Do you remember how you saw the world as a child? Wasn’t it a magical place with mysteries and secrets hidden everywhere?

What about imaginary friends? I think we all had them at one point. They might have been the siblings we never had, magical creatures, or characters on TV.

Together with those friends, we’d go on adventures, visit magical places, or entirely different worlds. For many children, it was a way of passing the time, of finding out about themselves or to make a little more sense of things they didn’t understand. For other children, it was a way of coping with the harsh reality surrounding them.

I was one of the latter.

I grew up a poor boy, brought up by a single mother.

The house we lived in could barely be called one. It was a small, flat-roofed building, comprising only a handful of rooms.

Mom tried her best to raise me, but she had a weak body, so holding a job was impossible for her. Instead, our meager meals and other necessities were paid by government support. Life wasn’t easy; I didn’t have many toys. Still, I was happy enough.

Everything changed when Scott came into our life.

I still remember the time I first met him. I was woken by laughter and giggling from the living room, and I found mom on the couch with a man I didn’t know. A heavy smell wafted through the small room that made me cough.

“Go to bed, baby,” she said to me when she noticed me standing in the door. Her voice was almost incoherent and erratic as she gently pushed me back into our small bedroom. She locked the door, and soon I heard more giggling and other, different sounds. I didn’t understand what was going on, but soon I fell asleep again.

When I woke up the next morning, the man was still there, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a heavy glass bottle.

“Yo, little dude, what’s up?” he asked after taking a big sip.

“Who are you? Where’s my mom?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“I’m Scott. Your moms over there, still asleep,” he said, pointing at the couch. “She’s had a ROUGH night.”

He gave me a little wink that made me laugh, but at my age, I didn’t understand his implication.

I learned that Scott and mom had dated briefly during high school. They’d recently met again and gave their old relationship another go. He was a nice enough guy, for the first couple of weeks at least.

At first, he visited us only every once in a while, but soon he moved in with us. For a while, it was fun. Scott brought a ton of video games, and I enjoyed watching him play and laugh. Whenever I asked to play, though, he shooed me away.

As the weeks passed, Scott drank more often. It wasn’t strange for me to wake up to find him already holding a bottle in his hands. While mom took care of the chores around the house, Scott sat in front of his video games, smoking and drinking all day.

I still remember how hard it was to breathe and how the heavy smoke stung in my eyes. When I cried about it, he either didn’t react or told me to ‘be quiet.’

The first time he beat me was when I asked him for breakfast. Mom had to leave in the early morning to take care of ‘important government business,’ as she called it, and left Scott in charge.

I was hungry, but when I asked Scott for something to eat, he didn’t react, too absorbed in his video games, and too drunk. When I cried, he grew angry and slapped me against the head.

“Will you shut up, you little shit!?”

That day I learned that I shouldn’t talk to Scott when he was playing his video games. Which meant, never.

While he shouted at the screen, I retreated to mom’s closet. I sat there, in the dark, cramped space, crying to myself until mom got home.

She asked me what had happened, but one stare from Scott told me to be quiet. I mumbled something about falling, and that was it.

It wasn’t the last day I fled to the closet.

I guess mom was desperate in a way. For the first time, she was in love again. She didn’t catch on to Scott’s toxic behavior or chose to ignore it.

Scott was never violent when mom was around. Whenever she’d leave the house or even the room, Scott was quick to vent his anger at me.

I found myself inside of the small closet more and more often. At first, I’d only sit in the dark, sobbing to myself, but ever so slowly, it became my own little world. A safe haven from the reality that awaited me outside.

In there, my imagination transformed the mundane surroundings into my first imaginary friends. There was Kitton, the mischievous little kitty thief. He sprang to live from an old poster of a kitten holding on to a rope plastered against the closet’s back wall. The second one was Skyhawk, a giant bird soaring the skies. I conjured up his image from a single, bright feather I found tucked between the floorboards.

Together with them, I’d go on magical adventures. I visited massive castles, flew over boundless plains, and joined Kitton on lavish thieveries.

Many of those adventures were cut short by Scott. When I’d get too excited, yelling and laughing, he’d drag me from the closet, screaming at me to be quiet. More than once, he beat the shit out of me.

It was only a matter of time before mom caught onto things. Scott couldn’t explain the heavy bruises by yet another story about roughhousing.

I still remember her screams. At first, they were directed at Scott, mentioning my name and demanding what he’d done to me. After a while, Scott’s rage replaced them before it was drowned out by mom’s painful wailing. I don’t know how it all lasted, but to my young mind, it seemed had seemed to be forever.

Mom wasn’t the same after that day. She was quiet, timid, and only spoke to me in hushed whispers. Her face looked strange for a while, bloated and discolored.

Eventually, mom took to drinking as well. I guess she searched for an escape like I had, yet no magical worlds were waiting for her. Instead, she clung to a different type of magic. One that would bring sweet release, often as soon as the early hours of the afternoon.

Those days were the worst. Scott had grown unhinged, prone to anger issues. When he couldn’t vent his anger at mom, I was the only target that remained. He wasn’t just yelling at me anymore, not just beating me. By this point, he’d developed a sadistic streak.

He loved putting out his cigarettes on my tiny, white arms.

To this day, scars riddle them. I still remember the searing pain, the blistering skin, and the burned flesh below. When I cried in pain, he’d guffaw like a horse before he threw me back into the cramped closet.

During these days, I should meet a new imaginary friend, a small, stuffed wolf I’d never seen before. I came to call him Silverback, the Wolf King. In my mind, he wasn’t a small toy, but a giant beast and the king of all the animals.

Soon Silverback became my favorite imaginary friend. He’d let me ride on his back and take me to the Great Forest, a magical place with trees towering high into the sky, taller than any building I’d ever seen.

The more Scott drank, the more his behavior escalated. Before long, he took to other things, things a kid like me didn’t understand. I remember wondering if he was sick when he put a needle into his arm and hoped he’d have to go to the hospital. He never went. Instead, he became more unhinged, crazy.

And then, one day, he exploded.

I was in the closet, on another adventure with Silverback and Kitton when I heard screams coming from outside. As a little child, I didn’t understand what I saw, but I knew it was wrong.

Scott was on the couch, on top of mom. She’d been screaming, but by now, she hardly made any sounds. For a moment, I thought she’d fallen asleep, but Scott was doing something with his hands. They were wrapped around her neck.

His face almost made me crawl back. It had become a mask of pure and absolute rage. His eyes were huge and bloodshot, his mouth stretched so wide it almost divided his face.

“How dare you mess with my games, you freaking whore!” he screamed at her, his voice high-pitched and cracking.

“What are you doing to mom?” I blurted out in a low voice, not sure what was happening.

At that moment, Scott’s crazy eyes focused on me, and a sadistic grin showed on his face.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Suddenly, I was running, spurred on by something deep inside my subconscious mind.

In a moment, I was at the front door, then outside, and ran towards the small stretch of forest behind our house.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little shit?” Scott called after me guffawing like he always did.

I didn’t turn around. Fear swallowed me up, and I just ran. Yet, I had no hope of outrunning him. My legs were too short, my steps too small.

“Just wait till I get you little Danny, just you wait!”

His voice was so close by now, and with each passing moment, his heavy steps were getting closer. I could almost feel his disgusting, heavy breath on my neck.

“What the fuck’s that?!” he cursed, followed by a heavy thud.

When I turned around, I saw Scott on the ground. Behind him, a small rope was stretched between two of the trees, and just for a moment, I saw a tiny feline body vanishing between the underbrush.

Had that been…? I didn’t get to wonder, because Scott pushed himself up again. His face was furious, but when he saw me, his grin returned.

I stumbled on, from tree to tree, but I was exhausted, my small legs were heavy, and my chest hurt. Tears came to my eyes when Scott burst through the underbrush behind me.

“Shit, fucking bird, get the hell away from me, shit!” he screamed behind me, but a flutter of massive wings drowned out his voice.

Scott was still screaming and cursing as I pushed myself forward. Step by step, I continued on. My eyes grew wide when I saw a feather similar to the one I’d found in mom’s closet. It glided through the air before it vanished between the trees ahead of me.

I followed it, desperate, hoping for something, hoping to get away. But things are never so easy.

Scott finally got a hold of me and threw me to the ground. He put his twisted face close to mine and stared me down with his red eyes.

“Got you, little Danny,” he laughed, panting heavily.

He pulled me upward, pushing me against the trunk of a huge tree.

I struggled against his grip, tried to get free, and only now noticed how dark it had become. All around us were massive trees. They towered high into the sky, hiding the sun with their dense canopy. Even as a kid, I knew this wasn’t the small forest behind our house. This was a different place. As Scott giggled to himself, I realized where I was, in the Great Forest!

Scott’s big hands closed around my neck as he pressed me against the tree. I struggled, wanted to scream, but no words escaped my throat. All I could see was Scott’s eyes, two massive, red orbs right in front of my face.

For a moment, my vision grew dark, but then Scott released me. Confusion replaced the grin that had been on his face. No, not confusion, fear.

“What the fuck?” he pressed out as he stumbled backward.

That’s when I saw him, Silverback. The giant wolf stood between the towering trees, his eyes resting on Scott. A moment later, he jumped forward.

Scott screamed, but he’d only made it a few steps before Silverback was upon him.

I heard Scott’s cries, high-pitched, and filled with such terror that I pressed my hands over my ears and closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I sat there before I felt something gently nudging me.

When I opened my eyes, Silverback stood in front of me. Once more, he nudged me on with his snout, and I stood up on shaky legs.

For a moment, I glanced over at where Scott lay. He wasn’t moving, and the forest floor below him was wet and sticky. Before I got a closer look, Silverback pushed himself in front of me.

Together, the giant wolf and I made our way through the towering forest. As I walked, I cried again; the emotions bursting out of me like a rushing torrent. I sobbed and cried and clung to Silverback’s mane. The giant wolf didn’t move but waited till I’d calmed down. Then he lowered his snout and licked away the tears that had streamed from my eyes.

Before long, the forest grew smaller, the towering trees were replaced by the birch, so common to the area. When I reached the edge of the forest, standing in a backyard I didn’t know, Silverback had vanished.

“My god, boy, what happened to you?”

An old lady who must’ve seen me come from the forest hurried towards me. I didn’t say a thing; I couldn’t. Instead, I cried and cried and cried, staring back at the tree line behind me.

I was in a terrible state, my tiny legs scratched and cut in too many places to count. The old lady’s husband called an ambulance right away.

With my limited vocabulary, I told them what had happened. Scott had hurt mom, and when I ran, he chased me through the forest.

I didn’t tell them about Silverback, or my other friends who’d been there to help me. Even as a little child, I knew there was something to the events that had unfolded. No, what had happened was meant for me and me alone.

The police found Scott in the middle of the small forest, his throat torn to bits. They were baffled by it, but conclude that he must’ve been attacked by a wild animal.

They could do nothing for mom. She was still on the couch; her face swollen and purple, suffocated to death by Scott.

No one told me about those things back then. No, I only learned about it much later. By then, I was already living with a loving foster family.

My life became happy. There was no need to hide inside a closet and flee to imaginary worlds. And as time passed, there was no more need for imaginary friends.

The years passed, I went to school, then to college, and before long, I entered the workforce.

The only thing that stayed with me from those terrible days of my childhood were the nightmares. For all my life, dreams of that house haunted me. Dreams of Scott, what he did to mom, and what he’d almost done to me.

One day, I decided to pay my old home a visit. I guess I wanted to put those old demons to rest and prove they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

After a five-hour car ride, I arrived in front of the old house. It was even smaller than I remembered. It had been long abandoned, and when I entered, I found it in a state of destitute and chaos.

As I stepped into the living room, I noticed the closet in an instant.

When I opened the door and entered the cramped little space inside, memories came flooding back to me. Memories of the imaginary worlds I’d created and all the friends I’d made.

One look at the back of the closet showed me that the old kitty poster that had become Kitton was long gone. No hint remained of the feather that had conjured up the image of Skyhawk. The only things in here were old, half-rotten clothes and dirty.

Or, so I thought because then I saw him. Discarded in a corner lay a tiny stuffed animal.

He was old now and dirty, but the few silver threads on his back told me who he was in an instant. My very best friend during that terrible time: Silverback, the Wolf King.

When I picked him up, I saw that the fabric was torn in many places; the stuffing pouring out here and there. Even one of his small button eyes was missing.

I hugged the small toy dearly, and as the memories of that day returned, tears came to my eyes.

“What happened to you?” I asked as I held the dirty, old toy in my hands, but of course, I didn’t get an answer.

I was an adult now. The magic that had once resided in this place was gone, pushed aside and replaced by reality.

Still, as I held him in my arms and whispered the words ‘Thank you’ again and again, I could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of that old magic in his one, lonely button eye.

“So, what’s your deal?”

Such simple words, yet they changed the summer break of 1992 forever.

They say you always remember your first love. I’m not sure how true it is for others, but I do. For all the wrong reasons.

I was a lonely kid. After my parents’ death, I’d lived with an uncle and aunt. Now, they weren’t bad people, but they never wanted kids, especially not a teenager in the middle of puberty.

I guess we were all happy in our own ways when I proposed that I’d live on my own a few years later. They provided me with enough money to scrape by, and so I moved into a small apartment complex at the edge of town.

It was Thursday evening, one week into summer break when I first saw her.

Memory is a strange thing. So much of my life is nothing but vague blurs and half-guesses. Yet, I remember this evening as vividly as if it happened yesterday.

For the past few days, I’d wasted away inside my apartment. Eating microwaved meals, watching TV, and reading books. Eventually, the heat and the stuffy air of the small one-room place drove me outside.

I didn’t have a destination in mind; I just wanted to go on a simple walk.

The day had been hot, but now that the sun was setting, the air was comfortably mild. I walked along the small path that led around the complex, and before long, I settled down on a bench.

I leaned back and watched as the deep red sky slowly turned dark.

The sounds of the town had quieted down. The bustle of people and cars was replaced by cicadas and the chirping of a lonely bird nearby.

I inhaled the evening air deeply before I took out my small notebook and scribbled down a few awkward lines.

I had aspirations of becoming a poet one day, but of course, all I wrote was terrible. I was sixteen after all.

I’d just jotted down another pretentious musing about the night sky when I noticed her.

She was riding on a simple, old skateboard, speeding down the path towards me.

She wore dark shorts and an equally dark long-sleeved shirt. It seemed to be far too big for her delicate frame. Her short auburn hair was waving in the slight evening breeze. A hint of a smile played around the corners of her mouth as her big brown eyes stared at the night sky above.

She didn’t talk to me that night, didn’t even acknowledge me. She sped past me, leaving me staring after her, mouth agape.

It felt like I sat there for hours, thinking about her. I guess I secretly hoped she’d return and ride past me once more.

Eventually, I gave up and returned back to my small apartment.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her, much less sleep. Skater Girl, I came to call her. In my mind, I conjured up stories of how the two of us would get to know each other and fall in love, knowing even at my age how silly it all was.

I think when my parents died, something broke inside of me. Some essential part that makes you a normal, functioning human being. Something that could never be fixed, and that drove me away from people and society as a whole.

Skater Girl changed it all. From the first time I’d seen her, I was driven back to that same bench every evening.

She wasn’t there every day, but every other and that was enough for me.

I never mustered up the courage to call out to her, and it was more than a week before she finally acknowledged me.

“So, what’s your deal?” she called out to me from afar and stopped a meter in front of me.

“Oh, eh, I’m writing,” I blurted out, holding up my notebook.

“Well, what are you writing about?”

“N-nothing really, just poems and silly things.”

“Wanna show me?” she asked, pushing herself closer to me.

My eyes grew wide in embarrassment. That whole damned notebook was filled with lines about her auburn hair and her deep brown eyes. In a panic, I tried to quickly close and hide it, but it slipped from my hands, falling to the ground in front of me.

She giggled at that. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

“Guess that’s a no,” she said, still laughing, and a moment later, she pushed herself onward.

“Wait,” I wanted to call out, but my voice had all but ceased functioning.

From that day on, the two of us started to talk more often. It was never more than a few lines at a time, but this tad bit of interaction was enough for me.

“Can I read one of your poems?” she asked me one day.

“No way, they are all terrible.” I answered, holding up my hands as if to block her.

“Well, once you write a good one, be sure to let me read it!” she called out over her shoulder as she rode away.

A few days later, she greeted me with the same, warm smile that always made me blush.

“Still terrible?” she asked in a joking manner.

I nodded, and when I looked at her, I saw a huge dark bruise on her thigh.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s terrible at what they’re doing,” I replied similarly joking, thinking she’d crashed down with her board.

For a moment, she eyed me questioningly before she realized what I was looking at. She quickly put her hand over the bruise as if trying to hide it. There was a hint of something else on her usually happy face. She was quiet for a few seconds staring off into the distance before she smiled at me again.

“Seems like we have something in common then.”

—

These small interactions soon became the most important part of my lonely summer break.

Nothing ever happened at the apartment complex. It was mostly populated by the old, those forgotten by society and a few more sinister figures.

I’d returned from the library a few days later, borrowing a massive stack of books about poetry, when something actually did happen. There was a commotion in front of the complex.

I hurried over to the group that had gathered and pushed myself to the front. A group of police officers dragged a cursing, middle-aged man to their police car. I’d seen the man before, often lingering around the complex, his eyes wild and dangerous.

The people around me talked and whispered to one another. Between the dozens of voices, I was only able to make out a few bits and pieces: A public disturbance. Her again. Domestic violence.

Someone must’ve called the police, and the man seemed to be furious. He was furious, struggling against the grip of the officers and rambling on incoherently. For a moment his hate filled eyes wandered over the onlookers, and I almost cringed back when they came to rest on me. I caught the word bitch multiple time, but not much more before they threw him into the back of the police car.

I watched the whole ordeal, curious as I was, but a day after I’d already forgotten about it.

It wasn’t important. The only important thing for me was spending time with Skater Girl.

—

Half a week passed before I saw her again. She was still wearing the same sloppy clothes, and her hair looked as wild as always.

She smiled at me as she approached me.

“Any luck yet?” she asked, giggling.

“None,” I said, shaking my head.

“You know, you spend an awful lot of time on something you aren’t good at.”

I shrugged. “Guess I’m enjoying it.”

Well, I was kind of enjoying, but I was really only out here because of her, something I couldn’t admit, of course.

“Hey,” she interrupted my thoughts, “you wanna to give this a try?” She picked up the board and held it out towards me.

I stared at her, taken aback, but found myself nodding.

I awkwardly got on the board and pushed myself forward.

“Hey, this is pretty-!”

The word easy never left my lips as I lost my balance, fell onto my hands, and propelled the board forward.

I was greeted by bursting laughter from Skater Girl.

“Oh my god,” she pressed out, “you really are terrible!”

I stumbled to my feet and gave her a weak smile before I went to get the board.

She was still laughing when I handed it to her, but she wasn’t mocking me, and soon I started to laugh as well.

“Alright, I’ll teach you,” she said with a big smile.

My face felt hot all of a sudden, and I felt my heart pounding heavily in my chest. “Sure,” was all I could say.

For the next half hour, she tried her best to teach me the basics, but it was futile. I fell down half a dozen times, scraping up my knees in the process. I was content to keep going, but she finally took the board from me.

“This is hopeless,” she giggled, shaking her head.

I sighed and sat down on the bench again, and for the first time, she joined me. For a while, neither of us spoke.

“Do you ever look up at the sky?” she suddenly asked.

“Sure, what are you-?”

“No, I mean, do you ever really look? At the stars! Aren’t they beautiful? You know,” she started in a voice quieter than usual, “sometimes I wonder what it’s like up there. To be a star in the sky, you know?”

For a moment, I looked away from her and up at the sky, at the countless stars above us.

I saw that she, too, was looking up with her wide, deep eyes. There was a sad smile on her face, and she appeared to be deep in thought. For a moment, I thought she’d start to cry.

“Life’s strange, isn’t it?” she finally asked, turning back towards me.

I was too surprised to say anything.

“Maybe you should write about that!”

“What do you mean?”

“Life, the stars, the sky, everything! There’s beauty everywhere, even in all the small things around us.”

I was just staring at her.

“What are you staring at, weirdo?” she asked, now laughing again.

“Oh, sorry, I was,” but I broke up, awkwardly turning away from her.

“I was joking!”

Then she got up and stepped back onto her board. “Come on, follow me!”

With that, she led me down a small path, away from the complex and to a small hill.

“So, why do you sit outside all day writing terrible poems?”

As I sat down next to her, I was quiet for a while. Then I opened up about everything. I told her I was out there because of her. I’d wanted to see her again and even that most of my poems were about her.

She listened without interrupting me, her hands gently caressing the grass.

“You know, you really ARE a weirdo!” she said, looking at me.

Her eyes seemed like endless pools. I gave her a weak, embarrassed smile, but before I could do anything else, she leaned over and kissed me.

It was an awkward, sloppy kiss, but it felt amazing. When our lips parted, I must’ve had the biggest grin on my face. I leaned back on the grass, wishing that this evening would never end.

We kept sitting on that small hill for what must’ve been hours. We didn’t talk much, we just sat there next to each other. I don’t know when, but at one point I found her hand holding onto mine. All the while, she stared up at the stars with her big, brown eyes.

“It’s gotten late,” she finally mumbled and got up. I nodded. It had to be almost midnight.

She put the board down and then slowly pushed herself forward.

“Hey, hold up, Skater-” I started but broke up in an instant, embarrassed.

“Rebecca,” she said.

“Stephen, I live down in apartment 7.05, so if you want to come by,” my voice trailed off.

She giggled and took my hand as she rode on the skateboard next to me.

As we made our way around the complex, I felt her holding onto my hand harder, almost clutching it. The smile had vanished from her face. It was replaced by worry and apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, but all she did was shake her head.

“Life, I guess.”

Before I could ask her what she meant, she kissed me once more.

“Thanks for tonight, Stephen,” she said before she hurried away.

I was left standing there, speechless. She’d already opened the door when I saw that her board was still on the ground next to me.

“Hey, your board!” I called out, but she’d already vanished.

Once I was inside myself I contemplated hurrying after her, but then I decided that I’d take the board with me and hand it to her tomorrow.

Back in my apartment, I couldn’t sleep. My teenage brain was too active, too confused. Was that what love was like, what it did to you?

My eyes wandered to the board again and again. What should I say to her when I saw her the next time? Should I tell her I was in love with her? What about the board? God, everything had been so perfect tonight, and now it all seemed so complicated.

I tried to sleep, but I was just lying there, throwing myself this and that way as minutes turned to hours. Her face was all I could see in my mind. Rebecca – even her name was beautiful.

Then I heard something. It was quiet, a rattle, a turning of a doorknob, then silence again. It was followed by some sort of… clicking?

I lay in bed and listened. Had to be some neighbor. Probably someone who was out drinking and forgot how their door worked.

Somehow though, it was too close, too audible.

I slid out from under the blanket, got out of bed, and tiptoed through my small apartment. There it was again: click, clack, quiet rustling.

Once I was at the front door, I listened intently. There was another sound, and suddenly my front door popped open.

Standing in front of me was a giant beast of a man. For a second, he was as surprised as I was. Then he grinned.

“You little fucker,” he pressed out in a whisper before he stormed at me. He was holding something big and blunt in his hand. It became a blur as he hurled it at me.

It was pure, dumb luck that whatever he’d been holding missed me and crashed against the wall next to me. Another curse, this one more audible.

Once the initial shock passed, I turned to run. My flight-or-fight response was all flight. I stumbled forward to get away from whoever this madman was.

I’d barely taken a few steps before a large hand reached out and covered my mouth. Another soon followed, taking hold of my body.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man whispered into my ear.

His voice was deep, yet strangely scrawny. There was a hint of a giggle behind each of his words.

Where. Do. You. Think. You’re. Going.

He was enjoying this.

The hand over my mouth pressed down hard, making it impossible for me to scream. The man’s breath was hot and heavy on my neck, stank of alcohol and tobacco. His massive body was soaked in sweat. I felt a bulging, wet stomach pressed against my back. I’d have gagged if my mouth hadn’t been covered.

“You made a big mistake, you little shit.”

This time there was no joy in his voice; there was nothing but cold, hard rage. Worst of all, I had no freaking clue who this guy was or why he was here.

I was shoved forward. For a moment, he let go of my body, and I was struggling, squirming under the hand covering my mouth. I tried to get away, but he was so much stronger than me. I tried to scream, but all that escaped my mouth was a quiet, inaudible yelp.

Then his hand returned, this time going for my crotch. Pain shot through my whole body as he began to squeeze.

“Was it fun? Did you enjoy touching her?”

What the hell was he talking about? I shuffled my feet, tried to press my legs together to get him off me, but it was futile.

“You shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have. Oh, but you won’t ever do it again.”

As his giant paw of a hand closed, I was nothing but pain and panic. Then I felt something hot between my legs. For a moment, I thought he’d ripped and torn something apart before I realized that I must’ve peed myself.

His hand jerked away.

“What the fuck,” the man called out in disgust, and in that short moment, I bit down on his hand as hard as I could.

There was another scream, this one short and strangely high-pitched. A moment later, I was free, stumbling away from the man.

The few meters between me and the front door felt like the longest distance I ever had to cross in my entire life.

“Oh no, you won’t!” he yelled, and I heard his heavy footsteps as he rushed after me.

One more meter. I was outside. The hallway. Down, just go down, I told myself. I opened my mouth to scream, but it was too late. Once more, his giant hand covered my mouth.

“I’m going to enjoy cutting you up!” he laughed into my ear as he dragged me backward.

Someone, please someone, I pleaded as the tears streamed from my eyes.

It was no use. No one was coming. No one.

I struggled once more. It was a last surge of energy before I gave up exhausted.

Futility took over. This was it. This guy, whoever he was, was going to kill me.

And then it happened. Gravity’s hold over me stopped, and I was thrown up into the air. For a blink of an eye, I was entirely weightless. Before I could understand what was happening, I crashed down again.

There was a sickening crunch below me, and a moment later, the hands holding onto me let go.

I pulled the man’s heavy arms off me and crawled away from him.

That’s when I saw it. Skater Girl’s board.

The wondrous coincidence was cut short by a groan from the man behind me.

That’s when I ran. I didn’t get far before I stumbled into one of my neighbors. The old man started to belittle me about the ruckus I was causing at this time of the night, but when he saw the state I was in, he knew something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t long before the police arrived.

The man was still there, still on the floor of my apartment, the skateboard he’d tripped on still next to him.

He was knocked out cold.

It was the next day that I learned who the man was and why he’d come to my apartment. And that day, I also learned a lot more about Skater Girl, about Rebecca.

The man who’d appeared at my doorstep had been the boyfriend of Rebecca’s mother.

Joe, that’s what I think his name was, was an abusive, drug-addicted piece of shit. He was the type who preyed on weak women, precisely like Rebecca’s mom. A woman who had her own share of problems and a habit of taking to the bottle.

It had been too dark that night, but when I saw the picture, I knew that it was the guy who’d been taken in by police half a week ago.

Neighbors had called the police after yet another fight between him and Rebecca’s mom. Scared as she was of him, she refused to give a statement and eventually Joe was released. Once he was out, he wanted revenge. It didn’t matter against whom.

That night, he returned, flipped out, and murdered Rebecca’s mother in cold blood.

After that, he’d waited for Rebecca… That’s when he’d seen me with her, and that’s why he came after me.

Once he was done with Rebecca.

I don’t remember how I made through the weeks and months following her death. Life was nothing but vague blurs, apathy, and depression.

It was later that the statements and rumors of neighbors painted a fuller picture for me. Joe had come after Rebecca’s mother, but soon he’d been more interested in her teenage daughter. No one knew, of course, but many had their suspicions about what happened during those nights when her mom had passed out from drinking.

Rebecca hadn’t been the manic pixie dream girl I came to call Skater Girl. She wasn’t a mysterious and dreamy girl, no, she’d been a troubled, torn and abused soul.

She was so at wonder with the outside world because her own was filled with nothing but terror. I still remember her eyes when she stared at the stars. I’d never realized that it was desperation and hope that filled them.

Those few words she’d said that night, what it would be like to be a star in the sky…

The moment I knew everything, it was so obvious, and I realized how dumb and ignorant I’d been. I never bothered to ask who Rebecca really was or what was going on in her mind.

Instead, I’d made her into Skater Girl. Not a real person, but the cute and mysterious girl of my dreams. A girl who did nothing but ride her board in the evenings, wore but ill-fitting oversized clothes and stared at the night sky.

I often wonder what must’ve happened that night. What Joe must’ve done to her before he came to me.

And sometimes, during those worst nights, when the guilt eats away at me, I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d gone after her. If I’d decided to return her board then and there.

It’s been so long since then, yet I still think about her.

The skateboard, her skateboard; it’s still with me. A memory of this lonely summer break, of things that might have been and an endless number of regrets.

I still sit outside during those mild summer nights. Just a lonely guy sitting on a bench in a park writing his poems. They’re still terrible; rambling messes about life, the sky, the stars, and of course, auburn hair.

With each passing year, though, I feel that they get a little less terrible. I hope that one day, I can finally get one of them right.

After all those years, her words still ring in my ears as if it had been yesterday.

“Well, once you write a good one, be sure to let me read it!”

Sure, Rebecca, I will.

“You fucking creep!” she screamed.

I just sat there, staring at the glass of water in front of me. I was used to this type of thing by now. Things always ended up like this anyway.

“Ugh, you know how freaking long it will take me to get back home?”

Yes.

“Not even gonna say anything? You play it all nice and smooth with that fake picture of yours, saying you’re going to meet up with me here and now you don’t even have the balls to speak up? You pathetic loser!”

She even grinned for a moment as she threw the insult at me.

Another customer of the small dinner got up. He was an older man. His attire screamed blue-collar.

“Now, now, young lady, what’s going on here?”

“That freak over there pretended to be someone else! He called me all the way out here on a date and, god! How’d I be so stupid?”

His eyes wandered from her to me. They weren’t compassionate anymore, no, now they showed nothing but contempt.

“Well young man, you’ve got some explaining to do!”

I still stared at the glass of water. My throat felt like it was clenched shut.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” he yelled at me.

By now, the whole place stared at the awkward scene with me right in the center.

“I didn’t,” I started but broke up.

“Too embarrassed to even speak, eh?”

Once more, I couldn’t find the words.

“Yes, sorry mom, it’s gonna be at least another hour. No, I’m fine, just some weirdo. No, I didn’t see Anna today. What? No, it’s alright, I’ll just take the train. Yes, I’m on my way.”

I listened to each of her words and smiled. At least an hour, good, I thought.

“Now what are you smiling about, boy?”

The blue-collar man still didn’t let off. Finally, I pushed myself past him, and awkwardly made my way to the door.

“What was that all about?” I heard a young woman whisper to her friend.

“Guess he catfished her or something?”

“Ewww, that’s so creepy!”

I didn’t listen to their words. They didn’t know a damned thing!

---

‘Why did you hurt mommy?’

‘What? The hell are you talking about pipsqueak?’

‘I saw it, you hit her, and she was crying.’

‘How the hell would you see something like that?’

I didn’t even see his slap coming. He stared down at me, his eyes furious.

‘Linda, did you tell the boy?’

‘N-no, of course not, why’d I ever-‘

‘Ugh, shut up, bitch!’

I still lay on the floor, my face hot with pain. I listened as dad got up and made his way to the kitchen.

---

I jerked away in my seat. The old lady opposite me looked over before she mumbled something to herself.

Why’d I remembered something like that now, dammit? Now where am I, I wondered? As I stared outside and read the name of the station, I sighed. It would still be another half hour before I’d be home. I checked the time on my phone again and saw that it was already eleven in the evening. Shit, and I got an early shift tomorrow.

Work was hard that day. I’d barely gotten five hours of sleep, and it was the busiest time of the year. I slumped through the warehouse, sorting shelves and repackaging products with my eyes only half-open.

“Hey, yeah you! There’s some trash over here with your name on it!” one of my older coworkers called out to me.

Laughter from a few of my other colleagues erupted.

I sighed, and without making eye contact, I stumbled to where he was pointing. It really sucked to be the new guy on the job. As I was busy cleaning up the mess that he’d most likely caused by him, I heard them talk behind my back.

“The hell’s wrong with him? Does he ever say a word?” one of them asked in a hushed voice.

“Dunno, think he’s mentally challenged or something,” another voice chimed in.

“Just leave the boy be,” a third one added.

“Why are you so concerned about him?”

“Just don’t want him to snap and shot the place up.”

“Hah, as if that pussy’d be ever able to pull something like that!”

Laughter erupted again. You know, I can hear every single word you’re saying, I thought. Shit, who am I kidding, I bet they knew, too.

After six more hours, my shift finally ended. The bus ride from work took me about half an hour. Day after day, I spent it glued to the screen of my phone.

I opened up the first of the many dating apps I’d installed. I swiped through the countless girls one by one, staring at their pictures. Long hair, short hair, happy smile, confident smile, group of girls, on and on it went.

It took me about five minutes to find one. She was pretty, long blond hair and had a shy, somewhat playful smile.

In a moment I opened the chat window and threw her one of the many one-liners I knew by heart now.

I was already home when she finally replied. The new picture I’d chosen worked wonders. For half an hour, we were joined in mindless chit-chat before I finally asked her if she had plans for the evening.

She was a bit reluctant to answer. It was always the same. I sent her a few more of my rehearsed lines, boosting her confidence, soft-soaping her and pushing more lies down her throat. She was an easy one, it took me no more than a few minutes to get her to agree to the date. I fell back on my bed as relief flooded my face.

I checked the phone once more. It was still a few hours before I’d got to go. Guess I’ll set the alarm and take a nap. Wasn’t like I had to dress up or prepare for the date.

---

Mom was cryingin the other room while dad’s fist came down on my face once more. Again and again, until he stopped after half a dozen times, panting.

‘That should teach you to not spout those damned lies anymore!’ he screamed at me.

‘But I saw it again,’ I mumbled in a low voice.

‘What was that you little shit?’

I curled up into a ball and said nothing.

‘Thought so.’

Mom was still crying.

---

I woke up. Why were my dreams always about him? Goddamnit!

On my way to the bus, I thought about dad.

Dad hadn’t always been an asshole. When I was a little kid, he’d genuinely been the best. Then he started to drink. When I found out he was beating mom, I became a target as well.

For years the abuse went on until I learned to be smart enough to keep quiet. No, talking about it wasn’t helping anyone.

When I became a teenager, and after mom’s death, dad and I became close again. It was by necessity if anything. As a teenager, I couldn’t just move out.

Age hadn’t been kind to him, neither had the booze. On the old pictures, he was quite good looking, hell even handsome.

Now, pushing forty, he looked much older. His head was pale, his skin pudgy and grey and his stomach had developed into a bulging beer belly. Whatever he wore, it seemed to always tear at the fabric, trying to free itself.

“See her over there? Now that’s my type of woman, alright,” he said to me, pointing at someone ahead of me.

I stared at the young blond ahead of us. Small frame, a bit too timid and awkward. As I watched her, I saw the bruises on her arms, saw her shift slightly with her feet. I could even see the blue bruises on her hips. Exactly like mom, I thought. Always ending up in an abusive relationship, always another drunk bastard beating her.

“Well hello there young lady, need any help with those bags?” dad approached her and reached out a slimy hand.

The woman stared at him, and I saw her face contort by a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“No, I’m fine,” she mumbled in a low voice.

“Now come on, don’t be like that, babe, why don’t you just let me help you with those, hm?”

He asked, trying to take one of the bags from her. As he did, I saw him put his slimy hand on her back.

“It’s alright, I’m-“

“Now, now, modesty won’t do you any good,” he continued, and I saw his hand move downward.

“Dad!” I called out to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “It’s late, let’s go home, I’m starving.”

In a moment, the lady tore her bag free from him and hurried down the road as far as she could.

“Damnit, what the hell are you doing, idiot!?”

Another slap in the face.

“Man, I was so close to getting some,” he cursed.

He was always this way. Not wasting any chance, trying to get his way with women. His behavior rude, lecherous and at times downright violent.

I didn’t cry when they buried him in an early grave a few years later.

Once I entered the bus, I had another half-hour ahead of me. I sent my newest date another message. I didn’t like emoticons, hell, I detested them, yet I made sure to sprinkle my messages with them. Somehow, people seemed to enjoy them.

That day I’d chosen a small bar. I’d told her it was a secret tip, but all I cared about was the distance.

The moment I arrived, I chose a seat by the window. I always arrived early, to keep watch and see if they actually came. Bus after bus arrived and finally a bouncy, beaming blond exited. She looked around for a moment before she typed something on her phone. Only a second later mine vibrated.

“I’m here, you already there?’

‘Yeah, window seat, back row!’

I saw her enter, saw her look around. The place was half empty. Her eyes noticed me. At first, she looked away, but then her eyes focused on me again.

‘I don’t see you.’

‘Yes, you do.’

I lifted my face and gave her an awkward smile before I looked away again.

It wasn’t long before I heard the click-clack sound of her heels as she approached me. When I looked up again, the smile on her face had vanished.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Damien,” I mumbled.

“What the hell? No, that can’t be! Your picture, I mean,” she toyed around with her phone, and after a short while, she held it to my face. “That’s not you, is it?”

I said nothing. Instead, I kept my head low. The few other guests were already staring at me.

“Hey! Say something! Is this a freaking joke?”

The rest of the evening played out like the last one. As I stumbled out of the bar, I looked at her picture once more and smiled. In my mind, I saw her sitting on the bus, fuming, hurrying home and falling asleep, still angry about the whole thing. I smiled again.

Work was slow the next day, allowing me to steal away every once in a while. For a few minutes at a time, I scanned profiles.

I noticed her instantly. Short brown hair, cheeky smile, tank top.

We hit things off well enough, but she was a tough one. She was cheeky alright, calling out my lines and bluffs one after another.

Still, the picture I used did the trick, and she finally agreed to meet up with me.

The rest of the shift passed quietly. A few of my coworkers noticed my happy expression, which prompted a few more insults. I couldn’t care less.

Once I arrived at the small restaurant I’d chosen, I decided on a window seat once again. The waiter came again and again, and by the third time, he started to get pushy. In a low voice, I ordered a drink.

I scanned the street, but there was still nothing. I opened my phone and sent her yet another quick message.

‘Hey, where are you?’

‘Sorry Romeo, went out with a few friends today.’

I stared at my phone with a deep frown. Shit, she wasn’t coming, was she? I cursed to myself.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked her.

‘Timbers! It’s great, why don’t you come by later?’

I opened Google Maps in a moment. Timbers, a bar in the freaking center of town.

“Are you ready to order yet,” the waiter asked in a strained voice, “sir?”

“Fuck,” I cursed once more. It was going to be one of ‘those’ nights.

“Sir, if you don’t plan on ordering anything, then-“

Without even looking at him, I got up and left. Once I stood in the open street, I opened the app once more, staring at her picture.

I was antsy when I entered the bus again. I couldn’t let it end like that. This was NOT how things were supposed to go!

It took the bus almost half an hour before it made it to the city center. The whole time I was nervous, shifting in my seat. Every once in a while, I stared at her picture, taking in as much as I could about her.

Before the bus had even rumbled to a stop, I was at the door, hitting the stop button.

Now where the hell is it?

I hurried down the street into the direction Google Maps told me, but there were too many damned clubs and bars around.

Then I saw it. The bright neon sign of the small bar named Timbers was only a hundred meters ahead of me.

I was in a minute later. The bouncer eyed me for a moment before he shrugged. My eyes wandered over the guests. Shit, it was way too damn late already. Would she even still be here? To make things worse, the place was packed! I shuffled through the guests and earned a few angry stares from people, but I went on.

Finally, my eyes grew wide. Short brown hair, cheeky smile, and a tank top like the one in the picture. When I saw the guy sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulder, I frowned.

I pushed my way back to the bar and ordered myself the cheapest cocktail they had. Then I made my way back towards them. I watched him as he whispered in her ear. I saw how he rubbed her upper arm and inched in closer. She giggled, yet when he tried to kiss her, she turned away and whispered something in his ear. She was cheeky. The guy however grinned, and when I saw that, rage exploded in my mind.

That smile, that damned smile. That’s when I knew.

I stumbled forward, shakily and nervous, yet I didn’t take my eyes off the guy. I’d almost reached them when I ran straight into a buff, tall guy.

“Hey, watch out where you’re going!” he yelled at me and pushed me aside.

I stumbled forward and crashed right into the guy sitting next to the short-haired girl.

My hand collided with his face, and I spilled my drink all over his cloth.

Both of them screamed up in surprise. In a moment she retreated to the bench’s end to not be drenched by the rest of the drink.

I pushed myself upwards and mumbled an excuse. Before I’d so much as finished it, the guy’s fist hit me square in the face. There was an explosion of pain, and I could taste blood in my mouth.

“The fuck are you doing you goddamn freak!”

Once more he hit me in the face, then a third time. When I went down, he didn’t leave off, kicking me again and again as he screamed obscenities at me.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you piece of shit!”

I grinned up at him. He tried to kick me one more time, but right at that moment one of the bouncers tackled the guy.

Another guest was there, kneeling by my side.

“Hey, are you alright? You want me to call an ambulance?”

I shook my head, and then, with a tremendous effort, I tried to get up. Then heavy hands heaved me upwards, and I found myself face to face with the buff guy from before.

“Shit, man, sorry about that,” he said clearly embarrassed about shoving me.

“Didn’t know that guy was a freaking psycho!” he said and pointed at the guy taken away by security.

Soon after the barkeeper approached me, asking if he wanted me to call the police. I nodded.

It didn’t take them long to arrive, and with the help of the buff guy and the bouncers, we gave them a detailed description of the man.

“You need us to take you to a hospital, sir?” one of the officers offered.

I shook my head. “No,” I mumbled, “I’ll be fine.”

Once they were gone, I thanked the security and buff guy. He grinned at me.

“Tell you what, if you’d ruined my date, I might have kicked your ass too.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, guess she was.” I looked around for a moment.

“She’s gone, booked it the instant that guy went all out on you! Looked mighty scared.”

I nodded, thanked the guy once more, and left the bar behind.

On my way home, I took out my phone once more to look at her picture yet again. For the first time the whole evening, I was able to relax.

I could see her sitting in a taxi on her way home before she went to bed.

Gone were the images of her bloodied and beaten body. Gone was that guys grinning face as he stood above her.

The premonition had changed.

Even though it hurt like hell, I smiled.

She was saved.

Old lady in her early sixties searching for her missing son.

That’s what the subject of the email said that arrived in my inbox a couple weeks ago.

It was a job offer sent by the nurse of the said old lady. Her contact data was included.

I’d been working as a private detective for a year and a half by now. Yet I’m still surprised when someone actually contacts me.

To tell you the truth, the job’s not as fancy as it sounds. In movies private detectives are always portrayed as desperate outcasts, going after the cases the police won’t or can’t touch for some reason. Reality though is different and much more mundane. At least half the cases I handle are about missing pets. The rest usually involves people suspecting being cheated on by their significant other. I rarely get any serious work.

As you can imagine, I’m always strapped for money.

Of the few real cases I get, missing person cases are by far my least favorite. You never know if you’ll actually find out anything. Sometimes a missing person is long dead, sometimes they’ve got a reason for hiding from their family, and in other cases, you come up with a big, fat zero. If any of these is the case, it’s always a hassle to get the client to pay up.

When I looked at my empty time table, and of course, my similarly empty bank account, I knew I couldn’t be picky.

I gave the nurse, Stephanie, a call, told her I’d accept the case and arranged for a visit.

It was a few days later that I made the long, three hour trip to the old lady’s distant home. I arrived in front of a huge, old mansion in the middle of nowhere. Looking at the place and thinking about my shitty two-room apartment, I couldn’t help but be jealous.

After I’d rang the bell, Stephane, a friendly, middle-aged nurse greeted me.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you, mister…”

Her gaze turned upwards, and she furrowed her brow, obviously trying hard to remember my name.

“Siebert,” I helped her out smiling.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry, I don’t know how-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine. So where’s the old lady?”

“Mrs. Annelies isn’t doing well, unfortunately,” she said as she led me down a long, luxurious hallway.

She opened the door to our right and to my surprise, led me into a small study. Stephanie was quiet for a moment before she sighed audibly.

“To be honest with you, Mister Siebert, I took the liberty of offering you this job before consulting Mrs. Annelies.”

I gave her a questioning look.

“Her son’s disappearance has never been easy on Mrs. Annelies. As the years, no the decades passed, her condition has worsened. By now, she’s almost catatonic,” the nurse said shaking her head.

“We can pay her a visit, but I doubt she’d be in any condition to even talk to you.”

I really didn’t know what to say. I already had a bad feeling about the case as I followed Stephanie to another room. This one was huge and richly furnished as well. Paintings lined the walls, but my attention soon wandered to the old lady at the end of the room. She sat in an expensive arm chair. She didn’t look up when we entered. Instead, her eyes were almost entirely empty as she stared out of one of the mansion’s huge windows.

“Mrs. Annelies?” Stephanie called out, but the old lady gave no sign of hearing her.

While I waited near the door, the nurse approached the old lady. Stephanie whispered something into her ear, but there was no reaction at all. For a moment, the old woman’s head moved, and her tiny, dark eyes focused on me. When our gazes met a strange feeling washed over me. For a few seconds, she stared at me before her head turned back towards the window. She said nothing at all.

Stephanie returned to my side after a few more moments and led me back to the study.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Annelies has given up hope long ago and,” she broke off shaking her head in pity.”

“Excuse me, Stephanie, but then why this whole investigation?”

“Oh, it’s simple, really. I’ve worked for Mrs. Annelies for the better part of a decade now. She might not talk much anymore, but she’s never mistreated me. You wouldn’t know, but she’s such a good person. When the doctors told me she doesn’t have much longer, I thought I’d be able to give back to her. I know the chances are slim, but maybe her son’s out there. If she could at least see him once, I think it would help her make peace.”

I gave her a weak smile and nodded.

“Now then,” Stephanie started as she picked up a small stack of old photographs.

“That’s her little boy, Marcus,” she started and handed them to me.

I frowned when I saw them. The boy in the picture was young, almost a toddler, no older than three. When I looked back to Stephanie, she looked at me expectantly, but then spoke again.

“He went missing on the seventh of April in 1988.”

“I tried talking to Mrs. Annelies, but it wasn’t much use,” she went on. “This folder here though is where she gathered all her private research over the years. It contains anything she thought could be related to little Marcus’ disappearance. I’m not sure how helpful it will be, but here you go.”

With that, she pushed the folder towards me. I had a quick look at the contents. There were a birth certificate, some old police reports and an almost infinite number of newspaper clippings.

“Thank you, I’ll see what I can do,” I told her as I picked up the folder.

“So, about the payment, I usually get paid by-“

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Mr. Siebert. I already arranged for you to be paid in full.”

I gave her a surprised look but bit my tongue to not speak up. Clients usually paid once a contract was fulfilled, but damn I could really use the money.

“Thank you, I’ll try my best to find out what happened to the boy,” I finally said, even though I was less than enthusiastic about the whole case.

“You can call me any time,” Stephanie said as she led me to the front door. “Or send me one of those emails you young people use these days,” she added laughing.

Back in the car, I thought about the few bits of information I’d gotten so far. That little boy went missing more than thirty years ago. My eyes wandered to the massive folder on my passenger seat. Staring at it, I couldn’t help but frown. I had quite the night ahead of me.

Once I was home it was already early in the evening. I considered having myself something delivered, but then I settled for a quick microwave dinner.

Afterward, I made myself a terribly strong cup of coffee and started to go through the folder of documents.

The birth certificate told me the boy was born in 1985, the same year as me. He’d be in his mid-thirties by now, of Caucasian ethnicity, would have blue eyes and most likely brown or blond hair. Great, I told myself, that description fits pretty much half the guys my age. Hell, even I had blue eyes and dark blond hair.

The first thing I did was to check Social Media. I knew it was most likely futile. There’d been a case that would’ve proven much easier if I’d started with a Facebook search. So by now, it had become pretty much a routine to see if I could find anything on there. Of course, there was nothing, exactly like I’d anticipated.

After Facebook, I checked a few other, public databases. I searched for both the birth date of the child as well as his name. There was nothing again.

It was long past midnight when I finally finished going through all the documents. My hint had proven to be correct, most of it wasn’t helpful at all. It only painted a terribly desperate and sad picture of old Mrs. Annelies.

As I lay in bed, I started to wonder what the boy’s life would be like today. If I ever found him, would he even remember his real mother?

I was adopted myself, and I remembered nothing of my biological parents.

Mom and dad had told me about being adopted when I was still a child. I always respected them deeply for it. Yet I often wondered who my real parents were, at least as a child. I wasn’t unhappy, but my parents and I were so different. They were both driven people, sometimes a bit too driven. Mom had been a toughened businesswoman in her time. Dad had worked his way up to become the chief of the local police station before retiring. Compared to them, I always felt like a bit of a loser.

Would little Marcus even want to get in contact with a woman he’d not even remember? Or was he the type who’d ignore the whole thing?

As memories returned to me, I was reminded that I was the latter type. Years ago, when I was attending university for a few semesters, I’d found a letter in my mailbox. It was supposedly written by my biological mother. It said she wanted to get in contact with me. For days I was an emotional mess, trying to figure out what I should do. Eventually, the letter ended up in the trash. I told myself it was better that way, but even now, I know that I simply wasn’t man enough. For a while, the letters kept coming, but I didn’t even open them anymore.

I wondered how little Marcus would react if he’d get those same letters. How’d he handle it? Would he meet his mother, or would he discard them like I did?

The next day I went on with my work. It was time to get serious about this.

I had a look at the documents again and read through the few that I thought might be helpful. There was that first police report Mrs. Annelies had filed after the child’s disappearance. As much as I searched the folder, I couldn’t find any details about it, or if anything had ever come of it.

Eventually, I decided to pay the station a visit. Quite a few people there knew me. I was the son of the former chief of police, of course, but there was also my failed attempt at joining the force a few years ago. Well, let’s just say I’d become a regular at the station.

It didn’t take long before I found an old acquaintance, Michael, who was happy to help me out.

“New case, Daniel?” he asked when I handed him the copy of the police report.

I nodded. “Going to be a tough one.”

He gave me a questioning look, but when I pointed at the data of the report, I could see his face change to a deep frown.

“1988,” he said, “damn. You think you’re going to find anything?”

I shrugged. “No clue, but that’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can find.”

With that, he took the report from my hands and went over to his computer.

A few minutes later, he printed a few pages and walked over to me again.

“You really got yourself quite the case,” he said, scratching his head as he handed them to me.

“What do you mean?”

“Just read it, seems you got yourself involved in an old kidnapping.”

Without another word, I started reading the pages he’d printed.

The kidnapping took place on a Thursday afternoon. Mrs. Annelies had picked up her son at a kindergarten in a small town near her mansion. On the way back, a car had stopped next to them in a small street. Before Mrs. Annelies could react, someone jumped out, dragged the boy inside, and drove off.

I looked up and stared at Michael. He gave me a ‘told you so’ look. I cursed to myself. There’d been no mentioning of a kidnapping or anything like it. Why the hell had Stephanie not told me about that? This changed fucking everything! As I read on I learned that the description of the kidnapper was vague at best: Strong, tall, most likely male. That was all. The whole thing had been over in a moment, and there’d been no witnesses at all. Even worse, the man had been wearing a disguise, so she hadn’t even seen his face.

I read on and learned that the car she’d described had been identified soon after. As it turned out though, the vehicle had been reported stolen a few days prior.

One thing was obvious, I thought, as I reread the file. This thing had definitely been planned. A small street, a disguise, and a stolen vehicle. No, this was no random kidnapping. The question was, why? An obvious reason that came to my mind right away was money.

I read the file once again, searching for any mention of a ransom note. There was none, however.

Finally, I thanked Michael and went on my way with the files.

Once I was back in my car, I gave Stephanie a call. She was as friendly as always. After a quick greeting, I cut right to the chase.

“Why didn’t you mention the boy was kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, little Marcus didn’t disappear, he was kidnapped!”

“Goodness no,” she said surprised. “I had no idea. Mrs. Annelies’ notes said nothing about any of that, are you sure?”

“I was just at the station. I got the whole damn report right in front of me. There’s no doubt. So, Stephanie, do you know if Mrs. Annelies and her husband had any enemies?”

She gasped, and for a moment, she was quiet. When she spoke again there was an audible concern in her voice and something else… was it apprehension?

“What do you mean Mister Siebert? I mean, Mrs. Annelies has a lot of money, so I’m sure lots of people are jealous of her, but I’ve never heard that anyone… goodness, I mean I’ve only worked here for a decade or so. I wasn’t around when that terrible thing happened to Mr. James and-“

“Wait, what terrible thing?” I cut her off.

“Oh, maybe I should’ve told you before, but I didn’t think it was important so-“

“What are you talking about Stephanie? Out with it!”

“There was an accident. I think you’ve read that her husband, Mr. James, died years ago, right?”

I had indeed read it, but I never gave it much thought. People sometimes died. I guessed he must’ve been sick. What she told me next, however, changed everything.

“It’s such a terrible story. Mr. James was out for a walk and run over by a car. He only died a year or so after little Marcus was born. Worse even, it was a case of hit-and-run, and they never identified the driver. It’s just terrible…”

“Hold on, are you serious? You never thought any of this might be important or related to the boys kidnapping!?”

“I didn’t know about the kidnapping, Mister Siebert, so I never thought, my god if I-“

She broke off, and I could hear her breathing heavily.

After a few more moments, my anger at the poor woman subsided. She was right, how could she have guessed that any of this was related.

“No, Stephanie, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known. But, ehm, I got to hang up, alright? I’ve got a whole lot of things to think about. I’ll call you again, in case I got any news or need anything.”

She gave a weak reply and wished me good luck with the investigation before she hung up.

Sitting in my car, I was rubbing my temples. This whole case was getting stranger and stranger. Was this even something I should get myself involved in further? Shit, what was I getting into, I cursed.

Once more I returned to the station. Michael wasn’t exactly psyched to see me again so soon, yet he still handed me the report of Mr. James’ accident. When I read it, I learned another important detail.

They had indeed identified the owner of the hit-and-run vehicle. It was revealed yet again though, that the car had been stolen a few days before the accident.

I started at the paper for a long while. Another stolen car. This was no mere coincidence. No, there was no doubt, this was all related.

For the next days, I tried to uncover more details about the kidnapping as well as the hit-and-run. I found nothing. It had happened much too long ago. Hell, I even tried to find the owners of the stolen vehicles. Even this proved to be futile. I’d hit a total dead-end.

After a while, I decided to approach things from a different perspective. I knew it would most likely not be worth much, but I decided to dig a bit into Mrs. Annelies’ and her husband’s past.

I found quite a bit on the two of them. They’d both been born to wealthy parents and married in their early twenties. An old article described as a match made in heaven.

Their riches didn’t just come from their parents. Mr. James owned at least half a dozen enterprises and was involved in at least twice as many. His reputation though wasn’t the best. There were quite a few rumors about him, I learned.

It didn’t stop the two of them to make a big show about themselves. A public appearance here, a fundraiser there, a big lavish party at their mansion, and so on.

It was after hours of digging through old newspapers that I found something that made me look up.

It was an article about Mrs. Annelies and Mr. James. It was published in a small, shady tabloid that I’d never heard about. The paper seemed to specialize in badmouthing people and spreading rumors. It might very well have been a predecessor of those internet blogs that focused on celebrity scandals and shitstorms.

The title of the piece made me read on.

Drunk rich couple runs over pregnant woman.

As I read it, I learned that the couple had attended one of their disgusting gatherings of the filthy rich. The two of them had supposedly gotten drunk beyond belief and drove their car through my very city. When a woman tried to cross the street, the husband in a drunk stupor didn’t realize what was happening. The car crashed into her.

From the way the article was written, I’d assumed that it was a deadly collision. However, the woman had barely been grazed and only got minor injuries. What made the whole thing much worse, was that she’d been pregnant. While she hadn’t been hurt badly, she lost the child later that night at the hospital.

I read the article once more, but of course, no names were mentioned except those of Mrs. Annelies and her husband.

I dialed the station right away and had them put me through to Michael. By now, he was clearly starting to get annoyed at me. When I asked him yet again to look something up for me, he told me outright that I couldn’t keep pestering him all the time. After a bit of pleading on my end, he obliged. I gave him the names of Mrs. Annelies and her husband, as well as the date mentioned in the article. He told me he’d have a look, but it might take a while. He was quite busy at the moment. Real police work, he added in a condescending voice.

Real police work my ass, I thought. I knew damn well that he’d got jack-shit to do most of the time.

As if to prove me right he called me back not even an hour later. He was quick and to the point. He’d found the report in question and forwarded it to my email. He hung up before I could even thank him, not seeming to care one bit about the whole thing.

When I read the report, I was dumbfounded. It was a completely different story.

It said Mrs. Annelies and her husband had been sober and the woman had crossed the street without any regard for their car. Something was weird, though. The report was sloppy at best. There was no mentioning of pregnancy and neither of the name of the victim. The only information about the woman was that she wanted to stay anonymous.

I reread the last line. She wanted to stay anonymous? It was a freaking police report, right? Could you even ask for something like that? It sounded more than a bit fishy to me. And what about the damned story I’d read in the tabloid? Was it all a smear piece? Why though? Why’d someone turn an unimportant little accident into a tragedy of such magnitude?

I needed answers. All I’d got so far were what-ifs!

It didn’t take long for me to get an idea. If I wanted to know why this article existed, then there was one person who’d definitely be able to help me out.

It wasn’t too hard to get the name of the tabloid’s chief editor. The paper might not have been too popular with the general public, but it was notorious in other circles. It had run for years before it eventually went out of business. The reasons were both monetary and publicity related. Guess you can only write smear pieces for so long before you get into trouble. I was lucky enough, though, to find out that the man was still living in the city. By now, he was reduced to live in an apartment much like my own.

It wouldn’t take long to get to his place, I found out.

Once I was there, I rang the doorbell for long minutes before an angry old man opened the door. He was small, almost withered, but he surprised me with his flaring anger.

“Goddamnit, what in god’s name do you want?”

“Am I talking to Mr. Meier?”

“Ringing the doorbell for ten whole minutes and now you’re asking this? I ought to throw that door right in your ugly face! Either way, I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re trying to-“

“Mr. Meier, hold on, I’m not here to sell anything. I came here because of an article in that newspaper of yours.”

The man’s eyes turned wide, and for a moment, I prepared for another assault of insults. Instead, he broke into bursting laughter.

“Newspaper! Now that’s a good one. Never had anyone calling that piece of shit something like that! Hah! Now then, who was it I smeared? Parents? Grandparents? Come on now, out with it, I haven’t got all day!”

“No, it’s not about that. I’m actually interested in finding out more about a traffic accident you covered.”

For a moment the old was quiet, apparently surprised I wasn’t here for some sort of legal action. When I handed him the article in question, a smirk appeared on his face.

“Heh, now that’s a story alright. Got in some real trouble for that one, almost cost me the paper then and there. That damned rich bitch and her crook of a husband!”

“Well, the things you wrote, are they true?”

“It damn well is! All the articles are true one way or another. This one though, I swear by it! Got themselves drunk and ran her over! Just like that! Those damned rich folks and their-“

“Yeah alright, but I’ve got the police report right here. I can show it to you. It says it was the woman’s own fault and-“

“And you believe it? You are as dumb as they come, aren’t you? Isn’t it clear what happened? They covered the whole thing up! Bought the police, the newspapers, everything! Couldn’t risk a story like that getting out! It would hurt business, wouldn’t it? Why do you think I printed it?”

I was quiet, biting my lip from stating the obvious.

“Oh, I know damn well what you’re thinking! That it’s nothing but dirt, right? Let me tell you something. You might have that internet of yours now, but back in the day, there wasn’t anything like it. Throw the chief a few grand, pay of the reporters and that’s it! Especially those two, god knows what else they were involved in!”

“Alright Mister Meier, do you have any information on the victim? I’d really like to talk to her about all this.”

Once more the small man burst into bouts of laughter.

“Damned if I know! Couldn’t care less about her. Forgot the name the moment I printed the story. Hell, I might not have known it to begin with! Who knows, it’s been thirty damned years!”

A curse escaped my lips. The man noticed it, but he said nothing. Instead, he gave me an expectant look and extended a hand. I was about to take it and thank him, but he cut me right off.

“Now then, mister private detective, I’m sure you’re going to pay me for that information you just got, aren’t you?”

I stared at him for a few moments before I sighed and handed him a twenty. The man frowned before he grabbed the note. He mumbled to himself about me being a cheap bastard before he closed the door without another word.

I was left there, staring at the door. In a way, I thought, as I walked back to my car, this guy was the absolute worst.

Sitting in my car, I massaged my temples. Yet another mystery added to the list.

As I drove back home, I wondered if any of this was even relevant. What was I even trying to figure out at this point? God if I knew.

Once I was home, I wrote down all the things I’d found out so far and put them in the order they’d happened in:

Mrs. Annelies and her husband run over a pregnant lady. She loses her child.

Two years later her husband dies in a car accident. The perpetrator is never caught. The car was stolen.

Another year later, her child is kidnapped. Yet again, a stolen car was used.

Read over the events once more I started to wonder if little Marcus was even alive. What if the kid had been murdered right after being kidnapped? There hadn’t been any mention of a ransom note or anything. Shit, I didn’t even want to think about something like that.

One thing was clear, I needed to find out who that woman was. There was no doubt that she was related to all of it.

Once again I called the station, much to the displeasure of Michael. This time he made it no secret that he wasn’t even supposed to give me all this information. I mumbled an excuse and told him it would be worth his while. The moment he heard those words, he was once more happy to comply.

I approached the topic of the car accident involving the woman once more.

“Don’t you think there’s something fishy about it?”

“What do you mean? It’s a freaking police report.”

“Well duh, but the name of the victim isn’t even in it.”

I heard him sigh before he typed something on his keyboard.

“Tell you what, I hadn’t even taken a look at it, but you’re right. Wants to remain anonymous? It’s a freaking police report, that’s what it is!”

“You think you can find out the name?”

He gave me a short laugh. “No way. First, it happened more than thirty years ago. Second, if there’s no name in here, there’s a damn good reason for it. The whole thing stinks. Wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing’s nothing but bullshit.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean? You think I’m going to start some investigation over something as old as this?”

Once more, he laughed, and I could almost see him shaking his head.

“Yeah, guess you’re right. So there’s no way to find out the victim’s name?”

“Nah, none, nada.”

Well, that was that I thought and hung up. Freaking useless, the whole bunch of them! No clue why dad ever wanted me to join this shithole of a station!

For the rest of the day, I tried desperately to find out who the mysterious woman was. I called hospitals all over town, but no one was able to help me. They either told me it happened way too long ago or they flat out refused to provide any help.

During the night I continued my futile attempts. I coursed the internet, desperate for information. Yet, nothing seemed to exist about the woman. I was at my wit’s end.

The next day my desperation drove me to Mrs. Annelies’ mansion once again. If anyone would know the name of the woman, it was the old lady herself! I knew Stephanie wouldn’t be too pleased about it, but there wasn’t anything I could do.

The moment I turned up at the door, Stephanie was surprised to see me. She invited me in, asking why I’d driven all the way here instead of giving her a phone call.

“Well, Stephanie, to be honest, I don’t even know where to start. This whole thing has turned into something entirely different,” I started.

“Is this about Mister James’ accident and little Marcus’ kidnapping?”

I sighed and shook my head. “I wish, but I guess it’s just another part of the puzzle.”

With that, I started to tell her about the night that Mrs. Annelies and her husband supposedly ran over a pregnant woman. Stephanie listened intently, but I saw her face contort by shock and disbelief.

“There’s no way,” she started. “You think any of this is the truth? That Mrs. Annelies and Mister James did,” she broke up shaking her head.

“Tell you what, Stephanie, I don’t even know anymore. What I know for a fact though is that this police report here’s fishy as hell.”

With that, I showed her the report. She did barely give it any notice and only glanced at it for a few moments.

“Even so, it sounds like there’s no way to figure out who that woman was.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. There’s one person who should know something about her.”

For a moment she looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. After a few seconds, she realized what I was implying.

“No, there’s no way we can talk to her about something like that! Being reminded of a thing such as that, no, even being reminded of her husband, good god, no! There’s no way we can do anything like-“

“Damnit Stephanie,” I cursed, “there’s no other way! I tried everything! Every fucking las thing!”

Stephanie didn’t say a thing, but her face turned into a hard mask.

In a moment I stepped past her, and before she could react, I was already out in the hallway.

“Mister Siebert, what do you think you’re doing?” she called out after me, but I didn’t stop.

The moment I’d put my hand on the door handle of the old lady’s room, she made it into the hallway as well.

“Don’t you dare open that door!” the nurse shrieked at me. “If you so much… I’m going to,” she broke up, her voice trembling.

When I turned around, her face was as white as a sheet. “Please, Mister Siebert, if you talk to her about those things, we don’t know what,” she broke up once more.

My hand was still on the door handle, but finally, I took it away. What the hell was I even doing?

Finally, I turned away from the door and faced Stephanie.

“Alright Stephanie, I won’t talk to her. If you truly think it will put her in danger, then there’s nothing I can do.”

When I said this, she finally relaxed, and color slowly returned to her face.

“My god, what were you thinking, you can’t just-“

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I guess this whole thing is getting to me. It’s so freaking complicated, yet I feel that I’m just so damn close to figuring it all out.”

When I said this the hint of a smile showed on Stephanie’s face.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that and thank you for being so understanding!”

“Yeah, but what about that woman. If I want to make any progress, I need her name. Could you at least try to talk to her? Or, I don’t know have a look at her documents? God knows, if Mrs. Annelies and her husband really covered something up, then maybe they still have some sort of info on that woman.”

“I can take a look, but I doubt I’ll find anything. I gathered all the things related to little Marcus already, so…”

“Still Stephanie, please give it another try. Every tiny bit of information helps,” I said giving the devoted nurse a warm smile.

Finally, she nodded and agreed to have another look. For a moment, her eyes focused on me, and she mumbled something to herself.

I looked up expectantly, but she shook her head. “Oh dear, it’s nothing, just a lot chores left for the day.”

As I made my way back outside, I chuckled to myself. What chores could she have to do around the place? It was all in pristine condition. Well, what do I know?

The next few days were nothing but one disappointment after another. I spread out in any and all directions, grasping at even the tiniest of straws. I rechecked the information about the stolen vehicles, paid all the hospitals in the city a personal visit and worked my way through stacks upon stacks of old newspapers. There was still absolutely nothing. It was starting to drive me insane.

On the fourth day, after returning from yet another trip to the library, I checked my email. It was more a habit than anything else. Suddenly I looked up. Between spam and newsletters, I found a single email from Stephanie.

When I read the subject, my eyes grew wide.

I found something on the woman.

In a few quick lines, Stephanie explained that she’d rummaged through Mr. James old study. The room was still in the same state after all those years. After hours of searching, she’d found a document on the woman that had been in the accident. There were notes by Mr. James accompanying it, but she didn’t feel comfortable sharing those. Instead, she’d taken a picture of both the document and a photograph of the woman. She’d attached both files to the email.

I quickly downloaded both files. The moment they were finished I opened up the first one, the photograph. When I looked at it, I was confused.

Shit, I was too tired, I must’ve mixed things up somehow. I quickly closed it, went back to my download folder and tried again. I got the same result.

The woman in the photograph open on my screen looked exactly like my mother in younger years. I laughed and shook my head. What the hell? The resemblance was almost uncanny. I leaned in closer and focused my eyes, but there was no doubt. The woman was an exact doppelganger of my mother.

I closed the picture. What a strange coincidence.

When I opened the document and started reading it though, my world began to spin. A thought from a week ago returned to my mind.

This was no mere coincidence.

The name of the pregnant lady that had been hit by Mrs. Annelies was stated as Lisa Siebert, my mother.

I sat in front of the computer, utterly dumbfounded. Then I rechecked the email. I looked at the sender, read it once more, downloaded the files again, and opened them one after another. This had to be a mix-up. There had to be some sort of explanation for it. Hell, shouldn’t she have noticed something about the name? It was the same damned last name as me!

I took out my phone and dialed Stephanie’s number right away. I tried once, twice, and then a few more times, but for some reason, I couldn’t reach her. Fuck, was it that late already? A look at the clock told me it was barely ten in the evening. Was she already asleep at a time like this?

As I sat there, staring at mom’s picture, my thoughts wandered back to the birth certificate of little Marcus. He was born in the same year as me, had the same skin color and the same eye color. It would all check out, I realized with a shudder.

I’d been adopted though. That meant there was an easy way to disprove this strange implication that had started to come to my mind. With shaking hands, I picked up the discarded phone and dialed my mom’s number. It rang for almost half a minute before she answered.

“Daniel? Why are you calling at this time of the night?”

For a moment I almost blurted out what was on my mind, but I bit my tongue in time.

“So I’m investigating this case right now, and it’s about-“

“Again with this? Why can’t you finally get a normal job? You know this sort of work isn’t sustainable! If you’d just ask your father, you might get another chance at the academy. I’m sure he can put in a good word for you. It would be so much better than this, this,” she broke off, scoffing in frustration.

“Mom, that’s not important right now. I can’t tell you the details, of course, but I need the place you adopted me from.”

“What? Why’d you need that? Can’t you look it up on that internet of yours you spend so much time on? Why do you even need that right now? It’s already this late!”

“Mom, I can’t waste any more time. I need it now, please. I think this case is related to one of the people who were working there when I was a kid. There was this middle-aged lady you told me so much about. What was her name again, Schneider?”

“And how’d I remember something like that? Really Daniel…”

It was obviously a lie, but in her annoyance mom didn’t even think twice about the story I’d told her. Instead, she put the phone away. The sounds of her rummaging through shelves and drawers, only interrupted by her annoying mumbling reached my ear. It was minutes before she returned to the phone. She quickly gave me the name of the place, clearly fed up with me.

“Thanks, mom! You really helped me out a lot. Goodnight.”

She mumbled a “Goodnight, Daniel,” in return and hung up.

I checked out the adoption center’s page right away. I was pretty damned sure they didn’t have any sort of public database. Even though I tinkered with the page. Soon after I tried to call them and even thought about writing them an email. When I saw the time, however, I quickly discarded those ideas. There’d be no way anyone would answer me any time soon. So instead, I decided to pay the place a visit first thing in the morning.

I don’t know for how many hours I lay in bed, but sleep simply didn’t come. My mind was too occupied. Could it actually be true? No, I told myself over and over again. Hell, even if mom had been hit by them, it didn’t have to mean a goddamn thing!

It was five in the morning when I gave up trying to sleep. I got up, took a hot shower, and made myself a strong cup of coffee. For the next hour, I made up all sorts of scenarios. Maybe the woman they’d hit really looked like my mother, and they’d mixed things up. Maybe Mister James had accidentally gotten the wrong name. More and more ideas flooded my mind. Yet somehow they all felt contrived, silly or even more unbelievable than what I’d figured out. Eventually, I gave up and went on my way to the adoption center.

When I parked my car, it was almost an hour before the place would open up. I was antsy, shuffling in my seat and tinkering with my phone. It was all I could do to keep my thoughts from lingering on that same topic.

The moment the center opened up I was out of the car and stepped inside. The lady behind the counter looked up in surprise.

“Well, good morning, mister early bird!” she greeted me with a laugh. It was the first pleasant thing in what seemed to be ages. “Are you by any chance interested in finding out more about adoption?”

I tried to return her smile, but from her reaction, I could tell that I hadn’t succeeded.

“Sorry, but no. I’m a private investigator, and I’m here to have a look at your database.”

Once I’d identified myself, she led me to the office of their IT specialist.

“Tell you the truth, I’d be happy to help you out myself. The problem is, everything’s digitized these days and well,” she laughed again, “I’ve never been good with computers. I’m sure Sam can help you out though, he’s really into this whole internet thing.”

She led me up to a small backroom that might well have been a janitor’s closet once. The lady opened the door and introduced me.

It turned out that Sam was an older, balding man. He was stuffed behind a huge desk and sat in front of a computer that might very well have been from the early 2000s.

“Well, this is Mister Siebert, he’s a private investigator here to find some sort of information about a case he’s working on.”

Sam didn’t say a word. Instead, the man just stared at me. For a few painful seconds, there was nothing but silence, then I decided to speak up.

“Alright, Sam. This might sound a bit strange, but I actually was adopted in this very center myself. I need to have a look at the data on it.”

Same gave me a short, puzzled look before he shrugged.

“Sure thing, just hit me up with a name and anything else important and we should find you right away. Let me open this thing up.”

While he opened the database, he started to tell me all about this new system he’d put in place. It made finding information way easier than before. I only listened halfway and quickly told him my full name, the date of my adoption and the name of my parents. It wasn’t long before my entry popped up on the screen.”

“Well, here you are, Mister Siebert,” he said, moving a bit to the side to allow me to have a look.

“Are there any pictures?”

“Sure thing,” he said, and after a few clicks, I stared at a boy that looked almost exactly like little Marcus.

My eyes grew wide, and I felt myself getting sweaty. No freaking way!

The man next to me didn’t seem to notice a thing. Instead, he sat there, scratching his head while he scanned the rest of the file.

“Man, this is weird,” he mumbled to himself.

I looked up. “What’s weird?”

“This entry, I mean, your entry. There’s a good part of it that’s missing. No idea why though.”

He moved the cursor to a few empty lines to show me.

“Probably a mistake,” he said shrugging. “I bet Clara didn’t enter the data correctly again. God knows she’s terrible with computers. Hold on a moment.”

With that, he fought himself out of his chair, pushed past me, and left the room. I looked after him, but he was gone before I got even the chance of asking what was going on.

For a while, I sat there awkwardly and scanned the file. He was right, half of it really was missing.

After a minute or two Sam returned, holding a huge old folder in his hands.

He fell back into his chair, haphazardly created an empty space in front of himself and opened the folder. He started to go through it and after a bit of searching found a copy of my file. This time his frown was serious.

“The hell’s going on,” he said wondering.

“What’s it now?”

“Well, this one here’s just a reproduction, a shoddy one at best. See this?” he asked pointing at the copy. “There’s no information on your biological parents, no real date of birth, nothing at all. See? Just your name, the adoption date and the name of your adoptive parents.”

I stared at him, but before I could even ask him a question he went on.

“Tell you what, bet the original file got lost or someone spilled some coffee over it. God knows it happens to me all the time. Bet someone tried to make a copy but forgot to fill out half of it.”

I gave him a weak nod but didn’t say anything. The word reproduction tied itself around my neck, almost strangling me.

“How about this, I give the old archives a call, ask around a few other places, and once I find the real deal, I give you call? Not like I’ve got anything to do here anyway. Might take a while, but if you’ve been adopted, I’ll make sure to find that file.”

“Great, thank you,” I mumbled in a weak voice. I was about to leave, but then I stopped. “Do you mind printing a copy of that picture?”

“Sure, no problem.”

A few seconds later, I was holding a picture of a three-year-old me in my hands.

During my drive home, I still tried to convince myself I was wrong. You know the truth, a voice in my head said, the evidence is all there. Yet, a part of my brain desperately kept refusing it. As my hands gripped on to the steering wheel hard, I kept laughing and shaking my head.

The moment I was home, I put the picture from the adoption center next to little Marcus’ one. Right then, even this last bastion of refusal broke away. There was no doubt anymore. It was the same child.

I was little Marcus.

I sat there stunned, not able to move or do anything. My whole life, my entire world, had just come tumbling down. Everything was a lie, wasn’t it? There was no alternative for this truth, was there?

If my parents had indeed taken me from Mrs. Annelies and if this was all connected, then what about the murder of her husband?

I thought about dad, about how protective he’d always been about mom. How hard and drive a man he was. No, if anyone would hurt mom, he wouldn’t let it slide.

Dear god, dad, what did you do?

The stolen cars, I remembered. The identity of the driver had never been discovered. There had been no evidence to speak off. And there was this futile police investigation.

Wouldn’t it be easy for a police officer to get rid of all the evidence? Even if anyone had a hunch, without anything to prove… holy shit.

I was already on my way to my parent’s house when my phone started to ring. It was almost by habit than by a conscious decision that I picked up. The moment a male voice reached me I was confused, only now realizing what I’d done.

At first, I had no idea who I was talking to, but then I recognized Sam’s voice. In a few words, he told me he’d checked up the adoption data. He was a bit embarrassed to say it, but there was no entry anywhere else about my adoption. Not in any of the other databases, nor the archives.

“What does it mean?” I asked in a shaken voice, already knowing the answer.

“Well, it means the file I’ve shown you has to be a fake.

“And how the hell’s that possible? You’re telling me someone doctored up a file about me and,” I broke off, not sure what I was even going to say.

“As strange as it sounds, guess there’s no other way.”

“But who’d even be able to do that?” I yelled at the phone.

“Guess someone with connections. Don’t know, our database is connected to some of the hospitals, one or two of the foster homes, well and the police of course, but I’ve got no clue who’d…” as he continued on I didn’t listen anymore. Of course, the police would be able to access their database. That meant anyone there would be able to enter some fake data, wouldn’t it?”

Sam was still going on, but I cut him off.

“Well, thanks, that’s all I needed,” I said, and without waiting for a reply I hung up.

No shock overcame me, no grief, nothing at all. It was just another tiny bit that added on to what I already knew.

The moment I arrived at my parent’s house mom was surprised to see me.

“Daniel, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me it’s about that case of yours?” mom asked.

“Where’s dad? Is he home?”

“He’s in the back,” she said. Without another word, I pushed past her and made my way to the backyard.

“Daniel? What’s going on?” she called out to me before she followed.

The moment dad saw me he got up and walked over to me. Before he could say so much as a word, I spoke up.

“I know about Mrs. Annelies.”

Dad didn’t show any reaction to the name, but I heard mom gasp. I couldn’t hide the sad little smile that appeared on my face.

“Now son, what’s this about a Mrs. Annelies? Can’t you at least give your old man a hug?”

“And who’d that be, you?”

In an instant, his face turned dark.

“I know the adoption documents are fake,” I started.

“Is that why you wanted the name of the place?” mom asked from behind. “We’ve been over this so many times, I don’t even know why-“

“Quiet Lisa,” dad cut her off. “Now what are you trying to say, son?”

“I know all about what happened thirty years ago, about mom’s accident and… everything else.”

With that, I turned to face her. “That rich couple ran you over didn’t they?”

Mom stared at me with wide eyes. “No, there never was an accident,” she started and shuffled around nervously. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Daniel!”

Oh, how her eyes betrayed her. Mom was always bad at lying.

“Daniel? Don’t you mean Marcus?”

She cringed back a step as if I’d hit her and put her hand over her mouth. A faint ‘how’ escaped her mouth. I was about to confront her further, but at that moment dad got a hold of my arm and turned me to face him.

“I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, boy, but you better stop,” he said, his face red with anger.

“What about her husband? He was run over, wasn’t he? You remember that little detail, right?” I asked not bothering to hide the accusation in my voice.

He stared me down, but this time, he said nothing.

“It was you wasn’t it? After mom’s accident you-“

“Be quiet, son! You don’t know a damned thing!”

“I know enough,” I spat at him.

“Tell me one thing, mom,” I said turning back to face her. “Why did you kidnap her child, no, I mean, why did you kidnap me?”

Mom stood there as tears filled her eyes. I thought it was shock or sadness, but I saw her face distorted by anger.

“It would’ve been a girl,” she said in a low voice.

“The day she took her from us… and then I learned she had a boy of her own. I wanted she to feel the same thing, I wanted to… oh but you were such a cute little boy, there was no way-“

“Goddamnit, Lisa!” dad screamed and pushed himself between her and me.

“And you! You don’t know anything! Not even in the slightest! There was nothing we could do! She and that husband of hers, they covered it all up. There was no pregnancy, and of course, they put all the blame on Lisa. A bit of money here, a bit of money there and everyone was happy enough to trust them. Even those assholes at the station!”

“And so you decided to take things into your own hands, right dad? Oh, that’s so like you!”

The slap he gave me was hard, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge that all I’d said, all I’d guessed, was true.

The woman behind him, the woman I’d called mom for more than three decades, was shaking and mumbling to herself. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at me, pleading with me.

I looked from her to the man who’d just hit me. His hands were shaking now.

“Son, I didn’t mean-“

“So it’s all true,” I said more to myself than to them. I gave them both a long, hard look.

“Goodbye,” I said, and then, in a sarcastic voice, I added, “mom, dad.”

As I turned to leave, they didn’t follow me. Neither of them said a single word. There was nothing to be said anymore. There was nothing words could do.

Once back outside, I jumped into my seat and drove off. I didn’t get far. I’d barely made it a few blocks before my emotions started pouring out.

I hit the brakes hard, stopped the car and screamed at the top of my lungs. The freak-out lasted for god knows how long. Once it was over, I was panting and utterly exhausted. My hands hurt and I realized I must’ve beaten the inside of the car in sheer outrage.

After it was over, I just sat there, breathing heavily. So it was all true indeed. All of it. I took out my ID and grinned at the name. Daniel Siebert, I read and laughed.

“Just another part of their damned lies,” I said as I threw it out the window.

Then I remembered something. Siebert, my name and of course mom’s name.

That damned email Stephanie had sent me.! The email with my mom’s picture and the document about her. Why had she not said a single word about it being the same name as mine? Wouldn’t she have wondered about that?

Why had she never answered the damned phone?

In a moment I redialed her number and waited for her to pick up. It rang and rang and rang before I was notified that the recipient was not available. I tried again, but the same thing happened. Then once more only to get the same result a third time. She’s not picking up, I realized. I dropped the phone and started up the car again.

The drive to Mrs. Annelies mansion would normally take you about three hours. That day, in the state of rage I was in, I arrived after barely more than two hours. It was pure dumb luck that I wasn’t stopped by the police.

The moment I’d parked the car I was out of it. I rushed to the front door and started switching between beating against it and ringing the doorbell.

I didn’t take long for me to hear something inside. The moment Stephanie saw me, she gave me her usual warm smile. When she saw the state I was in, the hint of a smile showed on her face once more. It was gone in a moment.

“Mister Siebert, are you alright? You look terrible! Is it because of-?”

“You knew didn’t you, Stephanie?”

For a moment her eyes probed me before the same smile from before appeared again. This time it was a mixture of pity and mockery.

“And what might you be referring to Mister Siebert?”

The way she pronounced my last name, the thick sarcasm coating it, made clear that there was no need to even say it.

“When did you figure it out? The moment you saw my mom’s name on that file?”

For a moment she looked at me before she started to laugh.

“Good god, a fine detective you are. Even if there’d been a file like that and if it had contained your last name, it wouldn’t have been enough to give anything away.”

“Even if there’d been a file like… What the hell are you talking about?”

My voice grew louder, and I took an angry step towards her.

She flinched, alarmed at my outburst, but then spoke again.

“I knew right from the start who you were. Long before you even appeared her for the first time!”

“How in the hell did you-“

“You forgot them, didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?”

“The letters,” she said in a voice filled with nothing but disgust.

“What letters,” I started, but right away, the memory returned. The letters that had been sent to me all those years ago. If Mrs. Annelies really was my mother, then she’d been the one to send them to me.

My eyes grew wide with realization as I stared at Stephanie.

“Does she know?” I asked in a broken voice.

Stephanie shook her head.

“No,” she started. “God, it was so long ago. Back then I’d barely started working here. One day I stumbled upon a picture of a little boy. When I asked her if it was her son, she broke into tears. She told me the whole story. The accident, her husband’s murder and the kidnapping of the child. Yet, she’d never found out what had happened to the boy. There were no hints, no evidence, nothing at all. And that’s when I told her we had to look for you.”

“And of course you found me and then she sent me those letters, right?”

The nurse nodded. “You’ve got no idea how happy she was when I told her about you. I’d never seen her like this before and never have since. She cried for hours, but it was tears of pure happiness. I felt for her so dearly that day. And then we waited. With each passing day, she got more excited, but no answer arrived. I told her the letter must’ve been lost, so we sent another one. And then another. And another. I saw her wither away as the days passed. Her happiness turned to grief and eventually to indifference. I told her I’d call you, visit you, drive her to your home, but she’d already given up. That boy, she said, he’s not my little Marcus anymore. He doesn’t want to see me and probably doesn’t even know who I am.”

As she stared at me, throwing those accusations and condemnations at me, I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face what I done simply because I didn’t care at the time.

“So why now? Why after all those years?” I mumbled, not looking at her.

“Because your mother is dying! That part is the truth! But I knew what would’ve happened if I sent you more letters. You’d ignore them just like before and throw them away. If I were to call you or came to visit you, you’d probably ignore me as well. When I saw your occupation, though, I knew there was a way.”

“If I’d figure it out on my own… if I knew what my parents had done, what I’d done, you thought I’d,” I broke off.

“Can you forgive them for what they did? Can you?”

I said nothing, shaking my head. Then I felt a burning rage growing inside of me.

“And to make me meet her, you had to ruin my life. You had to bring it all crashing down, hadn’t you?! You had to show me all of it, every single, last bit, right? Yet what makes HER so different from THEM? She and her husband were the ones who ran over a woman, killed her unborn child and then covered it all up to save their reputation. They didn’t care one about what they’d done, right? And you really think she’s any better than them?”

“That’s not,” Stephanie started, but I didn’t let her speak.

“She’s the same! They’re all the same! And you, you’re as well!”

“But Marcus, she’s waiting for you! If you’d just speak to her, just told her who you are… Can’t you at least give her that?”

For a while, I looked past her. I stared down the long corridor that led to the room in which my real mother was sitting. Even now, she was most likely staring out that one single window. Then I looked at Stephanie once more before I shook my head and turned to leave.

Stephanie called after me, her words a mixture of pleas and accusations. I gave them no heed.

They were all terrible people, each and every one of them.

I started the car and drove off. I knew I’d never see any of them ever again.

As I left my dying, biological mother, as well as the people who’d raised me as their own behind, I knew, I was as terrible a person as all of them.

They were stern and strict old people. I believe love was a word that didn’t exist in their vocabulary. It was always do this, behave, do that, don’t swear and so on.

I dared to not obey their rules? Better be prepared to be screamed at and punished. It wasn’t just once that I got slapped across the face.

It was terrible when I was a kid and stayed with them for the weekend. After dad’s death, when I came to live with them, it was hell.

I loved dad more than anything. My mom died when I was only six, and from then on he took it upon himself to bring me up and take care of me.

For young me, he was the coolest guy in the world. Dad worked as a freelancer, a sort of business consultant. Even though he had quite a schedule, he always found a way to spend time with me.

We also had all the video game consoles you can imagine. We had both the PS2 and PS3, the Wii and Wii U and even the Xbox 360. You wouldn’t believe how many hours I spent on those, glued to the screen, either playing alone or with dad.

One thing I remember was dad’s many visitors. There were always people over. I guess some of them were people he worked with, others that were around more often, must have been his friends. I thought it was pretty cool to hang out with grown-ups all the time.

The best part about dad was that he often took me along when he visited customers. He said he didn’t want me to sit around at home alone all day and that it was good to get to know people. Connections are the ‘name of the game’ he always said with a big grin on his face.

I really don’t remember much about those trips. Most of the time dad would meet up with his customers, and I’d sort of tag along. I was never there for the actual business talk. It was super dull dad told me. It wasn’t a problem though. Most of the time someone else was around, and I’d often ended up hanging out with them, playing video games or watching movies. The cool thing was that it was often games and movies for grownups. Things like Postal or Soldier of Fortune. I also got to stay up much longer than other kids.

Another thing I remember is that dad seemed to share my animosity for my grandparents. It was quite often that he’d make a snide remark about them when we were there. Quite often we had a good laugh about those ‘silly old people’ when he took me back home at the end of the weekend.

I remember one specific night. I was watching cartoons on the TV when dad arrived to get me. To this day I don’t know what happened, but I suddenly heard grandpa scream at dad.

“I dare you! If you ever do it again,” he screamed at dad. Dad just laughed in his face, and we left without another word. Outside I asked what had happened, but he said the old man was just ‘being silly again’.

To this day, I vividly remember the night the police showed up at my grandparent’s house. I was on the couch, playing on my new 3DS when the door rang. I thought it was dad, but instead, I saw two police officers.

After a while, the two of them and my grandparents walked into the room. I could see the sad look on their faces. It was grandma who started talking and told me I’d be staying with them from now on.

When I heard that dad had been a car accident on the way to pick me up, I freaked out. I cried, screamed and didn’t want to believe it. I don’t remember much else of the night. It was more like a hazy fever dream to me.

In the end grandma was right. They took me in. A lot of things changed. No more games or movies for grown-ups and no more staying up after dark. Fun was exchanged for homework and supplemental lessons. Game consoles were replaced by books and soccer.

Looking back now I can’t say how often we fought. There was not a week with me getting off at them about their stupid rules and their boring house. In return, I was often yelled at and pretty much perpetually grounded. It didn’t help much. I often snuck out, tried to run away or spent the night at a friend’s place. Of course without ever informing them about it.

When I was old enough to attend high school, I told them I wanted to be out of the house and get an apartment of my own. It took another half year before they finally yielded.

It was mostly due to a government support program for students and my part-time job that I could afford it. What little money my grandparents felt guilty enough to send my way wasn’t nearly enough to pay rent. How cheap can you be, I thought back then. Once I was done with high school, I went on to university. My grades weren’t the best, never had been, but it was more due to a lack of studying then ability. It was our school’s counselor who actually urged me on and motivated me to try.

When grandma died two years ago, I felt nothing. Sure, I attended the funeral, but it was more a formality than anything else. There were no tears, no emotions.

—

It was two weeks ago that grandpa called me. It was late in the afternoon, and I’d been busy studying for exams when my phone rang. Annoyed I took it out expecting it to be one of my friends. When I saw that it was grandpa, I hesitated for a few seconds before I answered.

“What do you want, grandpa?” I asked in an annoyed voice. “You know I’m busy.”

“Oh Johann, I know you’re busy and all that, but could you visit me this weekend? I’d like to talk to you about-“

“Oh come on, this weekend? I’ve got exams coming up and all that! Not like I can just up and go!”

“The cancer is back,” he said in a quivering voice.

Suddenly I felt awful for being so cold. I could hear his labored breathing at the other and of the line, waiting for me to say something. I reminded myself that he wasn’t the stern old man of my childhood anymore. No, he was nothing but a lonely, dying man.

“Sure thing, grandpa, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Johann, you know I-“

I hang up without listening on. It was more of an old reflex than an actual conscious decision. Old habits die hard.

—

It was a couple days later, on Saturday morning that I arrived at the house. I was flooded by unwanted nostalgia. I hadn’t been here since grandma’s death, yet the place still felt wrong.

When grandpa opened the door, I knew the cancer hadn’t come back recently. He was haggard and thin, his skin translucent and bluish. He smiled when he saw me and motioned for me to go inside.

“There are a few things I wanted to talk to you about. I know you’d rather be anywhere else right now. Can’t blame you. Claudia and I were never-“

He broke up and started coughing violently. For a few moments, I just stood there and watched, before I took a step towards him. As I said, old habits die hard.

“You know, your mother, she used to be such a good girl. Probably a bit too sheltered by us, a bit too naive. Once she was old enough, she chose a bit of a different life and so-“

“Is this really about mom? I know all about her already. I don’t know why you’re starting with this old story again, but…”

I trailed off as I saw his eyes. They were hard, yet sad. Finally, I sighed and let him continue.

“She was searching for something else, you know? Can’t blame here, really, she wanted adventure, danger. That’s why she chose guys like, well, like your dad. She always had a talent of picking out those bad apples.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew grandpa never liked dad. What was this all about though?

“We didn’t know about the drugs. It was only when your mother died that we found out. Had we known earlier, I’d have done something, we’d have done something…”

“What drugs? What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t know boy, would you? You never had any idea what your dad did, right?”

“Oh come on, is this what you called me here for? Another one of your rants about dad? Wasn’t it enough that you spent all those years going on and on about him? And now it’s drugs? Really? I know you hated him, but this is just low!”

I realized I’d jumped up from my seat and how loud my voice had gotten. Still, I didn’t sit back down. I stared at the thin old man in front of me, shaking my head.

“I can’t believe this. You called me here for that? You know what, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

I turned towards the front door when I heard grandpa call after me.

He stood in the door of the living room, holding something. My eyes grew wide. It was Dusty. The stuffed little doggie that mom had sewn for me when I was a little boy. I thought he’d gone lost all those years ago. How the hell was grandpa holding him now?

“Where the hell,” I started.

Memories came flooding back. I’d always had Dusty. It had been the only thing that still reminded me of mom. He’d always been by my side. Until the night dad and grandpa had that fight. We’d left so quickly, jumped into the car and drove off. I thought we’d lost him somewhere.

“Why do you have him?”

He held him out to me. “It was for the best boy, we had our reasons, we-“

I didn’t wait for him to finish.

“How dare you! How dare you took him away! I’d thought he was gone for good! Yet, yet, all those years, you’d hidden him!?”

I ripped the stuffed animal from his hands.

Grandpa said nothing. He was quiet. I saw the tears well up in his eyes. I didn’t say a thing. I simply turned around and left.

This time, I told myself, for good.

—

It was about a week and a half later when I couldn’t sleep. I picked up Dusty from the place I’d found for him in my room. I smiled as I looked down at him. He was so roughed up and dirty by now. I remembered my mom’s voice and her face as she’d handed him to me.

“He’ll always watch out for you,” she’d said and then asked me what I wanted to name him. Dusty, I’d said.

Right at this moment, I felt something on his stomach. Under the fur, I felt something else. It was a sort of slit.

I turned him around to get a better look and noticed a hidden little zipper. It was almost invisible due to the fur. Had it always been there?

I carefully pulled it open and found a pocket. Why…? I couldn’t help but put my hand inside and soon found something. I pulled out a number of pages, written in fine print and a few other, smaller pieces of paper. For a moment I wondered if these pages could be by my mom, but then I noticed grandpa’s handwriting.

I sighed and almost threw it aside in an instant. Then, as I got mad, curiosity got the better of me, and I started reading.

I knew you wouldn’t listen to me, Johann. I can’t blame you after all that has happened. I wish there had been a different way, an easier way to reach you. I just want to explain to you why Claudia and I did what we did, why we acted the way we did.

I crumbled up the letter and threw it across the room. Really? Even now? Even here he was giving me this shit? Were these words anything but stupid excuses for how they treated me?

I picked up the other notes next and was about to throw them away as well when I saw a small newspaper clipping. In a moment my eyes had scanned the headline.

Tragic death, young woman (28) dies due to overdose

Why was that here? Why did grandpa put this in? It was from an article from a popular German tabloid. The date was… March of 2004. That date, I knew it, but how? In a moment it clicked. Wasn’t that when mom died?

I skimmed the rest of the article within a few moments. It wasn’t long, barely two paragraphs in total. A young woman overdosed in her home, had to be taken to the hospital and unfortunately died there. It said she left a young boy, aged six and a husband behind. The husband was under suspicion of ownership and trade of illegal substances.

My hands started shaking. What the hell was this? I read the article again and again. The name, Natalie M.

Natalie Müller, mom’s name. Boy aged six, the age I was at the time. The clipping fell from my hands. No freaking way. This had to be fake somehow.

Once I’d entered the name and date into Google though, there was no doubt. Mom’s death had not only been mentioned in the tabloid but also in half a dozen other, local papers. It was real.

Grandpa had mentioned drugs and an overdose. Had he told the truth?

I went to pick up the crumpled up letter and started reading again.

Your mother’s, Natalie’s death, it came out of nowhere. We’d always known your father wasn’t good for her, but it was her life. We never thought it would get that far. To this day, I’m blaming myself for it. There’s not one night when I wish I’d done something. If I’d only looked more closely. Shouldn’t I’ve noticed something? Maybe if we’d cared more for her after she left?

When we learned about what had happened and what your dad was involved with, we pressed charges of course. Nothing ever came of it. The investigation took too long, no one cared. Most of all, there was his uncle in real estate. I’m sure he paid people off to save his own goddamn reputation. Couldn’t risk people found out that his nephew was a junkie! The only thing we were able to get in the end, was the right to see you for the weekends, nothing else.

You have to understand how hard it was for us. Seeing this man and having him come into our house. How we had to endure his smug smile, his attitude, his behavior, his smell, and his bloodshot eyes. We never wanted to see this goddamn junkie again, and there he was each weekend.

Worst of all was that with each year, with each month even, you looked a little more like him, behaved like him and spoke like him. We couldn’t help it, boy. I’m so sorry. We tried so much to love you, but we failed. We wanted to get you away from him, but the custody battle was a never-ending mess.

I lowered the letter again. What the hell was he talking about? Dad hadn’t been a junkie! There was no way!

One by one the memories crawled back into my mind and like a spider weaving a web, I started to connect the dots of doubt.

Dad had always been smoking, hadn’t he? Looking back now, I remember him calling them his ‘funny cigarettes’ every once in a while. All those people who came over, who were they? Dad had said business associates, home calls, meetings and so on. Then why did they spend the day drinking and playing Xbox? And all those phones he owned. Why’d you need more than one business phone? Why did he own almost a dozen?

Those visits as well… I’d never thought about it, never remembered much about them. Now, the memories came back. Fat Mario, the half-naked drunk guy who always smelled weird and watched all these strange Japanese movies. Bobby, who said he wanted to be a professional gamer one day and owned all the newest games. Sure as a kid it was awesome watching weird movies or playing games. But what sort of business would you do with guys like that?

There were so many more things that came to my mind now and which didn’t add up. The groups who hang out at our place. The fact that I was always sent to the next room.

It all pointed to a much, much different story. Only I never thought about it, I never saw it like that. I trusted dad and always believed… Fuck! What the fuck was this?

I read on as grandpa explained their struggle with me and the custody battle. How hard the whole situation was on them, especially grandma. And then I learned the truth about the night dad and grandpa had fought, the truth about dad.

That day your father had red eyes as usual, and he was in a terrible mood. He merely dropped you off, threw us his backpack and drove away without another word.

You acted just like him. Rushing past us to the living room, to play with one of those Gameboy things. You always had one of those glued to your face.

It was your grandma who found Dusty in your backpack. She got him out to bring him over to you, and that moment something dropped to the floor. It was a small plastic bag, containing a couple of pills. Your grandma, bless her soul, didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was those damned drugs. I took Dusty from her, found the zipper and half a dozen similar bags inside of him.

I knew what was going on. You’d always been talking about those people you went to with him. Oh, I asked him, but it was always the same lies. ‘You can’t expect the boy to sit home all day, Uwe’ or ‘it’s good for him to meet other kids’ and so on. I knew it was all lies, but I’d never thought he’d go that far.

Dusty had always been by my side I remembered. I took the little doggie everywhere. He was always hidden away in my backpack. Dad had told me so many times to keep him close.

“It’s what your mother would’ve wanted. That’s why she made it for you. He’ll always protect you.”

I picked up the small doggie again and looked at it. It was the perfect hiding place, wasn’t it? Who’d suspect a kid’s stuffed animal?

I sat there, crushed, shaking with rage. I wanted to scream. I beat down on my desk with my fists over and over again before I slumped back into my chair.

Dad had never cared for me I realized. Never. He kept me around because I was useful. I was his little mule, a safe way to get his drugs from one place to another.

The night when grandpa took Dusty away, it was to protect me.

“I dare you! If you ever do it again,” he’d screamed at dad.

I never understood what was going on. I didn’t care. Now I knew what he’d meant. That evening he’d realized how dad used me and exploded at him.

Of course it hadn’t stopped dad. I remember how he was always tinkering with my backpack after that. He said he made it cooler looking by adding on some patches, but I was sure he did other things. And I, being the child I was, was so happy about it. I felt awesome wearing my backpack. If only I’d known.

I read on to find out that dad hadn’t died in a car accident that night. Instead, he’d been out and got into a fight with some local thugs. No one really knew what happened exactly, but it was written off as related to drug money.

After that, you came to live with us. There was no one else to take care of you, so custody fell to us by default. Your grandma was so happy she cried tears of joy when she got the news. Now, she said, everything would be better.

I knew we tried too hard, boy, and we didn’t treat you well. I guess we wanted to make up for what happened with Natalie. To protect you from following in the same path as she and your father did. That’s why we were always so strict.

We always wanted to tell you, but how could we ever hope you’d understand all these things? It was much easier to go on that way. We knew you hated us, but there wasn’t much we could do. We never wanted to hurt you, Johann. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive us one day.

Love, Grandpa.

With that, the letter ended. The tears were streaming from my face. The world had just come crashing down on me, swallowed me up and spat me back out an empty, emotional mess.

I sat there, reading the letter over and over again, hugging Dusty. This was too much. It was too goddamn much.

I thought about all the things I’d said to my grandparents, about all the things I’d done. The things I could never take back. I remembered grandma’s funeral and how I’d acted. Most of all, I thought about how terrible my visit to grandpa had ended two weeks ago.

I don’t know when I drifted off to sleep. The moment I woke up though, I picked up the phone and dialed grandpa’s number. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things to apologize for. I was already on my way to the car to visit him when the call finally connected.

“Grandpa, I’m so sorry, I’m going to come-“

“Hello, Johann,” a female voice answered. I recognized her as their neighbor Mrs. Mathe.

“Oh dear,” she started to speak with shaking voice, “I didn’t know how to reach you, I’m so sorry…”

I didn’t listen anymore. I didn’t have to. The phone dropped from my hand.

I knew, I was too late.

Grandma died a week ago. I was devastated. I knew about the cancer, and I knew there was no hope at her age. Still, I refused to believe it. She was the nicest person I’d ever known, and after mom had died, she’d taken care of me. It was only thanks to her I could attend college.

Going through all the things she’d collected over the course of her life felt strange, like I was an intruder. Who was I to so simply decide what to keep and what to throw away? Yet it was necessary. I couldn’t hope to keep all of it. There was her collection of ceramic figurines, old photo albums of her and family, yellowed books, paintings whose colors had long faded, and so much more. One day, as I went through another box of memorabilia, I found one filled with stacks of letters.

As I looked through it, I noticed they were of varying state. Some were neatly tucked away, others seemed to have been crumbled up before she decided to keep them. When I gave them a closer look, I saw they were all sent by the same person, a woman named Elisabeth. Reading through them gave me this warm, fuzzy feeling. Elisabeth sounded like such a nice person, and I was sure she’d been a close friend of grandma’s.

As I checked the dates on the letters, I saw that the last one had only arrived recently, just shy of my grandma’s death, but others had been sent decades ago. I teared up as I stared at what must’ve been hundreds of letters. What was in front of me was a testament to a lifelong friendship between two women.

It was the middle of the afternoon when I read the very first letter. The topics ranged from serious to mundane. In one, Elisabeth gave advice on marriage and childbirth, in another, she talked about gardening and TV shows. As they got closer to the present day, they talked at length about the cancer that would ultimately be grandma’s demise. Elisabeth’s words never wavered and were filled with nothing but hope and kindness.

When I put the last letter away, it was long past midnight, but my decision had long been made. I was going to visit this Elisabeth, my grandma’s lifelong pen pal.

***

I wrote down the address I found on one of the last letters and started on my trip to the other end of the state.

When I rang the doorbell, a tiny old lady, almost half my size, and about my grandma’s age, opened the door. For a moment, she looked at me in confusion before she smiled.

“You’re Margaret’s daughter? No, you’re too young. Her granddaughter, then, right?”

I opened my mouth, but then closed it again, and nodded. The tiny old lady chuckled.

“You’re her splitting image! You look exactly like her when she was your age. Come in, come in. What brings you here?”

Before I could even answer, she hurried back inside and motioned for me to follow her.

“Well,” I finally started, once we’d made it to the living room, “I came to say thanks for being such a good friend to grandma over the years, and for all those letters you sent.”

“Nothing to thank me for, girl. It was the only thing I could do.”

“Because you were such good friends, right?” I asked, smiling.

At that, the old woman chuckled again, but this time it wasn’t merry. No, it was nothing but wicked. When she stopped, her face was distorted into a mask of purest spite.

“Oh, you silly girl. Friends? Oh no, I wrote those letters out of spite!”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” I asked, taken aback by her outburst.

“I did it to make her pay for what she did,” she almost spat at me.

“But those letters, they were all so nice.”

“Of course, that was the whole point! You see, little girl, Margarete and I grew up together. We were the closest of friends. But, oh, we were so different. Your grandma was smart, and even prettier, while I was nothing but a gray little mouse. She had it all, and I had nothing. At least, until I met Stephen. I don’t know why he did it, but the moment he asked me out, I was the happiest girl in the whole wide world. I got pregnant, Stephen proposed, and soon I was busy preparing for my wedding.”

For a moment, she smiled, reminiscing, before her face grew dark again.

“But your grandma, she had to ruin it all! You want to know what she did!? Well, the big day arrived, and Stephen didn’t show up.”

“How’s my grandma related to-?“ I started, but she promptly cut me off.

“Because it was her! She couldn’t take it! For the first time, I had something she didn’t. I had a fiancé, soon a husband, and even a family. She’d never had a serious relationship before! So instead, she seduced my soon-to-be-husband, slept with him, and he left me behind. Oh, how I pleaded with him to come back, told him I’d forgive him, but he told me he’d been in love with her all his life. I’d been nothing but a second choice! And now that he could have her…”

For a moment, she broke up, shaking, her mouth quivering in sadness and anger.

“Wait, but my grandpa’s name isn’t Stephen,” I blurted out.

“Of course not! She was never really interested in him! It was just another one of her petite little games. A few months later, she left him behind like every other guy before him. To him, though, it meant the world. He’d left everything behind for her, his family, his reputation, and even me. There was nothing left for him. They found him a few days later, dead. I remember little after that. They told me I had a breakdown, lost my mind as well as the child, and was hospitalized for the better part of a year. And all because of your grandma.”

I gasped at this revelation. All the power left me, and I slumped down in a chair. This couldn’t be true. She had to be lying!

“But those letters… why did you send them?”

Slowly, a smile appeared on Elisabeth’s face. It could almost have been benevolent, if not for the hint of mockery around the corners of her mouth.

“She came back to me years later. Told me she was sorry, and that she knew I must hate her, detest her even, and blame me for all that happened to her. But you know what I did? I told her there was nothing to be sorry about. There was nothing to forgive, not a single thing. No, I told her all was fine in the world with the brightest of smiles. You know why?”

I stayed quiet, not able to utter a word.

“Because she could tell it wasn’t true. She knew it was a farce. What she wanted was closure, the truth, to move on and make good of the bad things she’d done. She cried and pleaded with me to admit it, but I only hugged her and told her it was fine. Oh, she was furious. She screamed and raged, and in return, I gave her nothing but kindness. She said she needed to hear it, but I never said a word. Instead, I told her I’d be her friend forever. It was the last time I ever saw her in person. About a month later, I sent her the first letter. I knew she was pregnant by now and was about to get married. So in this very first letter, I gave her a few tips on marriage, childbirth and children. I read all those books after all, I wrote, so it would be a shame if it was all for nothing. Of course, these letters were full of sarcasm, and I’m sure she must’ve noticed it.”

“Did she ever acknowledge you?” I asked, my voice nothing more than a whisper.

“Oh, but of course she did! When the letter arrived, I couldn’t believe it myself! She begged with me ‘Please Elisabeth, just say it!’ But I didn’t, of course, I didn’t. And soon I sent her another letter, and then another.”

For a moment, she cackled to herself before her eyes focused on me.

“Now how about I show you what else your oh so nice little grandma sent me?”

With that, and before I could answer, she hurried toward a cupboard and took out a stack of letters of her own. She searched through them meticulously before she brought one of them over to me.

I recognized grandma’s handwriting right away, but I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The letter was filled with nothing but rage and profanity. Grandma called Elisabeth a bitch, a horrible, evil person, and told her that everything had been her fault to begin with. Everyone had looked down on her, Stephen had never wanted her, and she was happy the child… At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“This… this is terrible,” I mumbled. “How could she…?”

“Didn’t know that side of her, did you, girl?”

I only shook my head, but then I wondered about something.

“How did you keep this up for so long?”

When Elisabeth spoke again, it was with profound sadness in her voice.

“What else was there for me? My body was broken, I had no children, no trust, and certainly no hope for a family of my own. But I had her letters. Every insult, every profanity, and all her emotions; oh, I relished them. It made it all worth it!”

Her voice had changed once more. It was almost euphoric now. She hurried over to her stack of letters again and brought over one from just a few months ago.

I prepared for profanities, but this one was… different. It was a last, heartfelt plea by grandma. She wrote again that she knew she’d ruined Elisabeth’s life. She didn’t know why she’d done it. Back then, she was just a dumb young girl. All she wanted was to hear from Elisabeth, from her former best friend, that what she’d done was terrible. It was the last thing she wished for, to finally get closure. At least, now, Elisabeth could do it, couldn’t she? Now that the cancer was eating away at her body and mind. I felt tears coming to my eyes. My hands were shaking, but when I looked over at Elisabeth, the old woman was beaming.

“I wrote her the nicest, most empathetic letter I’d ever written. I told her it was all my fault. That she’d been right to send me all those ugly letters. It had all been me, and she, Margaret, wasn’t to blame for a single thing. She began to cackle again.

“Oh, I was her friend till the end. I never wrote a bad word about her, and never acknowledged what she did, never.”

In sheer revulsion, I watched as the body of the sad little creature in front of me began shaking, her cackling growing more and more intense.

“I’d never let her have it! I’d never give her the satisfaction of acknowledging what she’d done to me. She died never getting the one thing she begged me for so much: closure. And I know that hurt her more than anything.”

It’s said that once we’re adults, we don’t remember much of our life before the age of ten. The scientific term for this is childhood amnesia.

Some people talk about not remembering certain events in their childhood. They might look at old photo albums of their early years, and get this sad look on their faces. Often they don’t remember certain family gatherings or birthdays.

I’m not one of these people. I pray that many of these early memories stay hidden. You might ask why. It’s because I grew up an orphan. I never got to meet my biological parents. Instead, I was pushed around from family to family and orphanage to orphanage.

The foster system can work great if you’re lucky. I wasn’t. More than once have I been abused by people who’d promised to take care of me. Needless to say, I grew up to be quite the bad child, a troublemaker, really.

That’s why I ended up at Madame Rose’s orphanage.

It was a foster home for bad kids like me. It was a special place, quite popular in the area I was from. An orphan couldn’t find a foster home or had terrible behavior? He’d end up at Madame Rose’s eventually, to iron out all the wrinkles.

Madame Rose was a tall, haggard and stern old lady. I’d guess she was in her late fifties or early sixties when I moved into her orphanage. She valued nothing more than discipline and obedience.

I hated her guts ever since I first met her. When she stepped in front of me, her eyes were hard. She looked down at me with an expressionless face. The only thing she said was: “So, another one, hm?”

Without another word she led me inside and showed me the place that should be my home for the next years.

The orphanage itself was a testament of times long gone. It was an Old Prussian mansion, most likely dating back to the time when Prussia was still governed by kings. The place was huge from the outside and absolutely gigantic inside.

It was clear that the place had been remodeled countless times. All these changes had transformed it into a sprawling mess of hallways. There were endless corridors and hundreds of rooms in this three-storied monstrosity.

I found out that Madame Rose’s orphanage was actually just one wing of the building. It consisted of the dormitories, the common room, the kitchen, and a few other, smaller rooms. In her stern voice, she made it clear to me that my life would be restricted to this part of the building alone. The rest, she said, was off-limits for us kids.

Well, I was a kid, and like all kids, I loved to explore and sneak around. The more something was forbidden, the more attractive and compelling it became to me.

I spent most of my days studying or listening to Madame Rose’s countless lectures on how to be a good kid.

The few unattended hours of free time I had were spent exploring the maze of hallways and rooms. Hidden and secret passages were everywhere. I found my way into the crawl spaces, explored the attic and even the musky basement. At other times, I saw rooms that no one seemed to have entered in years or maybe even decades. They were old, dusty rooms, filled with nothing but old memories.

One such room I stumbled upon was the Room of Change.

My best and only friend at the orphanage was a boy named Tiny Joe. He got this nickname because he was a scrawny little boy, shy, frail and much too small for his age. I never found out what was wrong with him, but looking back, he must’ve suffered from some sort of hereditary disease. While his body was weak, his mind was always active. During my first days of the orphanage, the two of us would talk endlessly. He told me how much he loved animals, farms, fields and most of all tractors. He’d give anything to be a farmer one day and drive his own tractor.

We soon bounded and became brothers in crime. Whenever his health allowed it, we’d sneak out to explore the labyrinthine maze of hallways.

Of course, we weren’t the only kids who did this. It was just that I didn’t get along with most of the other kids.

I was a troublemaker, but I was far from the worst kid at Madame Rose’s, not by a long shot. There was Tony, a boy who suffered from anger problems and who’d beaten more than one foster sibling to a pulp. Stefan, a creepy tall boy, had a knack for animal cruelty.

None of them were as bad as Michael though.

He was one of the older kids. I’d guess he was about twelve when I moved into the place.

Michael was not just another bad kid. No, he was cruel, and what made it even worse, he was smart. There were also those two big guys, Rick and Jerry, who were always by his side. They were as dumb as a rock, but they looked up to Michael as a sort of role model.

The worst thing about Michael was that he always preyed on Tiny Joe. Of course, other kids made fun of him for being tiny and looking a bit strange, but Michael wasn’t satisfied by words alone.

He really struck gold, when I, new in the orphanage, stepped in. From that day on, he’d found himself a new victim, especially one he could beat up. With Joe he had to be careful, a flick against the ear here, a tiny push against a wardrobe there, but he couldn’t do much more. With me, he didn’t have to watch out.

He once even said it to my face, while Rick and Jerry held me up in front of him.

As I said before, Tiny Joe and I explored the rest of the mansion quite a bit. Curiosity was one reason, sure, but sneaking out also meant that we’d be away from Michael for a while.

Week after week, we’d sneak through empty hallways. Nothing was interesting about most of the rooms we found. One day though, by sheer accident, we found something else. It was a playroom filled with all sorts of toys and stuffed animals. The walls were of a bright green color and prop trees made it seem like we’d stepped into a magical forest. There was a low light from above without any discernible source.

I was utterly overwhelmed by it, and I saw how Tiny Joe’s eyes grew wide. His mouth stood open, and he let out a squeak of sheer surprise before he rushed inside. I followed him right away.

The room was amazing, out of this world. It was as colorful and lively as the rest of the mansion was bleak and dull. Everything inside was fitting the forest theme, even the stuffed animals. There was rabbits, foxes, raccoons, squirrels, and many others. I also saw a tent in one corner and a small hut in another.

As the two of us played there we could both see the bright lettering on the wall:

“The Room of Change”

It was written in glowing, magical letters. On another wall to our right was a rule board. There were only two rules on it.

1. Don’t talk about the Room of Change

2. Don’t take anything from the Room of Change

As we played, we were utterly oblivious to the time that passed. It was the loud, reverberating bell of the mansion that announced that it was dinner time.

We both looked at each other with shock on our faces before we rushed back through the mansion. Please, I prayed, don’t let Madame Rose be there, please. I recited this over and over again, but as I stormed into the common room, I almost crashed into her. She stood there, looking at us in pure outrage, tapping her foot. She gave us a stern lecture in front of everyone else. I could see how some of the other kids smiled and grinned at our misfortune.

“We were just playing in-” Tiny Joe started, but I was able to cover his mouth before he said anything.

“You were playing where, Joe?” she asked the little boy before she turned and glared at me.

“And you Mister Reinhardt, take that hand away,” she spat at me, “I want to hear what Joe has to say.”

I lowered my hand and stared at my feet to avoid her probing gaze. Please remember the rules Tiny Joe, I thought, don’t talk about the room.

“In the hallway,” the tiny boy answered Madame Rose in a low voice.

The old lady watched us, but after a few seconds had passed, she nodded and sent us to the dormitory without dinner.

It was almost a week before we were able to sneak out again.

During that time Michael’s antics got even worse. It got so bad that I snapped at one point. Of course Madame Rose was in the room next door when it happened. Michael played the victim, and with Rick and Jerry backing him up, he got away, and I was the one who got in trouble.

During these first months at the orphanage, I hated them all: the mansion, the other kids, the endless lectures and especially Madam Rose herself, who always seemed to single me out.

The only things I liked were Tiny Joe and the Room of Change.

When Joe and I made it to the room a second time, we first thought it was a different room. The walls were bright blue with waves painted on them. Even the floor of the room was a bright blue except for a few carpet islands. There were all sorts of stuffed ocean animals, toy boats and also a huge palm tree. The only thing that told us it was the same room were the glowing magical letters on the wall.

This time we didn’t dare stay as long as before. There was no way we’d risk being late again this time, especially since I couldn’t risk getting in trouble with Madame Rose yet again.

We always kept to the rules. We said nothing about the room and neither of us took anything. We didn’t dare break them. What if the room would vanish or the door would stay closed to us forever.

The room was a magical place. Each time we went there, it was different. Neither Tiny Joe nor I had any idea how something like this was even possible.

It was by sheer accident that the two of us learned that we weren’t the only ones who knew about the room’s existence. One day we entered the room and found someone else inside. It was Rudolph and Martin, two boys about my age. They’d recently become frequent targets of Michael’s as well. At first, we all were surprised to find each other there.

I confronted them right away. It was my and Tiny Joe’s room I said, but the two of them replied that they’d found it a long time ago when hiding from Michael.

In the end, the four of us agreed on a truce. No fighting or anything like that in the room. To my surprise though, we all got along great. We even ended up playing together, and when it was time to go back, we all did so as new friends. As we made our way through the long-winded hallways, we all exchanged whispers. Each one had his own ideas what the Room of Change would be like the next time we went there.

The moment we returned our little group was noticed. Michael had his goons on the lookout for us at all times. I could imagine how furious he was to find out that his punching bags had vanished yet again.

In the next weeks, things started to get a bit better. For the first time, I didn’t hang out with only Tiny Joe, but also with Martin. I even warmed up to Rudolph.

I should find out how wrong I was about him soon enough.

A couple of weeks later Martin wasn’t allowed to play with us. He hadn’t paid attention during the lectures, so Madame Rose forbid him from playing with the rest of us. So that day it was only Tiny Joe, Rudolph and me who set out to find the room once again.

When we arrived, the room had magically transformed into a giant farm. One wall resembled a barn, prop trees rested against another and stuffed farm animals littered the floor. There was even a plastic paddle tractor standing in the room’s center.

The moment Tiny Joe saw the tractor he ignored everything else and raced towards it as fast as his little legs allowed him to. I hadn’t even set foot in the room when I saw him in the tractor’s seat already. He was whooping with joy as he hit the pedals and started driving in a small circle. There wasn’t much room to drive it, but Tiny Joe didn’t seem to mind that at all.

For a moment I watched him before I went to the barn to see if there was any way to enter it.

It was right at this moment that the door sprang open behind us. My eyes grew wide when I saw Michael barge into the room, followed by Rick and Jerry.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding all that time!” Michael yelled at Tiny Joe and me. “Almost forgot about this stupid place,” he added kicking a small stuffed animal aside.

Rick and Jerry followed him, both grinning and started to make a ruckus right away. They both went straight for the prop apple trees and started breaking them apart.

“Thanks, Rudolph,” Michael said laughing. As I looked to Rudolph, I saw him shuffle around, looking down at his feet.

The bastard, he’d betrayed us!

I stormed forward to punch him, but suddenly Rick jumped in front of me and pushed me to the ground.

Behind him, Jerry picked up some of the stuffed animals. He started tearing them apart while guffawing like an idiot.

“No! Don’t!” I screamed at him, but when I tried to get up, Rick pushed me down again.

From where I was I saw how Michael’s face distorted into a cruel smile. He’d only watched the destruction so far, but now he walked over to Tiny Joe. The tiny boy was still sitting in the tractor, frozen in fear.

“Now what do we have here…” Michael started.

“You know Joe, working a farm can be quite dangerous.”

Tiny Joe nodded, but I could see that he fought hard to hold back his tears.

“I know, Michael,” he said in a low, scared voice.

“Well, then you should know how easy tractors can get into accidents!”

With that, he stepped behind the tractor and pushed it forward with full force. Tiny Joe screamed up in terror and surprise as the tractor hurtled forward and crashed against the wall. The tractor tipped over, and Tiny Joe landed on the floor crying.

“Oh no, what happened, Joe?” Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” Michael said in his most sarcastic voice.

“You know what Joe, I think it’s best if we get rid of this thing!”

With that, he picked up the tractor and threw it to the ground over and over again in front of Joe’s eyes. The little boy was completely out of it. He jumped forward and tried to stop Michael from destroying the tractor. The older boy only laughed, almost giggled at Tiny Joe’s attempts. Again and again, he pushed him to the ground and in the end kicked him away. Soon the tractor shattered.

All the while I couldn’t do a thing. Rick was bigger and stronger than me and had no problem at all to pin me to the ground. Tears of anger streamed down my face as I watched the scene in front of me.

Finally, Michael turned to Rick and Jerry.

“Throw them out!” he yelled at them. Then he focused on Joe and me, “that was the last time you ever came here!”

With that Rick and Jerry pushed first me and then Tiny Joe out of the room. The little boy stumbled a few steps before his legs couldn’t carry him anymore and he fell to the ground. He was still crying.

“It’s so, so, so unfair! Why do they have to do this! Why did they have to destroy everything?”

He was out of it, crying hard, breathing heavily and I could almost hear his heartbeat.

I helped him and led him away from the room and the sounds of the still ongoing destruction behind the door.

The moment we got back to the common, Tony looked up and started to grin when he saw that Tiny Joe was crying.

“What’s wrong crybaby? You sad you’re so tiny?”

At that moment I lost it completely. All the pent-up anger was released as I jumped Tony and started to beat down on him with my fists. I screamed so loud that Madame Rose heard it from the classroom. She came over and dragged me off Tony in an instant.

“What is going on here?” she demanded to know.

Before I could even say anything, she let go of Tony and me and went over to Tiny Joe. He was laying on the floor, not moving.

Madame Rose’s face was serious in an instant. She picked up the tiny boy, trying desperately to find out what was wrong with him. Finally, she carried him over to the infirmary.

“What’s wrong with him, Madame Rose?” I asked trying to follow her.

“Stay were you are, Max! And if you don’t behave this time, I dare, I dare you,” she broke up. When she looked at me, I saw that her lips were quivering and I could have sworn I saw the hint of tears in her eyes. Without another word, she closed the door behind herself.

It was only minutes later that we heard a car arrive outside. Doctor Schmidt entered the room just moments later. Without saying a word, he went straight to the infirmary to take care of Tiny Joe. I’d never been so worried in my entire life.

For the next half hour, everyone in the common room was silent. No one even dared to move.

“Who died?” I heard Michael say as he entered the common room, Rick and Jerry in tow as always.

No one said a thing.

I’d have run over to him, if not for Madame Rose who returned to the common room in that instant. She looked different, tired, anxious and most of all, old.

Her eyes wandered over the room before they came to rest in Michael who was still smiling.

Tiny Joe mentioned his name and told her what Michael had done. When she turned to me, I too, explained to her that Tiny Joe and I’d been playing together. Then Michael and his friends came to beat us up.

Michael tried to wiggle his way out of course, but while he was smart, he was still just a kid. Madame Rose wasn’t stupid either. She’d noticed that Michael had been teasing Tiny Joe, but so far she’d thought it was mostly harmless.

After this whole ordeal, Michael was put into the solitary room for almost two weeks. Sure, he studied with us and got his meal with us in the common room, but he wasn’t allowed to interact with anyone.

He was supposed to learn from his mistakes and even got special lectures and talks by Madame Rose. Many times I could hear her yell at him from behind the door to the classroom.

Tiny Joe was transferred to the hospital after a day or two. He’d over-exhausted himself, and something inside his already broken body had ruptured. After another week though, Madame Rose informed us that Joe was doing much better by now. He’d not return to the orphanage though. While at the hospital one of the nurses had accepted him as a foster child and he’d be staying with her from now on.

I was a kid, so of course, I was sad that I’d lost a friend. For a long while I cried in the corner of the common room. Once I’d calmed down though, I was happy that he’d found a home and that he’d not be stuck in this place anymore.

When Michael was released from the solitary room, he had changed. I’d been terribly afraid as the day approached, but he was quiet and stayed mostly by himself. He talked to Rick and Jerry a few times, but avoided everyone else and, he seemed to be scared.

Things changed from then on. I stayed friends with Martin, and even befriended some of the other boys. It seemed that ever since Michael’s constant rule of terror had come to an end, we all started to get along better.

How dumb of a kid I was to think that things would change so easily.

Ever since Tiny Joe was gone, I’d not entered the Room of Change. It felt wrong to go there without him, and I wasn’t even sure if the room was still there. After all, we had talked about it, and Michael and the rest had made a ruckus inside.

In time though I couldn’t fight my curiosity anymore. I snuck out of the common room one day and made my way through the hallways of the mansion. It felt strange to do this on my own. At times I turned around to see how far behind Tiny Joe was before I remembered he wasn’t with me this time.

I felt a mixture of joy and fear when I found the sturdy wooden door. It was still there! I put my hand on the handle, but somehow I was too scared to open the door. What if the room was gone? What if all that awaited me behind was another empty, dusty room?

I didn’t get to think about it for much longer, because I soon heard footsteps behind me. When I turned around, I saw Michael, Rick, and Jerry.

“What a strange coincidence to find you here,” Michael said.

“What do you want?” I asked annoyed.

“It’s because of you that I got into trouble,” he said in a low, angry voice.

“What do you mean? You were the one who pushed and beat up Tiny Joe!”

Right at this time Rick and Jerry came forward and grabbed me. There was no way I could resist them.

Then Michael opened the door to the Room of Change.

This time the room was held in a darker, almost nightly theme. The walls were covered in stars, moons and other planets. The rest of the room was more mysterious as well. The only stuffed toys were suns and stars.

Rick and Jerry dragged me inside. Michael followed after us and closed the door behind himself.

In his eyes, I could see how angry he was. He hadn’t changed at all, no if anything, he’d gotten worse. He’d been fuming all that time and must have plotted his revenge ever since he got out of the solitary room.

“Hold him down!”

I saw something flash in the low light of the room. Michael was holding one of the knives from lunch in his hand. My eyes grew wide with fear.

“What are you-” but I broke up as he held the knife right in front of my face.

“What do you think I am going to do? I am going to cut you up,” he answered with an evil grin.

“Lift his shirt,” he commanded Rick and Jerry. The two of them did nothing. I saw how they both looked at each other anxiously, not sure what to do.

“Didn’t you hear me? Lift it up!”

When he pointed the knife at them, they looked as scared as me. Without another moment of hesitation, they drew back my shirt to reveal my naked stomach.

Michael grinned and then pressed the knife against my skin. He dragged the knife across my stomach one centimeter at a time. His eyes were glowing with an insane sort of satisfaction as he did it.

At first, there was a tingling sensation, but then I started to feel a stinging pain. I screamed up and tried to get away, but Rick and Jerry held on to me. Michael took the knife away, and I could see a tiny red line on my stomach.

As I saw it, I started to freak out. I twisted and struggled against my captors grasp, but there was no hope.

“Oh, that’s just the beginning…”

“Michael, we really shouldn’t-” Jerry started.

“Shut up fatass! I tell you when to-“

He broke up as all four of us heard a noise erupt from the room around us. Then, the light of the room became a tad bit dimmer.

“WHO DARES TO DEFILE THE ROOM OF CHANGE!” a voice thundered from behind us.

Then everything happened at once. Rick and Jerry both screamed up in surprise and released me. I came to my tumbling feet and was about to rush to the door when Michael grabbed my arm.

I turned around to get free and froze. I saw a big, towering figure, shrouded entirely in darkness behind Michael. All I could see was an emotionless white mask. Before he could even yell or lift the knife again, the figure grabbed onto him.

In surprise, he let go of me as he was dragged backward. The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the ground. The figure pulled him to the back wall. It opened up and before I could say anything the figure, as well as a screaming Michael, had vanished behind it.

It was at this moment that I ran from the room, pushing Rick and Jerry aside. Once outside I didn’t understand what had happened. Had the room punished Michael?

It was only seconds later that the door opened again. Rick and Jerry stormed out, both screaming and crying, their faces white as sheets. For a short moment, my eyes met the mask of the dark figure before the door to the room closed.

As imposing as the figure had been, in that last moment I saw it, it hadn’t seemed scary or evil. No, I felt as if it was the embodiment of the Room of Change itself who’d rescued me.

That night I slept better than ever before. When I got up the next day, everything was back to normal, except for one thing: Michael wasn’t around.

The moment Rick and Jerry saw me, they both hurried away.

It was later that day that Madame Rose told us that Michael wouldn’t be staying with us anymore. He’d left for a different orphanage that morning.

Many of the kids in the room started to smile, and some even laughed up in happiness at the thought of being rid of him. Madame Rose’s stern, angry glare shut them up in an instant.

I was about to say something, but in the end, I stayed quiet. I never mentioned what had happened the day before to anyone.

After Michael was gone, things changed, but not as much as I’d hoped. The orphanage never became a happy or lovely place. It didn’t matter how many friends I made with Madame Rose around. She was as strict and stern as always.

For the year and a half I spent at the place, I never developed an ounce of sympathy for the old lady.

As time passed on, things got better for me. My stay at the orphanage ended when I was adopted by a friendly couple who took care of me ever since. After all that had happened with Tiny Joe and Michael and especially due to the discipline Madame Rose had hammered into me, I had changed. I’d learned how to behave, and in time I grew to love my new foster parents.

—

It’s now been almost twenty years since I left the place. I am writing this all down because I recently learned what really became of Tiny Joe.

Madame Rose had told us he’d found a foster home, but she’d lied to us. The truth was in an old newspaper I read while doing research for a project at university. An article mentioned the unfortunate death of a tiny orphaned boy, only nine years old. He’d died at the local hospital due to complications. It was during the same year that we’d stayed at the orphanage together.

It was a week later that I paid his grave a visit. I’d brought some flowers, and for a while, I told him about my life.

I suddenly remembered the old orphanage and decided to visit it as well. Once there, I saw that the place had closed down. At the city hall, I was informed that it had been closed after Madame Rose’s death.

The old lady had no relatives, and so the property was transferred to city ownership. In the end, no one knew what to do with the old building. Even twenty years ago, it hadn’t been in great condition, and now it was almost a ruin.

It was during this talk with the city administration that I remembered the Room of Change.

It wasn’t hard to enter the old place. To my surprise, the front door wasn’t even locked.

Nothing remained of the place’s former glory. When I’d been living there, it had been a magnificent place. Now all I could see was dust, dirt and spider webs. The many winding hallways seemed odd and constricting to an adult.

The first thing I found was the old common room. There was none of the furniture left, but I was still flooded by nostalgia.

Then I went on my search for the Room of Change. I must have wandered through the hallways for hours before I stood in front of the door. As I opened it I was greeted by a room that now seemed almost small. It was as old and musky as all the others.

Now, as an adult, I recognized the backdrop on the walls. I smiled as I saw that it was a mountainous theme this time. The carpet on the floor was as white as snow, or at least that’s what it must have been years ago. A few prop stones were positioned against the walls. I found a single stuffed animal, a mountain bird, discarded in one of the corners. As I picked it up, I noticed something else on the wall behind the backdrop.

When I moved the fabric aside, I found a door that was almost perfectly fused with the wall.

The door led to a different room. When I moved my flashlight around, I was confused for a moment. Then I realized what this room was. It was a sort of backroom like in a theater. There were countless backdrops here, a variety of props and an innumerable amount of stuffed animals and toys.

As I paced the room, I noticed another door. When I opened it, I stepped into an old bedroom. A quick glance around told me that this must have been Madame Rose’s former quarters.

At this moment I understood the truth. The Room of Change was right behind Madame Rose’s quarters.

It hadn’t been a magical or supernatural place like we kids had thought. It was something the old lady had created for us.

She was a stern old teacher and caretaker. She taught us bad kids manners, discipline and how to behave. I guess it must have been necessary for her to keep up this facade, so we’d respect and even fear her. It was her own way of teaching us.

This room though proved, how dearly she must have loved us deep inside. She must have created this room, knowing that we kids would find it eventually.

It was a place where we could find the happiness we needed so desperately, and she couldn’t give us openly.

As I walked through the back room, looking at all the backdrop, I could only imagine how hard it must have been for this old lady to change the room herself. I could almost see her now. Long after we’d gone to bed, she was dragging the backdrops and everything else inside. All to change the room yet again into a different, unique nature.

I felt the tears coming to my eyes as I realized what she’d done.

Suddenly I remembered the dark figure I’d seen that day. The figure that had saved me and taken Michael away. Searching through the backroom proved my suspicions to be true. As I held the mask in my hands, it was clear that this figure had been none other than Madam Rose herself.

“Creepy man! Creepy man! Old Rain Man! Old Rain Man!” my childish voice echoed through the humid air.

The target of my anxious shouts was Old Rain Man. He was a sort of village curiosity, the local boogeyman.

The origin of his name was as simple as it gets: the old man was only ever seen when it rained. He’d leave his house, cross the yard and sit down on a bench in front of it. Once the rain stopped, he’d vanish back inside.

We kids had our share of stories and ideas about him. Some said he was the one who made it rain. Others said he wanted to flood the village. There were even a few who thought he was secretly an amphibian and needed the rain to survive.

In our village, there were never more than a few days without heavy rain. Considering that, those stories seemed more than plausible to us kids.

We often dared each other to provoke him or go near him. This time it had been my turn to yell at him and see if he’d come after me. The old man, however, did nothing. We were sure though that he feigned ignorance to lure me in closer.

The dares had started early this summer. I don’t remember which of my friends came up with something so silly.

At first, we only dared each other to race past him on our bikes. We’d heard the tales of the older kids. They said if you weren’t careful the old man would reach out for you and get a hold of you. Once he did, he’d drag you off into his old, dark house never to be seen again.

As summer moved along, our dares grew riskier and riskier. It started by yelling at him and riding past him on our bikes. Soon enough though, we dared each other to walk past him slowly or to get close to him. We never got more than a stare, but it was enough to send us racing away in terror.

“I got one, I got one,” my friend Stefan started one day. “I want Daniel to sit down on the bench and wait for Old Rain Man to arrive. Then you have to sit next to him for ten seconds.”

Everyone gasped, and they all turned to me. My heart dropped. This was different, but I didn’t dare to say no. So far no one had backed out, and I didn’t want to be the first one to do so. My friends would never let it go.

“All right, fine,” I pressed out reluctantly.

A few days later I should get my chance. We were out playing soccer when the sky got darker and clouds gathered.

Stefan grinned at me.

“It’s time Daniel!” he cheered and soon the others, remembering the dare, joined in.

Minutes later we were all in front of his house. As I sat down on the bench, my friends retreated. I was all pins and needles. I told myself again and again that nothing would happen and that none of the stories were true. Everyone was lying, they had to be!

The first raindrops soon hit me and mixed with the pearls of sweat that had formed on my forehead. It didn’t take long before I heard the creaking of an old door. There he was: Old Rain Man.

As he stepped outside, the sound of his work boots crunching on the gravel echoed in my ears. He was way too tall to be a regular human being. His posture was all wrong. He was hunched over and his arms dangled in the air, warping him into a bizarre, mantis-like creature. With each step he took, my body tensed up more.

When I could finally make out his face, I gasped and held my breath. It was a terrible mask devoid of all emotions. His eyes were glassy, half-open slits, but I could still see the black pits that were his pupils.

My friends had retreated further and were now hiding behind the trees nearby. I stared at them with open eyes, pleading at them to release me from the dare, but they were all laughing.

When the old man took a seat next to me, I froze up. He didn’t say a thing, didn’t even look at me and I told myself it was because I didn’t move.

I was in sheer and absolute terror. I sat there, concentrating, not moving, my eyes closed shut, and counting down from ten to zero as fast as I could. When I was finally done, I jumped off the bench and landed right in a small puddle that had formed in front of me.

It was right at that moment that the old man’s head jerked towards me. His eyes were suddenly wide open and focused on me and only me. Before I could even move, his hands shot out and closed around my wrist with an iron grip. I screamed in pain as he twisted my arm and pulled me in closer.

“You are…” he started, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. I screamed at him to let me go, tried to pull myself free, but his grip only tightened. For a second his mouth opened, only to close again a moment later.

Crying and in pure despair, I looked for my friends, but they were all running away. Only their cries of ‘Old Rain Man got him! Old Rain Man got him!’ stayed with me.

After what felt like an eternity, his grip loosened and I could rip myself free and run away. I cried the entire way home.

As I stormed into the house, my parents asked me what happened. The moment they heard me say ‘Old Rain Man’ though, they frowned. They’d told me repeatedly to ignore him and stay away from him. It’s what I got for not listening to them.

After that, I had nightmares about the giant, ghastly old man for weeks. In some he waited for me outside, in others he caught me on my way to school. There were some, more surreal than the rest, in which the old man broke through the ceiling of my room with his long, bony arms to drag me away. There was only one thing that was always the same in these dreams. It was always raining.

Looking back it all seems silly now. How could one be so scared of a simple old man? I guess that’s how kids are.

From that day onward I never got near the old man again. I was too scared of him. Who knew what he’d do to me if he ever saw me again.

Some of my friends continued to dare me to come along, but I never budged. Even after they ridiculed me and called me a scaredy-cat, I never went to his house again.

As we got older though, our interests shifted. At first from playing outside to video games, then to girls and parties, and finally to plans about the future. The old man had become nothing but a distant, forgotten childhood memory.

After I finished school, the logical next step was to go to university. I’d always been one of the brighter kids and my parents nudged me into the direction of higher education. To be honest, I took the chance without thinking twice.

I was sick and tired of this small, rainy village and longed for the exciting life in the city.

Unfortunately, things never work out the way we imagine them. After years of studying, I dropped out of university without graduating. I worked here and there, but never for long. Finally, the day arrived when I couldn’t even pay the rent for my small apartment anymore. It was in shame that I accepted my parents’ proposal to move in with them again for the time being.

After I’d left the place behind almost ten years ago, I was now back in the same small, rainy village. This time with no plans or prospects for the future.

It was humiliating. I was in my late twenties, yet I lived in my old, tiny room again. I felt useless, like an absolute failure.

At first, my parents were understanding, sympathetic even. As the weeks became month though, that changed. They started to ask questions. How long was I planning to stay? What was I going to do? When would I look for work again? Why didn’t I go back to university? The list goes on.

Soon enough dad started calling me a useless bum and my mom, in turn, took pity on me. It was all a bunch of bullshit.

To escape the nagging and their questions, I went on lengthy walks through the village. There was nothing else to do. The internet connection out here was a joke and a sad reminder of the old dial-up times. To get anywhere, you needed a car. Back in the city, I never needed one. Now I couldn’t afford one. I was trapped.

My walks were solitary and dull. There were the places that reminded me of my childhood, but fond memories could only brighten your mood for so long.

The rest of the village population knew me and of course, they knew why I was back. In tiny villages, everyone knows each other, and news travel fast.

When they talked to me, they were friendly enough. They told me they were happy to see me again and wished me luck for the future. Some even assured me that a smart young man like myself would be back on his feet in no time. It was the usual, empty talk. What betrayed them were their eyes.

I knew what they thought. I’d been one of those arrogant kids who gave up on the village and who moved to the city. Only now, that I’d failed, I came crawling back and lived at my parent’s place again.

Some of them were even talking behind my back. At first, it was only in hushed whispers, but soon they didn’t even bother to make it a secret anymore. Repeatedly I caught bits and pieces of their conversations.

“That’s what he gets for leaving.”

“Should never have gone to university.”

“Young folks these days don’t want to work.”

“Wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.”

And many other, similar things, all followed by smirks and laughter.

That’s the thing with small communities. From the outside they look tight-knit, holding together in good times as in bad and always take care of their own. Well, that’s true only so long as you play along. If you act different, you’re quick to be ostracized.

I could feel their eyes resting on me during those lengthy walks, could feel how they looked at me.

One day I sat down on a random bench to rest for a bit. I leaned back and watched as the first droplets of a summer storm fell. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the rain plastering down on my forehead. When I opened them again, I noticed movement from the corner of my eye.

As I turned to see what it was, I froze up. There he was. The cause of so many sleepless nights and so many awful nightmares: Old Rain Man.

At that moment I was ten years old again, not able to move as the crunching of his old, hard work boots on the gravel reached my ears.

I saw a giant, ghastly monstrosity that pushed itself from a dark doorway. He’d come to catch me, to take me away. After all those years, he’d drag me away into his hellhole of a house.

Then, when he got closer, reality replaced imagination.

In my memories, Old Rain Man had been incredibly tall, gigantic even. Now, he seemed almost a bit on the short side. His hunched-over walk wasn’t that of a preying evil, but of a broken, old man. The face was empty and looked endlessly tired, his eyes were cloudy. As my mind took in those images, fear was replaced by a different emotion: pity.

When he sat down next to me, I realized how old he had to be. He’d been old even when I was a kid, but now, almost two decades later it showed. His breath came in hard bursts and he was so skinny his bones seemed to shine through is translucent skin.

He didn’t react or look at me. It was precisely the same as back on that day so long ago. At first, I thought Old Rain Man was completely quiet, but then I caught him murmuring to himself.

For minutes we sat there, just like that. It was only when I sighed, thinking about all my problems that the old man’s face moved to look at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” I started but the old man shook his head.

“It’s all right, this old bench here won’t mind you at all.”

It took me by complete surprise. Old Rain Man had made a joke. I smiled at him and the old man started to laugh a little. It turned into a hard cough right away and his entire body started trembling. Once it was over, his eyes focused on the spot in front of him again and the murmurs started anew.

I listened for a bit, but I could only make out a word here and there, never a full sentence. His murmurs stayed a mystery to me. There was only one thing I heard repeatedly, the name Martin. I thought about asking him who Martin was, but it felt wrong to question him about things I’d eavesdropped on.

So we sat there, next to each other, not talking at all. For one thing or another, it was pleasant.

Soon the rain became a drizzle that lasted for a few more minutes before it finally stopped. Without saying another word, the old man got up and went back inside.

I sat there for a few more minutes, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Back at home, it was the usual drama again. Where had I been all day? What jobs had I applied too? What was I planning on doing? By then, I was used to it. The drama had become a sad routine for me.

A week or two later the rain surprised me again during another one of my walks. My steps led me back to the old man’s house. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the same bench. Without another thought, I walked over and sat down.

I don’t know why, but I enjoyed his company. If you can call it that. I guess it was because he merely sat next to me. He wasn’t asking questions, judging me, or showing me prejudice. No, he was just there.

Again and again, I heard the name Martin in his murmurs, and this time I mustered up the courage to ask.

“Who’s Martin?”

The question was almost a whisper and when he didn’t react, I assumed he hadn’t heard me. I leaned back again staring up at the rain.

“Martin,” the old man said out of the blue, “my son.”

It was only after a few moments that I realized he was staring at me again. This time I saw the tears that filled his eyes. I already knew what must’ve happened and with another question, I got confirmation.

“He was so young, my Martin,” he said with a trembling voice.

“I’m sorry,” I started, but the old man was already back to his usual self and must’ve already forgotten that I was there.

From then on, I’d pass by his house more often and if, it was raining, I’d sit down with him. We spent many of these hours in silence.

It soon became clear to me that the old man was senile or demented. There were only a few rare moments in which he seemed in his right mind.

It was in those few moments that I learned more about him and his life. His wife had died young, soon after the birth of their child, Martin. I never found out what happened to her. The few people I asked all told a different story and soon I gave up.

Martin had been a good boy the old man said; smart, friendly, and most of all, happy. He meant the world to him. He died to a doctor’s mistake following an infection. They prescribed the wrong medication. One morning the little boy didn’t wake up anymore.

Eventually, I learned why the old man was always sitting outside in the rain. The reason he’d been mocked by us kids and the village people alike couldn’t be any simpler. Martin had liked to play in the rain. Whenever it rained, the little boy would rush outside to watch the rain fall and to jump into the puddles.

Even then, right at that moment, I was sure he was seeing his son playing in the rain right in front of himself.

As the month went by I kept spending time sitting on his bench. After a while, I not only thought but also talked about my life and the things that concerned me. I don’t know if any of what I said reached him, considering his ever-worsening dementia. I didn’t mind. It helped enough to say things out loud without being cut off or called out.

Every once in a while the old man would murmur something like ‘That’s nice Martin,’ while nodding his head ever so slightly.

It was almost half a year after I’d arrived back at the village that I sat down on his bench for the last time. As it started to rain, his door didn’t open. There was no sound of work boots on gravel. There was only me and the rain.

I knew what had happened, but only after the rain had stopped did I get out my phone and made the call.

The funeral was a few days later. In a tiny village, everyone knows each other, yet only two people attended his funeral. One was me, the other was the elderly caretaker of the cemetery. I could tell, she was only there out of obligation and not actual mourning.

People treated Old Rain Man as a curiosity, a topic for gossip. No one had attempted to find out what had happened to him or help him in his grief. They hadn’t cared about him.

After the funeral was over, I stayed at the fresh grave for a bit longer before I said goodbye for good.

Even now, years after those events, I still think about the old man from time to time. Those days in the rain helped me a lot. Only there had I been able reflect on my situation and how to change it. No one else had given me the room I need to think, but had judged me instead.

That’s why I’ll always be thankful for Old Rain Man. Without him, I might have very well ended up bitter, still here in this village, still going on sad, lonely walks.

These days, whenever I visit my parents, I also pay a visit to his grave. Each time, I bring flowers, and if it rains, I tell him a bit about my life.

Two days ago my grandpa died and for the first time in over a decade I entered his study.

It was old age the doctors said. He was seventy-two years old when his heart simply stopped working. Grandpa was a really nice man. As long as I can think back I lived with him and my mom. I never got to know my real father. All I know about him is that he was a good for nothing drunk who had left as soon as he found out my mom was pregnant.

Things weren’t that different for me though. My grandpa did his best to fill the void my father had left. I really loved the old man. He was amazing and told me many stories about his life. He had been a sailor for a year, worked as a cowboy and did many other, similar things.

He was the smartest man alive to me when I was a kid. Whatever question I asked him, he was able to answer it.

Even when I got older and went to school and later college I was still really close to the old man. He’d often tell me about my grandma. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. He never told me what happened to her though and I just kept quiet about it. When I asked my mom about it, she told me that grandma had died a long time ago, due to a fatal illness.

There was one thing I found a little strange about grandpa. It was his study. I was not allowed to enter it. Not at any time. There were no exceptions. It was simply off limits. As a kid I had snuck into it once to find out what he was keeping in there. I was expecting grandpa to hide secret treasures or old artifacts, things he had found in his youth. When he entered and saw me in there, he freaked out, got really mad and gave me the beating of a lifetime. I wasn’t able to go to school for a whole week. I remember my mother and him getting into a huge fight because of it. As soon as I got better I apologized to grandpa and told him I’d never do it again. I kept my word until yesterday.

I had found grandpa’s body in the hallway where he must have collapsed in the middle of the night. We called the doctor right away and soon after the mortician. My mother told me she’d take care of things and later went out with the mortician to discuss the details of the funeral. She only came back for a short time and told me she had to take care of a few more things and had get into contact with relatives because of the funeral.

I was all alone in the house. It felt pretty weird to be honest. Before there were always the three of us here. Now it was only me, even if only for a day or two. As I walked through the living room and saw grandpa’s books and his reading chair I remembered the study. I thought about the promise I had given him, but I guess he wouldn’t be too mad at me now. I had been curious about it all my life and why I wasn’t allowed to enter.

Now that I was older I wondered about it even more. Had it something to do with his past? Or maybe with his wife, my grandma? He had always talked about her in the highest regards. It could be that he had dedicated the room to her and it was filled with mementos of their life together.

When I opened the door I felt as if I was doing something forbidden. I hesitated for a short moment and murmured an apology to grandpa, then I stepped inside.

I saw nothing unusual. There were more books in here, which didn’t surprise me. He had liked to read. There were old notes and maps stacked away, that might have been from the times of his youth when he worked in various fields. These things couldn’t be the reason.

As I opened one of the cabinets in the room I found a number of photo albums. The first one had the name Emily on it. For a moment I wondered who Emily was, before I remembered that it was my grandma’s name. It was a topic that simply never came up and looking back I hadn’t heard the name more than a couple of times.

I opened the album and for the first time I saw what my grandma really looked like. She had been beautiful and I saw where my mom had gotten her good looks from. There were pictures of her and my grandpa together and I could see how happy and in love they were. There were only three albums dedicated to her though and the last one was quite depressing. From page to page my grandma transformed from a beautiful, young woman to a sickly, thin shadow of her former self. I don’t know what sort of illness it was, but it must have progressed quickly.

I closed the albums and carefully placed them on his desk before I went back to the cabinet. There were many other albums in there and they all had the name Rebecca on it, my mother’s name. Many of them showed her as a child. I had heard that grandma died when my mom was only four years old. After that grandpa had most likely devoted his life to his daughter.

There were just so many albums. At least one for every year of her life. I sat down and started to go through them page by page. Seeing my mom as a little girl made me smile. I saw her driving her first little bike and laughed as I saw how grumpy she looked on her first day of school. There were many other events, like holidays and Christmas. As I continued on I could see my mom slowly getting older and reaching puberty.

It was here that I noticed the albums getting more personal and intimate. Before it had been pictures of grandpa playing with her and pictures of her with family or friends. Now, at the age of fifteen, there were more and more pictures of her alone. I noticed that while she was smiling in most of them, there were a couple of others in which she seemed annoyed at him. I felt a little awkward looking at these pictures.

It was the next album when things started to get disturbing. Why were there so many pictures of my mom in a bikini? It was almost half the album that was filled with pictures of her wearing one. The pictures themselves weren’t normal at all either. Many showed her in strange poses: bending over, laying on her towel or running towards the water.

The rest of the album consisted of the occasional pictures of normal events. It seemed as if grandpa had been mostly interested in taking pictures during summer. I told myself that they might have been on a summer vacation together, maybe in the Caribbean or another exotic location and he just wanted to keep the memory fresh. I tried to believe it and told myself that there was nothing wrong. It was just a coincidence.

When I started the next album, all my doubts vanished instantly. After the third picture of my mom sleeping in her underwear I closed the album.

“Oh grandpa what is this?”

Then it hit me. I opened my grandma’s album again and looked at the pictures of my mother in her late teens. They looked almost identical.

“Oh god no”, I said to myself.

I had enough of the albums for now. I couldn’t bring myself to open any more of them.

It wasn’t long before I found a stack of notebooks in his desk. I opened the first one and started to read it. I knew I had found my grandpas diaries. I spent the next hours reading through them and it was in there that I found out who he really was and read about all the immoralities he had committed.

He hadn’t taken his wife’s death well and many of the early diaries went on and on about her. In time this changed though and the topic shifted from his wife to his daughter. He developed a sort of obsession with her wellbeing. As my mom became a teenager and reached puberty, fatherly love was slowly replaced by an attraction and soon a desire.

I started crying, when I reached the parts in which he talked about the things he wanted to do with her and later did. All those forbidden things that no father should ever do with his daughter.

It wasn’t long before I reached the pregnancy. My mother didn’t want an abortion and grandpa was furious about it. She wanted to keep her little girl, she said. It hit me right away.

I vomited right there in the study and was shaking uncontrollably. It took me a long time to calm down.

There was a reason why I never heard so much as a name about my father who had left when my mom was pregnant. There was a reason my mom never got child support. Right here was the reason why grandpa never wanted me to enter his study.

I shouldn’t find out that he raped his daughter every night and got her pregnant. I shouldn’t find out that my father, who I hated so much for abandoning us, was not a good-for-nothing drunk but instead my own grandpa. I shouldn’t find out that the man who I loved all my life was my mom’s rapist. In the diaries he talked about what he’d do if my mother ever tried to leave him or tell anyone about what he did.

He’d do the same things to me.

I can only imagine what sufferings my mom went through, living with this man all her life and seeing her own child playing with him every day. I can only imagine what hell my happy childhood and teenage years were for her. The fear she must have felt about what grandpa would do to me every single day.

It was today that I got a call from the police. They needed me to identify someone. I didn’t have to ask. As I stood there crying in the middle of the living room, I knew that mom had finally been able to leave this wretched life of hers behind.