Page 38 of Anatomy of a Killer
I’d already been suffering heartache for a long time. Eva and Nico felt like my asthma– a chronic illness that was unpleasant but which I’d learned to live with. I’d realised, at least, that I couldn’t lock Eva away, not like when we were fourteen and I wanted her to miss her drama club audition. I’d simply shoved her into a toilet cubicle and barricaded the door from the outside with the caretaker’s broom. I didn’t want her to get the part of Luise in Schiller’sKabale und Liebe. We’d read the play in our German lessons and I knew that there would be a Ferdinand she would have to fall in love with. Three years later this Ferdinand was called Nico and I was powerless. I had to tolerate their relationship if I wanted to avoid losing Eva completely. But that was precisely what happened just a year later, right after our school-leaving party. Eva and Nico went away together and didn’t come back. With every day that passed, my heart broke anew and I began to wonder why I hadn’t already collapsed and died of a cardiac arrest. I was so exhausted by grief and yet couldn’t find rest. All I wanted to do was to sleep– not die, for God’s sake!– just enjoy a long, restorative sleep. And when I woke up, my body and mind would be refreshed, my appetite would have returned and I’d see that although a world without Eva was different, it was still nice and worth living.
They were your pills, Dad. You kept having phases where you were so consumed by work that you couldn’t switch your mind off at night. I took too many, a silly accident. It felt as if I were lying outstretched in a swamp. With every breath, my body grew heavier and I sank slightly deeper. My heartbeat slackened, getting slower and slower, which seemed wrong in view of the gathering panic I felt. I sensed I was going under and was absolutely terrified. I just managed to call out to you and point sluggishly to the tube on my bedside table.
‘Am I going to die now, Dad?’ I also managed to say.
‘Don’t worry, my silly Beetle,’ you said, putting a hand on my head. ‘You’d have to swallow a kilo of these pills to be in danger. You’re just going to have a deep, long sleep.’
Then I sank into the swamp.
I’m getting a similar feeling now in Ludwig’s kitchen. My body unbelievably heavy, my heartbeat like deep, lengthy sighs. I slump on my chair into a thick, grey fog. I’m just about aware of Ludwig grabbing me under the arms and also feel the pain in my right shoulder. Am I going to die now, Ludwig? I want to ask, but that’s too many words, too much effort. All I manage is a pitiful, meek, ‘Why?’
Us
Drink, Sarah, drink up. This is a magic drink. It will help you have a wonderful dream. And when you wake up, I’ll take you to see the princess. She has to rest too, just like you, because it’s late and it’s been an exciting day. I’m going to go out again, I have to. They’ve started looking for you. The police are here already with their men and dogs, their searchlights and even a helicopter. They’re playing blind man’s bluff– cold, cold, very cold, I want to shout out. But I don’t, of course, because their ignorance is handy for us. We don’t want to take any risks, we mustn’t. That’s why I’m going to join them, the police and the people from the village. I’m going to be part of the search; that way I’ll be up to date and find out when it’s getting dicey for us. It’s an old trick– be there, but invisible, like a ghost or a shadow in the night. Now, sleep well, my sweetheart, settle down. When I’m back, I’ll lie down beside you. I’ll be very close, hold you tightly and stroke your lovely soft hair. You’ll feel it, even in your sleep; you’ll feel safe and protected, just like you deserve. The princess is always asking me to lie beside her too, just her and me, with the rest of the world far away. And of course I’m happy to do it, I do everything for her. That’s what you really want too, isn’t it, sweetheart? Someone who does everything for you. You’d like to be a princess too, wouldn’t you?
Ann
Berlin, 27 December 2017
I wake with a start in panic, my heartbeat and breathing at maximum speed. I’m in bed in Ludwig’s spare room. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table says that I’ve slept for a good ten hours; it’s almost noon. My thoughts are black, even briefly entertaining the possibility that Ludwig might have interfered with me. I push the duvet back. He’s only taken off the jumper over my T-shirt; other than that I’m fully clothed. Despite this, I feel naked because I was at his mercy. He decided to sedate me with sleeping pills or something similar; he had power over me. And even if he only did it out of concern for me, it makes no difference. I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. My body combats these snappy movements with a dizziness, but I won’t give in. It’s been more than sixteen hours since I apprehended the intruder. I have to get home. Putting on my jumper, which is on the chair beside the bed, I grab my rucksack and make for the door. For a moment it occurs to me that Ludwig might have locked me in, but I’m wrong, thank God. I hurry down the stairs, almost stumbling.
‘Morning, sleepy head!’ Ludwig calls out as I pass the kitchen. He gets up from a lavishly laid breakfast table. Without responding, I hasten down the corridor to the coatrack to fetch my jacket and boots.
‘Anni? Is everything okay?’ Now he’s standing there, looking at me in astonishment, as I yank my jacket off the hook and make heavy weather putting it on with my injured shoulder.
‘Nothing’s okay. You should be ashamed of yourself!’
‘What are you talking about?’ He takes another step towards me and tries to help me with the jacket. I turn away. ‘Anni, I really don’t know what—’
‘Really? Are you going to try to deny it? You gave me a sleeping pill!’
‘I. . . what?’
I don’t reply. He knows exactly what he did. But I don’t want to discuss it anymore; I don’t have the time or the inclination. I’ve got to get home, right now. Ludwig thwarted my plan of slipping back home during the night. Now half a day has gone and the worst-case scenario is nagging at my mind.
‘Anni. . .’ His tone changes: a sanctimonious purr. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘Oh really? Just like you’re worried about Dad?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you’re being astonishingly passive seeing as Marcus Steinhausen is a serious lead. A lead that might help exonerate your client.’ I flop down on to the floor inelegantly to put on my boots. ‘Shouldn’t you already be in Inspector Brandner’s office, making sure he interrogates Steinhausen again?’
‘I’m just trying to protect you, child.’
‘From Steinhausen? You’ve got a funny way of—’
‘From yourself, Ann.’
Those words are like a slap to the face. I look at him as if numbed. ‘Fuck you!’ That’s the last thing he hears me say before I leave his house.
I run as if my life depended on it.
My shoulder hurts from the jarring as I pound the streets, and my eyebrow throbs. I don’t find a taxi until I get to Richard-Wagner-Platz. Judging by the driver’s glances in his rear-view mirror, he’s suspicious of me. I could have been boozing all night; at the very least I look like trouble with my scruffy black hair and the plaster on my face. And I don’t stop panting.
‘Let me know if you want me to stop for a bit, won’t you?’ He must be worrying about me vomiting all over his upholstery.
‘It’s okay, I’m fine. I’m just in a real hurry.’ It is winter, after all; even during the day the temperature is below freezing, to say nothing of the nights. A feeling tightens around my chest. What if I’ve made a huge mistake?
