Basically someone's gonna die in this chapter and I'm not telling you who, only warning you that it'll happen so be prepared for guns and fights and stuff.
...
Lars wondered if he had enough time for another stop. After all, his and Franz's flat was between Tino and Berwald's house and the cemetery, and he had been given two jobs to do by two different people who were very special to him. And what would make Björn happier than his brother turning up with his medicine and a tasty cake?
Yes, it was to make Björn happy and do what Franz asked him to, and totally not because he had a feeling of being followed and wanted to get off the street. And quick. Every time he glanced behind him, though, the road and pavement would be empty. But that feeling stayed with him, and made him uneasy. He jumped at the slightest noise or touch, then brushed it off as superstition.
The syringe of factor lay nestled in his blazer pocket, still in its packet. It was strange though, Björn getting two bleeds within the space of a week. Lars remembered Berwald mentioning the elbow bleed in a phone call. And now this… Was something wrong with him?
They'd been complacent before, thought his condition was being dealt with, and had been given an ultimate scare…
That wave of paranoia struck him again, and Lars was convinced he was being stalked by something malicious. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and it took every ounce of self-control not to run screaming. He wheeled around, and once again the street was empty, save for a single flower in the middle of the pavement. Lars thought nothing of it. There were flowering trees along this lane, and chances were that the wind had blown it from its twig, so he shook his head and started walking again. It was just the wind.
He spied his building down the road and increased his pace. Two minutes. He'd be in and back out within two minutes.
Their area was pretty pleasant, and the hall of their building didn't contain graffiti or litter. All the carpets and light bulbs were still in place, and Lars loved the homely, clean feel.
He dashed up the stairs and through his door. Slowing his pace, he entered the kitchen and found a cake tin on the counter: a spring-themed one Franz's mother had bought for them as a wedding gift all those years ago. Easy. And he was still on time.
The creak of a floorboard behind him startled Lars, and he wheeled round, a childhood and adulthood spent playing video games filling his mind with all sorts of ghastly scenarios involving zombies or masked serial killers. His heart was in his throat as he glanced around the kitchen.
But there was no one there.
Of course there was! Lars chided himself for being so paranoid and picked up the cake. He really needed to lay off the horror games. On, second thoughts, that didn't sound so fun.
He walked out of the room, and barely had time to register a figure standing in the doorway before a knife went whizzing past his eye, embedding itself in the door frame.
"What the hell?!" he cried, leaping back as the attacker pulled out a gun. Lars jumped into the kitchen as gunshots fired, ducking behind the door. The bullets sprayed across the empty hall, but none hit their target.
His attacker dashed after him, and when they burst into the kitchen, he threw the cake tin at them, hitting them square in the face.
They staggered, and Lars got a good look at who was trying to kill him. An anonymous figure, dressed in a dark uniform. A balaclava covered their head but a pair of wide, watery eyes stared at him as they raised their gun, still wobbling and disorientated.
They fired.
The bullet hit the ceiling.
Lars lunged forward and tackled them, sending them both tumbling to the floor. He knocked the gun out of their hand and it went spinning across the kitchen under the table.
The pair exchanged blows, the trained assassin having the upper hand over the lanky illustrator. Lars was soon tossed onto his back, his attacker pinning his arms down with a hand. They pulled out a dagger, holding it over his throat and Lars gulped before bringing his knee up and hitting the back of their leg. Hard. They stumbled, and Lars managed to wrestle his hands free, turning around and crawling out of their legs. His body ached as he dragged himself across the tiles, towards the table.
The dagger slashed at his calf muscle and a hand covered his mouth, yanking his head back painfully, but he had it.
A weapon.
His fingertips had curled around the handle of the gun and he twisted his torso around to fire.
And shot his attacker point-blank in the face.
The assassin's head snapped back from the impact, and Lars was sprayed in warm blood as he tried not to scream. Their balaclava was stained red from the stuff, and brain tissue oozing from their forehead. Their body went limp, and fell on top of him, causing Lars to yelp and drop the gun. He pushed the dead weight off his torso with trembling hands, covering his face as he let out an agonised sob. He killed someone. A human being. He shot them dead without a second thought.
He felt sick.
But it was self defence, right? They were going to kill him and he had to fight back.
Lars tried not to think of what his family would say, or what he should say to the police. He just lay there, trapped in a horrifying, timeless bubble, staring at the masked body next to him. It had all happened too quickly. He hoped it was a nightmare.
But of course, it wasn't. It was his appalling reality.
Eventually, he swallowed the sick in his mouth, and reached over to unmask his potential murderer. They were shorter than him, chubby and completely covered, probably to avoid leaving DNA traces behind them. He gulped and, after a few attempts, finally pulled their balaclava off, gasping as he realised he recognised the girl's face, from his brother and husband's work parties. And he had seen that grieving face at Francis Bonnefoy's funeral.
Because there, lying on his kitchen floor stone dead, with Francis and Monique's little sister: Angelique Bonnefoy.
…
"I've never been more disgusted by your behaviour in my entire life, Eemeli Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen," Tino was nearly hysterical by now, and thankfully not the one driving them home, "and that really is saying something."
Peter couldn't help the gleeful smile that crawled onto his face every time one of his siblings got in trouble, and he decided to make the situation worse for his youngest brother. He still hadn't gotten a decent revenge for Eemeli shaving his eyebrows off in his sleep a few months ago.
"It's even worse than the time he replaced Yrjan's conditioner with hair remover cream?" he exclaimed in mock-horror.
"Yes!"
"Or the time he tried to build a death ray?"
"Yes!"
"Or that time he went streaking through a shopping centre on a dare?"
"Yes!"
"Or that time he replaced Björn's prophylaxis with vodka?"
"Well… no, that was probably worse."
"Peter, shut the fuck up," hissed Eemeli.
"I thought it was funny," Björn tried.
"It might've killed you! Had Ber not smelt the difference." Tino shook his head; "you have no idea where to draw the line, Eemeli. And now…"
"Just trying to cheer Björn up," Eemeli mumbled from the back seat, and Björn turned to grin at him. He was sprawled out on the middle row of seats, seat belt off- much to Berwald's horror- and leg almost paralysed. He couldn't move it and the knee was swelling badly now. His leg was resting on Peter's lap, and Peter stroked his brother's hair softly.
"You told a funeral joke! To Tsvetan!" Tino shook his head again.
The family remembered looking on in horror, unable to stop Eemeli from pulling Tsvetan to the side as they were leaving the cemetery and asking him what was the difference between a Balkan wedding and a Balkan funeral. He'd barely had time to exclaim 'one less drunk!' before a livid Tino grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away.
"Thought he could do with cheering up too," Eemeli shrugged whilst Björn let out a giggle.
"He burst into tears!"
"I honestly did not see that coming," Eemeli tilted his head slightly; "was it too soon?"
"Yes it was too soon!" cried Peter, "his family were murdered last week!"
"I should've let you die in a sock." Tino rested his head against the dashboard, and Peter groaned.
"I didn't need to hear that!" he cried.
"I don't get it," said Björn but before anyone could reply, he let out a whimper. "My leg!"
"He's getting worse," Peter added.
"Yes, Peter, we can see that!" Tino snapped before turning to Berwald. "Hurry up! You drive like a Grandma!"
"But Björn isn't wearing his seatbelt," Berwald mumbled, refusing to increase his steady pace of just under the speed limit.
"I don't care! Just go!"
"T'no…"
"Where the hell has Lars got to? I gave him one job and he couldn't manage that!"
"He's pr'bably been held up," Berwald shrugged, "just drop it."
"Fine," Tino exhaled sharply, folding his arms and sulking. "So Peter," he began, instantly cheerful, "are you feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you," Peter smiled.
"Sorry for not doing anything, but I didn't want to leave the others unsupervised," he threw a glare in Eemeli's direction.
"It's fine, really! I had Papa."
"It must've been hard for you," he continued with a sigh, "after what happened on your last mission too…"
"Thank you, Isi!" Peter really didn't want to be reminded of how he was nearly tortured to death, with fire of all things.
"Oh, sorry," Tino looked down, frowning as his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, snarled at the name on the screen, and pressed it to his ear.
"Where the fuck are you?" he hissed, "Björn's in agony here and needs an injection! We're on the way home now and you better have a fucking good explanation prepared."
There was silence in the car.
"What do you mean you want us to help you hide a body?" Tino shook his head in disbelief. "Now's not the time for jokes!"
"Gimme the phone!" Eemeli exclaimed, leaning forward and reaching out a hand, "I know all about this! Though I'm not sure where we could get a bath full of acid from… maybe cut them up into tiny pieces?"
"Hang on a sec… shut the fuck up Eemeli!" Tino shouted, wheeling round to glare at his youngest child before focusing on his phone once more, "don't bullshit me, Lars, what's going on? …Why are you crying?"
Berwald glanced over anxiously, pulling over so he could listen properly.
"Someone tried to kill you? …As in, a Commonwealth assassin? …Where are you sweetie? …Okay, we'll be there in a minute."
He put the phone back in his pocket and snapped his head to the side, glaring at Berwald.
"Why the fuck did you stop? Drive!"
Berwald didn't move. "What the fuck's happened to my son?" he said slowly, voice low and fierce.
"You mentioned Commonwealth, Isi," Peter leaned closer.
"Lars was attacked in his home," Tino choked, covering his mouth his a hand, "he's injured, but alive, and somehow killed his attacker in the struggle."
"His home?" Berwald's expression gave little away.
"Yes."
He didn't reply, but started the engine again, driving off as fast as he'd allow himself to, which was still too slow for Tino's liking. The family sat in stunned silence throughout the short journey to Lars' flat, and Peter wondered if he should text the other agents and let them know. All in good time, he decided. He wanted to know what exactly was going on first, and talk to his brother privately. And give him time to calm down before letting Andrei or the police loose on him.
One agonisingly sluggish drive later, and they were parked outside Lars' flat. Peter and Tino were climbing out before the car had stopped moving, and Berwald only paused to order Björn and Eemeli to stay put before following.
The trio ran up the stairs, Peter leaps and bounds ahead of his ageing parents, and burst through the front door of the Oxenstjärna-Edelstein flat.
And in the kitchen, they found Lars, tears streaming down his face as he clutched a body, petite and a bloody mess of dark, frizzy hair. The young man looked up, wiping some of the blood smeared across his face and only succeeding in smudging it, eyes wide with terror as he whispered in a cracked voice:
"Help me… please."