towards the overcast sky. Like looking into a mirror of my soul, he thought dryly.

From behind, Ledford suddenly heard quiet steps approach him. Well, whoever it was, it wasn't Sebastian—unless he'd taken up wearing heels.

As the steps stopped next to him, Ledford turned his eyes to the side to see black, heeled boots peeking out from under dark blue jeans. Well this was unexpected. Ledford cocked his head to the side as he scratched his neck. "Did I forget something back at Seb's office?"

"Ledford," he heard Kidman say quietly. "You're one of the detectives leading the investigation on the string of murders, right?"

"Huh. You've been listening to the office water tank chat, haven't you, meat shield?"

The boots next to him moved. Kidman took a seat on the curb beside him. "You say it right on your face," she said. "I hope you know none of this is your fault."

Ledford stared forward. He didn't know what to say. Or what to think. If it wasn't his fault, then whose was it? What use was a wall if it couldn't keep out the wind? A roof that let the rain in? Ledford pulled back his sleeve and glanced down at his watch. "I have to get back to work."

As he stood, Kidman said, "Sebastian told me you say that a lot."

"It's true," Ledford replied. He turned back and headed into the department. Before going through the door, he glanced back at Kidman. She was still sat on the curb, facing towards the lifeless lot. Ledford turned away and let the door close behind him. What was that about? He wasn't quite sure what to make of the new recruit.

None of this is your fault. Ledford reached up, scrubbing his face with a hand. None of this is your fault. Keep telling yourself that if it's the only thing left to keep you sane. Ledford stopped right outside the evidence room. From within the electronically locked door were shelves after shelves of lockers, each one belonging to a detective and holding evidence of their current cases. Ledford's eyes drifted towards the door, and he began to wonder—.

The phone in Ledford's pocket went off. The detective pressed a hand tightly over his eyes. Still squeezing his hand over his eyes, he took the phone out and held it against his ear. "Yeah," he answered curtly.

"Ledford." It was Hendriks. "We found her." Ledford braced himself, but the blow struck him bare all the same. "Deceased."

Ledford slid his hand slowly down his face, scraping his skin. "God fucking dammit," he hissed under his breath.

"That's not just it," Hendriks continued. Ledford hesitated. There was something worse than Chaparé's death? He almost didn't want to hear it. "Ledford… your name is here too."