Liberty Jones

Chapter Three

They manage to stop the group before another attack can be launched.

Ana  slowly regains her health, but the innocence that had surrounded her was gone. She had known she was a Nation, but she had never known how hard it could be before the bombs.

That was when Ivan truly began to tell her about her father, such as the angry red scar on his left shoulder blade from Pearl Harbor, and the slit down his arm after 9/11.

She listened with patience, and over the years, she learned the story of her father's missteps, his wrongdoings, but how he had also made the world a much better place.

One night, as she's thirteen, Ivan comes in from the snow. They travel between the houses, but Ivan always has to stay near Russia when General Winter comes.

Ivan hurries to the kitchen and peels off his gloves, running his hands under the hot water as it comes out of the pipes. There's a few rust flakes, but he doesn't care about that.

"You okay?" He hears her ask in Russian.

"Da, just a little cold."

She fetches a dry hand towel and places it next to the sink. Once he can feel his fingers again, he rubs his hands dry.

"What's the story behind that one?"

Ivan looks up, confused. "Huh?"

She takes his right hand into hers, pointing at the mark he's kept hidden all these years. "It looks like an acid burn. What's the story behind this scar?"

Ivan shakes his head. "You don't need to know."

"I know about every scar dad had, and only the story behind a few of yours. Why are you trying to protect me?"

Ivan brushes her hair away from her face with his other hand. "Because you are young, and don't need to know."

She grabs his hand, shoving him away. In the corner, he can see Alfred standing there, silently.

"I'm not as dumb as you think! When I ask anyone else about you, they tell me stories. Lithuania, England, France! They all tell me how you used to be. So what is it? From a war? The revolution?!"

Ivan flinches, realizing too late too hold himself rigid. No one has talked to him like this since Alfred died, peeling away the skin to hit the bone, and hit it hard.

He yanks away from her, and up the stairs.

"Father, you have to tell me sometime!"

"Nyet!" He shouts, and then locks himself in his room.

Almost instantly, Al is there, glowering.

"What?!"

She's right. She should know.

"Just leave me alone for a while, Fredka!" He manages to keep what he wants to scream down to a low, dark whisper.

Al sighs, and walks out of the room, back downstairs.

 

A few days later, he leaves the door to his study open. That's always been an open invitation to Ana.

She comes in, and sits in the corner, doing her homework. Her nest of pillows and blankets seems out of place in the study, mainly occupied by a large desk and a single bookshelf.

Al sits on the top of the bookshelf, and smiles at his daughter. She's reading Harry Potter. Arthur got her hooked on the series. Ivan believes this is the fifth time she's read it all the way through.

He stretches, and then peels off his gloves.

Instantly Ana's eyes dart up, and he knows the question they long to ask.

"You are sure you want me to tell you about this?"

"Da, papa."

He sighs, and then begins.

"It was July 17th, 1918..."

 

He didn't like the fact that they had made him come. He knew their intentions, and he didn't agree. The murder of women and children would not make his people happy. Nicholas and Alexandra had been very close to him, or as close as anyone could get. He felt none of them deserved to die, but especially not the children.

He heard the men laughing as he entered the house, following the man in charge. Downstairs, he could hear the cries of confusion.

Once more, he looked at the paper, praying that in the last few minutes, the words would have changed.

Ivan (stop) I order you to accompany these soldier to Yekaterinburg (stop) and help them accomplish the mission I have given them. (stop)

Sincerely, (stop)

Vladimir Lenin (stop)

No. They were still the same.

He had his pistol on him, but a soldier shoved a rifle into his hands. "Use this for that imperial scum."

Ivan kept silent, but in truth he was barely holding it together.

They escorted him downstairs. Nicholas's eyes grew wide, but then he nodded, accepting his fate. Beside him, clutching Alexei close, Alexandra tried to calmly take a last few breaths, and accept her fate as her husband had.

The five children looked at him, and the older ones understood. But Anastasia and Alexei only looked confused.

The leader of this group, Yakov Yurovsky, nodded. "You do it first."

Ivan nodded, standing strong, though all he wanted to do was flee the room. He lifted the rifle, aiming carefully at Nicholas.

"Nyet!" Yakov said. Ivan turned back, confused.

Yakov pointed, and Ivan felt his heart nearly stop. He wanted to shoot himself, but then when he awoke, Lenin would punish him.

He turned, the rifle locked onto a new target.

Alexei looked at him, eyes showing his fear. "Ivan..."

He pulled the trigger, and then in the moment of silence, he turned and shot Anastasia.

The other men took care of the rest, while Ivan sat at the bottom of the steps, panting.

Then there were the vats of acid.

Ivan carefully lifted Alexei, setting his small, frail body down into it, and then doing the same for Anastasia.

He didn't even notice the burn until later that night, as he stumbled back to his house, trying to use the bottle of vodka in his hand to erase the memory of the deed he had done.

He remembered stumbling in, and Lithuania staring at him. He was covered in blood, clutching the bottle like it was his lifeline.

But what had surprised Lithuania the most was that the second he entered the house, Russia had slumped over, and silently began to sob.

It was the only time he had ever seen Ivan sob.