The Devil's Turnabout

Chapter 2

October 15th, 2026

The days had never felt slower than they did now.

Apollo remembered how they had trickled by after Kristoph was arrested, too fast and too slow all at once. Job applications took long days to return as bills sped to his mailbox with glee. Meals came and went; some meager and some forgotten in a haze, even as nights went sleepless and endless with guilt.

Each day felt forever, but each time Apollo checked his calendar, he couldn't believe how much time had passed.

In many ways, this was better. Apollo had a job. He had the structure of waking up every day, and having no choice but to work, to take his mind off things. Granted, the Wright Anything Agency hadn't seen a single case since the Misham trial, but it was only a matter of time.

Apollo just hoped Klavier's absence meant there would be no more of these surprise cases— no more noodle-cart errands or concerts that would spiral into confusing murder trials, or seemingly simple poisonings that would secretly tie into cases settled seven years prior. He would gladly take a regular murder under regular circumstances, without several plot twists. It could only be good for his blood pressure.

Even as he hoped this, however, Apollo couldn't help but mark Klavier's absence. They hadn't been contacted with concert tickets or anything of the sort, and perhaps more importantly, Apollo's phone stayed silent. He'd taken to checking it near obsessively— refreshing his messages idly whenever there was a still moment, and watching the digital little wheel turn and turn until nothing came up.

Apollo wasn't surprised. No one really contacted him before. He didn't speak often to school friends, Mr. Wright probably didn't find text messages mysterious enough to use for contact, and the only other person who had been given his number recently couldn't text anyone anymore. He had never checked his messages so frequently.

And with no new ones, there was nothing better to do than think.

Apollo could only imagine Klavier doing the same. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he saw bloodshot eyes, the twitch of a lip and the devil carved deep in the flesh of a hand. There were times too when faintly, Apollo could hear that laugh— soft enough for him to question himself, but too loud to be a trick of the mind.

The thought always had him refresh his messages again, waiting with bated breath until it came back as empty as always.

It could be that Klavier simply didn't wish to speak to him. For all the concern Apollo harbored, he was, after all, the very one who had brought all of Klavier's tragedies to harsh, confronting light.

It would be stupid to blame him, though, Apollo thought with gritted teeth. He hadn't made anyone commit murder. These crimes would have been discovered eventually.

Still... Apollo felt a kind of responsibility. He could only assume it was some kind of guilt, because there wasn't a better reason to want to protect Klavier. What kind of world-famous wealthy rockstar would need his care, anyways?

A soft interloper touched down onto his table, butting her head against his computer screen.

"Mikeko," he sighed, rubbing a curled finger against her cheek. "What should I do?"

"Mreh," Mikeko responded helpfully.

"I know I should help." Apollo said. "But..."

Mikeko blinked at him slowly.

How many world-famous, wealthy rockstars were confronted with their murderous brothers in court, anyways?

Apollo personally hadn't met any like Klavier. Just as vivid as his thoughts of Kristoph were the memories of Klavier's knuckles whitening, hands sealed over his ears. He hadn't seen fear from Klavier before— not when bodies were found, not when his own guitar caught fire and nearly burned him alive.