TW: Death, Guns

Adagio Hart is a 'knock-once' type of man. He has very little patience left for the day, after finding that his daughter is missing from home, that she has snuck out while she has been grounded, to be alone with a strange boy.

Of all the scenarios this is the most worrisome for Adagio, as a father.

The immediate vicinity is empty of any life. The townhouse is not empty of signs of recent activity though.

Adagio spies that food has been left out; a serving plate of meat and two individual ones are left on the table, one more eaten than the other.

He calls Hazel's name to give her a chance to come out from wherever she is. It won't lessen the trouble she's in but he'd rather she not put up a fight and come home willingly.

No movement is heard from anywhere in the silent townhome. He wonders where they could be.

He is sure this is the address based on the information Ros gave him and while he knows his niece can be a little liar, she wouldn't dare lie to him.

He sweeps over the rooms in the townhouse, determined to find his daughter somewhere within. He finds a bedroom and is relieved that he didn't walk in to the sight of Hazel making out with the strange boy.

Seeing it empty only reinforces his anger and worry.

He doesn't know who this 'Erik Denholm' is but he knows he certainly will give the boy a piece of his mind if he ever finds him.

There is no denying that no one is currently in residence. Adagio curses and then something catches his attention.

A family portrait on the wall in the upstairs hallway.

He doesn't realize until he's dialed the number on his phone that his hands are shaking. His eyes don't leave the portrait for one second—they are trapped on a particular face.

"Jackal, it's Coda. We have a situation."

Adagio is struck with a sudden and real fear that his daughter is in serious danger.

...because the face of the young man in the portrait isn't only familiar, but has haunted his dreams for years.

"Erki, have you set the table? Your mother will be back soon with dessert."

"Ya, Papa."

The boy stared intently at the ingredients on the counter, as his father prepared his favorite meal.

The man turned his gaze toward his young son and smiled, "You want me to teach you how to make this?"

The boy smiled with a nod, "Ya, Papa."

It wasn't often they got to eat meals together as Papa's work kept him away most nights. He admired Papa's hard work as a businessman for it kept his family fed and sheltered but wished to spend as much time with him as possible.

He was taught how to make the traditional dish. Papa was an excellent cook.

The smell of cooking meat and sound of laughter was all but shattered as soon as the front door busted off its hinges. Father and son were both set upon by men dressed in black, shouting in foreign tongues.

Papa stepped forward, partially shielding him as he looked on with fright down the barrel of a gun.

To his surprise, Papa matched their words, but with calm, seeming to talk them down. After a few exchanges, Papa mumbled, "Erki, fetch Lucretia."

He obeyed and scurried off to do as told. Hoping Papa would make them leave. He grabbed the old doll off the shelf in his parents room. Papa had nicknamed the doll 'Lucretia' - but he did not understand what it had to do with the men that had broken into their home.

When he returned to the kitchen, his blood stopped cold at seeing the guns were pointed directly at Papa. Even though the circumstances were stressful, his father showed no fear, in fact, his face was drawn into an expression of resignation.

"Papa..."

The sound of gunshots nearly deafened him, as he clamped his eyes shut and recoiled at the noise, dropping Lucretia where she clattered onto the floor. His infant sister, who had been sleeping in the nursery, started screaming.

When he dared open his eyes, the sight was unfathomable. His knees gave out and he dropped to the floor next to the doll. His ears were ringing and he couldn't hear his own shouts for Papa to open his eyes.

The foreign men turned to him, hissing words he didn't understand and pointed their guns in threat.

He managed to choke back on his screams, but a paralyzing fear washed over him and he pleaded for mercy, hoping they could understand what he said.

He barely registered that one of the intruders leaned over and took up Lucretia. He didn't care--they could take anything in the house they wanted to just as long as they would leave.

Eventually they did leave, and let him live, but it hardly made him feel relief. His mother was not home yet, and he dreaded her reaction.

He barely remembered the time that passed before the men were gone but he ended up crawling over to Papa, who had been still far too long to be alive.

Death was something he only knew from stories, but never expected to witness until he was a grown-up. He curled into a ball, feeling hollow inside. Papa was gone, and he knew he would never be the same again.

...and the faces of the men who had broken his home and childhood would be etched into his nightmares evermore.

What is the difference between nightmares and memories anyway?

To Erik Denholm, they are one and the same.