Not Her

by Noah Fitz

  You failed the exam. You know what that means? Are you aware of the consequences of your failure?

  Speech bubbles popped up one after the other, underlaid with a robot-like voice.

  Enno crawled frantically to his cell phone. Please don’t! I will make it up to you, I promise. His right thumb was still numb from the electric shock.

  You have ten minutes.

  Enno jumped to his feet and sprinted out of the room. In the hallway, he almost fell over his mother, who used a large spoon to scrape lettuce off the floor and throw it back into the bowl. The flickering glow of a tea light illuminated her face. “Watch out!” she said, climbing to her feet. “Oh great, now this beautiful bowl has a crack in it.”

  Enno shone the flashlight app on the gray box next to the round mirror. He fiddled with the little handle, thinking about the time limit and the upcoming test—and the cables that were still sticking out of the socket. While he hung on to his thoughts, the knob kept slipping away from his fingers, then finally his mother gave a relieved sigh. “You did it,” she said.

  Only after another second did Enno understand why his mother sounded so relieved. Everywhere in the apartment, except his mother’s bedroom and the toilet, the lights were on. Even in the living room. His mom hated the darkness.

  “We will eat a little later,” she said. “I have to make a new salad and clean up the mess.” She looked around and wiped her hands, shiny from the salad dressing, on her colorful apron.

  “Could you help me in the kitchen?” It wasn’t a request or a demand, more like a cry for help.

  “I still have to study for school.”

  She seemed disappointed. His mom was quite young, in her late thirties and still very attractive. Enno pressed a kiss on her cheek. I will miss you. I may never see you again, Mama.

  “Are you crying?” she said, startled.

  “No. I’m just tired from reading so much.”

  The doorbell made his mother flinch. Again the bowl slipped out of her hands. Enno skillfully caught it and brought a smile to his mother’s face.

  “Who might that be? Oh yes, the police wanted to stop by. Holy smokes! I totally forgot about that. The house is a mess. What will the gentlemen think of me?”

  Enno had canceled the announced visit. Before he could say anything, his mother reached for the receiver of the intercom. She held the salad bowl in the crook of her arm.

  Enno made a split-second decision. Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he unlocked his cell phone and pressed the video icon.

  “Come up,” his mother said. He heard her voice as if from far away, which suddenly sounded very different. “Yes, Enno is here, too.”

  Enno stared at the green bar. The video was thirty percent uploaded. His throat became dry. An icy cold crept up his back.

  “It’s Dixon!” The smile on his mother’s petite face froze. “What is it? What’s troubling you, darling? Is it Yara?” she asked.

  A knock at the door.

  Enno did not move. His mother let Dixon in.

  “Hello, Mrs. Parker. Hi, Enno, we need to talk in your room. Got a minute?” Breathing heavily, he slipped out of his shoes. “Sorry, Mrs. Parker, for barging in like this.” He grabbed Enno by the upper arm and pushed him into his room. “Just a word,” he said quickly. He was smiling, but crookedly.

  Something was not right here. Enno sensed it. Dixon was shaking all over as he slammed the bedroom door behind him.

  “Are you back on drugs?” Enno asked.

  “Hold your tongue, I just saved your life,” Dixon said. His eyes flitted to the wires. “That was pretty close. Luckily, I was by the electricity box hanging in your basement.”

  “You blew the fuse…”

  “Shh,” Dixon said. “I think I know who the guy is.”

  “Really?”

  “Ninety percent.” Dixon didn’t sound very convincing.

  “I’m not playing the game anymore.” Enno tore himself free from Dixon’s clutches.

  “What? Are you crazy, man?” The determination in Dixon’s eyes gave way to naked fear.

  “I’m uploading the video.”

  “What?” Dixon’s hands flew up and dug into his hair. “No!” He acted as if his worst fears had become reality. His dark eyes turned as black as polished gems. “I can’t believe it! I’m on the fucking video, too!” Spit flew out of his mouth, from which a tooth was missing.

  Enno still held the cell phone in his left hand. The bar had reached the halfway point.

  “Don’t you dare, Enno. Don’t do it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have chosen to live.”

  “Give me that thing!” Dixon reached for the phone. Enno skillfully dodged. Dixon’s hand leapt forward again, but Enno managed to elude him the second time as well. He bounded backwards until his back hit the wall.

  “You’d rather die than do that,” Dixon said. His lips trembled.

  “Stay away from me,” Enno said, and then ducked under the next strike. Dixon’s fist brushed against his cheek.

  Enno reached for the chair and hurled it at Dixon. A heartbeat later, Enno held a samurai sword in his right hand. A souvenir from Spain. The blade was not sharp, but long and heavy. Awkwardly, he waved it around.

  “Dixon, stay away! I swear to you, this is not going to end well unless you give it a rest. You can hardly be seen on the video!” He took a swing with the sword.

  Dixon stood with his back to the door, both hands clenched into fists. “Give me the fucking phone, Enno!”

  The door opened and Dixon was shoved forward. He stumbled over the overturned chair that lay on the floor in front of his feet and toppled forward with pinwheeling arms. At the same moment, Enno swung his sword, and the tip of the long, slightly curved blade slashed across his best friend’s neck.

  Enno saw a dark fountain shoot out of the gaping cut and pour over the tile. His mother screamed like a banshee. She held a knife in her hand. She had jerked it up in shock and had cut a deep wound on her face. Dixon slipped in his own blood. He lay on the floor, his feet drumming uncontrollably against the door and blocking it so that Enno’s mother was trapped in the opening. His white socks were sprinkled with red blood that dribbled from the screaming woman’s cheek.

  Enno followed the terrible scenario with wide eyes. Everything had happened in slow motion. Even the cries of his mother sounded distorted and long.

  Suddenly she stopped screaming. “Do you hear that, Enno?”

  Enno stared at her as though through a milky veil; he could not comprehend what had just happened.

  “I think the police are here,” she said, still stuck in the crack of the door. She stretched out her left arm to her son. The sword slipped from his fingers.

  The green bar was no longer there on his phone.

  Instead he saw an error message. The file could not be uploaded. But that was no longer important to Enno. He tried to scream, but he lacked the strength. He couldn’t even breathe. He tore his mouth wide open, but only a choked croak came out. A buzzing, glaring flash exploded in his head. The room tilted. The lines blurred. His chest contracted.

  “What have I done?” he heard his mother say. “Enno, what have we done?” She raised her bloodstained hand in front of her eyes, still holding the kitchen knife.

  Finally, Enno staggered toward the window because he still couldn’t breathe. The handle was stuck.

  “Child, what are you doing?”

  He looked around. His mother pressed herself against the door, the knife now lying on the floor next to Dixon’s feet, which were still twitching. His long fingers curved and opened. Everything was so surreal.

  Enno turned back to the window and finally got it open. The cold air hit him like a hammer. In one fell swoop he realized the extent of the horrible event. Was this the payment for his cowardice? Had the playmaker been able to foresee all this? Had he arranged the whole thing?

  I killed a ma
n. I nearly decapitated him. Like a fucking chicken. I’m a murderer. I killed a man… My best friend. The desire to die on the spot was so intense, so overwhelming, that Enno could barely understand the sensation. He knew only one thing: it was now or never.

  Enno’s vision cleared. His movements were still uncoordinated, and he was still swaying. His mother gave up the fight against the door. She stretched out her blood-soaked left arm toward him.

  “I’ll take the blame, Enno.” She resembled a saint just before execution. One who would rather die for her ideology than bow down. Her hair was disheveled, her face pale and crusted with blood, her eyes wide as if under hypnosis. “I will take the blame for everything,” she said with wild determination.

  My mother, a martyr.

  He had already made his decision.

  “Enno, no!” his mother cried, and then her throaty scream broke off.

  Chapter 17

  Tine pressed the bell once more before turning back down the three steps to the damp sidewalk. She strolled back to the red Audi, where Wulf leaned against the hood. He looked up at the house, to the many windows flooded with yellow light.

  “I guess they’re not home after all,” Tine said. She put her hands in her warm pockets.

  “We’ve booked our visit for tonight,” Wulf said. As if to make sure his mind wasn’t pulling any crap, he checked his phone’s appointment book.

  Tine swerved to the side. On the sidewalk, a tall man murmured something and walked faster. His heels clacked loudly. He hurried to the entrance of the house.

  “Excuse me,” Tine said, “do you live here?”

  Wulf also looked up and put his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans.

  The man hesitated. “It’s none of your damn business where I live,” he said cheekily.

  Only then did Tine realize why his face seemed so… unusual to her. The left half of his face hung slightly down. Like a wax figure that had stood too close to a hot fireplace.

  “We’re the police,” Tine said. She rummaged through her coat for her badge.

  The tall man was caught by the pale light of the exterior lighting. His left foot touched the first step only with the tip of his shoe.

  “I’m clean,” he said. He sounded outraged and irritable.

  “We don’t want anything to do with you,” Tine said, trying to find a soft tone.

  The man relaxed and turned around. He looked at Tine as if trying to remember if he knew her. “You’re pretty for a cop, and for this neighborhood.”

  “She’s with me,” Wulf said. “I’m old and not pretty.” He kneaded his fists, sticking his back out.

  “Is this piece of junk yours?” the man asked, appraising the Audi. The amusement in his deep voice elicited a fleeting grin from Tine as well.

  “It may be old, but it’s reliable,” Wulf said.

  “Like you?”

  Wulf dismissed the provocative remark with a predatory smile. “Can you please let us in the house?” He popped up his coat collar and came closer. In the light of the lantern, the man’s distinctive facial features appeared even more angular. “We rang the bell, but maybe it’s broken. We’re here to see the Parker family.”

  “Yes, they live on the same floor as me. Up on the roof, like Karlsson.”

  “Your jokes are not really funny,” said Wulf.

  “The old woman has a son. Well, she’s not old, she’s actually quite nice. Not like your colleague, but still. Her son is a strange fellow. Acts like a girl. Mrs. Parker lives alone with him. I guess your partner wasn’t as good at nails as you are at screws.” He laughed again.

  “Very funny, now open the door,” Wulf said.

  The man tapped his trouser pockets. “Ah, there they are.” He took out a bunch of keys. “But the light is still on,” he said, pointing through the treetops to a window. Tine looked up and suddenly screamed. Wulf grabbed Tine by the collar and pulled her aside. Something slammed to the ground at her feet. Her face became chalk white.

  It was a boy’s body.

  “Oh, goddamn it!” The tall man came closer and crouched down beside the boy. His hair, combed backwards, was sparse, the skin underneath shining. “He’s dead… his skull… oh God.” He choked and pressed his hands to his temples.

  Tine tipped her head back. A woman stood on the balcony, bending low over the railing.

  “No!” Tine said. “Miss? Please stay where you are!”

  “I did it!” the woman called down. “Me! Enno has nothing to do with it!”

  “Would you please go back to the apartment and open the door for us?” Wulf asked. He sounded unnaturally calm.

  “Is he okay?” the woman said, looking down at the boy on the ground.

  Wulf reached for his phone. “We’ll call an ambulance immediately. They’ll take care of him. Where is your son? Where’s Enno?”

  “Down there!” the woman said, pointing to the motionless body.

  Tine sat on her heels. The shimmering pool of blood spread out in all directions. She felt for the boy’s pulse. The narrow neck was still warm. Under her fingers, it throbbed.

  “Please open the door for us,” Wulf said.

  Tine stared, stunned, at the boy’s head. Part of his skull was shattered like a coconut, and bone splinters were stuck in the gray matter of his brain. The acrid smell of urine rose into her nose. She suppressed the impulse to vomit and swallowed the ascending bile.

  Wulf patted the neighbor on the shoulder. “You. Stay with my colleague. Do you understand me? And you, Stolz, take down his information. He is a witness.”

  The man lost his balance and fell on his butt, but immediately jumped up again. “I would rather go with you.” He looked at Wulf imploringly, folding his hands as if in prayer.

  “No, you two stay here.” Wulf picked up the bunch of keys from the floor. “Which one?”

  The guy wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger. “That one,” he said.

  Wulf hurried away. Tine watched him disappear into the house.

  “We should cover him up,” the neighbor said. He unzipped his bomber jacket.

  “No,” Tine said. “We leave everything as it is. Please move to the other side of the street.”

  Two teenagers walked closer.

  “There’s nothing to see here!” Tine said.

  At first the kids didn’t listen.

  “I’ll break your knuckles if you don’t get the hell out of here,” the neighbor said. His intervention had immediate effect. The two teens scurried across the street but kept looking at them.

  “They’ll come back,” the neighbor said. “And it won’t be just the two of them.”

  The soft howling of a police siren made Tine breathe a sigh of relief. “That won’t matter in five minutes. My colleagues will help us secure the scene.”

  Chapter 18

  Marc ran upstairs, two steps at a time, without taking a break. With a slight stitch in his side and a dry mouth, he arrived at the top landing.

  Two doors, one left, one right.

  The left one was open a crack. A bright glimmer of light fell through the narrow slit and he heard a voice. With a slight rattle in his chest, and gasping for breath, Marc walked toward the door and nudged it with his knuckle. Almost silently it swung halfway open.

  He looked at a confused woman who was scrubbing the floor violently on all fours. With circular movements she polished a spot next to the door.

  “Please stop,” Marc said. His eyes slid down the narrow corridor because he wanted to get the situation right. Without looking at him, the woman paused. She squeezed the bloodstained rag, and a greasy broth poured out, spreading into a puddle.

  “Are you the boy’s mother? Are you Mrs. Parker?”

  “Watch your step,” she said. “The dressing must come out of the carpet or it will stain.” She crawled on hands and knees over the coarsely knotted runner and scrubbed at a dark stain that was growing lighte
r and lighter. The once white fibers had turned gray over the years; the fresh blood stain began to foam.

  “I soaked it in a special cleaning agent.” She pointed to a small spray bottle standing next to a bucket. “Is my boy okay? Enno did nothing wrong. He’s a good boy. My husband will be here soon.”

  “Your husband?” Marc looked around because he thought he heard a noise.

  “Yes, he works during the day. Sometimes also on weekends. He always comes home late, so the neighbors think I’m a single parent. Which may, in fact, be true,” she said.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  Only now did she look up at him but remained silent. Her dull stare revealed she was fighting an inner battle. Her lips trembled and had taken on a bluish color. She was in shock.

  “What happened to your cheek?”

  A five-centimeter-long incision ran beneath her eye. The blood was clotted and smeared. “I cut myself with a kitchen knife, that’s all.”

  “Is there anyone else in the apartment?” Marc approached the woman with small steps. He squinted to the left into the kitchen. There was a radio show playing. A woman’s voice was talking to a listener about something banal. Both laughed.

  “No. Please watch your step. The floor is slippery. Do you like lasagna?” She straightened up and sat on her knees.

  Marc could not think of any possible response. Without thinking, he said, “Did you and your son have a fight? May I look at his room?”

  “No. It looks worse there than here.”

  His cell phone rang. Marc answered immediately, but made sure not to let the woman out of his sight. “Wulf,” he said.

  “The KDD are here.” Tine sounded rushed. “Should I come up?” Moving her mouth away from the receiver, she yelled at someone in the background. “Just keep going! There’s nothing to see here!” Then, speaking directly into the phone again, she said, “I’m all finished here.”

  “You’re responsible for the removal of the body,” Marc said. “I want him to be delivered in an orderly fashion.”

  “But—”

  “That’s part of your job, Pride.”