Part One complete!

Chapter Seven

Chief Inspector Schafer’s office was not how Karl had envisioned it.

Warm and inviting, its soft chairs and carpeted floor put it in stark contrast to the harsh, busy hall only a few feet outside. A large desk dominated the room, piled high with papers and folders. A tall bookshelf lined the opposite wall, and from Karl’s brief glance as he walked in, it contained a number of psychology, philosophy and historical texts. The only thing missing was a roaring fire.

“Please, sit down,” Schafer said, extending his hand towards what was almost an armchair. Karl obliged, sinking deep into it. Was Schafer trying to lull him into thinking he could relax? If anything, the whole set-up was putting him more on edge. The Inspector sat behind his desk, and shuffled some papers off into a pile, making space for an obviously well-thumbed file that he opened up and flicked through.

He was a tall man – Karl guessed he must be pushing seven feet – and thin. His face was taut, with his thinning hair shaved short, which had the effect of making his ears stick out. Trying to perch on the end of the soft chair, Karl watched the inspector’s long, skinny fingers flick deftly over the pages. 

Faust hadn’t joined them. At his boss’s request he had stayed on the floor – how happy he’d been about that, Karl wasn’t sure.

Schafer finally found the page he was after. He spread it out over his desk, then jerked his head back as he tried to focus on the writing. He reached down to his side and opened a small drawer. He pulled out a small case and snapped it open, then unfolded an expensive-looking pair of glasses. He cleared his throat as he slipped them on, before peering down at the file in front of him. Finally he looked up at Karl, and smiled warmly.

“Now, Mr Gabriel,” he said, “let me first begin by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”

His words caught Karl by surprise. After his display back in the hall, this was not the man he had been expecting.

“I must apologise for my men,” Schafer continued, “it’s been a long, long investigation, and I fear some of them are perhaps overeager to wrap it all up. I’m sure you understand.”

Karl grunted.

Running his finger down the page, Schafer tapped at a line of text. “I must say, your resurrection took us all by surprise.”

“Well, it caught me a little off-guard myself.”

“Yes, so I can see.” Schafer peered at Karl over his glasses. “You know what I have to ask.”

Karl shifted in his seat. “I didn’t kill my family.”

Schafer studied him for a moment. “Innocent men don’t run, Mr Gabriel. We told you not to leave the city.”

Karl looked away. “I wasn’t running. I was ... going home. I needed – need – to get home and see my family.” He paused. “I need to pay my respects.”

There was a beat, and then Schafer nodded, apparently satisfied. He flipped a page.

“So you wake up in hospital. No memory of where you’ve been for the past five years. Missing, presumed KIA. Wife and child massacred. Either you’re a member of the unluckiest family I’ve ever come across, or ...” He stopped mid-sentence, letting the words hang in the air, and interlinked his fingers. “Who are you, Mr Gabriel?”

“I ...” Karl struggled to find the words, and in the end settled for a shrug. “I’m just a farmer. I went to war, and when I came back, everything was ... everything was gone.” He sagged in his seat, sinking deeper into the soft cushion. His empty socket, which had gone from freezing streets to warm office, was aching fiercely. Trying not to think about it, he slid his finger under his patch, gently pushing his fingertip into the soft, sensitive hole, and rubbed it gingerly. A thought occurred to him, and he wondered if it was still possible to cry with no eye; would the tears just fill up inside the socket? He imagined lifting his patch and unleashing a tiny torrent of water, feeling it run down the side of his face. It was that moment he realised that he hadn’t cried at all, not even when he’d found out how they’d died. He thought of the times he’d fought it back, had felt it boil to the surface and threaten to explode, but each time he’d forced it back inside. Pushed it down, deep within him. How long would it stay buried, he wondered?

Schafer must have sensed his unhappiness, for he folded the paper file and pushed it to one side. Removing his glasses, he set them down and leaned forward. “Mr Gabriel,” he said softly, “although undoubtedly not on your level, I believe that each of us has experienced something ... life changing. Each and every one of us, we carry it inside, that moment in time when we were moved into a ... a higher state of being. Now, for some, it can be as simple as changing their job, or switching to a new type of deodorant.” Schafer leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked as it moved to accommodate him. “You find yourself missing time, missing years, from your life. The world that greeted you when you awoke was not the same as when you bid it goodnight, I would imagine. It is of no doubt – no doubt – to me that the loss of a man’s family, a loss in such a brutal and shocking way, would almost certainly have repercussions.” He paused, and a look of sadness passed over his face. “Repercussions that would create a change of incredible magnitude.”

Karl stared at him. The Inspector’s words swarmed over his head, and although he struggled to follow, one thing rang clear.

“You would imply that the discovery of my family’s death is what caused my memory loss,” he said slowly.

“I would suggest a possibility, yes,” Schafer agreed.

“Which means you don’t think I did it.”

Schafer stood up, and looked at Karl for a moment. When he spoke, he gave the impression he was choosing his words carefully.

“A man systematically murders each member of his family, one after the other,” he said, pressing his palms flat against his desk. “It horrifies me to imagine what a metamorphosis such a person must have underwent. Such a change that would cause ... I cannot bear to imagine.”

Karl felt his stomach churn slightly.

“Now,” Schafer said, “you are free to go. Back to your family, to your home.” When Karl looked up, he added, “For the time being, of course.”

Karl got to his feet wearily. His entire body was tired, and he tried not to think about climbing into his old bed and sleeping for a month straight. He felt more uncertain now than when he’d awoken, back in hospital. He nodded at the Inspector, their conversation – or more specifically, Schafer’s monologue – was still playing on a loop in his brain. He reminded Karl of a fox; there was something sly about the man, as though he couldn’t help but keep wanting to change your opinion of him. To Karl, this made him wary, and he found himself glad when they left his office and entered the wide, bright, cool hall, complete with ringing phones and yelling police officers.

Schafer clasped Karl on the back and led him towards the exit.

“If I were to tell you not to leave Hinterkaifeck, should I expect compliance this time?” Schafer watched him carefully as they descended the stairs. Karl gripped the railing tight and squinted hard, not wanting to fall he brought each foot down the steps.

“You have my word,” Karl said – and he meant it.

“Excellent,” Schafer said happily. “Then I have no doubt we will talk again soon.”

He held out his hand, and Karl shook it.

He had barely left the station when he heard the clatter of footsteps behind him. Turning, he was surprised to see Officer Faust bounding up, a little out of breath. Karl eyed him suspiciously.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Faust nodded, and revealed a satchel slung over his shoulder. He opened it, and pointed to its contents. Karl peered in and saw folders and papers stacked neatly in a row. He looked at Faust inquisitively.

“It’s your case file,” the officer said, his breathing lightening.

Karl’s eye opened. “Won’t they miss that at the station?” he asked, but Faust shook his head.

“I joined your case just a few weeks ago,” he said, “and so I copied most of the information to take home. Caught up as best I could.”

“Not exactly bedtime reading.”

“Maybe not for a farmer.”

Karl snorted. “So what do I have to do to take that bag home with me?”

Faust pulled the strap tighter around his shoulder. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

“Like hell you are,” Karl growled.

“I’ve got holidays to take just as much as anyone else,” Faust said, “and I’ve barely gotten through a third of this stuff. We can go through it all together. Don’t you want to know what’s in here?”

Karl stared at him incredulously. “Are you mad?” he asked. “I’m a fucking suspect in this case, you can’t show me stuff like that. Schafer would...” He stopped, and narrowed his brow. “Schafer sent you, didn’t he.”

Faust was taken aback. “What? Of course he didn’t.”

“To keep an eye on me.”

“I swear, I’m only trying to help.”

“Fuck you.”

Karl started to walk away, but Faust grabbed his shoulder and spun him back. “You want to know why I’m here?” he said, and something in his eyes stopped Karl from knocking him back and leaving. “I’m here for the same reason I joined the police in the first place. For the truth.” Faust’s breathing was heavy, and his hands were clenched tight. “What you said in the car was true. The guys at the station? They want to close this case fast. It’s an embarrassment for them. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to beat a confession out of you.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Karl snarled.

“No you wouldn’t,” Faust said quietly. “Now you want to get to the bottom of this? I’m telling you, the answer is in here.” He pointed at the satchel. “And we need to find it before the others get antsy and decide it’s time to make an arrest.”

Karl shook his head. “I don’t get it, Faust. What’s in this for you?”

The officer took a step back and began heading in the direction of the car park. “The truth, Mr Gabriel. The truth. Same as you. Now hurry up, if we’re quick we can still make the next train.”

Karl watched him for a moment. The last thing he wanted was a young, inexperienced officer slowly him down and hanging around his farm. But the draw of access to the police files was too much. And he had to agree the young officer was right; if he wanted to get to the truth, the answer had to be in there somewhere. Or at least a good few steps towards it.

He growled to himself and pulled his coat tighter around his neck, and hurried after Faust.

Nearly hitting the 10K mark!

Chapter Six

Faust could still feel himself shaking.

As he grasped the gear stick, he wrapped his hand tight around it to try and curb the obvious shudders. He had almost stalled the car three times because his leg refused to sit still.

Faust had never fired his gun in public before, until today. Nothing he’d been taught at the academy could have prepared him for it. The adrenaline that screamed through his veins, the harsh thudding in his chest. The horrible silence afterwards. Once it was all over, his pistol had seemed heavy in his hands, and he’d hastily stuffed it back in his holster. He almost felt guilty about it all; the way people had stared at him, at what he held, what he’d done. Like a child caught playing with something it shouldn’t.

He glanced into the rear-view mirror. He had been doing it every few moments since they began driving. Part of him expected Karl to burst the door off its hinges, or lean forward and crush his skull, before grabbing the wheel. But he was still slumped in the back seat, his head leaning against the car window, his eye shut. Faust shivered. That damned eye patch gave him the chills.

Eventually, he felt Karl stir, and watched him in the mirror as he sat up straight, and stared at the city go by. He looked utterly dejected, as though he’d left all hope and purpose behind, sitting by the railroad tracks.

“Why’d you do it?” Faust asked, after a few more minutes of silence. Karl looked up, his face doing a good job conveying the crushing disappointment he must have been feeling on the inside.

“Do what,” he mumbled.

“Try to leave the city.”

Karl shrugged.

“If that’s your answer, the guys at the station are going to hang you out to dry.”

“Family,” Karl said, staring at Faust in the mirror. “I was going back home, to my family.”

Faust couldn’t meet his gaze, and looked away. In that moment, the young officer felt a great sorrow fill him.

The car quietly purred over the busy city streets. They neared a market, and outside people began to increase in number. The two men sat quietly, the stillness between them expanding and growing thicker. One of them not knowing what to say, the other not caring.

Faust watched as a crowd formed round a stall, each person waving their money in the air and shouting to the poor vendor. The snow was easing, and starting to melt; grey slush lined the roadside.

“You think I did it, don’t you,” Karl said suddenly. Faust looked at him in the mirror, and came to a realisation.

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

Karl nodded, and turned to stare out the window once more. “Your partner does,” he said.

“He’s ... undecided,” Faust said, struggling to find the right word. “You carry on like this though, you’ll make his mind up for him.”

Karl grunted.

There was a sudden jerk as the officer pushed down hard on the brakes, narrowly missing an old woman who had began marching across the road without looking where she was going. Faust watched her as she passed, her big hips swaying and her back bent. She waddled over to the crowd around the stall, and started poking people at the back with her stick.

"Was Munich always this busy?" Karl said. "I opened that newspaper on the train and..." He trailed off, looking wistfully out the window. "It's a mighty different world I awoke to."

Faust nodded. "Time's been hard here, caused a lot of folk nothing but hardship.”

"The war?"

"In part. After it was over we had to pay our dues. Got taken apart piece by piece by those we'd done the same to.”

Karl motioned out the window. "Seems to me these people don't know any great hardship. I've never seen the streets so busy, folk spending like there's no tomorrow."

"In some ways there isn’t," Faust said. "What buys you a three course meal at nine in the morning won't get you a loaf of bread come five o'clock. People spend their paycheque as fast as they can, before it's not worth the paper it's printed on."

The car finally escaped the clutches of the busy marketplace, and Faust expertly guided her down a series of increasingly narrow streets.

"You said in part," Karl said, "what did you mean?"

Faust cleared his throat. He felt his neck warm, and he wished he hadn't brought it up. Keifer had warned him about this. Letting a suspect worm his way into your head, twisting your perception of him and testing your loyalties. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and hoped Karl hadn't noticed.

"We're almost at the station," he said abruptly. If there was any awkwardness Karl didn't let it show and merely grunted and went back to staring out the window.

After a few more minutes had passed he spoke again. "What's going to happen once we get there?"

Faust had been wondering that himself. The investigation had been plagued with problems from the start, and it was just over a year now since the murders. Would his team jump at the chance to finally make an arrest? How important was due process compared with public image? Part of him imagined handing over Karl to be like dropping a chunk of meat into a pool of baying sharks. He'd only been at the station for two months. Was he really in any position to give an answer with any authority?

"I don't know," he admitted, pulling into the station car park. "I honestly don't know."

His answer hung in the air, between the two men. Faust become conscious that he was a little scared, and chided himself. Keifer would have a field day if he could see inside him right now. He looked at Karl in the rear-view mirror, but if the man was frightened his face kept it hidden.

"You're new, aren't you." It was a statement, rather than a question. Karl turned in his seat. "You have no idea what's going to happen when you take me in there."

Faust opened his mouth but Karl interrupted, his deep, growling voice low and rumbling in the quiet interior.
"I knew it the first time we met. Back at the hospital you were shaking like a leaf. I bet it was the first time you ever saw it. I mean, really got up close and saw it. The rawness of it all. It terrified you."

Faust couldn't meet his gaze. He felt his heart sink deeper and deeper into his chest, and a blackness settled inside him.

"On the train you pointed that gun at me and your hands were trembling. I bet that was the first time you ever even fired that thing. You want to know what’s going to happen in there?" Karl leaned forward. "I'm going to get torn to shreds. And you're just going to hand me over to them. You call yourself a police officer but you're just as eager to close this case as they are. What's the truth worth when you can have a pat on the back and nice picture in the evening paper."

Faust opened his door and stood up. He marched around to the back and opened the passenger door. Karl got out and raised himself to his full height. His eye loomed down on Faust, and inside it the young officer saw something he had not expected.

“Come on,” Faust murmured, “the chief will want to speak to you.”

Karl was lead inside the old, imposing building. His hands were handcuffed in front of him, and the cold metal was tight on his thick wrists. As Faust held the door open for him, and he stepped into police headquarters, he felt himself sag slightly. His spirit was shattered; it lay in pieces by the railroad track, a chunk sat a few paces outside in the bright, bitter sunlight, but Karl knew most of it remained waiting for him at home, at Hinterkaifeck. He wondered if he would ever see it again.

Inside, there awaited a large, vast hall, packed with rows of desks. Ringing phones blared every few seconds, and with the chatter of officers the sound was almost deafening. A balcony stretched round the entire room, and up there Karl could see doors leading to what he presumed was senior staff offices.

He followed Faust up to the front desk. The man there was overweight and balding, and Karl disliked him immediately. The officer swivelled in his chair as they approached and pushed aside a cup of something.

“Well, what’s this, rookie?” he exclaimed in mock surprise. “Your first arrest?”

Faust was doing a good job at hiding his nerves. “This is Karl Gabriel. He’s not under arrest, just here to answer some questions.”

The fat clerk snorted, and pointed to Karl’s handcuffs. “You restrain everyone you question?”

“Only those that need a little persuasion.”

“Sounds to me like he was resisting arrest.”

Faust stepped up to the counter. “He’s not under arrest. Just let the chief know we’re here.”

The officer eyed Faust suspiciously, but eventually nodded, and a smile crept over his face.

“Sure thing, rookie. Take him into the hall. I’ll phone upstairs.”

Karl felt a sickening feeling in his stomach. 

Faust turned round, looking pleased with himself. Karl understood that winning little battles like that were important when you started somewhere new. You had to make it clear you weren’t going to be walked all over. But something told him that the new officer hadn’t quite been as successful as he thought he had. Faust bent down and undid his handcuffs; they popped off with a click, and his wrists breathed in relief, the pain ebbing away quickly.

“Let’s go,” the officer said.

Leading the way, Faust headed past the desk and into the large, open room. They had barely taken two steps inside when the chatter seemed to die down, and Karl could have sworn even the phones stopped ringing. Faust must have noticed it too, for he stopped walking and looked around.

A cry rang up from a corner of the hall.

“What did I tell you, boys!”

Karl’s head snapped round. He watched in dismay as Jurgen Keifer strode across the floor, weaving his way between desks with a triumphant look on his face.

“The new-start done good!” Keifer continued. He went up to Faust and put his arm round his shoulder, pulling him in tight. “I always knew you had it in you.”

Faust untangled himself and asked puzzledly, “Had what?”

Keifer suddenly looked serious. “To do what was necessary, of course.” He took a step back and mimicked a cowboy, yanking his gun from his holster. “Blam!” he yelled, and burst into a harsh laugh. Everyone around joined in, and cries of encouragement rang out.

Keifer wiped his mouth and smacked Faust on the shoulder, still laughing. “Honestly though, you did good kid. I knew you wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

Faust tried to keep it from showing, but Karl could tell that inside the young officer was mortified. Whether from the public display or his partner’s thinly veiled reference, it wasn’t clear. Kiefer didn’t seem to have picked up on it, however, and after a few more moments of back slapping he turned his attention to Karl.

“Gather round everyone,” he said, his voice dropping and a snarl appearing on his face, “looks like we caught ourselves a butcher.”

Karl felt his temper warm up. He felt his body tense, and the urge to ram his fist in the leering officer’s face was almost too much to ignore. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. Picking a fight here might be immensely satisfying in the short term, but would undoubtedly be a very bad move.

Keifer turned to the crowd of officers that had formed around them.

“But don’t worry!” he called. “Karl Gabriel can’t remember doing it! Can’t remember the night he went back to his house in the dark.” Keifer took a step closer. “Can’t remember the night he took a pickaxe and caved in the heads of his family.” He prodded his finger into Karl chest, emphasising each word. “One. By. One.”

Karl felt his hands ball up into fists. The people watching began baying.

Keifer smiled thinly. “Who would want to? Not that I blame you, of course. If my wife was fucking my neighbour? Why I just don’t know what I’d do.”

A blinding red light came down over Karl’s vision, and his arms moved to grab hold of Kiefer.

“That’s enough!” someone roared.

Everyone stopped moving, Karl included, and looked up at the voice. A man was standing on the balcony. He was leaning over the railing, his eyes roaming over the crowd. “All of you, back off. Now!”

People started muttering and walking away. Keifer glared at Karl, who returned it with gusto. “You got lucky this time,” the officer said.

“Shame your balls only show when you’ve got back-up,” Karl growled.

Keifer’s eyes widened, and for a moment Karl thought he might swing for him. But then his face relaxed and he let out a nasty laugh. “I have every confidence we’ll find out one way or the other.”

He turned and walked away. Karl glanced down at Faust, and shot him a look.

The man from the balcony arrived at their side.

“Mr Gabriel? I’m Georg Schafer, Chief Inspector and lead detective on this case. If you wouldn’t mind following me, we’ve got some questions we’d like answers to.” 

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Karl settled into his seat on the train and closed his eye. He tried to put the images conjured up from the newspaper article out of his head, but they wouldn’t leave. The paper itself prodded into his side uncomfortably, and probably didn’t help. He debated throwing it in the nearest bin, but something made him hold onto it.

The train made a sudden jerk, and began moving. Slowly, the station moved aside, and after what seemed like mere moments they had left the city and were surrounded by green fields. The train picked up speed quickly, and Karl found the gentle rocking of the carriage to be quite soothing.

Looking out the window, he watched a vast cemetery fly past. He thought of the plots he had picked out with Viktoria before he left for the war. They had wanted the family buried together, and he hoped that their planning had been carried out in his absence.

He retrieved the paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table in front of him. The headline screamed at him about ‘hyperinflation’, something that Karl had never heard of before. He ran his eye lazily over the front page. Slowly, and with a sickening feeling of dejection, he realised how out of tune he was with his country. The death of his family had been a barrier to it all, a reason to ignore what was happening around him and an excuse to focus on the future. But such thinking couldn’t last, it was a plaster over a gaping wound. They had lost the war! Why was he only coming to this understanding now?

He rolled up the paper again. It was too much for the time being. Later, when things were quieter, he promised himself he would go through everything he had missed. As the train rattled and shook its way out of Munich and towards Grobern and home, he felt himself relax slightly. Hinterkaifeck would be the perfect place to discover what the world had been up to, ever since he went over that trench all those years ago. Perhaps, he mused, he would discover something of himself there, too.

He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. At forty-eight, Karl was still in exceptionally good shape. Whether through his training in the army, or his generally active lifestyle on the farm, he was both physically fit and mentally sharp. He was glad the last five years had not acted against him in those respects, aside from his poor vision.  

He caught a sudden flurry of movement out the corner of his eye. Glancing across, Karl watched as a young lady tried to catch a falling cup from the refreshment trolley she was currently pushing down the carriage. It hit the floor with a loud clang, and rolled towards him. Reaching down he picked it up, and stood to pass it back. As she smiled a thank you at him, he looked down the train and saw Henrik Faust slowly ambling towards him.

He rolled back in his seat. He couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t seem as though Faust had spotted him yet. Sneaking a second glimpse, he watched the police officer check each seat as he went up the carriage. Karl realised he would have to move.

Half-standing, he slipped out his seat before the refreshment trolley cut him off. He moved quickly, his eye searching out somewhere to hide. As he reached the door to the next carriage, he reached for the handle, grabbed it on the second try and slid it open. Turning sideways, he closed the door as he stepped through it. A backward glance showed Faust clumsily squeezing past the refreshment trolley, apologising to the woman as he did so.

Karl was in another passenger car. He moved quickly down the aisle – still no place to hide. As he slithered into the next carriage, he heard the horrifying sound of the door he had just passed through sliding open. Faust was catching up; had he been seen?

He turned to look as he closed the door behind him, and locked eyes with the police officer.

Karl swore, ramming the door shut. Looking around, he saw he was in the luggage compartment. Rattling metal shelves lined both sides, filled to bursting with suitcases and bags. He reached for one, began moving it to block the door, before realising his pursuer would just slide it open. He moved down the centre of the carriage, frantic. Faust could only be seconds away.

He ran his eye over his surroundings. Shafts of light sliced through the grimy air, entering from even grubbier windows. A crazy thought occurred to him. Grabbing a small case, he raised it high and swung it at the window. There was a might crash, and glass sparkled as cool, crisp air rushed into the compartment.

“Freeze!”

Karl stopped, one hand on the broken window. He felt his heart sink. Turning his head, he saw Faust standing in the doorway, his pistol raised. He looked a little scared, and his hands were trembling slightly. Karl wondered if it was the first time he’d ever pointed a gun at someone.  

“Come down from there,” Faust said, “and get those hands up.”

Karl took a step back, the bitter wind bringing in white snow and swirling it around the carriage. Slowly he raised his arms.

Faust nodded. He looked somewhat relieved. “Now we’re going to go back and sit down, and get off at the next stop, ok?”

Karl kept his eye trained on the officer. He began walking towards him, his hands still in the air. Faust took a step back, keeping his gun trained on him.

“Don’t try anything,” Faust said, “or I swear, I’ll shoot you.”

Karl ambled closer. He was within grabbing distance of the gun. He felt pressure behind his fingertips as he tensed his hand, seeing in his mind how he would grab the pistol from the young officer, maybe smack him in the face with it. Knock him out cold. Then get off at the next stop and change trains.

And then he thought about how he might miss, might clutch at empty air. Might get his head blown off by some rookie two weeks out the academy.

Karl gritted his teeth and walked past him, and moved into the passenger car. Behind him, he heard Faust slip his weapon back into his holster; probably didn’t want to start a panic.

He went to sit down in an empty seat. He waited just a fraction of a second, until he was almost bending down in front of Faust, then pushed up with all his might, connecting his shoulder into Faust’s chest.

The young officer was knocked back, clean off his feet. He landed with a loud thump, and Karl saw the wind rush out of him. He heard someone scream, and immediately began moving down the carriage. He didn’t really know where he was going, just that he had to get off the train somehow. People were starting to shout and move in their seats, and Karl knew he didn’t have much time.

Looking back, he saw Faust get to his feet angrily. Karl broke out into a run, colliding with the adjoining door and tearing it open. Falling through, he moved quickly through the next carriage. He could hear Faust’s footsteps behind him, not quite able to mask the sound of metal scraping against leather as his gun was pulled.

“Karl!” Faust shouted. “That’s enough!”

It was all or nothing, mere moments remained until Faust had his pistol in hand. The emergency brake line dangled above Karl’s head. He reached for it, grabbed at air and heard an explosion behind him as Faust let off a shot.

The bullet buried itself into the side of the train. There was a sudden hush from the passengers and Karl froze. Slowly, realisation sank through him like thick syrup. It was over. He wouldn’t be going back to Hinterkaifeck today, nor anytime soon most likely.

He felt the cold, sharp bite of metal snap around his wrists, as Faust handcuffed his hands behind his back.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

It had all given Karl rather a lot to think about.

He stood outside the hospital, and pulled his thick, dark coat around himself tighter. It had been kindly donated by the hospital, as had all the clothes he was currently wearing, in fact. They didn’t quite fit him properly, but Karl was hardly in a position to complain; the clothes he’d been wearing when he was brought in having been cut off him prior to surgery.

December in Munich was cold, and it was snowing. As he stood there, pondering what to do next, snow quickly filled the lines and creases in his coat. He shivered a little, and decided his next move should be to get something to eat.

The street stretched out on either side. Masses of people walked briskly past him, without a second glance. They were wrapped up in their scarves and their hats, and most held bags of some kind. Karl wondered if they were shopping for Christmas.

As he started wandering down the busy street, his hands plunged deep in his pockets, he breathed it all in. The loud, trundling cars that honked their horns and sloshed melted snow up onto the legs of passerbys, who shouted uselessly in protest. The smell of fresh fish, frozen in ice next to a bellowing, round man. He walked quickly through the small market, and came out in a large, grassy park.

Karl had been to Munich before, but only rarely. He was not a fan of the big city, with its busy pace and nonstop motion. He much preferred the tranquillity that came from living somewhere remote – Hinterkaifeck was about seventy kilometres north of Munich, and whilst the village of Grobern was only some three hundred metres away, it might have been a million miles. A vast forest surrounded the farm, blocking out any outside lights, and sealing Hinterkaifeck in a thick darkness when the sun went down. All things considered, a perfect place for murder.

A coffee shop beckoned to Karl from across the street. Crossing the road quickly, he slipped inside and, brushing snow off his shoulders, spying a quiet corner booth. The shop was fairly full, with most people grouped around seats by a big window that looked out onto the hospital and the busy street. Karl’s end was more calm, and he relished the stillness.

A young waitress came over to his table and he ordered a coffee, black, with a slice of pecan pie. He had apparently had a little money on him when he’d been brought in, and had received it gratefully upon being discharged. When his food arrived he drained the coffee greedily and almost swallowed the pie whole; compared to his diet over the last few days, it was like dining at a five-star restaurant.

How had they died? The thought crept into his head and revealed itself against his wishes. Part of him deeply regretted losing his temper back at the hospital; why hadn’t he simply asked for more answers? He yearned to go back to Hinterkaifeck, to take the next train and travel north to his home. He wondered who had been looking after it for the last year. Despite what the Officer Keifer had said to him, would they know if he just disappeared? Left Munich in the dead of night? He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the card Keifer had left for him.

Karl closed his eye and let his mind wander. He went back to France. To the trenches and to the dirt and the mud. The yelling and shuddering and explosions so loud they threatened to rip your ears right from you. He remembered scrambling up a wooden ladder, his rifle swinging from his back. Clutching at a clump of grass as he pulled himself over, the scream of a plane as it flew by a few metres above his head causing him to gasp. Then the feeling of someone grabbing his uniform and yanking him to his feet, pushing him forward. A memory of looking back at his comrade, watching his head snap back and his body tumble into the trench he’d just hauled himself out of, warm blood spurting forward. Then forcing himself to turn away and move...

“More coffee?”

Karl opened his eye to see the waitress standing over him, coffee pot in hand. He nodded and sighed. The snow was starting to worsen, and he wondered briefly where he was going to stay that night. Reaching for the cup sat in front of him, his fingers overshot and he clumsily gripped the steaming mug, spilling some on the table. He hadn’t quite grasped the intricacies of not having any depth perception, it seemed.

Doctor Eckhardt had given him a number of options for his missing eye, ranging from a glass ball to dark sunglasses. Karl had in the end chosen a black eye-patch. It had three straps, running across either side of his face and up over his head. His empty socket had been starting to ache slightly from the cold before he’d came into the coffee shop, but he couldn’t quite make himself pack the soft hole with a handkerchief or the like to keep it warm. The very thought made him feel queasy.

As he drained the last of his coffee, Karl came to a decision. As much as he wanted to leave the city and escape back to his farmstead, he needed to know. He needed to know how his family had died. A twang of guilt snapped at his chest; how could he even have considered leaving Munich without those answers? Karl took a deep breath and let it settle. The possibility of being arrested came to mind, but he dismissed it. If the officers had wanted to they would never have let him leave the hospital.

His next step decided, Karl left some notes on the table under his mug, and left the coffee shop. The snow had deepened, and his feet crunched and sank slightly beneath it. He briefly wondered how long his second-hand shoes would survive. He pulled his collar tighter around his neck.

Making his way to the police station, Karl tried not to think about the other piece of information that Officer Keifer had imparted upon his visit. The piece of information that seemed to dominate his thoughts above all others – so much so that he had to scold himself for placing such importance on it. The murder of his family should be at the forefront of his mind, not the fact that his wife had slept with another man.

Josef. The proof of Viktoria’s betrayal.  

He had been walking for almost twenty minutes when he finally noticed it. A man was sitting at an outside cafe, sipping a hot drink, with an newspaper spread open in front of him. The headline on the page made Karl stop in his tracks, and he felt his face go pale.

FATHER OF MURDERED FAMILY BACK FROM THE DEAD.

The man looked up. “Can I help you?”

Karl ignored him, frantically scanning the news story.

“Hey!” The man closed the paper angrily. “Get your own, asshole.”

They both looked at each other for a moment. Karl considered snatching the newspaper and running for it, but the man had a good few years on him, as well as an extra eye. Murmuring an apology, he turned and walked quickly away.

Luckily he didn’t have to go far; a nearby merchant was standing selling them. Karl dug deep in his pockets and pulled out some coins. Dropping them on the counter, he grabbed the paper and opened it, walking off as he did so.

He didn’t get very far. Standing stiff as a pole, he read it, his eye aching with the tiny, smudged print and his fast pace. After he finished, he rolled it up and stuck it in his pocket. A wave of nausea rolled over his stomach, and he closed his eye tight for a moment, waiting until he felt it ebb away before opening it and taking a breath.

From their crushed skulls, it looked like they had been killed with a pickaxe. One blow each, to the back of the head. His daughter, Cazilia, along with Viktoria and her parents, brutally murdered in the barn. Their bodies piled up like pieces of meat. The maid and little Josef slaughtered in their rooms, in their beds. No suspects at the present time.

He wondered if the killer had waited in the barn. Stood patiently by the door until one by one his family had entered, then swinging the pickaxe down with tremendous force. Karl knew it was far enough away from the house that any screams wouldn’t have been heard.

He started walking towards the police station again, before stopping. What point lay in going there for answers anymore? And if he wasn’t a suspect then why the hell did he have to stay in Munich?

His mind made up, Karl turned and headed for the train station. His place was at home, where he should have been a year ago. The uncertainty of where he had been a year ago was slowly driving him mad. He needed to go back. Hinterkaifeck needed him now, more than ever. Such brutality within his very home! Karl clenched his fists with anger and felt himself shake with rage.

Answers, he told himself. I need to find answers.

And somehow he knew – the police had not found everything. Hinterkaifeck still had its secrets to share.

The police academy had said that to pull your weapon was to take a killing shot. There was no point otherwise; moments spent aiming for a limb could be the last moments of your life. If you’ve been forced into a situation where unholstering your gun is the most appropriate action, then it’s your life against theirs.

Henrik Faust rubbed his eyes wearily and watched through his open car window as Karl Gabriel walked down the street towards the train station.

You never know with these people, Keifer had told him before he left the station that morning. You back them into a corner, there’s no telling how they’ll react.

Faust knew why he’d said it.  

He watched Karl head inside the station. This was only his second ever assignment, and so far it had been extremely difficult; remembering the scene at the hospital only a few days earlier made him feel particularly uncomfortable. And it didn’t look like it was going to get any easier.

Climbing out, Faust slipped through the busy crowds and followed him discreetly. He watched as Karl bought a ticket from the desk, and proceeded towards a train marked for the small village of Grobern. Faust made a swift beeline for platform. He stretched up and smartly straightened his shako helmet, before reaching down and unbuttoning his holster.

You never know with these people.

Chapter Three ... at last!

Chapter Three

Officer Jurgen Keifer was a tall man, and he towered over the bed. He stood stiffly, legs snapped together, helmet locked under one arm. He had painfully short black hair, making him look thuggish, with dark eyes that peered down at Karl, waiting for a response. His partner stood by the door, watching. He was much younger, and compared to Keifer’s air of relaxed authority, gave the impression he was not long out the academy.

Karl glanced over at Eckhardt, who was looking away, sheepishly. He wondered if the good doctor had held them off whilst he regained his strength, or if he’d been the one to contact them in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Karl tried to sound indifferent. “You can ask, officer.”

Keifer reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. Flicking it open, he moved through it until he found a specific page, then glanced back at the door.

“That’s my partner, ­­­Henrik Faust. We're with the Munich police. We’d like to ask you about your whereabouts the past few months.”

Karl harrumphed. “Well that makes two of us, officer.”

“Yes,” he said, simultaneously scribbling something in his notepad and nodding towards Eckhardt, “we’ve been informed of your condition.”

There was something in the way he said it.

Karl narrowed his eyes. “Are you in the habit of asking questions to which you already know the answers, Officer Keifer?”

He looked taken aback, clearly not used to being spoken to in such a manner. His partner at the door looked uncomfortable, and shifted his weight.

“Am I under arrest?” Karl continued.

“Not at present, no,” Keifer replied, quickly regaining his composure.

“Then what exactly is it you want?”

There was a pause, and a sense of foreboding filled the air.

“When was the last time you spoke with your family, Mr Gabriel?”

Karl was caught off-guard, and frowned. “My family? How the hell should I know? You know I can’t remember anything.”

“What is the last thing you do remember?”

“Oh no,” Karl said angrily, suddenly worried. “I want to know what the hell has my family got to do with this.”

“Sir, it’s important we establish a timeline –”

“Goddammit!” Karl roared, reaching out and grabbing hold of Keifer’s uniform and yanking him forward. There was a clatter as his notepad and pen fell to the floor, and Eckhardt made a yelping noise. “What the fuck is going on here!”

A moment later Faust was at the bedside, pulling his partner away. Karl glared at them both, his face red with anger and his breathing heavy. Keifer looked shocked for a beat, before his nose flared and his eyes darkened further. “How dare you...” he stammered, breathless with fury.

“Three days!” Karl bellowed, “three days I’ve been stuck here! With no clue about what is happening! My stomach in pieces, my fucking eye missing! Now you get to the business of spilling your story or you get out of my way!”

He swung his legs out the bed, and heard Eckhardt yelling something in the background. Karl’s feet connected with the floor, and a moment later his legs buckled from underneath him. To his chagrin, Keifer and Faust grabbed him as he fell.

“Get your hands off me!” he roared as they lifted him back into bed.

“Calm down!” Keifer shouted, anything but calm himself.

“My family –”

“Your family is dead!”

There was a sudden, horrible silence.

Karl looked up at him blankly, Keifer’s words flowing through him but not making any sense. He blinked, feeling a heavy weight settle behind his eye. His empty socket ached. Keifer was panting, either from the tussle or his burden of the message.

He shook his head. “No, I ... I don’t understand what’s ...”

“I’m sorry, Karl,” Keifer said. He seemed to have suffered an slight change of heart, and he looked a little ashamed of their earlier argument. For Karl, the quarrel was forgotten, insignificant. His mind was still too busy trying to understand what Keifer could possibly be talking about.

He opened his mouth, but realised he didn’t know what to say. That Keifer must be mistaken? That his family – his entire family – couldn’t be dead? Or should he ask how it happened? Did he even want to know?

Luckily, Faust chose this moment to finally speak up. “If you want, we can come back later,” he said. He looked shaken and upset. Was this his first time breaking news like this to someone?

Karl blinked, and realised that he didn’t feel that bad, come to think of it. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, and felt the heaviness slink back.  

“When?” he asked eventually.

“About a year ago.”

“How?”

Keifer and Faust exchanged glances. “They were murdered,” Keifer said.

That hit harder. Karl fought to regain his composure. His head began to throb, and his vision – shaky at best to begin with – threatened to pack it in. The pressure behind his eye returned, and he felt his stomach shrink in on itself.

He had assumed that it had been a fire, or some other accident...murder had never even entered his mind. His entire family, wiped out in such a brutal and sickening manner... And almost as soon as he thought it, something twigged.

His eye shot up and he looked at the officers with disbelief. “You think I did it.”

Keifer didn’t miss a beat. “We’re just following up every lead.”

“Don’t you lie to me,” Karl snarled, but Keifer just looked at him coolly.

“Can you explain your whereabouts over the last six months?”

Karl looked at him incredulously. “What possible reason could I have for murdering my entire family?”

“Who knows? It’s not like you’d remember it now.”

“I’m no murderer!” Karl flared up, his temper back in full swing. “I know I don’t have it in me to kill someone!”

“You were in the war,” Keifer reminded him.

“That was different and you know it,” Karl said angrily. “I could never harm my wife, my daughter. I’m no monster!”

Karl was shaking, whether from rage or from shock he didn’t know. Keifer nodded, and reached into his pocket to pull out a card.

“I think it’s best we call it a day, Mr Gabriel,” he said.

“Smartest thing I’ve heard you say yet,” Karl said.

Keifer ignored it. “No doubt we’ll want to talk to you again further. At a more, convenient time,” he said. “Give us a visit when you’re feeling better.” He motioned towards the card, which he placed on the bedside table.

Karl grunted.

“Try not to worry about it just now,” Faust added. “These six person murders won’t solve themselves overnight.”

Keifer shot a glance at his partner, and Faust instantly realised what he’d said.

“If I heard your boy correctly there,” Karl said, “I believe he referred to it as a six person murder.” He pulled himself up straight. “Mind telling me exactly who it is been murdered?”

“I was hoping to save this for the station–”

“And I reckon a man who just lost his family got a right to hear the whole story.”

Keifer was perhaps more reasonable than Karl had given him credit, for he nodded again, and flicked open his notebook.

“I got Andreas and Cazilia Gruber,” he read, “and Viktoria and Cazilia Gabriel.”

At the mention of their names, Karl felt the pressure build slightly, but he forced it away. Keifer continued.

“And finally there’s Maria Baumgartner, who I believe was the newly appointed maid, and I have a Josef Gabriel.” He paused, and glanced up at Karl. “As I’m to understand it, he was Viktoria’s, uh, second child.”

Karl closed his eye.

“Out,” he growled at them. “Get out of here, now.”

“As I said, when you’re feeling better–”

“Out!” Karl roared. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Officers Keifer and Faust stood up straight and put their helmets back on smartly, pulling them tight. They marched for the door, and when they got there, Keifer turned round and looked Karl dead on.

“Don’t leave Munich,” he said, and then they left. 

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.” 

The First Day!

Chapter One

It was white, as white as snow. It slid under his eyes and into his head, filling it entirely until he thought it would burst. A voice, deep and low, murmuring from far away. Gradually, he became aware of a pressure underneath him, running the length of his body. It was soft.

The light blinked out suddenly, and he was left alone in the darkness. He started to panic, and felt his heart beat and his lungs breath, as if for the first time. He opened his mouth, and it was dry and it was sore. Someone took hold of his hand.

Gradually, the light returned. But this time it was dim, like a torch fading. Shadows stretched across his vision, and slowly became shapes. A chair, a cabinet. A person watching.

After what felt like an eternity, Karl Gabriel was reborn.

“Take it easy,” he heard a voice say, “just take it easy.”

He turned to the voice, and made out an elderly man, standing over him. He had thinning white hair, and a thick, grey moustache. Dressed in a long, white coat, he was peering at a notepad in his hands, writing. Eventually, he looked up and smiled.

“That’s good, Mr Gabriel. Everything is looking good.” He clicked the pen and slid it into his breast pocket, and clipped the notepad onto the side of the bed. Then he turned to a woman sitting next to him and said, “He’s a survivor all right.”

She was younger, with curly brown hair tied up and a silver watch that glinted when she moved. Her eyes were kind and she looked at Karl, and when she nodded her affirmation she squeezed his hand again.

The older man sat down gently on the side of the bed. Karl was having trouble focusing on him. His right eye was aching with the strain. The man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. “How are you feeling, Mr Gabriel?”

Karl opened his mouth once more, but trying to speak only resulted in a rasping cough that ripped through his throat. The pain made him close his eyes briefly, sinking back into the pillow and for a moment, into the darkness again. The stranger sitting on his bed turned to the woman and told her to get a bowl of ice. She sprang up and quickly slipped out the room. Karl concentrated on his breathing, and slowly the pain began to throb less and less.

When she returned, he took the ice gratefully, allowing the soothing water to slide down his aching throat. Once he had his breath back, he looked at them both and whispered, “Where am I?”

The older man nodded. “You’re in hospital, Mr Gabriel. Do you remember what happened?”

Karl shook his head.

“That’s to be expected,” the man said, “you’re injuries were...severe.”

The woman leaned in and passed Karl more ice. “I’m Nurse Ada,” she said, and motioned towards her colleague. “This is Doctor Eckhardt. You’re in Munich, Mr Gabriel. You were brought in three days ago, do you remember any of this?”

Again, Karl shook his head. He concentrated on the ice.  It was all too much to take in; he was barely able to focus on what they were saying never mind comprehend the meaning of it. Why was he in hospital? Why did they both look so nervous? And why the hell couldn’t he see properly?

Doctor Eckhardt cleared his throat. “Tell me, Mr Gabriel, do you know what year it is?”

Karl stared at him for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his head back into the pillow. He wanted them both to leave, right now. It was bad enough being woken in such a damned rude fashion, but to follow it up with a bombardment of stupid questions like these, it was too much.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything,” he growled at Eckhardt. “Just give me some goddamn straight answers or let me sleep!”

The exertion took its toll on him, and he panted quietly to recover, his eyes locked on the old doctor’s. It pleased him to see the doctor look away nervously.

Eckhardt gave an apologetic smile, and Nurse Ada joined him. “I’m sorry, Mr Gabriel,” he said, “you are clearly extremely confused. However, I hasten to add that I do not believe we are in much of a position to give you answers.” He paused, and shifted his weight. “I do not wish to cause more irritation, but I must ask you again: what year is it?”

Karl gritted his teeth, and the action sent shivers of pain through his cheeks and neck. “Goddamn it doctor,” he snarled, “what the fuck happened to me!”

“I told you, we don’t have many answers –”

It must have been the look on Karl’s face that shut him up mid-sentence. “I don’t know,” he said softly, uneasiness – having been brushed aside with anger – being replaced with a dab of fear. “I don’t know what year it is. I don’t remember ... I don’t remember anything before ... before ...”

His voice trailed off as his mind wandered. What was the last thing he remembered?

“I was on the battlefield,” Karl murmured. “I was in the trenches.”

Eckhardt looked relieved, and nodded. “Yes. That much we were able to work out for ourselves. You were brought to us three days ago, in an extremely bad condition. It was clear you’d been in a brawl of some kind.”

“I don’t understand, with who? Is this a war clinic?”

“No.” Ada spoke kindly, which only served to annoy Karl more. “Mr Gabriel, the war is over. It’s been over for some time now.”

Karl exploded. “Good God woman you’re as bad as he is,” he exclaimed, thrusting his arm towards Doctor Eckhardt. “Why don’t you tell me what goddamn year it is!”

“It’s 1923.”

Her words hung in the air. Karl looked at her, trying to understand what she was saying. Had she misspoke? Was it the aftermath of his ordeal? His mind seemed to take an age to comprehend.

“How long...”

“The war finished almost five years ago, Karl,” she said quietly, using his first name. She looked up at the doctor, who motioned for her to continue. “We managed to trace your records. You were listed as killed in action, just before the end of the war.”

Now it really was too much to take in. A terror swept through Karl, and he felt as though he would pass out at any second.

“I don’t understand,” he said, “how did I get here? Where have I been for the last five years?”

“We don’t know,” Eckhardt interjected, “when you were brought in you were suffering from a stab wound. A real nasty one, too. Sliced clean through your stomach lining, almost took out your small intestine.”

Karl looked down and lifted the covers. It was then he noticed the bandages wrapped around his stomach. They were bright white and clean, with no sign of the bloody mess that must have been. As he looked his vision blurred again, and he realised his head was started to throb on his right side.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” he asked. “It’s hard to focus, I can’t seem to...”

He trailed off as he realised. Slowly he lifted his left hand, ran it up the left side of his face. He felt his chest tighten as he touched the surgical tape. Eckhardt started to say something but Karl wasn’t listening. Taking hold of the end of the tape, he ripped it off in one fluid motion, and felt a soft patch lift off his left eye. Gingerly he put his fingers into the smooth, empty socket where his eye had been, and blacked out.

When he awoke once more it was dark, and he was alone. After those blissful few moments of not knowing were over, his heart sank as he remembered what had taken place earlier. Immediately he checked his eye; the patch was taped back on. This time he didn’t bother taking it off.

He lay awake for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. The only light came from the window, where a gap in the curtains allowed a sliver of moon to shine through. It cut across the bed and ran up the wall, and he realised he hadn’t even looked around his room before. All he’d been focused on was the doctor and his nurse.

He soon slipped back into sleep. The exertion of the day’s events had taken their toll, and Karl’s entire body felt bruised and battered. He vowed as he drifted off to get that damned doctor to give him some straight answers. Like how he’d ended up in Munich for one; he remembered going there once as a younger man and hating it with a passion. He needed to get back home. Back to his farm, where his family would be waiting for him. No doubt they would die of shock when they saw him after all this time. And thinking he was dead!

So where had he been all this time? Karl didn’t want to admit it but he couldn’t remember a blasted thing. His head was as cloudy and foggy as a stormy night, and ached when he tried to think back. But as he drifted off, and his mind relaxed, a single thought sailed through his head and he clutched at it with joyous relief.

France, he exclaimed to himself, I was in France.