the police a serious charge.
Friedrich stood over me with the anxious lean of a racehorse, he watched impatiently as I fished the keys from my purse and worked them in the lock. The instant the door was opened, he forced his way past me and into my apartment. My thoughts flipped through the events of the previous night, I tried to brush them away. I needed to stop thinking about the girl, stop thinking about Anja, but I was feeling apprehensive just knowing how recently I’d had something to hide, someone to hide. Someone sitting at my table. Someone sleeping on my couch.
Friedrich spun around slowly in the center of the living room, his fingers held in the shape of a mock set of guns as he turned. I realized the temporary bed was still made up on the couch and tried not to show reaction when he moved toward it. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him throw the pillow and blankets up into the air. I felt relief when I could tell he hadn’t found any significance in them. He powered forward, yanking the cushions out and roughly shoving his hand in the opening at the base.
I could tell he’d grasped upon something, his hand fished around for a second then he whipped it back out. He was clutching a small, wrinkled notepad, he flipped through the pages, pausing to read some of the entries. When he realized it was nothing more than an assortment of grocery lists and reminders he flung it on the floor behind him. His hand plunged back into the base of the couch to be drawn out again with another prize. This time it was a colorful silk scarf that I hadn’t seen for months. He held it in front of him, pulling it flat, he stared at it for an uncomfortable amount of time before casting it aside. When he realized nothing else was to be found he straightened up, emitted a low, guttural groan and dusted off his hands.
He moved to the kitchen where he casually pawed over the things on the counter, rifled through a few papers and opened the door to every cupboard. “We have knowledge that you may have been involved in some sort of kidnapping,” he said, without looking up from the drawer he was churning through.
Kidnapping? Did he just say kidnapping? I felt weak and queasy. Was what we were doing actually considered kidnapping? No! How could it be? We hadn’t taken the girl, we hadn’t stolen her! We were helping her. We were protecting her. We were protecting her from people like him!
“Kidnapping?” I snapped, much louder than I’d intended. “Are you serious?”
He squinted his eyes, analyzing me closely. His gaze was penetrating, it made me feel guilty, guilty for things I hadn’t done, guilty for things I’d never even thought of doing and never would do. He slammed the drawer shut catching a pencil between the base of the cupboard, it made a loud cracking noise and we all turned in the direction of the sound. The shattered pencil clung to its lower half and hung lifelessly over the outside of the drawer. Friedrich’s face blushed, his eyes moved nervously around the counter top before becoming inexplicably filled with anger. He whipped the drawer back open and shoved the broken halves roughly inside.
He left the kitchen and went back to the living room where he walked along the outside wall, inspecting every detail. He carried on as though he were a child on an Easter egg hunt, refusing to leave a stone unturned, searching even the most implausible places, even places that were blatantly and obviously far too small to conceal even the tiniest colored egg. He was being so oddly thorough, I expected at any moment that he might produce a pair of Latex gloves to theatrically snap into place around his wrists.
Without warning, he made a sudden burst for the bedroom. I listened helplessly as he swung open closet doors, moved clothes hangers along the rack and whipped around curtains with great enthusiasm. All the while Marko just stood there, quietly, observing. His hands were folded low over his chest, his eyes
Friedrich stood over me with the anxious lean of a racehorse, he watched impatiently as I fished the keys from my purse and worked them in the lock. The instant the door was opened, he forced his way past me and into my apartment. My thoughts flipped through the events of the previous night, I tried to brush them away. I needed to stop thinking about the girl, stop thinking about Anja, but I was feeling apprehensive just knowing how recently I’d had something to hide, someone to hide. Someone sitting at my table. Someone sleeping on my couch.
Friedrich spun around slowly in the center of the living room, his fingers held in the shape of a mock set of guns as he turned. I realized the temporary bed was still made up on the couch and tried not to show reaction when he moved toward it. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him throw the pillow and blankets up into the air. I felt relief when I could tell he hadn’t found any significance in them. He powered forward, yanking the cushions out and roughly shoving his hand in the opening at the base.
I could tell he’d grasped upon something, his hand fished around for a second then he whipped it back out. He was clutching a small, wrinkled notepad, he flipped through the pages, pausing to read some of the entries. When he realized it was nothing more than an assortment of grocery lists and reminders he flung it on the floor behind him. His hand plunged back into the base of the couch to be drawn out again with another prize. This time it was a colorful silk scarf that I hadn’t seen for months. He held it in front of him, pulling it flat, he stared at it for an uncomfortable amount of time before casting it aside. When he realized nothing else was to be found he straightened up, emitted a low, guttural groan and dusted off his hands.
He moved to the kitchen where he casually pawed over the things on the counter, rifled through a few papers and opened the door to every cupboard. “We have knowledge that you may have been involved in some sort of kidnapping,” he said, without looking up from the drawer he was churning through.
Kidnapping? Did he just say kidnapping? I felt weak and queasy. Was what we were doing actually considered kidnapping? No! How could it be? We hadn’t taken the girl, we hadn’t stolen her! We were helping her. We were protecting her. We were protecting her from people like him!
“Kidnapping?” I snapped, much louder than I’d intended. “Are you serious?”
He squinted his eyes, analyzing me closely. His gaze was penetrating, it made me feel guilty, guilty for things I hadn’t done, guilty for things I’d never even thought of doing and never would do. He slammed the drawer shut catching a pencil between the base of the cupboard, it made a loud cracking noise and we all turned in the direction of the sound. The shattered pencil clung to its lower half and hung lifelessly over the outside of the drawer. Friedrich’s face blushed, his eyes moved nervously around the counter top before becoming inexplicably filled with anger. He whipped the drawer back open and shoved the broken halves roughly inside.
He left the kitchen and went back to the living room where he walked along the outside wall, inspecting every detail. He carried on as though he were a child on an Easter egg hunt, refusing to leave a stone unturned, searching even the most implausible places, even places that were blatantly and obviously far too small to conceal even the tiniest colored egg. He was being so oddly thorough, I expected at any moment that he might produce a pair of Latex gloves to theatrically snap into place around his wrists.
Without warning, he made a sudden burst for the bedroom. I listened helplessly as he swung open closet doors, moved clothes hangers along the rack and whipped around curtains with great enthusiasm. All the while Marko just stood there, quietly, observing. His hands were folded low over his chest, his eyes
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