The Sun Burns Brightly With My Love For You

Chapter 2: Seymour Douner

Trigger Warning ⚠️/Author's Note: Mentioned Character Death.

Seymour was the one picking Isabella up from her friend Anastasia's this time. It was only because their father had to pick up Lyde from his after school book club.

Their Dad had been fretting on whether he should just pick up the both of them and have Seymour ride shotgun but after 30 minutes Seymour managed to calm down his Dad enough to convince his Dad to let him go (by himself) to go pick up his younger sister.

It's was a miracle in and of itself, normally, such a suggestion wouldn't even be voiced because Seymour knew that it would be an immediate no. Seymour was at least glad that Dad was at least starting to heal from Mom's death.

He climbed the steps and knocked on the door before taking a step back so he wouldn't be right in the face of whoever answered the door.

The door was answered by Mr. Baranov, Anastasia's father. He was possibly the best detective in the nation and stood even taller than Seymour's own father at a mighty 6'5. He was moved to Dan Sauldier 3 years ago to solve the whole Harbinger problem. Which was good until you realized that the task force was having him solve every single case that wasn't the Harbinger's case.

The official reason they were doing this was to "see if he was as good as they claimed," but everyone knew it was because they would be forever bitter if an outsider was instantly able to solve a case that they've struggled to for the past two decades. It would make them look even more incompetent than they already were.

"Who are you and what do you want?" He asked.

"Oh," Seymour responded a little bit nervously, "I'm just here to pick up my little sister. You probably know her. Her name is Isabella Douner."

"Yes. My daughter's friend. Well come inside I'll get her in a moment. Sit down. I want to talk to you for a bit." He said jesturing to his couch.

Seymour sat down and tilted his head to the side; a nonverbal question. Mr. Baranov answered. "Well, they've finally let me do what I originally came here to do and I couldn't help but notice that your mother was one of the victims of the Harbinger of Death. And from the guarded expression that always seeks residence in your eyes and on your face I am at least 85% sure that you saw the Harbinger murder her in person so you must have some information on what he looked like. Am I wrong?"

Seymour looked at him in shock. How was he able to figure that out with a single glance. He was damn good at his job. "Yes. I did see him. Though it wasn't all that good since it was dark and he was hooded and masked." Seymour told the detective.

"So the Harbinger is male. Noted. Any other traits you could make out?" He asked pulling out a notepad and jotting down the information presented to him.

"Well, he was tall, over 6 foot and almost a foot taller than my Mom—"

"How tall is your mom?"

"5'5."

"So he would be anywhere from 6'1 to 6'4 in height? That narrows it down to 33 people." He said scribbling away.

"How do you know the heights of people?" Seymour asked.

"Something that comes with the job. If you truly you learn everything about everyone as you possibly can and you never jump to conclusions, you only arrest someone if there is absolutely zero doubt in your mind and most importantly, you never let your ego or personal relationships get in front of getting the job done. Now, finish the description please." He said to the point.

"He had short, dark hair—"

"17."

"And..." Seymour grit his teeth; he hated thinking about his mother's murder. It just filled him with an undescribable rage. When he thought about how ruthlessly it was executed. When he recalled the screams of fear and agony from his mother and her best friend. When he thinks about how the bastard is still running loose, continuing to wreck havoc on the otherwise quaint town. About how—

"It was personal. I don't know if his other victims were personal or not as well but my mother's death was definitely personal." He said with certainty.

"How can you be sure of this?" Mr. Baranov asked.

"The way he murdered her. He stabbed her twice in the stomach, 3 times in the arms, twice in each hand and when she gasped and her eyes widened in recognition he slit her throat multiple times as if trying to keep her silent on his true identity." He said not even realizing he'd held his pants in a death grip until he had finished his sentence.

"8 then. So he didn't notice you watching." Was all Mr. Baranov said before tossing a card at Seymour.

It had his full name, Nikolai Baranov, as well as his job occupation and number.
" No. Thankfully I was hidden. I really don't want to think about what would've happened if he knew I was there. By the way, What is this?" Seymour asked skeptically.

"My business card. I see great potential in you for becoming a detective. If you're interested I could train you. Think about my offer." He said before calling down Isabella.

As they were walking home he thought about it. It would be nice. He wouldn't lie , ever since his mother's death he'd always wanted to become a detective. Bring justice so that other families could be put at ease when he wasn't able to. He might just have to take Mr. Baranov up on that offer.

When they got home they were greeted with a fretting 37 year old they liked to call Dad and it took them a good 10 minutes to convince him that they were both fine.

"Hey Dad, I've got good news. Detective Baranov is finally being allowed on the case and he's listed 8 people for potential suspects as for who Mom's killer, the Harbinger, is." Seymour announced excitedly.

"Well that's a relief, it's one more step closer to getting that man behind bars and keeping you guys safe. By the way did he give names?" His father asked relief on his face.

"No but I could always ask him." Seymour responded.

He failed to mention to his father that he was already tracking down who the Harbinger could be. And he would stop at nothing until he could exact revenge on the Harbinger for murdering his mother in cold blood. He didn't care if the things he had to do to get that result he wanted was morally questionable, 'I mean,' he thought to himself, 'it isn't like I'm going to murder someone. I'm not like him. But if I have to steal or look into unauthorized documents then I will. Anything for my Mom.'

1170 words.