What's Your Emergency?

"P-please come as soon as you can!" a gunshot burst through the static. The woman screamed and spewed garbled hysterics.

"We'll be there." The police officer responded.

Turning to the officer behind him, he described the case.

"Apparently someone's been shot next door to this woman's apartment. Better get there as soon as possible… Here's the address. I wouldn't be surprised if it's just another frat party gone wrong. Poor kids," he grumbled and turned away, looking at the dispatcher. She gave him a strained smile and returned to answering phone calls.

The officer, who was sent, looked at the card handed to him. In scrawled handwriting he recognized the address. His heart sank.

"You know who could have been killed?" another officer asked. Her hair, pulled into a long black braid, swung as she spoke.

The officer, named Ludwig, nodded stiffly.

"Want me to come along? It was supposed to be a peaceful night, wasn't it?"

"No, I'll go alone."

"You can't. What if you get killed?"

"I'll call for help."

"This isn—"

Before she could continue her argument, which probably could have changed Ludwig's fate, he had slipped out of the building.

Wailing sirens cut through the still night. Few people stirred. One child woke up and dashed to the window. He pressed his nose to the window and, wide-eyed, watched the red lights flash. After hardly a minute of driving, Ludwig pulled over to a brick apartment building and clambered up the stairs, drawing his gun. Finding the apartment, 210, he pushed it open, holding forth his firearm and sweeping the scene. Terrified eyes stared at him.

"Ludwig?" one said. The voice belonged to a wiry, lean Italian with dusky red hair and tears streaming down his cheeks. He trembled visibly, wiping his nose with a tissue.

No one threatened him and he put his gun away, "Nobody leaves the scene. Has anyone left since the gunshot?"

"No…" came the feeble reply.

Ludwig slammed the door shot and bent down on the rug. Prostrate on the ground, the victim lay with his head turned to the side. Two once beautiful blue eyes now stared up lifelessly at the ceiling. Blood trickled down his lips and nose, staining the blue carpet. A bullet had pierced his chest and his neck. Dark blood trickled from each wound, blooming on his skin and clothing like a flower.

"Alfred…" he murmured, running his fingers through his starch blond hair. Biting back tears that sprung from nowhere, he surveyed the suspects.

The Italian, Feliciano, gawked at him as though frozen. Next to him Francis, bit at the end of a napkin, fighting back grief for his lost friend. By him Arthur sat like a stature, unfeeling. His green eyes were frostbitten, staring directly at Ludwig as though enraged. The two other guests shared an expression of disbelief. Ivan and Kiku, sitting an arm's length apart on the couch, looked at the dead body in remorse. A gun had skidded across the floor, emptied, and pushing the curtain to the balcony back with its nozzle.

They were all Ludwig's friends. One, or perhaps more, was a murderer.

"I'm handling this case alone," Ludwig said to break the silence.

"Why?" Feliciano's amber eyes flicked up to meet his steely ones and then became suddenly interested in the carpet.

"I have my reasons. Now, I want to interview each of you alone." Ludwig went into the hallway and found an office space. He shut the blinds and clicked on a lamp, setting up a makeshift interrogation chamber. He wanted everyone to be interviewed here quickly, to avoid any escaping. On the desk a picture of Alfred hugging his brother to the side, a mousy boy, and laughing at something behind the camera. "Too young," Ludwig thought. He returned to the living room, elated to find everyone there, and called one of them to him.

Ivan

The man sat down heavily on the spinning chair. His broad shoulders cut his shadow large. His moody eyes peered from beneath curtains of silvery hair, which he swept away and gave Ludwig a very faint grin.

"Hello, Ivan," Ludwig clicked on a recorder. Its red light clicked on.

"Hello."

"Why don't you explain what happened? From the very beginning, if you please."

Ivan exhaled and gazed for some time at the lamp before starting.

"Alfred invited me here, first off. I didn't come here because I wanted to invade his party."

"How did he invite you?"

"He emailed me. It's actually very strange because I always knew we had hostile feelings between us. He never seemed to like me very much. I called him to ask if it was some sort of joke, but his voice was hoarse and broken, as if he had been crying. I knew something very bad had happened and so I flew out here as soon as possible. I got here this morning and after checking into a hotel, I came here. It was great. We had a few drinks, he made some actually good tasting food, and then we decided on watching a movie. This part's a mess, I apologize, but the next thing I knew the TV turned on, very bright, and someone left to get popcorn because the microwave beeped. There was a fumble and then a gunshot. I couldn't see what was happening." Ivan cast his eyes downwards, to indicate that he was finished.

"Do you suspect anyone of committing the crime?" Ludwig placed his pen on the notepad, scratching out a note.

Ivan slowly shook his head, but stopped, his nearly translucent eyelashes fluttering.

"Actually, I suspect one person. Don't take my word for it, but when Arthur first came over he was very mad. He was colder and ruder than usually, which is saying something. He wouldn't look at anyone and said only a few whispered words to Alfred, which made Alfred look sick."

"Thank you."

Kiku

"I haven't seen you in a while." Kiku smiled. His pale lips stretched and his eyes, brown as upturned earth, reflected the lamplight. He placed on slender hand on the desk and tapped his fingers impatiently.

"Yes, long time no see. Now, could you tell me why you came to this party?"

"I came here because Alfred called me. He was upset, I could tell." Here Kiku's grin melted away and at once the catty expression vanished from his face, leaving not a single trace. "I came over as soon as possible. When I arrived he seemed to be in high spirits. It was strange that he was crying one hour ago and was laughing the next. I was troubled so I kept an eye out for him. What I did see was a kind of nervousness… Almost like he knew he was about to die." When the final word fell from his lips Kiku froze.

"Are you all right?" Ludwig asked, looking up from his paper to see what caused the sudden quiet.

Tears rolled down Kiku's smooth cheeks. He tried to chuckle it off but coughed up a sob instead. He wiped his cheeks with his palms and stared at the floor until he could speak again.

"And it's even stranger to see him dead. He was a really good friend, you know? Whenever you felt sad he would laugh and somehow make you grin. He never took life seriously but when he did he became the most down-to-earth person on the planet. He's a hero, he really is. He could be obnoxious and loud and a riot, but he also listened and understood and such a good friend. He can't really be dead…"

"I know." Ludwig didn't cry, though. "Do you suspect anyone?"

"I don't believe anyone here would have any reason to kill Alfred Jones. Even Ivan would never do it. I'm sorry to see him painted as the villain so often."

Arthur

Arthur stared directly at Ludwig, in the same temper as before. His jaw was set and his arms tightly crossed over his oxford shirt.

"Could you tell me what brought you here?" Ludwig asked.

"Alfred called me several days before, on Monday, and asked if I wanted any of Matthew's ashes. I declined the offer."

"Why?"

"I couldn't handle it." Arthur looked away, took a deep breath, and continued. "After that he called me again and said he was having a get together with some of his friends. I knew it was to get his mind off his pain. Living with someone and then finding them not there one morning is lonely, to say the least. Then he told me that nobody else, besides Francis, knew what had happened. He didn't say anything and no one asked. I conjectured that he planned this party to tell them at last. They were all Matthew's friends too. They have the right to know."

Ludwig had stopped writing notes. His eyes were fastened on to Arthur. His blonde hair, pulled back at his temples, caught the lamplight and turned the color of wheat. It hadn't quite struck him what Arthur said. "You… You mean Matthew's dead?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it so bluntly."

"How—why?" Ludwig then felt ashamed. Instead of feeling remorse he sought the new information as a vital piece of evidence. He wrote it down. Still the pain had not yet struck him. It was a blade hovering over his skin, ready to lacerate, but waiting for the most inopportune moment.

"He had lung cancer," Arthur said quietly. He swallowed back a tight knot of emotion. "And, as I was saying, we came to the party. He didn't say a word. Next thing we knew the lights were turning off, the TV blaring, a lot of rustling, and suddenly a gunshot."

"Do you have any suspects in mind?"

Now, if Arthur was the actual killer, he would never admit to it. Arthur didn't seem likely to be the killer, however, Ludwig thought. His stony visage could be due to the gravity of the situation. His coldness could have been sadness and a fort to protect Alfred. Ludwig suspended judgment until the end.

"I think it was Kiku. I don't know what he told you, but from the moment he arrived here, he had his eyes pinned on Alfred. But that's just a tiny thing. If you really want to know, I think it was Francis. He was closest to Alfred at the crime scene. He was really nervous and, as you saw, he was at a perfect position to shoot and then throw the gun."

Arthur could have been blaming everyone else to shift the focus from him, to lower suspicions. Ludwig noted this too.

Francis

"Alfred called me to come. He was crying and I knew it was because of…" Francis trailed off. His creamy curls rolled against the side of his cheek. His watery eyes slid away from Ludwig and fell to the floor. "He was crying because of Matthew. I knew that much. He invited me over and, I'm sure you heard how we had the party. Then I sat down in the far back, next to the window, and we were about to watch a comedy movie. The lights flashed on and off at the same time. Someone moved, I think it was Feliciano to get the popcorn, and Ivan to get a better position, and the next thing I knew a gunshot exploded. I felt dizzy and then Alfred fell like a sack. The gun slid across the floor. We turned on the lights and there he was, dead." His voice broke.

Ludwig nodded. He had added a superfluous amount of facts: a sign of a liar. His fingers constantly moved against his jacket, picking at the zipper. He slid it up a notch, and then down. It rattled and clicked as it moved.

"Do you have any suspects in mind?"

"I think Arthur did it."

"Why?" Ludwig was taken aback. He knew Francis and Arthur never got along, but there was nothing murderous between them. Francis wouldn't purposefully throw suspicion at Arthur and Arthur wouldn't do it to Francis. Were they coupled together in the act? Had they planned it? Or was it pure coincidence?

"He's jealous. I mean, if it hadn't been for Matthew, I would have told you with a hundred percent certainty that it was Arthur. Arthur's jealous of Alfred. He's jealous of the youth, of the optimism, of the love he gets despite himself… I can't believe he's really dead." Francis trailed off again, leaving his words lingering in the air. He rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. "But I suppose it could have been anyone. Ivan never really liked Alfred, though I doubt he would kill him. Kiku watched Alfred like a hawk, but they were too good of friends to attack each other. I could have killed him, come to think of it. But I have no motives too and I don't kill for fun. I don't kill at all."

All of these could be flaming red herrings. Ludwig scratched his chin with the end of his pen.

"I see," he said.

No one had accused Feliciano, it occurred to him. Feliciano was too sweet, too docile, too aloof to do such a thing, wasn't he? Only one way to find out.

Feliciano

After Feliciano repeated the story, adding that he had gone to retrieve the popcorn, he fell into a mess of grief. He had ceased crying. Dried tracks were caked on his cheeks. He rubbed at them until his skin was red.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Ludwig asked. He didn't know why he had framed the question like that. He could have just asked if Feliciano suspected anyone, but he went ahead and accused him.

"No." Feliciano shook his head slowly. His sand-colored skin seemed oddly red in the lamplight. "Even Lovino wouldn't want to kill Alfred. I can't imagine who would want to. He's just a child. He's barely out of high school. He's bright, smart, and now he's dead." Feliciano sniffed.

"Feli," Ludwig reverted to the pet name, feeling an odd sense of compassion. "You weren't that close with Alfred. Why did you come?"

"I don't know, actually. He invited me suddenly. I didn't see any reason to say no. What a fun party it would be! I thought at the time. I don't feel very well, Ludwig. I feel so sad."

"I know. I do too."

Cogito, ergo sums

Ludwig remained at the desk for a long time. He placed his chin on his hands. He could hear the others still in the living room, hardly daring to even breathe. They waited for him with infinite patience, at least that's what it felt like. For them the hour Ludwig spent contemplating passed by like a dream. It seemed like a minute since Feliciano returned that Ludwig announced his decision.

While Ludwig thought, turning off the lights to allow his thoughts to marinate in the dark, he began to feel strange. Alfred really was dead. So was his brother. Two great people had been snuffed like candles only just lit. Matthew, too quiet and gentle to hurt a fly, eaten up by his own body and then there was Alfred, crazy smart, eccentric, optimistic, and he, too, was destroyed by a condensed piece of metal.

Ludwig felt like he was floating in very thick, cool water. He faded in and out of reality, contemplating idea after idea after idea. Once he thought he had reached the answer, one omnipresent piece of evidence leaped before him. Then he would move on, obstructed by logic and evidence gained.

Nothing felt right…

Nobody would kill Alfred.

Then Ludwig realized the answer. He raised his head from his hands, like a man finally shown light, and the relief of realization was crushed under sudden devastation.

There was one person who would kill Alfred. And he was in the living room.

What is freedom?

Son, it's something we think exists.

"I'm surprised none of you left." Ludwig said weakly when he stood before them in the living room. His uniform never felt more cumbersome before. His radio buzzed occasionally, reporting this heist, this domestic dispute, and that neighbor who was too loud.

"We want to know who killed him." Arthur nodded at the spot Alfred once was. They had called to give him an autopsy. Now he was lying in a cold room, poked and prodded by skilled hands.

The gun had been taken to be inspected. Ludwig refused to allow anyone to help him in the deduction. The officer, the one with the long braid, pitied him. She knew what he was doing next and she didn't like it whatsoever.

"So what's your answer?" Ivan asked at last.

"All of you have a reason to kill Alfred." Ludwig began, "Ivan could have killed him after a long and enduring hostility between them. It has been slowly melting away as time went on, but you can't deny it's there. However it is unlikely that Ivan would, at Alfred's request, come over only to kill him. Kiku had a reason to, too. He could have done it for fun. He could have done it for revenge. Arthur could have done it for jealousy. Francis could have done it to redeem himself. Feliciano could have done it out of fear."

Ludwig felt as though he was spewing nonsense.

All eyes were directed at him.

"But none of you did it. I know this for a fact. The only person here, or, hell, even on this planet who would want to kill Alfred is Alfred."

No one spoke.

"All your evidence pointed at one thing: Alfred was in misery. Alfred called you all not to frame you, I think, but to have you there when he directed the lights to play in such a way and so there would be such movement that he could kill himself and fling the gun across the room."

"Why would he do that?" Ivan asked.

"He lost his brother—"

"What?" A chorus of voices burst out. Feliciano, Ivan, And Kiku stared first at Ludwig then at Francis and Arthur.

"You two knew? Why didn't he tell us?" Kiku asked.

"N-no, that's too much!" Feliciano began to weep again.

"I think he framed us." Ivan grumbled.

"He didn't. He would have had one person framed and not an entire group." Ludwig reprimanded him. "Alfred isn't an idiot, you know."

A mari usque ad mare

The reason so few people knew about Matthew's death was because it happened five days before Alfred's. But now both brothers were gone, both rays of light vanquished into eternal darkness. Arthur had lost two of what he believed were his children. Albeit Alfred often annoyed him and Matthew spoke too little, he still loved them. Francis, who had been closest to Matthew, now felt a loss. Both men thought they saw those youthful faces in crowds, but then they dissolved back into the mass. Sadness crushed them.

The apartments were cleaned out and the story made the news for a day before being forgotten. An onslaught of more violent cases buried it. The people involved were forgotten and life began again at a staccato pace.

I do not own Hetalia.

Cogito, Ergo sums = I think therefore I am

A Mari usque ad mare = from sea to sea

I apologize for an inaccuracies in describing the process of interrogation and police work. I am inexperienced and this story was not about how that worked but rather a different message.