Not Her

by Noah Fitz

  Marc gritted his teeth and hugged his child firmly. He fought against the tears, but his voice still trembled when he spoke. “I think that Peer is a fake,” he said, whispering into Luck’s ear. “No one can hang on to an electric current for five seconds. They’re screwing with you.” He chose the word on purpose, hoping to get closer to his son.

  “Peer’s not a fraud!” Luck said, breaking free from his father’s clutches.

  “We’re going to Tarek,” Marc decided.

  “No.” Luck shook his head. His face turned pale and stony.

  “Luck. What these guys are doing is very, very dangerous.” Carefully, he tried to cross the emotional gap that separated him from his son. “The girl did not jump off that bridge. This is not a game. And if your grandmother hadn’t caught you putting that wire in the socket—”

  “I didn’t!” Luck said.

  “Okay. We’ll go talk to Tarek. I’ll say I caught you watching the video, too.”

  “That’s not possible,” the boy said.

  “Why not?”

  “I can only look at the rankings.” His nostrils flared, and Marc realized in horror that his son was ashamed of the fact.

  “Okay, I’ll just say a teacher gave me a tip, and you stay in the car. You just show me the house where Tarek lives.”

  “Tarek isn’t here now. He and his mother are with his father in Turkey. He might not come back for two months. His dad had an accident and is in a hospital.”

  Marc pulled his right hand across his face and dragged it out slowly. “We’ll go there anyway. Do you know what this Peer looks like or what his last name is?”

  Luck shook his head again. “It might be a nickname.”

  “Would you recognize him in a photo?”

  “No, but Tarek would. Except he’s not here because he’s in Turkey with his father!” Luck spat every word as if his father was a moron.

  Marc reached into the pocket of his leather coat. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Tine’s number. It rang twice and then he heard her voice.

  “Pride, we need to meet. In about an hour. I’ll give you the exact address…” He looked at the cuckoo clock hanging over the front door and noticed that it had stopped.

  “It’s almost half past six!” his mother cried from the kitchen. “We’ll eat in five minutes!” Then she cursed as something fell and rattled on the floor.

  “I’ll get back to you at seven,” Marc told Tine. “Did the diary turn up anything?”

  “Not much. But a name is mentioned. Pia. And accident.”

  “Please bring the two photos with you. I’ll call you again as soon as I arrive at my destination. Luck! Get dressed, we have to go.” He hung up and took a quick look in the kitchen. “Mother, keep the food warm, we’ve got to go somewhere.”

  “Then you two can just stay away from me. I won’t cook for you anymore. Tomorrow there will be only canned fish.”

  “I’m afraid this can’t be delayed,” Marc said, helping his son into his jacket.

  “You’re not a good example for the boy. Just look how thin he’s become. No one cares about the children anymore. Work, career, no time… your father also aspired to higher things and found his happiness in alcohol. One day I found him…” She threw the wooden spoon into the sink and turned around. “I raised you and your brothers and sisters alone. And how do you repay me? With a grandson and two divorces. What kind of mother am I? A failure. That’s what your father would have said.”

  Does this run in the family? Marc thought. Is this fear of failing so deeply rooted in us? He tied a thick scarf around Luck’s neck.

  “Human lives depend on this, Mother. And the herbs taste better anyway if it’s been reheated three times. That’s what you used to say when we were little.”

  “You be back at nine sharp. Lucky is sick and needs something warm before he goes to bed. I’ll make him tea and calf compresses.”

  Marc grabbed his cap, pulled it down around Luck’s ears, and left with an, “Okay, Mama.”

  Chapter 27

  Marktheide | Cemetery

  Peer’s wet jacket stuck to his back. It was quiet in the cemetery, except for the wind that tore at the bare treetops and plucked at the last leaves. The ground crunched under Peer’s shoes.

  “Pia, I want to say goodbye. I can’t do this anymore.” His pupils shimmered darkly. The croaking cry of a crow flew away on the wind, and Peer shivered. His gaze was focused and turned inward, as if he were trying to remember every detail of that terrible day. They had been such a funny bunch.

  He could still hear Yara laughing. She was new in town, a real Berliner. Her father had found a new job, so they had moved from the capital to Marktheide. Her father was supposed to restore the old bridge.

  Her laughter drew closer as the memory caught up with Peer…

  ***

  “Would you like to join us, Pia?” Enno said. He was the oldest in the gang.

  “No, thanks.” Pia was very shy and preferred to read books. Peer did, too, only he didn’t admit it. Instead he bowed to peer pressure.

  “Oh, come on!” Enno said. He jumped off the bench and caught up with Pia. She obviously wanted to hide under a tree and read.

  “Stop it! Leave her alone.” It wasn’t Peer who intervened, but Steve Dixon. Like Yara, he was a draftee. He spoke with a Bavarian dialect. And because he had dark skin and dreadlocks, it was even more fun to watch him when he made an effort to speak High German. He was a nice guy, even if he was sometimes different from the others. He and Enno would later become best buds.

  “If she wants to read, let her read,” Dixon said, pulling Enno back to the bank. “Look here. Yara is a no do, and Sarah. Right, Sarah, you’re scared to climb on the roof? Are you coming, Peer? Hey, Pia, why don’t you join us? We’re a small but awesome bunch of freaks now.”

  “Let’s take a picture,” Margret suggested. She had moved away later, she and Bernd.

  “Who’s going to take it? One of us will be missing.”

  “If Pia wants to do nothing, can’t she at least take a picture of us?” Dixon looked around at the group. Everyone nodded.

  “Peer, she’s your sister, isn’t she?” Dixon smiled. “Can you ask if she’d like to take the picture?”

  “That’s no problem,” said Pia, and put her pile of books on the bench next to her. She took Yara’s cell phone because it was the newest one out of the bunch.

  Everyone laughed into the camera.

  After Pia left to return to her bench, the group slumped into ennui, staring at the sky or their phones.

  “Let’s have a dare,” Enno suggested.

  Dixon was in immediately. “What kind?”

  “A test of courage. Whoever wants to be one of us should prove that he really is a freak.”

  The faces of the others beamed with curiosity.

  “We could walk across the street when the traffic light’s red,” Bernd suggested. He chewed on a straw and looked at the sky. “Why do airplanes make veils of mist? Are they poisonous?”

  “We can film ourselves doing it,” Yara said, wiggling her cell phone.

  Bernd was afire. “Oh, yes. Gross. Later we can create a YouTube channel.”

  “No. Heck no,” Dixon said. “We’ll get caught.”

  “We could use masks.” Margret pulled on the silk scarf she had been wearing around her neck lately.

  “Oh, yes. That would be totally rad. The freaks from Marktheide.” Bernd rubbed his hands together.

  They all broke out into resounding laughter.

  “You’re a fool, Bernd,” Dixon said.

  “We can keep the films secret and make a game out of them. We can, can’t we?”

  “Let’s take a funny photo first,” Dixon said. “The first was too serious, even though I laughed like an ox.”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Enno said happily. He put his left arm around Dixon’s shoulder. Grinning, he pulled his buddy
closer.

  “What’re you doing here again?” someone said, approaching the group. “Get the hell out of here!” It was Olaf. He was much older, and a joint was stuck to his lower lip.

  “Fuck you, Olaf, leave us alone!” Dixon jumped off the back of the bench and confronted the older man, who grinned stupidly. Although he didn’t participate in sports, Dixon was broad-shouldered and muscular. “I have something to talk about here. So get lost, you scrawny Popeye!”

  “You’re the little fag who jerks off!” Olaf said , giving Dixon a knowing smile. He pointed to Enno, but kept addressing Dixon. “You watched that retard in the shower. In the pool.” Olaf laughed, blowing a cloud of smoke in Dixon’s face. The thick fog smelled sweetly of grass.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sarah said. “If you’re so well-informed about it, does that mean you watched Dixon changing in the locker room?” She gave Olaf a provocative wink. She moved her shoulders like a boxer before the fight and wiggled her head so that her neck vertebrae cracked. Everyone, including Olaf, knew how hard Sarah could punch. Even the boys in the tenth grade feared her. “Fuck off, Olaf,” she said.

  “Yeah, man. Take a hike.” Yara waved her arms as if to frighten away a pesky insect.

  For the first time, standing together against Olaf, the teenagers felt strong. That one evening welded them together, creating an invisible bond.

  “Pfft!” Olaf raised his arms in a calming manner.

  But the clique could not be stopped. Everyone was screaming wildly. Their faces were distorted into grimaces. Dixon pushed Olaf, slamming his palms into the man’s chest.

  “Be quiet for once! I’m going, you guys…” The last word got stuck in Olaf’s throat when Dixon kicked him between the legs.

  Yara stood on the bench with her phone and filmed her friends as they beat Olaf.

  “You’ll regret that!” cried Enno.

  “Kiss my ass!” growled Dixon.

  Peer was just standing next to him.

  “Pia!?” He looked around in shock. His sister was no longer there. Peer ran home. Pia sat in the kitchen, drinking tea.

  “So here you are.” He stepped into the light. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Taking a shower.”

  Peer heard the soft splashing. “And Dad?”

  “He’s in the shower too.” She raised her eyebrows in amusement, then suddenly opened her eyes in horror. “My books!” Pia got up and rushed outside.

  “Wait!” Peer tried to hold her back, but his sister was quick as a weasel.

  In the living room the balcony door was open. Somewhere in the apartment a door slammed shut.

  “Hey!” That was Olaf. “I’ll kill you all, you bastards!”

  Peer ran onto the small balcony and saw Olaf pull himself up.

  “And you’re first,” he growled as soon as he saw Pia with his left eye. The right one was completely swollen.

  “I didn’t do anything, you freak,” Pia said, scooping up her books.

  “I’m going to kick your ass, and your friends along with it. I swear to God!” He sucked the snot up through his bleeding nose and spat a slimy lump at his feet.

  “Yeah, sure.” Pia stuck her tongue out. “You should get some sleep, Olaf. Should I call an ambulance?” She sounded amused and worried at the same time. She hadn’t known about the fight. Olaf drank a lot, and he often looked a bit crazy. But never as bad as today.

  “Fuck off, you stupid cunt!” He picked up the joint from the floor and lit it again. Staggering, Olaf left the courtyard, which was flanked by several high-rise buildings. He disappeared into the dark.

  ***

  Peer wiped his eyes. The memory in his head evaporated.

  “I should have protected you from that,” he said to the gravestone. His sister smiled up at him, just a photo on an oval porcelain plate. That was all he had left of Pia. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I ran away from home for the first time. Mom and Dad don’t like each other anymore, but you already know that.” He didn’t tell her that Mom maybe had a new boyfriend. Peer turned around and went to the gate. Maybe I’ll see you soon, sis, he thought and ran a little faster.

  Chapter 28

  Marktheide | October Street

  “So this is where he lives?” Marc got out of the car and pointed with his chin at a row of multi-story houses. There was a light on in most of the windows.

  “Yes,” Luck said, although he sounded uncertain.

  Together they walked into the yard. It was empty. Marc dialed Tine’s number and gave her the address.

  “Be there in ten,” she said.

  “Okay. And bring a flashlight.”

  “I will.”

  Marc put the cell phone away. He took Luck’s hand and crept to the first house.

  “Tarek lives in that house over there?”

  “He’s not here!” Luck said.

  “He might be.”

  “No!” Luck broke loose and tried to run back to the car. Marc caught him halfway there.

  “Let’s ring the bell just once.”

  “No!” Luck tried to bend Marc’s thumb up to release the grip on his shoulder. “I don’t want to be a snitch.”

  “Can I help you with something?” A dark silhouette peeled away from the darkness. A red dot shone brightly for a moment. “Are you his father?” the man asked. He came closer so Marc could make out his distinctive features.

  “And who are you?” Marc asked. Instinctively, he moved Luck back behind him.

  “I keep order here,” the man said.

  “Are you with the volunteer militia?” Marc could feel his son’s heart beating, and the boy’s arms wrapped around his stomach like a second belt.

  The soft crackle of the cigarette filled the silence. “No,” the man said. “I’m just the janitor. But there is so much riffraff around here that I like to take a walk now and again.”

  “Then just keep walking.”

  The man pulled at his cigarette again and took his time responding. “Do you have any identification?”

  “I’m with the police.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I really am.”

  The janitor stepped into the light of the streetlamp. He was tall and broad shouldered. Although not as muscular as Marc, his body was well proportioned. The broken nose and stern gaze completed the confident appearance of a man who would not back down from a fight. He also started to massage his fists, first the right one, then the left one.

  “Alright,” Marc said. “Let me get my badge from the car. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. You stay right here, and I’ll call the cops.”

  “No need, I’m already here!” Tine said. Breathing heavily, she rummaged in her bag. But instead of an identity card she held up a can of pepper spray, which she directed at the janitor.

  “Whoa! Be careful with that, lady.”

  “Am I wearing a cocktail dress?”

  “What?”

  “I’m a cop on duty, not a lady.”

  “Am I in a freak show here?” The guy laughed nervously and raised his hands, taking two steps back. Uncertainty was written all over his face.

  “Here, the flashlight,” said Tine and took a black flashlight out of a pocket of her bag.

  Marc grinned crookedly. “What else do you have in there?” he said. He weighed the heavy part of the flashlight, examining it in his hand.

  “If I look long enough, I’m sure I can find a Kalashnikov.” Tine still sounded harried. “Should I shoot the guy in the knee, so he doesn’t run away on us?” Her eyes flitted back and forth between Marc and the janitor. “Oh God! I didn’t even see the kid.” Her sharp voice immediately became warm. “Did that man hurt you? Did the bad man want to take you somewhere?”

  “Luck is my son,” Marc said.

  “And who’s that guy there?” Tine’s can of pepper spray moved a little higher.

  “I’m the janitor.”

  “Then why did yo
u want to beat up my colleague? I saw you waving your fists around.”

  The cigarette bounced. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I thought you were going to call the cops. What’s your name?”

  “Immanuel Kräuser.”

  “You got to be kidding me. Like janitor Krause? Where’s the dachshund?”

  “What dachshund? Can I put my arms down?”

  “Sure, I’ll just get the Kalashnikov.”

  “What is going on here? Are you fucking with me?” Kräuser seemed deeply confused.

  “I don’t know, you started it.” Tine remained surprisingly calm, Marc thought.

  “Okay.” The janitor took a deep breath. “My name’s Immanuel Kräuser, I don’t have a dachshund, and I’ve been living here again for three weeks.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, I moved back here.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “Working on an oil rig. After an accident I was fired from my job. Mr. Lind, the previous janitor, got too old. So now I’m the janitor. I just wanted to show moral fortitude—”

  “Wait,” Marc said. Tine and the janitor looked at him expectantly. “Is it possible that we’ve been here before?” he asked Tine. He switched on the flashlight. The bright beam crawled across the road, which was littered with countless potholes. “I suspect…”

  “You’re right,” Tine said. The small pepper spray can disappeared into the mouth of her bag. Tine followed the light.

  Immanuel looked at the two policemen with a perplexed expression. “Can someone please explain what’s going on?”

  With Luck in tow, Marc walked after his colleague, who was heading for an empty bench. Tine held two photos in her hands and compared them with what she saw in front of her. “This is the same bench.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Marc said. “We were here just a few days ago when we brought the sad news to Steve Dixon’s mother. You see that yellow house there?” He shone the light through the bare treetops onto a building that towered several stories above the others.