Chapter Thirteen: The Birthday Surprise

"God has given you one face, and you make yourself another."

- William Shakespeare, "Hamlet"

The day Konrad dreaded came. Looking into the mirror on his dresser, the Baron stared into his reflection and didn't bother turning around when Jurgen entered.

"Good morning, Herr Baron," the butler greeted.

Konrad didn't answer.

"Happy-"

"Don't even dare finish that sentence," Konrad said abruptly.

Jurgen quietly brought over his breakfast tray and put it beside him. "I'm sorry, Herr Baron."

Konrad's gaze remained on the mirror in front of him.

"Fifty years," the aristocrat murmured as he shook his head with disbelief. "When I was a child, I considered that to be old. I once thought- well, kind of naively promised myself that I'd never grow old."

"We all have to grow up sometime, Herr Baron."

He leaned back in his chair, nodding in agreement.

"Too true, Jurgen. Too true. Hard to believe it's already here." He paused in reflection, then looked over at the butler. "You want to know the funny thing though, Jurgen?"

"What's that?"

"I don't really feel like I'm fifty," Konrad said frankly. "I swear it's like I'm twenty." He scoffed. "The benefits of being a werewolf."

"Nein, nein, that's not the reason at all. You're just tiptoeing into it, Herr Baron, so it's natural to not notice it at first," Jurgen said, then added under his breath, "although behaviorally you do act like a child."

"I heard that."

"I wasn't making it a secret," Jurgen said cheekily.

Konrad rolled his eyes.

"Just a reminder, Herr Baron," the butler said, "you have an appointment with Mr. Zhou for your physical therapy, plus you have-have to do some...filming at the studio."

Konrad waved him off. "Ja, ja, I haven't forgotten," he replied. Standing up from his seat, he proceeded to put on his apparel before settling into his new wheelchair.

"I really wish you would reconsider it, Herr Baron," Jurgen said in disapproval.

The Baron said nothing as he put on his gloves.

"Why do you still want to go through with it?"

Konrad looked up at him. "Will you be coming to see me perform?"

Jurgen was quiet for a moment.

"I would rather not," he said truthfully, "but...if you insist on this foolhardy exercise, then I must."

The aristocrat gave a dismissive snort. "I just love your enthusiasm," he replied.

"I am not looking forward to this, Herr Baron."

"No one is forcing you to come," Konrad seethed.

"And no one is forcing you to dance like some damned trained monkey despite what you believe! You are the Chairman, for God's sake - you have the power to shut this down! You could have put a stop to this if you really wanted to, but you don't! Why?!"

Making sure the scarf and glasses were secure, the Baron glanced over at the butler.

"Just watch the program, Jurgen," he said simply. "You'll find the answer in there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to get to."

* * *

Konrad collapsed onto the exercise mat, panting furiously.

"Come on, Baron. Just a hundred more push-ups to go!" His torturer said encouragingly.

"You do them," he replied. "I'm done."

Zhou frowned. "Oh, you're just being a big baby. Come on, big fella, just a hundred more and you're finished."

Groaning, Konrad reluctantly lifted his arms, pressing his palms into the floor.

"As you wish, Satan," he grumbled, causing the trainer to smirk as he continued onward.

Once he finished, he dropped onto the floor, completely exhausted.

"Very good, Baron!" Zhou said with a smile.

The aristocrat tiredly raised up his hand and gave him the finger.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Baron, really!" Zhou scolded.

Konrad groaned.

"If you had my affliction and were forced to do two hundred push-ups each day, you'd be just as irritable," he grumbled.

The trainer laughed.

"Hardly," he said.

Lifting up his head, he glanced up at the man.

"How is it that you are always radiating glowing balls of optimism?" Konrad asked.

"When you have to fight your way out of a Thailand prison as I had, you learn to be patient and appreciate things more," Zhou said.

Konrad grunted.

"Touché," he said.

"Tell me, Baron," Zhou said, "is your condition as bad as you make it out to be?"

Konrad gave him a quizzical glance. "Are you daft?"

The trainer shrugged.

"I was just wondering," he said. "It's not everyday someone of your height and weight can pull off the things you can do. Surely you yourself must have thought about it, maybe even liked certain aspects of your condition."

Konrad lied there, pondering to himself.

"I suppose..." he said slowly, "on some level...that is true." He exhaled through his nostrils. "But," he continued, "then I would think about what I've lost and long for."

Konrad pushed himself off the floor and headed to the shower.

"Believe me when I tell you, Mr. Zhou, that you're better off not knowing what it's like. At least you were able to win your freedom."

* * *

"You sure about doing this, boss?"

The Baron stared into the reflection of his makeup mirror.

"I have to, Dieter," he responded. "I promised the Board a show with a werewolf, and a werewolf is what they're going to get."

Jurgen said nothing.

Konrad nervously shifted in his seat.

"You don't have to be here for this," he said. "You can leave if you want to."

"I'd rather stay and watch," Jurgen replied.

There came a knock at the door.

"Ja?"

"Five minutes, Herr Baron," a voice said from the other side.

"Thank you, Dustin," Konrad called.

Once the assistant left, Konrad stood up from his wheelchair and peeled off his cloak, scarf and sunglasses.

Jurgen gave him a disapproving glance but continued to say nothing.

"Well," Konrad said as he started stretching himself, "it's show time."

Walking toward the door, he pulled it open and headed out, all the while followed by both Dieter and Jurgen. Crew members turned their heads in their direction as they made their way to the set, a steel octagonal cage with overhead lamps, watching them, their features empty and expressionless.

Konrad stared at them uneasily. He had worked with many of them countless times throughout the years, but ever since the incident with Spinal, they came back inexplicably changed. Though they looked and sounded as they had before the incident itself and had done nothing threatening - at least, as far as he knew - there was a strange alien quality that greatly unnerved him and made him shudder every time. He wasn't the only one to have this impression; Dieter and Jurgen were standing stiff, eying each and every one of them with suspicion.

Dieter leaned into Konrad's ear, not letting his eyes off them for a moment.

"Why did you have to bring these fuckers back to work?" he harshly whispered.

"Some of them are under contract," Konrad said quietly back, "plus they're offering services at reduced prices."

"I wouldn't work with this group for any amount of money. You should replace them as quickly as possible," Dieter said.

"Duly noted," Konrad said.

The bodyguard glanced at one of the cameramen, Phillips, and tilted his head in his direction, drawing the Baron's attention to him. "You heard about what happened to Phillips, Baron? His family left him. When he came back that night, he had scared the absolute hell out of them, so much so that the wife took the kids and just ran away with them to her mom's and filed for divorce. He's not even fighting it. Not even his own folks want anything to do with him."

Konrad drew in a sharp breath, then sighed.

"I've heard similar stories," he whispered back. "One or two families called demanding an explanation for the way they are, but my secretary and others dismissed it as being trauma from the "earthquake"."

The director approached the trio, a short man with a white cap, beard and sunglasses, dressed in a blue formal shirt and jeans.

"Beautiful work with the werewolf!" He murmured. "Where's the Baron?"

Dieter cleared his throat.

"He, ah, wanted to stay in his trailer. He has explicit instructions for everyone to not go in and disturb him," the bodyguard lied.

The director shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a dismissive wave, then gestured to Konrad. "You, get in that cage, we're going to be shooting soon."

Nodding, the aristocrat quietly moved forward. Inside, a young fighter bounced around in readiness, stopping the moment he caught sight of Konrad and company. Opening the door to the cage, the former cast his glance around at the arena and at the crew, then stepped inside, closing it behind him. It had been so long since he fought in a cage, and now here he was.

'Dreams do come true,'  came the bitter thought.

He paused momentarily as he reflected his situation with black irony; for all his life, his greatest fear was his being locked up in a cage like his father. For most of his life, however, he spent it within the confines of his mansion, a luxurious cage, and now here he was, making his public debut...in another fucking cage. He privately wondered if God was laughing at his expense.

The fighter gave him a curious look and approached Konrad, circling around him, checking him out.

"Whoa!" The fighter cooed, impressed by the sight before him. "You look absolutely incredible!" He then looked over at Dieter and Jurgen. "Hey fellas, who made this?"

"A private contractor," Dieter called.

The fighter marveled at the creature.

"So lifelike!" He said as he reached out to touch him.

Konrad remained still as he poked him with a finger, then ran his hand along his fur.

"You guys, this is amazing! Whoever did this really should get a clap on the back!" The fighter said before deciding to reach up to touch Konrad's nose.

"Ahh ah ah! No touching!" Dieter called. "It's very sensitive equipment!"

The young man waved sheepishly.

"Sorry!" He said before turning back to face Konrad himself, raising his voice. "HEY BUDDY! ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE?"

Konrad nodded.

"THAT'S A REALLY COOL SUIT YOU GOT ON! WOULD YOU MIND IF I PUT IT ON AFTER WE FINISH THE SHOOT?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Carlyle," Dieter called. "The suit is specifically made for the actor inside. Nobody else can wear it."

"Oh," he said disappointedly before looking back to Konrad. "MY NAME'S PATRICK! PATRICK CARLYLE! WHAT'S YOURS?"

"He can't speak in that thing! It'd be best if you don't talk to him. He's, uh, a method actor - whenever he takes a part he never stops what he's doing."

"One minute, people!" The director said over a megaphone. "Everyone take your places, please!"

Carlyle shrugged.

"WELL, GOOD LUCK!" He said.

After several minutes of waiting, the director sat down behind the camera.

"Killer instinct, Sabrewulf vs Carlyle, Take One," the clapper loader said as he snapped the clapperboard.

"ANNNNNNND.......ACTION!"

* * *

The film crew watched as the two fought, recording everything, taking numerous takes. Konrad played up the part of the beast with relish, snarling and growling as he slashed and snapped his jaws at his opponent, deliberately missing him with his teeth and claws. By the time the fight finished, Konrad ended the match by howling to the sky. On the sidelines, he saw Jurgen sadly watching him, staring at him. When the butler had enough, he turned around and left without saying a word, departing as Konrad continued to work.

* * *

"AND CUT!" The director said from behind the camera. "Very nice! We'll continue this tomorrow."

Carlyle wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"AWESOME WORK, DUDE!" He yelled to Konrad as he punched him in the shoulder. "THAT'S ONE HELL OF A PERFORMANCE! YOU DID A REALLY GOOD JOB, MAN! SEE YOU TOMORROW!"

Konrad nodded, then turned around to leave, heading back to his makeup room with Dieter.

When he opened the door, he saw Jurgen standing there facing the wall. Gesturing for Dieter to stay outside, he closed the door behind him and waited for some form of acknowledgement from his old friend.

"Well?" Konrad said. "What do you think, Jurgen?"

The butler made no response. Konrad went over to a nearby cabinet and took out a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

"Jurgen?"

Hearing his name, the figure stirred.

"Why do you care what I think, Herr Baron?" he said.

Once he finished pouring, Konrad sighed. "Jurgen, please."

"It's sick, Herr Baron. Sick!" Jurgen said in disgust. "Not only are you debasing yourself...killing yourself on the Internet and for people's entertainment, but the world is cheering you on as you do it!"

"Good!" Konrad retorted. "Then that means that the tournament's serving its purpose."

The moment those words left his mouth, the butler whipped around and scrutinized him.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "What do you mean by 'serving its purpose?' Why do you hold the tournament?!"

It took a long time for Konrad to find the proper words.

"Well?!"

Tossing his head back, he gulped down his drink and exhaled in exasperation, running his clawed hands through his hair before finally spilling it out.

"If a tree falls in the woods, no one will notice. I'm the tree," Konrad explained.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Konrad sighed as he began to pour another cup. "If I die exposed, I will be considered a freak. An oddity to be puzzled over, dissected and studied for years to come by the media and scientists."

He paused, then set the bottle down.

"However," he continued, "if I were to die on camera, on film, that's different. I'd just be another dead monster. Fiction and civilization are built off of the shattered backs of fallen monsters, Jurgen. Fenrir, Jormungandr, Grendel, the Hydra, the Minotaur, Cerberus, the Chimera, Orochi, Frankenstein, Dracula, King Kong, Godzilla..."

He shrugged before taking another long gulp of his drink.

"A lot of famous company," he murmured as he wiped his mouth and chin.

"You shouldn't feel so proud of it!" Jurgen exclaimed in anger.

"I shouldn't, but what else can I do, Jurgen?" Konrad said, not bothering to look at him. "I am not a hero, I am a monster. Like those before me, I too will fall, destined to be slain by some knight, some hero. Before that time comes, however, monsters will have their day, onscreen and onscreen only."

"But you aren't just giving monsters their day, Herr Baron - you are celebrating them!" Jurgen countered in outrage. "Valorizing them! Multiplying them! Marketing them! Those powers that brought Spinal into this world are growing, and the only thing you're doing is help pave the way for them by offering up your own sacrifice! You have not only embraced your status as a monster, Herr Baron, but you have also become the father of monsters!"

Konrad poured himself another glass.

"Maybe you're right, Jurgen," he said. "But what can I do? Spinal is winning. It'll only be a matter of time before his masters kick open the door. I'm old, Jurgen...and I'm tired. I'm so very tired."

"And so you're just going to give up now?! You're not going to fight this?! The only thing you're going to do is just going to sit there and drink?!" The butler retorted. "That's it?!"

The aristocrat's only response was to take another gulp.

Jurgen stared at him in repulsion.

"This is absolutely disgusting! As far as I'm concerned, Herr Baron, you are worse than your father - at least he had enough sense to know not to flaunt his dirty laundry!"

The butler stormed angrily to the exit, causing the Baron to look up at him.

"Jurgen?"

He continued uninterrupted, ignoring him.

"Jurgen, wait!" Konrad called in terror. "Jurgen please!"

Grabbing hold of the handle, Jurgen looked over his shoulder. His eyes meeting his, the butler's gaze softened, then turned to sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Herr Baron," he said. "I have let you down. I wasn't able to keep that promise of finding a cure before your fiftieth birthday, and I hope you can forgive me."

"You don't have to apologize," Konrad said quietly.

Jurgen shook his head wearily.

"You and I have been friends and family for many years, and I would have done anything for you." The butler despondently let out a heavy sigh. "But...I don't even know who you are anymore."

Konrad's eyes watered, his mouth parting. He tried to say something, anything, but he stopped, desperately doing everything humanly possible to refrain from bursting into tears.

Turning away toward the door, Jurgen's voice hardened, "If you plan on killing yourself, at least have the fucking decency to do it in private and not involve other people, let alone having them watch!"

With that, he whipped open the door and slammed it loudly against its frame behind him. Outside, Konrad heard a scuffle.

"Hey, what's going-"

"Get out of my way!" Jurgen snapped from the other side.

The bodyguard opened the door, turned around to watch the butler's departing form and stared, startled before turning the Baron himself.

"What's up with him?" Dieter asked. "What did you say to him?"

Konrad turned his back to the bodyguard.

"It's nothing," he said. "Let him be."

* * *

The ride home was quiet. Inside the limo, Konrad stared longingly outside. Opposite him, Dieter silently brushed his fedora.

"So what did you and Jurgen talk about?" he asked curiously.

Konrad didn't answer.

"Baron?"

The aristocrat leaned back in his seat.

"Must have been something big for him to just leave you like that and take a taxi."

"Leave it be, Dieter," Konrad said. "I just want to be left alone."

"Okay, okay, it's cool," Dieter replied.

The aristocrat continued staring out the window.

"I look forward to getting home," he murmured. "That way I can be by myself and I don't have to deal with people."

The bodyguard shifted uncomfortably.

"Is something wrong?"

Dieter cleared his throat.

"Ah, no, Baron," he said. "Nothing at all."

Lifting his head to face him, Konrad watched the bodyguard as he looked away.

"What did you do?"

* * *

He and Dieter had just barely gotten through the front door when they were suddenly bombarded with deafening shouting in the castle, startling the Baron in his seat.

"SURPRISE!"

Konrad stared in shock at what he saw. All around him were hundreds of people, various friends and colleagues, all of them wearing formal suits and dresses. Even David was there, smiling. From the kitchen, Jurgen rolled a table with a massive white cake toward him. As he did so, the people around them began to sing, their combined voices echoing off the castle walls.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR BARON!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!"

When the chorus finished, the cake stopped in front of him with a candle lit.

"Blow out the candle, Herr Baron," Jurgen said.

Taking in a deep breath, Konrad blew as hard as he could. Once it was extinguished, people cheered and applauded.

"Well, Mr. Chairman, what do you think?" David said as he approached.

"I'm...I'm pretty overwhelmed by all this," he admitted. "Did you arrange all this, David?"

"Actually it was a collective effort, although it was Dieter who suggested this in the first place," Kellog replied.

Looking over to the bodyguard, Konrad glared.

"Did he, now?" he said.

"Since you have reached a major milestone in your life, we all thought why not, and so have decided to show our appreciation for you."

The Baron sat there speechless.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"I...I don't know what to say."

Everyone laughed as he sat there flustered.

"So earnest!" David said through his chuckles, patting Konrad on the shoulder. "I bet you can't wait to see the presents we got you, Baron!"

Beneath his hood, Konrad's ears perked, causing him to lift his head up curiously.

"Presents?"

"Indeed," he smiled. "You'll see after supper."

* * *

Konrad shifted uncomfortably in his seat as people clustered around the long table, laughing and chatting with one another. He wasn't use to this many people.

'Damn you, Dieter!'  He bitterly thought. Damn him for doing this!

"Are you going to eat anything, Herr Baron?" A man seated to his left asked.

Konrad shook his head.

"I'm not hungry," he replied.

Taking a glass of wine and a small spoon from a servant's tray as she passed by, David turned around and tapped several times on the glass, causing everyone to quiet down.

"Quiet down, please! Quiet down!" He said. Once everyone settled, he continued, "Thank you."

He took in a deep breath.

"We are all gathered here to honor our dear friend, colleague, and employer, Baron Konrad Von Sabrewulf," he began.

'Oh fuck,'  Konrad thought with dread. Here he goes with another of his long-winded speeches. 'Kill me now, God.'

As David droned on and on about their history together, part of the aristocrat started to weep.

"Blaaah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah," David said in Konrad's mind's eye.

'Yes, yes, keep talking, David,'  Konrad thought acidly. It'll only be a matter of time before everyone falls asleep.

Or decide to commit mass suicide.

Personally he wouldn't mind seeing them all rise up as one to kill the speaker.

"Blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah."

How's your creepy kid, David? Did he kill someone yet? He did? Oh good.

The people around him laughed at something David said. Konrad gave a fake laugh, joining with them.

David raised his glass. Oh good, he must be finished.

"A toast to Baron Von Sabrewulf," he said. "May he finally overcome his illness and live another fifty years in peace and happiness."

"To the Baron and another fifty years for him!" Everyone cheered as they raised their glasses.

Beneath his scarf, Konrad frowned.

'What a cruel thing to say,'  he thought.

Once they all finished drinking, they put their glasses down. David wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Now, for our first present," he said, "it had been brought to my attention some time ago that our very own Baron is something of a musical genius."

Konrad looked up at him, startled as people murmured all around him.

Musical genius? What was he talking about?

Konrad puzzled over his words.

He hadn't written any songs for ages, nor had he made any of them known, especially not to other people. The only song he had played in front of anyone was-

Konrad's eyes widened in realization.

Surely that couldn't be it. Surely Dieter-

"Since this discovery," David continued, "a few of us decided to pool our efforts together in order to bring this little project to life, and now, ladies and gentlemen, we will all hear this song performed live for the first time."

As people applauded, Konrad sat stiffly in his wheelchair. He wanted to get away from them all, hide in the deepest part of his castle and die. He wanted them to stop what they were doing, to say something in protest to this.

'Damn you, Dieter,' he thought bitterly. Damn him to hell.

David looked directly at the Baron with a warm smile.

"I hope you love this, Baron, as it took considerable time and money to get everything arranged."

Konrad said nothing as Kellog moved to the side in order to make way for three men in tuxedos carrying two cellos and a violin as they entered the dining room.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu, may I present 'Zahn Und Klaue', by Baron Von Sabrewulf. Mr. Beanland, Mr. Gordon, Mr. Norgate, if you please."

People clapped as the musicians took out their instruments.

"How very exciting, Herr Baron!" A middle-aged woman to his right said.

"Indeed," Konrad said, hiding his lack of enthusiasm.

Once the musicians finished getting ready, they settled in, then started to play the introductory notes.

https://youtu.be/zCAK3bwOGx0

Konrad was deathly still as the familiar notes of his work were played. Lowering his head in shame while everyone listened with rapt attention as it continued to build, the Baron could only watch as the tune flooded the room, slowly increasing in volume and intensity until the full range of his work was unleashed, a violent maelstrom that overwhelmed the listener. For three minutes, it played, mesmerizing its audience. When it finally ended, people applauded and cheered, much to Konrad's discomfort and embarrassment.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

"That was absolutely wonderful, Herr Baron!" The woman seated next to him said.

Konrad cleared his throat.

"Danke dir," he said.

"So, Baron," David said as he approached, "what did you think?"

The Baron nodded.

"It was wonderful," he said "Very good."

"I'm glad," David said as he took out a piece of paper from his coat and handed it to him.

"What's this?" Konrad asked.

"As a present to you, Baron, we got your work published and copyrighted."

The aristocrat sat there, completely speechless. David leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder.

"Happy Birthday, Baron."

* * *

Later that evening, Konrad sat at the table eating cake by himself, his scarf and hood pulled down in their entirety. Scooping up forkfuls of white icing, he munched loudly, pausing for momentary self-reflection.

Was he eating because he was hungry? Bored? Depressed?

He shrugged.

'Whatever,'  he thought as he took another forkful. He had cake, and he was going to enjoy it. 'It seems awfully greedy of me to eat all this cake by myself, but what else am I going to do?'

He snorted as he took more.

"I'm lonely," he admitted in between mouthfuls.

Dieter entered the dining room, shutting the doors behind him. "So," he said slowly, "did you like your surprise?"

Konrad took a glass of wine and swallowed.

"I did," he said. "But one thing, Dieter." 

He narrowed his eyes. "You had no right to make it public!" He said in a hushed angry whisper. "That was my work!"

"I just thought that it would cheer you up," the bodyguard said.

"I don't care what you thought, my privacy is to be respected! Do you understand?!"

Dieter was slow to respond. "...Yes, Baron."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Konrad waved him off. "Just leave me alone, Dieter," he said wearily.

The bodyguard gave a slight nod, then turned to exit, stopping for a moment to look over his shoulder. "Happy Birthday, Baron."

"Hn," Konrad grunted.

Once Dieter left, he continued on with his cake in gloomy silence.

* * *

Jurgen stared at the cabinet in front of him.

'The time has come,'  he thought sorrowfully.

For thirty-five years he had prayed countless times that this moment would never come to pass...but now he had to fulfill that promise he made to the Baron. Taking the key out from his pocket, the lock clicked as it was released. Opening it, he withdrew the burdensome item and took out a small box, the weight of the former now made even heavier by the knowledge of what he must do, his hands slick with sweat as he emptied the latter into his hand. Putting the box aside, he snapped open the side-by-side double barrel and carefully examined it. Once he was satisfied with the weapon's condition, the butler then inserted two cartridges inside while pocketing the rest, snapping the barrel back into place with an audible clack. Raising his left hand, Jurgen checked his watch.

12:45 a.m.

Everyone should be asleep by now, including the Baron, but he couldn't take any chances; he had to be very careful to make sure that his work wouldn't be interrupted.

Closing the gun cabinet, he went to the closet and found his father's sweater, a thick grey woolen thing that was old and worn with age. Feeling the material, the butler felt waves of nostalgia wash over him. He remembered the happy times with his father - how he told him stories as a boy while he had him seated on his knee in front of the fireplace. His first time hunting with him and the Baron. His first taste of beer with them, much to his mother's chagrin. Even memories of himself seated on his father's lap in the driver's seat, using the steering wheel. It was also the same sweater he wore that day when he had to perform his duty.

Jurgen sighed.

"Poor man," he said aloud.

That day had destroyed him; from that point on, Jurgen's father lost all the sparkle and life in his eyes. While he was able to put on a brave face for everyone's sake, including the Baron's, and did everything he could, Jurgen knew that something had died in the man and that he would never be the same again. Ever since that incident, he turned to the bottle and hid his grief with it before ultimately dying from liver failure.

Jurgen shook his head pitifully.

'I suppose that's why Herr Baron drinks so often,'  he reflected. To punish himself for what happened to Jurgen's father, a man that he had looked up to. To find or maintain some sort of connection to him. To understand how he had felt. To keep reminding himself of him. Perhaps, even, to die as he had.

Kissing the sweater, Jurgen carefully wrapped it around the shotgun. Once the weapon was entirely concealed, the butler then made his way to the door and headed for Konrad's room.

A patch of yellow light flooded into the darkened room as Jurgen snuck in. Closing it slightly behind him, just enough to illuminate his surroundings and help him navigate, the butler made his way quietly to the Baron's bed, the weapon heavy in his hands.

* * *

1979

Jurgen stopped as he heard his young master crying inside his room. Raising his hand, the butler knocked gently.

"Herr Baron?" he called.

He knocked a second time. When no answer came, he opened the door. Sitting on the bed with his back toward him, facing the opposite window, the teenager had his face lowered into his hands, sobbing furiously.

"What's wrong, Herr Baron?" Jurgen asked concernedly as he approached. "Why are you crying?"

Konrad sniffled.

"I-I-I broke up with Mila," he said between sobs.

"Oh Herr Baron," Jurgen frowned, saddened and surprised by the news. "Why?"

The youth shook his head. "I don't-I don't want her to..." he said, sniffling. He lowered his eyes, shaking his head. "It's-it's not fair, Jurgen! It's just not fair!"

Jurgen put a comforting hand on Konrad's shoulder as he wailed.

"It's okay, Herr Baron. It's okay. We'll find a cure for you in time. It's not the end of the world! You are still young! You have your whole life ahead of you!" Jurgen said encouragingly. "We'll find a cure."

Taking in several deep breaths, Konrad raised up his head and wiped his eyes, then looked directly at the butler.

"I want you to promise me something, Jurgen," he said. "If I turn out just like my father or worse, I want you to kill me."

Hearing those words froze the blood in Jurgen's veins.

"Don't say such things, Herr Baron. That will never happen."

"Promise me!" Konrad pressed. "I don't want to end up in a cage like-like him. Promise me! I'm begging you, Jurgen - promise that that won't happen to me, that you'll kill me before that time comes!"

Jurgen stared down, horrified by what he's hearing.

"If you truly care about me, Jurgen," Konrad said, "then you'd see to it that I'd never end up like my father."

His lips tightened into a grim line. He had no choice.

"Alright, Herr Baron. I promise. I promise to...put you out of your misery...when the time comes," he said, struggling with the words.

The next thing he knew, Konrad stood up and hugged him, surprising the butler as he held on tight and wept.

* * *

Jurgen stood over the bed, looking down on Konrad's features as he slept and snored loudly. He shook his head his incredulously.

'Unbelievable,'  he thought.

How could anyone sleep and produce such a racket without waking themselves up?

It sounded like there was a tractor in here.

Unwrapping the shotgun, the butler gently placed the sweater onto a sofa to the right of the bed, giving it a slight pat before straightening himself up. Stepping close to the foot of the bed, he lifted the weapon and aimed it directly at the Baron's head, staring down the barrel. Pulling the hammer back with his thumb, his index finger traced along the trigger hair before curling around it, his breathing slow and measured while his heart raced a marathon, beating in his ears like a tribal drum. Sweat greased both palms of his hands and his forehead as he stared down the barrel, standing over the sleeping Baron.

Exhaling nervously, he lowered the weapon.

'Wait a moment, Herr Baron,'  Jurgen thought.

He wasn't ready yet. He needed to steady his nerves and find the proper mindset for this.

Turning to a cabinet nearby, Jurgen opened it up and rummaged around quietly, opening up drawer after drawer until finally he found what he was looking for - a bottle of red Riesling wine with two glasses. The butler quietly shook his head.

'Typical,'  he scoffed mentally. The Baron could always be counted on to be hiding wine somewhere.

Taking a glass, he opened the bottle and poured himself a drink, stopping when he thought he detected movement. Turning briskly to the doorway, the butler waited with baited breath before turning back to face the Baron.

Was he awake?

His heart raced even faster as he watched the Baron. When the Baron snored, the butler released his breath.

'Thank God,'  he thought with relief. If the Baron had woken up, Jurgen wouldn't have been able to go through with it.

Pouring the rest of the bottle into the glass, the butler put the cork back in and placed the former away, then turned to the sleeping figure.

"I had hoped that I'd never have to do this," he said aloud.

The figure snored in reply.

"Even though you can be an enormous pain in the ass," Jurgen began, "...I have always cared about you. I've always thought of you as a little brother."

The butler leaned back against the cabinet with a weary sigh.

"You once claimed that I was jealous of you," he said.

Konrad snored.

"I suppose there might have been a tiny bit of truth in that," Jurgen shrugged. "I never told you this...but there was a time, Herr Baron, when I...I absolutely hated you."

No acknowledgement was made.

"Surprising, I know, but..." the butler struggled with finding the words. Then it all came pouring out. "...I was sick of it. I hated you for what you were. What you are. I hated you for what your father had done to mine. I hated the fact that my family were chained to yours and had to deal with your shit."

He took a sip from his cup.

"There was a time when I was going to walk out on all this," Jurgen admitted. "Walk out on you, without ever saying goodbye. It was when the change to your legs was starting to occur. You were groaning in pain and were shitting the bed, and when I tried cleaning up...I swear, it was as if you were trying to deliberately make more of a fucking mess. You'd be screaming for Tylenol or something to manage your pain, and when I wasn't quick enough to get it, you'd just use every insult in the book or throw things at me."

He shook his head wearily.

"Then one day, I just had enough. I got a suitcase and started packing all my things in. I didn't care where I went, just as long as I got away from you, otherwise I would have gone insane."

Jurgen glanced over to Konrad.

"Do you know why I stayed?" Sighing, he continued, "Because my mother couldn't bear the thought of leaving you on your own. Christ, how I tried reasoning with her! I begged and pleaded for her to come with me, but no matter what I said she wouldn't leave. She was so...stubborn. She wanted to stay and help you. I asked her, 'Why? Why would you want to stay with him?! He's a selfish little bastard whose family has caused nothing but trouble for us! His mind and body will rot away like his fucking father, so why stay around to watch a repeat of that horrible day?!' You know what she said?"

He took a long gulp.

"She said that she pitied you, that you needed someone by your side. Despite their wealth, the Sabrewulf family, in her eyes, were the loneliest people on the planet, and not out of choice. They needed someone to care about them, to help them, someone to depend on. Nobody knew the harsh truth of their existence. 'Certainly,' my mother said, 'there are people out there who have far, far less and are more deserving...but everyone needed someone regardless. Everyone is entitled to a good night's sleep. Everyone deserves some...dignity and hope.' She said that the most loving thing a person can do is to...be there for someone, whether they want help or not."

Jurgen was still for a few minutes, then took another drink.

"After she said that, I felt like a total ass. I was completely ashamed of what I was doing."

He gave a small smile.

"Do you want to know the incredible thing, though? She wasn't upset over what I said or felt. Being a servant to a Sabrewulf was a heavy burden and would be filled with challenges. It's not a path suited for everyone, and my mother didn't begrudge anyone for not wanting to be a part of it. Not my aunts. Not my uncles..."

Jurgen stared down into his glass.

"'Do what you feel is right,'" he said. "Those were her last words to me before she died."

He wiped his eyes.

"It took a long time for me to decide...but when she was gone, I...I realized...that...in spite of everything.....all I had left in this world was you. And now...here we are."

Looking to Konrad's sleeping form, Jurgen held up his glass to him.

"To all the good times we had together, Herr Baron," he said before downing his drink. Once he finished, the butler put his glass onto the cabinet behind him, straightened himself up.

Exhaling through his nostrils, he nodded to himself. He felt much better now. His mind was clear and his nerves were steady. All that was left was to put the Baron to rest. Jurgen quietly stepped toward the Baron with weapon in hand, inching closer and closer until finally he loomed directly over the aristocrat himself. Raising up the shotgun, he aimed the barrel directly over Konrad's head. Pulling his thumb back on the hammer, his index finger settling on the trigger piece, Jurgen steadied his breathing.

"Auf Wiedersehn, alter Freund," he whispered as a tear ran down his cheek, his finger tightening around the trigger.

At that moment, the door crashed open.

"BARON!"

Jurgen heard several loud cracks and felt a sharp pain that lasted only a second, then nothing.

* * *

Konrad stared wide-eyed with shock as the lights came on and illuminated the fallen form that lay bleeding by his bedside.

"No," he murmured as he flung aside the covers. "No, no, no, no."

Kneeling down, Konrad gently touched Jurgen's face, then looked up at the bodyguard.

"Dieter," he said in a quiet, tiny voice, his lower lip quivering, "what have you done?"

"He was going to kill you, Baron," Dieter said as he holstered his sidearm. "It was dark."

The aristocrat gently shook the still form.

"Jurgen? Jurgen?" he said quietly. "Are you okay? Please say something."

Tears dropped onto the dead man's face.

"Jurgen, please!" Konrad pled. "Please wake up! I need you! Please! Please."

Kneeling beside him, Dieter checked for a pulse. After a minute, the bodyguard frowned and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Baron," he said.

Konrad carefully picked up the dead butler and hugged him, his left hand cradling the back of his head as he wept loudly and uncontrollably.

* * *

As Dieter watched the scene before him, a single thought crossed his mind. It was something that he had often wondered, something that he had meant to ask the Baron many times, but seeing it for himself was confirmation.

Werewolves can cry.