It didn't take that long for Kristoph to find the butcher knife. As if placed there by an angel to assist on his holy mission, the divine tool was resting in plain sight on the cutting board. A wave of euphoria rushed over Kristoph as he held the black handle firmly. He was really going to do it. He was finally going to kill the man that had made his life a living hell for as long as he could remember, all for the sake of his little brother. The reasonable side of Kristoph's mind argued fervently against this, pleading for other ways of stopping him, or even for more inconspicuous murder methods.
No, it has to be this way.
He wasn't sure why exactly, but all Kristoph knew for certain was that he needed to take Konstantin down with his own two hands. He needed to see him die with his eyes, and, most of all, he needed Konstantin to know that Kristoph finally bested him.
Kristoph didn't consider the technicalities of where to place the body, how to make sure no one came and saw him in the act, or even what to do when Konstantin fought back. All he wanted was for that miserable man to suffer. Kristoph looked at his own image reflecting off the silver blade and blinked. Although he was wearing the same hairstyle, with the same glasses, in the same shirt he'd been wearing since his venture into the North Room, something felt off. Dismissing it as paranoia, Kristoph quietly hummed to himself as he shut the kitchen door behind him.
But something was indeed out of place. His eyes, which usually shone with sensibility and intelligence, contained something else entirely.
If Kristoph inspected his reflection for a moment longer, he would have realized that the gleam in his eyes looked exactly like Konstantin.
Kristoph decided the best place to kill Konstantin would be the living room. In many ways, the room functioned as a microcosm of his family. It was large and pretentious, with silky blue curtains and an oriental carpet covering the floor. Upon closer inspection, however, one would have realized the room was not what it seemed. Beyond the flowery decorations, grandiose paintings, and expensive vases, the room held no real substance. There were no family pictures, scattered toys, or handcrafted items that revealed a family of four even existed. The living room was a mask that shielded outsiders from the truth that lies within. It was purely decorative, carefully constructed to project an image that did not reflect the true nature of the family.
Kristoph strolled towards the ornate fireplace and leaned against a wooden cabinet next to it. He knew that his father had to come into this room sometime today. The boy eyed the small glass table in the center of the room. A few bottles of expensive wine were placed on it, no doubt set up for tonight. A small smile formed on Kristoph's lips as he recalled the time Klavier thought it was juice and spit it out after one sip. Cleaning it up was a pain, but Kristoph had to have done a good job if Konstantin didn't notice.
Thinking of Klavier made Kristoph feel at peace, momentarily calming the roaring hurricane raging inside him. In all his years, Kristoph never thought he would become as fond of the boy as he was right now. Closing his eyes, the elder Gavin brother recalled distant memories of the child who loved him.
It was nighttime. The boy's mother, father, and maid were fast asleep, each of their dreams completely different, yet all concerning the new addition in the Gavin household.
The eight-year-old quietly crept up the stairs, feeling his way to the baby's bedroom. He frowned as the door creaked open, providing him with a view of the small little creature nestled inside the mahogany crib.
Slowly but surely, the boy made his way to the edge of the crib and peered inside. Like a tiny sleeping cherub, the baby's expression reflected contentment and innocence. The sight acted as kindling for the fire of hurt and anger that was burning him inside. How could this tiny, fragile little thing win the affections of his mother so easily, while the boy had to work so hard to get even the slightest hint of acknowledgement? Why was the baby the one everybody coddled over, leaving the boy in the shadows, alone and isolated?
It wasn't fair. He was the one who deserved the praise and attention, not this squealing little thing.
The boy's hands drifted towards the baby's head, before lowering and resting on the neck. This helpless little slug was so weak and fragile, the boy could just snap its little neck if he wanted to. Then there would only be one son for their mother to love.
The purple blanket the baby shifted slightly, and the tiny little thing's eyes fluttered open. A wide, toothless smile spread across the baby's face. It babbled unintelligibly, as if attempting to communicate with the older boy.
The baby reached out with its plump little hands and gently tugged on one of the boy's fingers. At first the boy hesitated, then his eyes began to soften.
It was only a baby; it meant no harm. It would be foolish to hold a grudge over something pure and untouched by negative thoughts.
Gently patting the baby's blonde tuff of hair, the boy sighed softly and left the room.
"Well, this is certainly an unexpected turn of events. I can honestly say I did not expect to find you here, Kristoph. Perhaps you wanted a drink and decided to come down here for the best, hmm?"
Although Konstantin Gavin spoke in a light and amicable tone, the rest of him told a different story. The older man's fists were clenched underneath his folded arms, his blue eyes reflecting a cold, sharp gaze that made Kristoph feel as if a dagger was piercing into his chest. Kristoph tightened his grip on the knife hidden behind his back, attempting to feel in control. Despite his previous rush of euphoria, Kristoph felt as uncertain and fearful as he did yesterday when he was facing Konstantin in the North Room. Thinking about killing the man was one thing, but actually doing the deed was another.
"Not exactly in the most talkative of moods, are we? I was never fond of small talk when I was your age, either." A brief flicker of what could have been a smile passed across Konstantin's face, gone as quickly as it came. "Since you appear to be incapable of speech, I'll begin: How did you escape the South Room?"
Kristoph stared up at the man, realizing again just how young and inexperienced he was compared to his father. He needed to get the perfect opportunity to stab the man, but the idea was better in theory than in execution. Kristoph had no idea what that opportunity would be or even look like.
Suddenly, he felt very small and helpless.
But he couldn't back out now. Realizing he had to continue the conversation, Kristoph searched his mind for a suitable excuse. "Perhaps God just didn't want me to die. That was your intention wasn't it? You wanted me to die a slow and painful death in that room."
Konstantin tilted his head curiously. Kristoph made sure the knife was hidden and took a few tentative steps forward.
"It does seem you do have an entity looking after you, as unbelievable as it may be. Although I'm more inclined to believe you had the Devil on your side. He does look after his kin, it seems."
"You didn't answer my question," he said, forcing himself to sound confident. It was much harder than he expected. "I asked if you intended on killing me."
Konstantin paused for a moment, staring at his son behind his glasses. Kristoph felt like shivering, but refused to show weakness in front of Konstantin. Moving up a few more steps, he clutched the knife behind his back.
"Kristoph, you must realize this was…difficult for me. I didn't wish for it to happen, but it was out of my hands."
The absurdity of that statement made Kristoph want to laugh, but the confession made him want to cry. He thought he hardened his heart, but didn't realize how much he was hoping for a miracle. He had a faint, distant hope that he misinterpreted the situation, that Konstantin wasn't really trying to kill him, that it was all paranoia inside Kristoph's head.
But that hope vanished completely.
"Justice is a heavy burden. But alas, I'm but a humble servant to the Lord, and God doesn't look kindly upon sinners. You should know. You copied the passage, correct?"
Those words stoked the flames of Kristoph's ire as he recalled arrogant, spiteful journal entries. "You're no 'humble servant,'" he muttered. "You're a wolf pretending to be a faithful lamb. You were always looking for an excuse to cause harm, even back when you were an atheist. You always treated your family like pawns in some sick game."
Konstantin's eyes narrowed. Before his father opened his mouth to speak, Kristoph rushed on. "You think it's God telling you to kill your children, but it's not. It's your own twisted mind. And you don't even consider the possibility, because you want it to happen. You're glad there's some—"
Konstantin took a few strides towards Kristoph, who instinctively stepped back realizing—with dread—that his back was now against the wall. His fingers were clutching the knife so tightly he thought it would snap.
"There are no problems in his household," Konstantin snarled. The anger was radiating from the man with such intensity that Kristoph was half-expecting the glass bottles on the nearby table to tremble. His father's eyes looked feral, like that of a diseased animal instead of Germany's most well-renowned judge. "I don't have problems. What I have is the blessing to interpret the will of heavenly powers and act in their names. Your imbecilic drivel is the result of pure envy. Nothing more."
Kristoph knew he should be terrified for his life. And in many ways, he was. But fifteen years of built-up resentment came boiling to a head, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out.
"Envy for what? Being a shitty artist?"
Within five seconds, several things happened. Konstantin grabbed one of the wine bottles and held it over his head, eyes raging with fury and madness. Kristoph only had a split second to run to the side before the bottle collided with the wall where Kristoph was previously standing. The glass shattered into hundreds of scattered pieces, leaving a sticky, watery residue of the dark red liquid. Konstantin held a hand up to cover his face from the shards that ricocheted off the ground, giving Kristoph the opportunity he needed. Running on pure adrenaline, Kristoph took the butcher knife, swallowed, and rammed it hard into Konstantin's left side.
A haunting, inhuman shriek reverberated throughout the room as Konstantin doubled over, clutching his wound. Blood oozed out, leaving behind a sticky red mess that mixed in well with the wine on the floor. Still holding on to the knife with all of his strength, Kristoph tried to steady his breathing.
I did it. I actually did it.
Kristoph looked at the fallen man who was clutching his side and murmuring something to himself. Although every logical part of his brain told him to stay away, Kristoph couldn't help but feel compelled to listen to what Konstantin had to say. Whether it was out of a desire to hear his father's dying words or the feelings of guilt that plagued him, Kristoph never knew, but he tentatively stepped towards Konstantin. Kristoph's hands trembled as he looked at his father. The man was hunched over, clutching his side with his head downcast and mumbling softly.
"Father?" whispered Kristoph. Watching his father on the ground filled Kristoph with an odd mix of pride, fear, and guilt. Still not hearing what Konstantin was saying, the boy kneeled down close enough to hear his father's voice.
"Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer—"
In one fluid motion, Konstantin grabbed Kristoph's right hand in one hand and grabbed a large shard of glass from the floor with another. Kristoph's knife fell to the floor with a clatter as Konstantin slammed the glass into the back of Kristoph's right hand.
Pain seared through Kristoph's right hand, and the boy let out a scream of anguish. Vaguely remembering this was the hand that was sore due to the writing, Kristoph tried to pull it away, but to no avail. Konstantin dug farther and farther into Kristoph's hand, rocking the knife back and forth with the ease and indifference of cutting a piece of meat. The false smile often seen plastered on Konstantin's face became a demonic snarl as he looked at Kristoph's hand in disgust.
"I will not accept this, you impertinent brat! My word in this household is absolute, and you will not take it from me!" snarled Konstantin as he continued to slice at Kristoph's hand, ignoring his cries. "You're nothing, just some filthy riff-raff that managed to crawl its way into that wench's womb. If you plan on making a pact with the Devil, then wear the scar! Show the whole world your sin and treachery, you vile, misbegotten, little—"
Konstantin was cut off as Kristoph kicked him in his wounded side. Then he did it a second time, and then a third time. Ignoring the gushing blood and numbness of his hand, Kristoph grabbed the knife from the ground and slammed it right into Konstantin's chest. He dug it farther and farther in, hearing a squelching noise which was like a chorus of angels to Kristoph's ears. Blood spit from the man's mouth as Kristoph kept stabbing the man, again and again and again with his unfeeling, bloody hand. Every stab he took made Kristoph feel as if he were being dragged farther and farther down a fiery pit of hell.
But what frightened him more than anything was the fact that he didn't care. All he wanted was the man that ruined his life gone forever.
For Sophia's sake.
"I don't know what he's planning, or where he placed your trinket. I've looked for it again and again, but—"
For Mother's sake.
"My husband's paranoia grows more and more each day. Maintaining the facade in public is one matter, but adhering to his sick little games in my household? I refuse to be demeaned like this."
And especially for Klavier's sake.
"I love you, Kristoph."
Stab.
"I love you, Kristoph."
Another stab.
"I love you, Kristoph."
I love you too, Klavier. And I'm going to protect you.
After what seemed like hours, Kristoph's hand finally fell limp. The knife dropped to the ground. Exhausted, Kristoph fell to his knees as he gazed at the bloody mess on the ground that was once his father.
"It's over, Father," whispered Kristoph, exhausted and emotionless. "I'm not the one who isn't needed anymore. You are."
As Kristoph looked at the body, a strange thought fluttered through his mind.
I'm the new Master of Gavin Manor now.
Something so important hadn't even occurred to him when he was planning the murder. The more Kristoph dwelled on the fact, the more excited he became.
I really did it. I killed Father. Everyone's safe, and I'm the new head of the manor. I finally beat Konstantin Gavin!
The excitement in his chest dimmed when he heard a soft gasp from the entrance of the living room. Kristoph spun around.
Klavier was standing by the entrance, eyes wide and skin pale. Relief swept through Kristoph as he moved towards his brother. Klavier quickly stepped back, looking at Kristoph, then the body, then Kristoph again. Kristoph took another glance at the corpse, almost forgetting it was there. He reached out his right hand to Klavier before recoiling it, another wave of pain swept through him.
"K-Klavier, can you get Sophia? My hand…hurts."
It was a massive understatement.
Klavier kept staring at the body, and Kristoph rolled his eyes. The rush of adrenaline had dissipated, and the logical part of Kristoph's brain was regaining control. If not for the fact that he was covered in blood and standing over a mutilated corpse, his words and mannerisms were indistinguishable from any other day.
"This? Well, it's a long story." It suddenly occurred to Kristoph that he had no idea how to explain the body to Katharina, or anyone for that matter. "Can you just get Sophia?" Klavier said nothing, and merely stared, fear illuminated in his eyes. "Klavier, please listen to me." He took another step forward.
"S-Stay away!" Klavier shouted, quickly backing up a few steps. Kristoph stopped in surprise, at a loss to Klavier's unfamiliar reaction.
"If you're afraid of the blood, I can wash it off. Or—wait, is it the body? I can move him out of the way."
"Is that…Father?" whimpered Klavier, motioning to the bloody carcass on the ground. Kristoph silently cursed the man; even in death, he was making his life miserable.
"Yes, but it's complicated. You're safe now, and that's all that matters."
Klavier finally met Kristoph's gaze. His usually playful eyes reflected a mixture of terror and sorrow. They were shining with tears, startling Kristoph.
"Why are you crying?"
"F-Father…he-he's dead! He's dead on the floor! Why is he dead?"
Klavier quietly began sobbing, trying to wipe his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. Kristoph felt as if someone just punched him in the gut. Klavier was treating Kristoph, the person who saved his life, like a common criminal, mourning the man who tried to kill him. Grief and betrayal washed through Kristoph as he took tentative steps towards the boy.
"Don't come near me!" shouted Klavier, eyes filled with panic. The small boy took a few more steps backwards before sprinting away, loud thuds echoing throughout the halls. Kristoph looked at his hand, which was still bleeding, then at the body.
Are you happy now? Kristoph thought bitterly, glaring at the corpse. Klavier's reaction was far more painful than the wound on his hand. How could he possibly cry for you, the man who tried to kill him? Am I just a criminal to him now? Does his mind change so quickly? Is that what you wanted?
Kristoph kicked the body in rage, hoping to let some of his anger out on Konstantin's carcass. The only thing it succeeded in doing was make him more upset. Kristoph closed his eyes and turned his head up towards the ceiling. Right now, Klavier was probably telling Katharina the story. She would call the police, and Kristoph would most likely be sent to prison. Strangely enough, the idea of being sent to prison for an indefinite amount of time didn't worry him as much as never winning back Klavier's love. Kristoph opened one eye and glared at the body of the man who shattered Kristoph's life like a bottle of wine.
"I hate you."