The Night of the Murder

There was something horrible in the knowledge that all the polite people surrounding Yifan hated him.

Fiddling with his shirt sleeves, Yifan observed the residents of El Dorado Estate converse amongst themselves, the night sky visible through the large windows. They had retired to the billiard area after the meal, and Junmyeon, Luhan, and Minseok were discussing business on the sofa to the left of him. Perhaps it was impolite of him to stare, but he felt no desire to go over. Not after what had happened earlier in the day. There was nothing for him to contribute; there was nothing they would wish him to contribute. “We will have to check the stock records tomorrow,” Junmyeon was telling his secretary, and Minseok dutifully recorded this down.

“I trust they will be in order,” Luhan responded sharply, folding his arms. He noticed Yifan’s stare. “Can I help you with something?”

Shivering slightly at the coldness of the man’s words, Yifan turned his gaze elsewhere. Junmyeon’s two sons were bent over the large silver cabinet just behind the billiard table, in the centre of the room. Junmyeon’s many clients and company had helped him amass a considerable fortune of antiques that his sons were now poring over. He would have walked over to join them, but it felt a mistake to interrupt their happiness.

“Yifan?”

He glanced up to see Zitao looming over him, a concerned expression upon his brow. Unclenching his jaw, Yifan allowed him a faint smile. Zitao sat down beside him, and he was quickly joined by Yixing. “Goodness, I am thirsty – at last!” the family doctor remarked at the sight of the butler entering the area, a tray of drinks carefully placed in his steady hands. Setting it down, he gave a slight bow. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“That will be all. Thank you Baekhyun, you may go,” Junmyeon said, and the man gave a polite, charming smile, exiting the room.

“Thank you, Baekhyun,” Yifan said under his breath, as the three men took their glasses, Yixing nearly draining his. The other trio did the same.

“Did you say something, Yifan?” Junmyeon asked, regarding him over the top of his drink. There was a queer tone to his voice that did not sit well with him. A prickle of fear – had Junmyeon, no, it was an over thought. Startled at the suddenness of the question, Yifan never imagined he would have his nephew to thank for shifting attention.

“I didn’t know we had guns in the household,” Sehun remarked, as Jongin twirled a little pearl-handled revolver between his fingers. Smiling, he pointed it as his brother and mouthed ‘bang’. Sehun shoved him, and Jongin laughed.  

Luhan snorted at the sight of it. “Barely a peashooter,” he commented.

“But deadly if loaded,” Yixing said brightly, clapping his hands together, “Then there would be a little hole in Sehun’s –”

“It was your mother’s,” Junmyeon interrupted, looking faintly green, “Jongin, please put it back. It isn’t a plaything.”

“Oh, let him –”

“You should listen to Father,” Sehun snapped, his countenance poisonous as he looked at Yifan. He could have sworn Minseok muttered under his breath, not that you ever do. Zitao made an uncomfortable movement with his shoulder, eyes flicking between Yifan and Sehun. The younger twin had taken a seat on the right sofa, glaring spitefully at no one in particular.

“Go sit next to him,” Yifan said lowly, nudging the younger boy. Zitao blinked, looking at him with wide-eyed confusion, before his face cleared at Yifan's nod. Relieved that his indecision had caused no slight, at least visibly, he did so. For the life of him Yifan could not understand that particular friendship, but such as things were. It was not as though he had much experience there himself.  

Positively sulking, Jongin turned around and returned the revolver to the cabinet, before joining his brother. The conversation after swam past Yifan; twice he had made to speak, but there was something about the atmosphere, beyond Zitao and Yixing, that stopped him. It was in the way they looked at him, sometimes indifferent, other times cold, that gave him pause. Perhaps he had eaten too much, and that was why his stomach churned. The glass in his hand shook slightly.

Beside him, the good doctor was attempting to stifle a yawn of gargantuan dimensions. “You look sleepy.”

He admitted it frankly, as was his nature. “Oh yes – consumed with sleep! I can hardly keep my eyes open. Such a long, long day…”

“When things can’t go on,” Yifan mumbled, wondering where such a slip had come from. He would not know how right he was; all he sensed was a deep, relentless foreboding.

“Now, now, I’ve got a tonic for that feeling, very effective,” Yixing patted him on the shoulder, “But – tomorrow! Jongin, I’ll leave your medicine by the bedside.”

And with that, the doctor exited, heading up the grand staircase to the room he shared with his current patient. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting when he’s so exhausted,” Jongin said fretfully, and Junmyeon waved him off, biding him goodnight. Now, that nephew he could tolerate, as Sehun shot him another rude glance.

“Zitao, will you be staying over?” Junmyeon inquired, standing up and ruffling Zitao’s hair fondly. “No, it’s much too late. Sehun, ask Baekhyun to prepare the guest bedroom for him.”

“Baekhyun needs his own rest. We’ll do it ourselves,” Sehun responded, tugging Zitao by the wrist. Whining that he was tired as well, Zitao followed after him, giving Yifan a small wave. Yifan now found he was absolutely alone on the sofa – Luhan and Minseok were playing billiard, absorbed in their competition. The servants had disappeared. A chill ran down his spine. Junmyeon was at his side, one hand gripping his arm.

“I’d like to