Second day, didn't quite manage as much...

Chapter Two

Over the next few days, Karl gradually regained his strength. It was a slow process, but a steady one. He was able to hold a conversation for longer without his throat tearing, able to sit up and eat solid food. After a while he noticed he didn’t breath as shallow, didn’t feel his heart pound in his head quite so badly.

His hospital room was simple and functional. A single bed with white sheets and a glinting, metal frame, pushed tight against two walls in the corner. There was a window opposite him, which offered Karl a wonderful view of a brick wall. An IV drip stood guard next to him, and a chair sat alongside, empty. He had not received any visitors.

Three days had passed, and Dr Eckhardt returned.

“Good morning Karl,” he said brightly, “how are we feeling today?”

“Much better doctor,” Karl replied. “Anxious to get out of here.”

It was true. He so wanted to leave this place and travel north. It was there, tucked between two little villages, that his farm – and more importantly his family – was located. Hinterkaifeck. Not able to trust his memory, he wondered if he had been back since the end of the war. Surely his family would hold the answers he sought? The fact that no one had come didn’t worry him unduly; he hadn’t sent word to them until that morning, and how else would they know where he was?

He had gotten the farm through his wife, Viktoria. It was her parents originally, and as was custom, upon their marriage the farm had passed to them. Truth be told it was nothing much. A small farmhouse, some fields where their cattle would graze when the sun shone, and a little barn where they would hide when it rained. It wasn’t quite as grand as some of the neighbouring lands, but it had Karl’s family, which was something he wouldn’t trade for the world.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Hinterkaifeck was also home to Viktoria’s parents. Whilst not technically owners since their daughter’s wedding, they remained lodgers as tradition dictated. Viktoria’s mother, Cazilia, was a quiet woman who kept to herself. She had never shown much affection for Karl, and to be honest, for Viktoria either. A person of few words, she preferred to voice her opinion through the many looks her face had perfected over the years. Disappointment, resentment, disgust; it was amazing what she could do with a narrowing of her eyes and a wrinkling of her forehead.

But she was nothing compared to Viktoria’s father, Andreas. And the less said about Andreas, the better.

Karl wondered what Viktoria had been doing in his absence. He hoped she was still singing in the church choir – her reputation for having the most angelic voice in the village gave him a sense of pride, as well as a certain status, that he rather enjoyed. Curly black hair, in stark contrast to her snow white skin, sat on little, skinny shoulders, and framed a beauty in her face that he’d often caught men gazing at. They were jealous, he knew – they often had the audacity to tell him as much, in bars when they thought it was acceptable, their opinions made bold with drink. They never made the same mistake twice. Indeed, he’d gotten in numerous arguments with Viktoria herself over the years, times when he thought she was cultivating such opinions. Her mother wasn’t the only one who could provoke with simply a look, it would seem.

But in the end it didn’t matter. For Viktoria had given birth to his little girl, only a few short months before he had left for war. At her insistence, and perhaps in some way to appease her, they had named their daughter after her grandmother, Cazilia. She would be nine now, he thought proudly. He wondered what she looked like, if she took after him. He feared her mannerisms would be those of her grandmother, but he would put change to that if need be.

Thoughts like those, of home, of family, of sitting back with a cigarette and a newspaper, late at night when the days tasks were over and everything was peaceful and settled and safe and just as it should be... Thoughts like those made Karl all the more determined that no fancy doctor in no expensive big city hospital was going to keep him from returning to his life.

Doctor Eckhardt came fully into the room and picked up his chart, flicking through it and nodding. Afterwards he pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger and smiled at Karl.

“Well, I must say you really are coming on, Mr Gabriel,” he said.

“So when do you think I can get out of here?” Karl said.

“Medically? By the end of the week I would have thought. You’ll need to take it easy though, or you’ll open your stitches.”

Karl released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Great doc, finally some good news.”

Eckhardt glanced away for a moment, then looked back. “Yes, yes.”

It wasn’t lost on Karl, and he narrowed his eyes. “You hiding something from me? I swear if you are you better spill it quick,” he growled.

The doctor sighed. He genuinely looked a little upset. “I’m afraid that whilst medically you will soon be fit to leave, Mr Gabriel, legally will be a different matter entirely.”

His reply caught Karl off guard. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do some explaining there, doctor.” He glanced around, that terrible uneasiness from earlier in the week starting to return. “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

“Can’t quite say, Mr Gabriel,” Eckhardt said, “can’t quite say.”

He took a step back and motioned towards the door. Following his gesture, Karl suddenly realised that there were two men standing there. They were both dressed in grey suits, buttoned up tightly to their collar, with brown knee high leather boots to match their clearly visible holsters. They each held a briefcase, and wore distinctive brown shako helmets. They were clearly in the business of law enforcement. Karl felt his uneasiness drop down through his stomach and flip back up.

“Mr Karl Gabriel?” One of them stepped forward and addressed him, taking off his hat. “My name is Jurgen Keifer. We’d like to ask you some questions.”