A/N: This has taken WAY too long. I have no excuse, but I can only beg that you will forgive me. I am currently under the weather and feel less motivated than ever with school and everything. School: the death of all creativity. Gomenosai, gomenosai, I will be writing again. PROMISE! I hope . . .

They arrived at the theatre. A few of the audience members had arrived, specifically those who were close friends to Yekaterina and her sister. They stepped into the auditorium to see Francis Bonnefoy chatting with their Chief, Djavakhi Pavneli. Also, sitting not to far away, looking uncomfortable dressed up, was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was the best mechanic in the area, but he was also a really laid back sort of guy. Dressing up was not his thing. Alfred and Arthur knew him from when they were in high school; he had been a hoodlum back in the day, but luckily got his act together by graduation. Beside him was his brother Ludwig who was seventeen and graduating in the next summer, the elder was twenty-one.

Alfred hurried over to the albino man, "Hey, Gilbo. Long-time-no-see man. How have you been?"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked up before a broad grin split his face and he stood, giving the American a manly hug, "Hey Jones. How is the police life going?"

"Fine, I'm on a case right now actually."

His red eyes blinked at the seriousness of his tone, "Really? Anything the Awesome Me can help you with? You seem pretty worked up about this."

"Oh yeah?" he laughed, but tension still lingered, "Well, actually I wanted to see you but since you're here, I don't see why I shouldn't talk to you now."

The German could see the calculating coolness behind his friend's ocean eyes. It had been there since they had met in freshman year. That coolness made the warm light freeze over into cold calculations. Whatever it was, Gilbert didn't know if he wanted to talk about it right now, but that would seem suspicious. If Alfred wanted to talk to him, he may be a suspect for something, or he was placed somewhere and couldn't remember. "Sure, go ahead and shoot." He winced at his words. Wrong fucking analogy to be using!

A note pad came out, "Do you remember the statement you filed eleven years on the Braginsky Case? You were ten at the time, so I don't expect-."

"Yeah. I remember it clear as day. Why? You working that case?"

"Yeah."

Red eyes looked dead, "Don't bother. He's dead. If you haven't heard from him for two years, I thought you guys considered them dead."

"Yeah, normally we do. But on request of his sisters I am looking for him, even if it's a bunch of bones."

"They're dead Alfred. All of them are dead."

That caught his attention. His head snapped up from the paper, "All? You mean there's more?"

"Well, yeah. Every winter. Hasn't happened for the past three years, but that's probably because there aren't that many little kids anymore. All of them are kidnapped between the ages of six and twelve."

"How do you know this?"

"Because," his eyes flickered off to the side, "A year after Ivan disappeared, Elizabeta did too. No one took up the case because she had been in the city when it happened with her girl scouts troupe. No one has seen her since. It was February thirteenth. I still remember her at my birthday party. I was such a little brat to her, but we always laughed, ya know?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I remember it in the newspapers, but didn't the police determine it was unrelated to Braginsky's," he was now intrigued and disturbed.

"That's what they said," he looked dead into those blue orbs, "But I know, I know, the two are related. Not only that, but I did some research after I heard that some Finnish boy was taken from the city on Christmas Eve in middle school. Sporadically, for the past sixteen years, children between the ages of six and twelve have disappeared in the winter months, going all the way to the first day of spring in March. Don't you think that's really weird? It has to be planned."

That was true. He had read all those things since high school. The last child to get kidnapped in the month of January was back four years ago. The baby sister of a friend of his was missing. At the time he was still in high school and going through the police academy at the same time. Meimei was her name. Kiku was heartbroken, but nowhere near as much as their eldest brother Yao. He was put under police watch to ensure he wouldn't commit suicide.

Alfred snapped his fingers repeatedly as he began click the pieces together. At the same time, he could feel his blood gain weight and leave his face to his feet. This was bigger than he had expected; much bigger than he would have ever dreamed of. This little mystery just changed from being a Search-and-Rescue/Recover to a gamut web of numerous cases, all collecting dust or being worked in the city.

He quickly excused himself and walked away, thinking about what he had just been lead to. Arthur was standing by Pavneli, engaging in small-talk. Arthur called him over, "Sir, Alfred has one of your old cases that he is looking into."

"Yes, Katyusha told me. That case isn't a safe one Alfred. I suggest you let it go."

This ripped the American from his subspace of thought. The Chief, he whom is close friends with the family, telling him to leave a missing boy missing? "I realize you had worked the case prior to the due diligence. Why-?"

"Why did I drop it? Because strange things happened in that case Alfred," the man sighed as though he was much older than his thirty-seven years, "It isn't safe, High Jingo, but not politically. Not with our politics anyway. In the least I would hope. But there are other things as well. Whenever I stepped foot into the house, I felt this evil force trying to suffocate me, but not having enough tangible matter to do so. And the writings. Not once have I ever been able to see the works of the boy. Every time I attempted, the younger sister would rush in, scolding me and adamantly deny it later, or . . . well, once when I did pick one up by chance, it burst into flames in my hands. No reason for it to have, but it did. I couldn't take the pressure anymore." Police Chief Pavneli was a man of six-foot-two, but who slumped forward to a mere five-foot-ten. His face was weathered and hard, slightly tanned and cropped black hair on his head, slowly growing gray in a few areas from his stressed years out in the field.

"Really, because I can say I have never encountered such a situation. Actually I wanted to talk with Yekaterina about one of his songs he wrote. I have it with me right now."

"Is that so? May I see it?"

The younger man reached into his coat pocket to pull it out when he felt a chill shoot through his spine. Even Pavneli did, because his face paled and his eyes flickered around every-which-way before settling at the farthest row to the back. A small child glowered at them, no, him! Alfred looked away as though he hadn't noticed the boy, but withdrew his hand and rubbed the back of his head. "Nah, I really need to speak with the family first. I'm sure you understand."

The elder swallowed, "Y-yes. Of course."

He excused himself and looked to the back row, but the boy was gone now. Seriously, ghosts scared the shit out of him for that reason alone. They were like ADHD, but they teleported instead of ran on the walls. He needed the cold air anyway. Natural cold air. He stepped outside to see a tall young man in a heavy, crocheted scarf waiting for him. He stopped cold. The man had an innocuous, puerile appearance, the dour mood gone, as though it had never been there.

The two watched each other for a moment before the taller strode away into the snow and disappeared, a small, bell-like laugh on the frozen wind.