Paint it Another Colour

Chapter 68

Vladimir knew something was wrong the second he got home. He'd been twitchy walking back from the airport, something he did on a regular basis now, and as he'd turned into his road, he'd got a concerned - maybe even worried - glance from one of his neighbours who was busying herself with watering the flowers. The action made Vladimir frown, but he continued home, under the impression that the second he got back, everything would suddenly be okay.

It had to be. 

Instead, when he opened the door, he was met with silence.

"Hello?" he shouted, listening intently for any reply, any noise that could indicate Aurel was trying to hide from him. There was nothing. No noise, no reply, not even a creak of a floorboard that always seemed to happen when no one was there. "Aurel?"

Vladimir went upstairs, checking each room with care, inspecting every wardrobe and hidey-hole in which a small person could disappear in. There was nothing. As he approached Aurel's room, the thought occurred to him that he might be sleeping - he'd started doing that in the middle of the day now; like a vampire. But still, the room was empty, covers thrown backwards over the wooden posts at the end of the bed, and it didn't look like it had been touched since this morning. He sighed and rested a hand on his head, trying to numb the slight panic he could feel clawing away at the inside of him. 

Aurel was okay, right? He wasn't here, but he had to be okay, right?

"Rahat" he muttered, and as he did, he glanced out of the window. Sat at the table in the garden, was Aurel, his headphones around his head, clamping down on his ears tightly, arms loosely hanging by his sides as though he'd fallen, mouth open, eyes closed, head lolling back as though he'd fallen asleep. Vladimir stood at the window for a moment, laughing, then raced downstairs to wake him up. 

The kitchen was in chaos. There was no other word to describe it. Whatever Aurel had done, it now resembled the test site of a nuclear bomb more than it did a kitchen. Chairs were overturned, the oven door lay on the floor, cupboards had been thrown open, and much of the contents lay on the floor. A bottle of milk lay smashed on the floor next to the open fridge. A couple of the rings on the hob was on, the block of knives next to it knocked over, a couple missing - probably kicked around the floor somewhere. Vladimir turned off part of the hob and groaned at the wreck, kicking the open fridge door to in an attempt to pull some of the cold air back. 

"Aurel, what the hell did you do?" he sighed, stepping out the back, putting his hands on his hips and glaring across at where his brother was sat. "It looks like... I don't know... like you've had a fight with the kitchen. What did it ever do to you?" Aurel didn't answer so he started walking towards him. He tapped Aurel's shoulder and took off his headphones. "Hey sleepy. Get up."

Aurel's head lolled to one side and he flopped slightly over the arm of the chair. It was only then that Vladimir noticed how pale he was. Normally, Aurel was about the same colour as milk, but now, somehow, he was even paler than that, almost the definition of white. Vladimir glanced down and nearly screamed. Aurel's front was a mess of torn fabric, bits of skin, flesh and blood, something which had been covered up by his jacket which had fallen away when he'd moved. 

And he was still bleeding. 

Vladimir sank to his knees, gripping the side of the chair and rested his head against Aurel's arm. "C... come on. Wake up Aurel. Please. Wake up" he whispered, drawing in huge, shaky breaths. A second later, he leapt to his feet again, wiping tears away from his face. If Aurel was still bleeding, that meant he'd not been dead that long. That meant that whoever killed him would probably still be in the house. He charged back into the house, leaping over the debris that didn't matter anymore and stood in the middle of the hall.