The Evil One E-Book

Alexander Paulini

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Deutsch

Seitenzahl: 684

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

It was a long road before Emilia and Marco's dream of having children came true and Ricarda enriched their lives. Everything seems perfect. Until a dark chapter from Ricarda's past threatens to catch up with her. Her nightmares blur with reality and reveal secrets that will put her faith in love to the test. When her best friend Alice disappears without a trace and the police seem to be making no progress, Ricarda sets out on her own to find her and embarks on an odyssey that will change her destiny forever. A dark story about sin and forgiveness, hatred and love, life and death.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

Trauma

"What a fucking stifling air it is today."

The man's voice faded into nothingness. There was no one there to answer him.

He huffed. "This filthy weather just makes you want to drop dead."

His grumpy grumbling gained the upper hand. He got louder.

But there was still no one there to answer him.

"The air is heavy. It's hardly possible to breathe. I hate it here. I wish ... yes, I wish so much ..." He stopped short. He stretched his head up towards the sky. His neck cracked slightly.

"I just wish something would happen here soon."

He walked straight towards a house. He stood in front of the door and looked around again.

"Something big."

He listened. The night was quiet. Until now. But now, suddenly, the silence was broken. By the sound of a siren.

"Very good." He said quietly to himself. His voice calmed down. His tone softened.

"Here we go." As soon as he spoke these words, he disappeared into the house. He let the door slide shut quietly behind him. It was the last sound, the last soft sound before the thundering sirens pounded over the dusty, asphalted road.

"Marco, please promise me you'll stay with me!" Her tone was choppy. Her forehead was wet. She was in pain. Great pain.

"Sweetie, I promise you, I'm with you and I won't leave your side. The first and last thing you'll see during the day will be my face. But please, my darling, save your strength now. I beg you, save them and lie down." His sentences were long. He spoke quickly, but they died away before the pale woman looking for help was placed on a stretcher covered in white.

The man, Marco, pressed a small stuffed dog into her weak arms. "Take Cookie with you. Hold her tight!" His face was also soaked with sweat. It ran down his face. Down his neck to the underside of his back. It was wet there. His purple shirt was also soaked.

The woman grinned. With the last of her strength. She clung tightly to Cookie. A small stuffed dog. "Cookie." This was her last word before she was easily lifted up by two men and loaded into a dirty cart. AMBULANZA was still clearly legible under all the dust.

"Ah, fuck!" He slid off. The ambulance wobbled like mad, while one of the paramedics slipped on the smooth metal coating of the loading ramp.

The woman clung tightly to her dog. She moaned loudly.

Some might consider it skillful, others might consider it luck, but in the fall he was able to catch himself with a painful impact of his elbow against the bodywork. It banged and cracked. He screamed. His colleague screamed. And Marco ... He screamed too.

"For God's sake, look after my wife," Marco shouted. His pupils dilated. Anger and worry mixed into a thought-poisoned cocktail of nerves.

"Antonio, be careful, idiot."

"Do you think that was intentional? Don't shout around here or it'll happen to you too!"

The swearing even cut through the noisy sirens in the night. Gradually, the first rubberneckers appeared on the scene. In sweatpants, in bathrobes, with shocked faces, they looked at Marco and his wife. In an old house, diagonally across the street, an old man was standing at the window. He was wearing white and blue striped pyjamas. He was sipping a glass of wine with relish. And grinned.

"Sorry, Antonio. You're right, have you hurt yourself?"

"No. I'm all right now, Alessio."

"Let's just be glad that nothing more has happened. Signor, come here, please." Alessio, the paramedic, waved his hand at the distressed-looking Marco.

"Yes?"

"Signor Bucci was right, wasn't he?" Marco nodded.

"Yes, that's right. Marco Bucci."

"May I say Marco?"

"Yes. Yes please, fine by me."

Marco's brown eyes gleamed in the harsh glow of the siren's blue rays. They were moist. It wouldn't have taken much for a tear to fall to the ground.

"All right, Marco, we'll take your wife to the hospital. We're going to Sant'Andrea. Unfortunately, you're not allowed to ride here."

"Please, let me through to my wife. I promised her I wouldn't leave her."

"I'm sorry, Marco, that's not possible. No way."

Alessio climbed up to the ever-weakening woman. He looked at Marco with pity. Anyone looking for the truth would find it in Alessio's eyes. Deep, honest compassion. But he remained true to his duty. He pulled the doors shut with a heavy, slamming RUMS. Marco stood trembling in the dark. His legs didn't move, although they swayed monotonously with the warm, sweet wind that swept across the land.

"Emilia..." he spoke softly. His lips barely moved. It was more like a last breath. The last breath.

"Hey, signor? Get in here, quickly. Hurry up."

He stopped his monotonous bobbing. Marco took a deep breath. There was only one thought running through his head. GET IN.

"Yes. Yes, thank you."

His movement faltered briefly, but he ran to the driver's cab as fast as his feet could carry him. He climbed in on the passenger's side . And abruptly slammed the door shut behind him.

Before it closed, Antonio pressed on the gas pedal. The car rolled off with screeching tires. The siren was still blaring.

"Oh man. My head," said Marco, his face lined with pain.

"Rough day, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that too. It's that siren. It's like she's hammering herself into my head."

"I see, signor. It's mega loud. But maybe it'll work if I say that we'll definitely get through faster with the siren."

"Yes. Yes, that's fine, of course."

Silenced with a stabbing pain in the left side of his skull, Marco was slow to calm down. He looked out of the window. The area had never looked so dreary. Dry and dusty. Desolate. Only the recurring blue of the Ambulanza provided a splash of color in this gray, pale world.

"What is your wife's name ... Marco? May I also say Marco?"

"Yes, of course. Emilia is her name." Torn from his thoughts, Marco turned his gaze to the paramedic. He looked highly concentrated as he drove along the road. Marco rubbed his hands together. The fingernails of his left hand pressed relentlessly into the flesh of his right. He was as white as a sheet.

"I have the feeling that Emilia has lost a lot of blood. Can you tell me what happened?"

"No. It just happened. We were sitting on the sofa. We just wanted to relax after a stressful few days."

"Okay. I understand. Is there anything else we should know? Every bit of information counts."

"Emilia, she's pregnant. Is my child going to be okay?"

"Holy shit," Alessio exclaimed out loud. His eyes widened. He focused on the empty roadway.

"We'll do our best. Hold on. I need to get this through right away."

He increased his speed. At full speed, Alessio quickly turned his head and fixated on a small window built into the driver's cab behind his back.

"Antonio, let Sant'Andrea know. Our patient's name is Emilia and she's carrying a child."

"I can't," Antonio shouted back in panic. "She's losing too much blood. I've got my hands full. You have to do it."

Marco looked around. He tried to see something through the small window but to no avail.

"Holy Mary, no!" Alessio reached for the radio without slowing down.

His focus on the road became half-hearted. He concentrated more on reaching the hospital.

"Emilia's bleeding again? Still bleeding? I need to check on her."

"No, Marco. Everything's fine. Antonio is a professional. He's looking after her at the moment. I'll tell the hospital everything now. Please just sit still. Leave the rest to us, even if it's hard."

The Ambulanza slid and swayed back and forth. The whole body cracked. Every now and then you can hear Antonio swearing.

Due to the wild ups and downs, Marco slowly began to claw his fingers into the seat. He only briefly interrupted his convulsive posture to slowly fasten his seatbelt.

"Not so wild, damn it," shouted Antonio.

"Sorry, I'm trying hard. Hello? Car 8 here, Alessio Russo. We'll be there in a few minutes. We have a heavily bleeding pregnant woman ..."

"Alessio? She's lost consciousness. Tell them that," Antonio shouted from the cabin.

"... I stand corrected. We have a heavily bleeding pregnant woman who has just lost consciousness."

Marco felt sick. His head was swinging around wildly. He just wanted to throw up. Throw up the grief, the pain. He felt it. A warm squeeze. His throat grew warm. It came up, something. Poison and bile. But it was as if his throat was closed. A plug. Everything was stuck in his throat. He found it harder and harder to breathe.

From here on, everything began to spin around Marco. Time passed in a mixture of incredibly fast and gruelingly slow. The dull hammering of the siren, the stuttering of the engine. Interspersed with some incomprehensible, possibly reassuring words from Alessio.

The blue color in the dark night. The sweat-soaked back, which had been giving Marco goose bumps for a short time, everything seemed insignificant. And meaningless. Like one long dream. He thought about things. Colorful and wild fantasies. But everything was always overshadowed by just one question.

"When was the last time I felt so weak and helpless?"

And suddenly, all of a sudden, the car stopped. It gently slowed down.

"We're here, Marco. The hospital. Antonio? Get ready."

"Yes, please just make it quick!"

Marco opened the driver's door. He got out of the car. He was barely able to stand, his knees were shaking so badly.

Two medical assistants wearing blue face masks were already waiting. They approached the ambulance at a brisk pace. Directly behind them, walking in step, was a woman in a white coat.

"Is that her? The pregnant woman, bleeding profusely and unconscious?" The doctor's tone was harsh.

"Yes, exactly," shouted Antonio. "Pregnant woman, mid-20s, heavy vaginal bleeding. Responsive for the time being. Fainted halfway through."

Alessio and Antonio lifted the stretcher and pushed it out of the car a little. Right next to her, the doctor looked at the pale blue woman and felt her pulse. She listened for a moment.

"She's freezing cold. How much blood has she lost? All of it?" She looked reproachfully at the paramedics.

An icy cold wind was blowing from the east over the whole area. Right at that moment. The doctor held her hair out of her face before it could rise up in an aggressive gust.

Her eyes opened. Slowly. Her gaze was cold. The pupils pale. Dull and gray. The light brown of her eyes went out. Her upper body rose. With a loud groan and a sharp exhalation.

A piercing, shrill whistle from the depths of her lungs hissed through her lips. Antonio jumped back with his eyes wide open. Alessio covered his mouth with his left hand in shock. "Good God," he whispered into it.

"Emilia?" Marco spoke to her in a gentle tone. Emilia turned her head. She turned to face Marco. But it was as if she was looking right past him. She stared around without making any facial expressions.

"Emilia ... your eyes?"

She continued to stare. But now she began to grin. Until she finally dropped back onto the lounger and exhaled in a relaxed manner. Almost lustfully. As if in the midst of her climax of an orgasm.

The doctor's assistants approached her. They pushed the stretcher into the hospital on wheels. It squeaked miserably, while the front left castor stood stiff with rust and only the three remaining ones moved.

"Dude, what the hell was that? Bloody hell," Antonio exclaimed in horror, unable to stop himself from saying it.

"I ... I don't know! A shock reaction?" Alessio replied, disbelieving his own words.

"The gentlemen are probably right," the doctor intervened. "Under stress and pain, the mind and intellect often switch off. That was nothing more than a little presentation. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do." She averted her eyes. With quick steps, accompanied by the rolling stretcher, she pushed through the electrically opening sliding glass door into the hospital. Marco ran after them. Completely unsettled.

Alessio and Antonio were left behind. Sitting on the floor in front of the ambulance, they still shuddered.

"Good God, that wasn't a shock reaction. It still sends shivers down my spine." Alessio swallowed hastily several times as he moved his body in a criss-cross motion.

Antonio looked over at him curiously. He watched the sweat pouring down his forehead to the tip of Alessio's nose.

"I have to admit, it was a bit creepy. But if that wasn't a state of shock, what was it?"

Alessio looked up at the sky. He looked at the stars, which were struggling to break through a veil of gray clouds. He carefully chose his next words.

"Didn't you see it?"

"That depends on what you mean, I've seen a lot."

"That veil. Dark. Menacing."

Antonio stood up, his eyes wide. He shook his head.

"No, man, I don't know what you're talking about. Come on, we have to get going. Clean the van before the next mission."

"Antonio, I swear to you. It was him. I saw him."

"Saw him? What?"

"Satan."

The scenes in the hospital itself were far more hectic. Marco hurriedly tried to catch up with the speedy doctor. However, she was always at least ten steps ahead of him.

She hurriedly ran around a corner. Through the next door. She seemed to be following a yellow trail on the floor. And suddenly stopped. In front of a large gray door. It stood closed in front of them. She turned around and looked deep into Marco's eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked brusquely. Marco didn't know what was happening to him at first. With pale eyes, he looked deep into her eyes and gathered his breath.

"That's my wife. I want to see her!"

"That's out of the question. That's not possible at the moment. Please wait outside until I call you in."

"But..." They opened the door and pushed the stretcher and Emilia inside. They slammed it shut again forcefully under Marco's nose.

"So she's alone. I promised her ..."

Marco waited outside the door. Resigned to his fate. He paced up and down impatiently. He wandered around almost endlessly. The moments passed slowly and agonizingly. Various scenarios battled in his head. One more cruel and sad than the other. The purest horror had gripped him and was torturing him.

"What's going on? What's wrong with my head?" As if two or three ... or maybe even a hundred voices were speaking in his head in a completely diffuse manner.

"This turmoil. It hurts so much. Stop it," he shouted. Marco narrowed his eyes. He hit his skull several times with the flat of his hand. Until he finally surrendered and endured the torment he had been given.

"Okay, I'll calm down. I'll just wait. Just wait. Don't think too much. Maybe I should just listen ... Which voice is the loudest?" So the inevitable happened. He began to listen to these voices. These many, jumbled, shouting voices.

"She is dead. Bled out and died. And if she isn't yet, she will be soon."

"No, no, no! Emilia is not dead. She's still alive. But your child has died."

"Fuck, no! The child will live. Born from her blood on his hands. You'll never be able to love it if it ripped Emilia away from you."

"Why should the child live? Small and weak. It will be a premature birth. They'll want to save it. Pull it out. Its head detaches from its body. The weak neck will snap. The child will die before its first breath."

"Both of them. Both will die. And if no one survives, how will you be able to continue? So just think, how are you going to end it for you? A rope over a rafter? A knife? Or maybe pills?"

"Why did it actually come to this? Did she get so upset about a bit of housework that her blood pressure went through the roof?"

"A bit of housework? You let the house get dirty even though you promised her the opposite. After all, you're the one who should know her cleaning obsession best."

"If only you'd kept everything clean."

"But what if the accusations are unfounded? Maybe everything will be okay after all?"

"That's right. Maybe they'll live, but they'll be crippled. Disabled for the rest of their miserable lives. And you'll wish they had died. But they survived and they hate you for it. They'll hate you until the day you finally die a miserable death."

"Or will love win after all?"

"Those voices. Oh God, no!" They began to laugh. They all shrieked wildly.

"Damn! It's like a wrecking ball is being used inside my skullcap. It's more commotion than a bazaar. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up already. Shut the fuck up!"

"Excuse me, Signor Bucci? But I don't remember saying anything before."

Startled, Marco looked around. A small woman appeared behind his back.

"Forgive me, please. I think ... I'm afraid I've been talking to myself."

"That only calms me down a little."

"Yes. I beg your pardon again. My wife, Emilia? How is she? You were with her, weren't you?"

Avoiding his questioning gaze, she looked at his shoes instead.

"Yes, please come in. Doctor Gervais would like to speak to you."

Marco entered the room. The air was stuffy and somehow foul. A bright light, cast harshly and laboriously from the ceiling lights, dazzled his eyes. He squinted them. Until only a small slit remained open, through which he could see with great difficulty.

As he looked around nervously, he noticed a strong and peculiar smell that stood out. A smell of rust and iron.

"Boy. My hands!" Marco rubbed them together firmly. He looked over at the doctor. He stood in front of her, trembling. Now she finally took a first step in his direction.

In this completely confused jumble of feelings and impressions, he desperately searched for his wife. But he couldn't see Emilia anywhere at that moment.

Two nurses scurried past Marco. One nudged his shoulder with hers.

"Excuse me, please," she said quietly and embarrassed. They pushed a stretcher on wheels to a large bed. They gently placed a blanket on a motionless body. They pulled the white sheet up to the neck.

"Emilia," Marco spoke softly. He took a few steps closer to her. There was no longer any doubt. It was her.

"Emilia? Is everything okay? Emilia?" She looked peaceful. As if a gentle smile was emerging from her face.

"She won't be able to hear you at the moment," said the stern-looking doctor.

"What's happened?"

"Please sit down, Signor Bucci."

She pointed to a narrow gray chair with her fingers. Marco reluctantly followed her words. He took his seat dutifully and properly. But his tension was more visible than it had been all evening.

"Why doesn't she finally keep talking? Why doesn't she tell me what happened? I'm sitting here and she's staring at her files. Although sitting is really good for me right now. Without a chair, my trembling knees would have collapsed long ago," thought Marco.

"Mr. Bucci?"

"Yes? What's happened? How is my wife?" Marco asked stormily in a croaky voice.

There was a snapping, popping sound. The doctor took off her latex gloves and threw them into a garbage can next to her. She poured a few squirts of disinfectant onto her hands and spread it over her chapped and torn fingers.

Then she slowly stroked her long, brown hair. Previously, the flowing splendor had been barely visible, but she had finally tied it up tightly in a bun.

Marco looked around again and again. He inspected every corner of the room. The two medical assistants present began to tidy up. All this while his wife seemed to be sleeping peacefully in bed.

"Signor Bucci, I'll be brief and to the point. I'm not one to beat about the bush, so I often formulate myself very strictly, so please forgive me."

"Yes. All right," he replied quietly.

"Good. Your wife, Emilia, has lost a lot of blood. A transfusion was necessary to keep her alive."

"Oh my God..."

"Don't worry. She's already over the worst of it. We've given her a sedative. She'll sleep peacefully for now."

"What happens now?"

"Nothing. She's still weak. Give her a few days to recover."

"Is there anything I can do?" Marco asked curiously.

"Not at the moment. No. She'll be resting for a while. But it would be good to have you nearby. Seeing her face first thing when she wakes up could help her a lot, at least psychologically."

Doctor Gervais looked deep into Marco's eyes again and again. But his gaze kept avoiding hers. He began to sweat again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was burning inside him. Something he would perhaps rather not have to answer.

"And my boy? How is he?"

Her breath caught for a moment. She swallowed.

"Signor Bucci, I'm really very sorry."

"So he didn't make it? Is he dead?"

"Yes. All help came too late for him. I'm sorry."

Marco stood up. It seemed impossible for him to sit in the chair any longer.

He began to rub his trembling hands over and over again. And he paced up and down the room. And he scratched his face with his fingers. Red welts remained on his skin.

"What did we do wrong?" He looked at the doctor as he asked this question.

"Please sit down, Signor Bucci. I can assure you of this: Both we have done our utmost and you are not to blame."

"My son. He never had a chance to get to know life ..."

"I am deeply sorry for your tragic loss. Please believe me. But try to be strong now, especially for your wife."

Gradually, Marco calmed down. A few tears were still flowing down the stubble of his black three-day beard. His legs were also still shaking a little haphazardly.

"Will she make a full recovery?"

"As far as the psyche is concerned, we, you in particular, will have to show strength. Be there for her. These won't be easy times. Pathologically, I have to admit ... there are some unanswered questions."

"Questions?" Marco's ears perked up. He pricked up his ears and looked intently at Doctor Gervais.

"Well, it's difficult to explain. There were no direct complications from our side. We can chalk that up to good news."

"But?"

"Your wife, Emilia, had such heavy and sudden vaginal bleeding. It's not only extremely rare, but also very strange. We fear that her uterus has been damaged. However, we need to test this thoroughly before we cause too much concern."

"Meaning?" Marco began to scratch his face again.

"I read in your wife's file that this isn't her first miscarriage?"

Marco's gaze tensed. She was right.

"No. Unfortunately it isn't. This was our second attempt." Marco looked down at the floor. His whole body was shaking.

"I understand that it's difficult for you to talk about it. But do you remember what effect it had on you at the time?"

"Effects? You mean something like a post-traumatic experience?"

"Absolutely. I speak from experience when I tell you that something like today will leave scars that may never heal."

"What do you recommend?"

"Well, as a private individual and not as a doctor, I recommend that you let Emilia recover. If you still wish to have a child, I can tell you that there doesn't seem to be a direct medical cause. At least as far as our tests are concerned. Personally, though, I would reconsider the desire to have a child."

"Well ... Thank you for your honesty."

"You're welcome. Please be here tomorrow. We'll talk about further findings then."

"Of course. Goodbye."

She stood up from her chair. She took four steps until she finally stopped behind Marco's back and put her hand on his shoulder.

"I didn't really want to tell them. Because it has no medical basis."

"Like what?"

"Please take a closer look at the two ladies who are looking after your wife. Tell me what you notice."

Marco turned his body. He was looking directly at two young women in work clothes. They were busy cleaning. One, it seemed, was making an effort with Emilia. She was dabbing her forehead with a wet sponge. Her gaze was blank. Her eyes were wide. But her thoughts seemed to be full of heart and soul.

The second lady stood a little to one side. She was cleaning and disinfecting the couch and the medical instruments. Her eyes were more alert. Full of panic. Her eyes were wide open, as if they would fall out at any moment. Her body was pulsating. Sheer horror was written all over her ashen face. Four long, reddish welts ran across her left cheek.

"You mean the young lady who's cleaning up all that stuff right now?"

The doctor nodded.

"What happened to her face?"

"If I hadn't been there, I'd say she ran through a thicket of thorns. But I know better. It was your wife."

"Emilia did this?"

"Yes."

"Why did she do that?"

"Well, maybe it was the stress. The pain. Or possibly something else."

"Possibly?"

"Have you heard anything about the person, Mariella, before?"

"No. That doesn't tell me anything."

"I see. And what about a certain Leonhardt? Or an Enzo Sureni? Have you heard anything about him?"

"No. I'm sorry, I don't understand exactly what it's about either."

"Your wife, Emilia, was unresponsive for a while. I put it down to her high blood loss."

"Yes. I witnessed that so far." Marco was getting impatient. Too many questions were burning on his tongue.

"Well, she no longer reacted to us, to external environmental influences, if you like. But that doesn't mean she was lifeless. Rather, she seemed to be in a kind of trance. A delirium."

"Now I don't understand again. You mean like under drugs?"

"Yes. Something like that. Let me put it this way. There was a dialog. Your wife was talking to herself, arguing."

"Good God."

"First of all, don't panic, talking to yourself can certainly calm you down in certain situations. But these ... were different."

"What did she say?"

"I'm very sorry, we were too busy with the rescue. Unfortunately, I can't give you the exact content as der. But please remember to be here for your wife tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you. Goodbye."

She left the room. Ice cold with her back turned. What remained was a broken man. Surrounded by people and yet alone.

"What a shitty October it is ..." Marco groaned.

"Excuse me, please, we'll take your wife to her room now." In a soft and timid voice, a doctor's assistant made her way with the wheeled bed.

"Yes, of course. Excuse me."

Wordlessly and looking down, the second lady also tried to sneak past at that moment. She bent her head low to the ground. And hid her wounds. Marco grabbed her by the arm. She flinched and closed her eyes.

"Forgive me, please. I would like to apologize on behalf of my wife. I'm very sorry that she gave you those scratches."

She looked fearfully into Marco's eyes. "It wasn't your wife. Not anymore," was all she said. She tore herself away from his grasp and ran on with quick steps. Even more unsettled, Marco now followed his sedated wife.

The hours passed. Agitated, Marco sat next to Emilia at her bedside. The room was dark. Only a small bedside lamp was lit. In a dull, cold glow.

Marco stroked Emilia's hair. Until his strength left him too.

***

"Marco? You're actually here?" Emilia opened her eyes at a very early hour. A small tear hid in her eye when it was actually Marco that she first saw when she woke up.

He was sitting on a chair next to her bed. Lying on her bed with his head in his folded arms, it looked like a totally uncomfortable night. A delicate liquid trail oozed out of his slightly parted lips. Now she began to stroke his head. Until he finally woke up.

He looked at her. "Good morning, my angel." And he smiled.

***

The days passed. And soon Emilia was allowed to leave the hospital to finally return home with her husband. Just as they reached the exit, Dr. Gervais came to meet them again.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said with a quizzical twitch at the corner of her mouth. It could almost be interpreted as a smile.

"Thank you very much, Dr. Gervais."

"You're welcome. I'm rather sorry that our examinations didn't yield any other major results."

"That doesn't matter. The main thing is that we're well again. We'll get through this difficult time. Thanks to you."

"I'm glad to hear that. I wish you all the best. Hopefully we won't see each other again. And please remember my advice, stay away from stress as much as you can."

"We'll do that, thank you very much."

Beaming with joy, Marco loaded his little red Fiat Cinquecento with Emilia's luggage.

"My baby, we can finally go home. Come on, jump in."

He gallantly opened the door for her. He let his lady of the heart take a seat. A reserved "Thank you" escaped her. He closed the door behind her and looked across the wide parking lot once more.

"That's her, isn't it?" He looked questioningly at a young woman who was smoking a cigarette in the parking lot in front of the hospital at that moment. Marco took a few steps over to her.

"How do you do? I see the scratches are healing slowly? I'm glad to see that."

"Yes. It's getting better." She nervously took a deep drag on her cigarette. You could literally see the ashes being conjured up.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"I don't know, I should actually go back to work."

"Just one, please, it'll be quick."

"Well ... Good."

"What did my wife say, or do, before she attacked you?"

Her eyes widened. She was obviously panicking.

"I don't know."

"I'm asking you. Try to remember."

"It's so blurry."

"Tell me, please. Maybe it will help me. No matter how confused it may be."

She took another deep drag from her cigarette. She breathed it out, threw the stub on the floor and stubbed it out with her shoes.

"It sounded like an argument. But it was so weird."

"What was weird?" Marco asked excitedly.

"Her voice changed. It was as if there were several people in the room arguing."

"Several people?"

"Yes. Or maybe no people."

"What was the argument about?"

"Your wife was lying unconscious on the bed. For a moment, it seemed like we were losing the fight."

"What happened then?"

"We gave her the blood transfusion. And she recovered. But suddenly her voice started to change. It became darker. Like a man's."

"A man?" Marco's brow furrowed.

"Yes. He was hissing. Something about a whore of Mariella's. That the child would have to die. Her voice changed to a female voice. She suddenly screamed. She kept calling out a name: Enzo. Enzo Sureni or something like that. She was screaming that he wasn't going to have the baby. Then suddenly the light went out."

"The light went out?"

"For a second or two. It wasn't much longer. But when it came on again..."

"What happened then?"

"Your wife squatted upright. But she shouldn't have done that. She should have been unconscious. Lying down. Calmly. But not like this. Her voice was distorted. Her eyes ... They were black. Far from any life. Far from anything sacred. She looked at me. She grinned. Her lips parted and blood came out. And, oh God, her black eyes. She just breathed a name."

"What name?"

"Leonhardt. Then it went cold. And the next thing was the attack on me. Dr. Gervais then gave her the sedatives."

"That ... all sounds very unbelievable."

"I know. I'm hardly sure myself whether that's exactly what happened."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"You asked."

"You're right. Maybe I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry. I'll leave you in peace now."

Marco walked a few steps. He could feel her watching his exit.

"Do you want to know why there was no fetus?" she called after him. Marco turned to face her.

"Because I gave up the remains of my son. I wouldn't have had the heart to see him dead in my hand."

"You did us a favor with that. Because there was no fetus. He has disappeared. The moment your wife pushed off the dead body. It's as if it had been taken. By someone. Or something."

Marco had a few tears in his eyes. He turned back around, looked at his car and at his wife. She was waiting for him there. So he continued on his way. And he didn't look back.

Emilia hardly spoke the entire journey. Rather, it was Marco who tried to avoid an awkward silence with long, rambling speeches.

But Emilia stopped listening after just a few sentences. With deeply grieving and tired eyes, she looked out of the window and meticulously observed her surroundings.

Marco looked over at her whenever the traffic allowed it. He began to stroke her leg.

He gently ran his hand over her left thigh.

She felt his warm pressure. And it pleased her. Every little movement spoke to her. To make her feel safe and secure.

"Times are hard. I'm aware of that, Emilia. But I also know something else. And that is that this man here, on your left, will always be with you. So just hold on to him."

Still looking out of the window, she placed her hand on his. Quietly, she spoke to him:

"Thank you."

After a short pause, Marco took courage for his next words.

"It's nice that you're coming home again. It was so empty. It was so cold. Without you."

Emilia squinted her eyes. With great effort, she pushed back her tears.

"You don't hate me?" she asked, sniffling deeply.

Marco's jaw dropped.

"Why should I hate you?" he asked.

"For being too weak. For not being able to give him life."

"Don't talk nonsense. You can't blame yourself for this. Because it wasn't!"

Marco took a deep breath. He now gripped Emilia's hand a little tighter.

"I admit, all this will change our lives. We will grieve. We will suffer. But we will also fight. And I swear to you, we will also win. Because I can tell you my miracle weapon."

"And what is that?"

"My love for you. Because it's eternal."

"So you still love me?" Emilia asked, her eyes wide.

"Forever."

Emilia bent her head to her husband's shoulder. From now on, she didn't speak. Until they reached their destination. A small house on the outskirts of Vercelli.

"Have you been holding Cookie the whole time, darling?"

"Every second. Every single second..."

***

The air was hot and dry.

Only a rare cool breeze provided occasional refreshment.

The crickets chirped eagerly from the thicket, while a yawning emptiness stretched out on the dusty streets.

There were no people to be seen in this heat. They were all seeking shelter in their homes. The summer heatwave had taken hold of the town.

There was a freshly laid table on the veranda behind a small residential building near Via Carrozzino.

Panissa, a dish of arborio rice with beans and a few herbs, lay crowning the table. The table was set for three people. Plates, glasses, cutlery. Next to it was a glass carafe, filled with clear water, ice cubes and lemon slices. A few mint leaves were submerged in it.

A drop slowly made its way to the table along the very edge of the drinking vessel.

"34 degrees Celsius. And it hasn't rained for weeks," said a worried voice on the radio.

The population groaned and suffered from the weather. Water should be saved and rationed.

Don't water unnecessarily. Rather let your flowers dry out. The first bans were already being issued in some places. From now on, it was only a matter of time before the first penalties were imposed.

All the green meadows had withered. Even the magnificent rice fields in the surrounding area lay fallow.

A young woman stepped out of the house. She tied her light brown hair into a loose plait and secured it with a hair tie. A summery light blue dress with white, yellow and pink butterflies, which flew gleefully through colorful flowers, adorned her graceful body.

"So, let's see, knife, fork, spoon. It's all there." She carefully checked the table and arranged everything neatly. She quickly placed a few spices. Next to them was a colorful bowl of freshly peeled watermelon. She twirled her hand wildly around her body. A few wasps came threateningly close to her.

"Persistent little beasts." She wasn't afraid of being stung.

"Now get lost, you stupid critter!" She waved her hand again. Unnoticed, a wasp sat down under it. It bent its body. Then it stung.

"Ahi. You bastard!" The young woman lashed out. She slammed her right hand down with full force on the affected area. A small pile of mud was left behind.

"With all the shit I've been through in my life, do you really think this still hurts me?"

She simply brushed the remains off her arm. Some of the remaining wasps buzzed away shortly afterwards as if out of her mind.

Only now and again did a particularly curious one come closer to her.

She then sat down on a chair and put on her sunglasses. She completely ignored her swollen arm. Quite a feat, considering how much it had swollen.

"Emilia 1. and wasps 0," she said quietly.

To refresh herself on this hot day, she took a sip of water while the sun shone happily on her tanned face.

"Marco, Ricarda, come down. There's food. Quickly, quickly. While it's still warm."

Barely more than half a minute passed. Out stepped a young girl. She had only recently reached the early stages of adolescence. She wore tight, short clothes. She seemed to want to show off her slim body with pride. Her long, curly black hair flowed far over her shoulders.

With her dark brown eyes, she looked at Emilia, who was still enjoying the sun on her skin. Now, however, she picked up a small fan and waved a little air at herself.

The young lady now sat down as well, round sunglasses on her nose as she inspected the table with the food placed on it. "Do you really think the food will get cold in this heat, Mama?" she said mockingly with a smug grin on her face.

Emilia grinned back. "Oh, my sweet. You'd better make sure you don't fall on your nose when you're wearing it. Where's daddy?"

"I don't know exactly. But you know him. He's probably sitting with his documents, sorting through bank statements from 20 years ago."

Emilia had to smile unironically this time. "Hasn't he heard that dinner's ready?"

"Mom, seriously. I have no idea. Shall I go and get him?"

Ricarda pushed her chair back. Wide-eyed and waiting for an answer, she looked at her mother. She took a little time to think about it.

"No, no. It's all right. We'll just start without him. There, I'll put something on your plate, just say stop when you've had enough."

"Looks like you've cooked for the whole week anyway. By the way, Mom, this is a new experience for me, but I can make my own food now. Kindergarten is over."

"Nothing there. I do that. And I'm happy to do it. Just let me know when you've had enough."

After just three spoonfuls, Ricarda shouted energetically: "Stop!", knowing full well that as soon as she shouted stop, her mother would shovel in another two large spoonfuls either way. Although many of her actions had become predictable, they were still difficult to understand.

"Child, you're too thin. You need to eat more. You're all skin and bones. You need strength. You need energy to grow. I bet a lot of boys your age don't like rattling skinny frames anyway, they like women with curves." Ricarda already knew all the sayings. She could have filled entire books with them.

Amazingly, Ricarda realized at that moment that Emilia didn't care how much she actually ate. As long as she was allowed to take two large spoons, which she happily accepted.

At the same moment, the patio door banged open. A sweaty man stepped onto the stage.

"Here I am, baby. Ready for your delicacies. What's for dinner?"

"Panissa," Ricarda called out quickly. "Once again. It's like mommy has a deal with the rice farmers here."

"If you only saw the sexy shirtless guys working in the fields, you'd know why I go out to buy so much rice," Emilia countered with a broad grin.

She nudged Marco lightly. However, he refrained from making any comment. He simply rolled his eyes and reached for the spoon to fill his plate as well.

"Stop! I'll put something on your plate," Emilia shouted energetically and grabbed the spoon with a vengeance.

"Baby, I can make my own ..."

"No. I'll do that! And I like doing it! Just tell me when you've had enough."

Marco called out loudly: "Stop!" at the seventh spoonful. Knowing full well that his wife would shovel two more spoons onto his plate. "A real man has to eat. You have to stay strong to feed the family. You need energy. Why are you afraid of gaining weight? Only women watch their figure. Or do you want to please other women? A real guy doesn't care about his figure. Especially a married one. Otherwise everyone will think I'm a bad cook."

Marco knew all the sayings. And he loved them. They were so wonderfully unconventional.

"I'm sure it tastes great. Just like always, darling."

"Thanks, you suck-up." They both teased and giggled for a while longer.

"Stop it, you're acting like two teenagers, it's really embarrassing," Ricarda interjected.

"Just be glad you have such cool parents," Emilia replied.

"Yo. Hardly any of your homies have such cool parents," Marco interjected.

Meanwhile, Ricarda poked at her food with a blush on her face and her hand in front of her forehead.

"Embarrassing...", she whispered just loud enough to be heard.

But something else was on the tip of her tongue. Her lips quivered. She wanted to say something. Something incredibly important to her. But not a sound left her mouth. Until suddenly ...

"Can Alice come to me at the weekend? She wanted to spend the night here."

After her statement, Ricarda rummaged through her panissa. She didn't look at her parents, but watched the grains of rice traveling around.

Emilia grinned. "Just Alice?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"On the weekend when Dad and I are invited to our neighbors' house in the evening? No one else is coming?"

"Eh? Yes, just Alice. Who else would be coming?"

"Well, I don't know. A gentleman visitor? A young man? Let's just call this stranger ... Matteo. Just to make our imagination more tangible."

"Who on earth is Matteo?" Marco asked the group.

"Nobody, darling. Keep eating your panissa."

Caught off guard, Ricarda looked at her mother. She could hardly think of a useful answer in a hurry.

"Yes. Who is Matteo?" she asked bluntly.

"A young man. I already told you. I imagine him like this: Brown curly hair. Smooth face. Has a penchant for baggy pants. Almost seems a little too cool for this world. But has a very charming smile. But he is a smoker. Because his ultra-crass clothes literally reek of it."

"Mom," Ricarda cried out.

"Yes? What is it?"

"You've been watching us!"

"Not really watching. I was just out shopping and saw you both. At first I wanted to come over and say hello. But I'm sure that would have been too embarrassing for you two lovebirds."

Ricarda's face turned a deep shade of red. Her gaze became angry.

"Embarrassing? Yes indeed! My stalker mother knows her way around my life. You bet I'm embarrassed." Her voice cracked.

Marco watched them intently. Slowly, he shoved another spoonful of the rice into his mouth.

"Anyway," Emilia spoke in a calm voice. "So I'm sorting through my handbag to look for my car keys when I unfortunately have to watch this young man light up a cigarette. He took two or three drags and then he had to cough. Kids these days just can't take anything anymore. Then he passed it over like a joint. Guess what happened then?"

"Mom! That's simply outrageous that you ..."

Emilia didn't let her daughter finish, interrupting her in the middle of her sentence with an emphatic and energetic voice.

"Then this naive young girl put this cigarette in her mouth. Firmly enclosed with her lips. I dropped my car keys in shock. Minors and smoking always shock me. But the worst thing was that deep drag without coughing. Do you have anything else to tell me about that?"

Emilia took a piece of the sliced melon. Hidden under her sunglasses, she managed to put on a perfect poker face. Her face was cemented in place.

"Whoa, mom. I only pulled it once. Don't get upset. I swear it was my first time ..." Ricarda took a deep breath. Until she could complete her sentence. "... Surely you never did anything stupid as a teenager?"

"Smoking is simply unhealthy! Lung cancer. COPD and all the other crap you can catch! You don't need to throw your health away like that, especially not for some boy!"

"Yes, mom. I know." She looked down at her plate, pouting.

"Did you know that smoking affects your fertility? And suddenly you can't have any more children, is that what you want? Do you really want to risk it all for a few minutes of wannabe coolness?"

"Mom, what are you doing, why are you suddenly so upset?"

"Do you really want to jeopardize your family's future and drastically increase the risk of miscarriage? And just to be cool for a boy?"

"What kind of kids? Mom, you're exaggerating in the worst way!"

"I just want to tell you that you shouldn't risk your future so lightly. Do we understand each other?"

Emilia fought back tears. Her whole body trembled. Furious, she nibbled the small flakes of skin from her left hand with her long fingernails. Unconsciously, she flicked them onto the patio floor.

"Please look me in the eye, Ricarda." The sentence penetrated her daughter's ears energetically and deeply.

A little reluctantly, she looked into her mother's petrified face. She listened to her next words.

"I never want you to touch a cigarette again. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, mom," her daughter replied in a snotty voice. She continued to poke at her plate.

"Yes mom, what?" With a twitching eyelid and bared teeth, she dug her nails deep into the palm of her hand. It was the only way she could release her pent-up pressure and slowly regain her senses.

"Yes mom, you're right. I promise you on my life and on the lives of my unborn and unplanned children that I will never touch a cigarette again. I will make you happy and give you the chance to be the best grandma in the world."

Her hard face softened. Relief grew in Emilia's gaze. A thin smile finally came over her.

"Very good. Matteo is welcome to come over. But I don't want him to sleep in our house. After dinner, he'll make his way back to his house, do you understand?"

"Yes, mom. All right."

"It would be nice to get to know him a bit better. He really seemed like a very nice young man. Besides, I think he's a great match for you, now that I've persuaded his mother to stop him smoking cigarettes."

Ricarda's face suddenly turned white as a sheet. Her incredulous look was accompanied by a wide-open mouth.

"I beg your pardon? You did what?" An anxious squeak ran through her vocal chords.

Emilia drank an enormous gulp of water. A loud "Ah" crowned her victory,

"I've done nothing. Well, almost nothing, anyway. I just spoke to his mother. A fantastic woman. Very good dress style. Very well educated and incredibly nice."

"What? Mom, that's so embarrassing! What are you doing? Why are you doing this?" Ricarda jumped up from her chair.

It slid back and fell to the floor, backrest first. She stormed into the house through the patio door and ran up the wooden stairs to the second floor with furious stamping steps.

The loud bang of her slammed bedroom door could be heard all too clearly, right into the garden. Emilia grinned. She took another sip from her glass.

"That's more exciting than watching TV," Marco finally interjected.

"Yes darling, you can experience something with us," his wife replied contentedly.

"Was it really necessary to talk to Matteo's mother? It's a bit embarrassing for a teenage girl when her parents interfere in everything. And then even make sure that her new boyfriend gets into a big fight at home."

Emilia raised her left hand. She pushed her sunglasses up to the tip of her nose. So far that she could just see over the rim.

"You really think I did that. Heavens, my acting must have been good."

"So you didn't speak to her after all?" Confused, Marco looked at his wife.

"I don't even know his mother. I have no idea who she is or where she lives."

"Crass plan. Downright diabolical."

"Yes, isn't it? I hope the shock runs deep."

"And she'll thank you one day?"

"Yes. Sooner or later she will."

"Madness. I'd rather not mess with you." Marco laughed.

He helped himself to another spoonful of his rice dish. After finishing the very last grain on his plate, he pushed it aside. He hugged his wife. They both watched the slow and beautiful, shimmering reddish rays of the sun slowly fade away.

Ricarda returned some time later. She straightened her skimpy yellow skirt a little with her fingertips. Then she sat down between her parents, where she snuggled up, full of regret.

A beautiful day. Which was gradually coming to an end.

***

"We're both going to bed now, mouse. Don't take so long, do you hear?"

"Yes, of course. It's all right, Dad. Sleep well."

"Oh, look, it's Cookie. Woof woof!" Marco playfully approached his daughter.

He wagged the fluffy dog in front of her nose.

"Dad, stop that, please." She said annoyed and tried to shoo the soft toy away with her hand like an annoying fly.

"What is it? Are we suddenly too cool for your favorite animal?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Really?"

"Yes, I told you."

"So I can dispose of him?"

"No!" she exclaimed promptly, shocked.

"So he's not too old after all?"

"No. So yes. Just leave him here, ok?" She grinned, embarrassed. But Marco laughed.

He leaned towards her, then gave Ricarda a kiss on the forehead.

She was already lying on the bed in her dark red nightwear. She had tied a towel around her hair. It was soaked with moisture from the shower she had just taken. She was listening to music. Fast, melodic electro beats.

"Cool music. Tell me, what are you still doing?"

"Nothing. I'm chatting with Alice. Then I'm going to sleep too."

"Okay, but don't stay up too late. Sleep well, sweetie," Marco said before closing the door to the room.

Now she could concentrate on her best friend Alice again. She was saved as Ally<3 in her Messenger.

Marco stood outside her door for a few more moments, thinking.

"Always remember that you're the most important thing to us," he whispered softly.

"Hey Ally, what are you doing right now?"

"Nothing. Just chilling. You?"

"Also."

"Cool. Must use headphones. It makes me cry!"

"OMG why?"

"Otherwise I can hear my parents doing it."

"Holy! Take it out. Say what you hear."

"Just a squeaky bed."

"Better than the walls shaking."

"Like rabbits!"

"Yes, but with Matteo they're suddenly worried."

"It's not fair. I'm telling you."

"Yes, absolutely."

The window to her room was wide open. A fresh breeze blew through her room the whole time. Despite the warm weather, Ricarda pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders.

Suddenly there was a creak in the room. She looked up. She sat motionless with her smartphone in her hand.

"What is that?" she asked herself quietly as her bedroom door slowly opened a crack.

A small drop of sweat ran down her forehead.

All at once, an icy cold gust of wind shot through the room. The window banged against its frame. With a jerk, she pulled the blanket tighter over her body. Angry and frightened, she said: "Damn! It's so cold!"

Her legs shivered. The first bumps of hardened skin appeared.

"Are you that cold too, Ally?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No?"

"It's really hot here."

"I swear, I'm freezing right now."

"Are you getting sick?"

"I hope not."

"Or are you faking it because you don't feel like going to school tomorrow?"

"Of course I feel like it. Matteo's here..."

"You're being a pain in the ass, girl!"

"Why? He's a real sweetie."

"Nah. I'm not that into curls."

"You don't have to."

A soft chirping hissed through Ricarda's room. She looked up and interrupted her chat.

"What was that?" she asked herself quietly and turned down her music. She began to listen intently. Suddenly, her bedside lamp began to flicker on. On, off. On, off.

Ricarda gave her a light slap. "Stop it, you stupid thing," she said quietly.

But it didn't help. Her cell phone vibrated in her hand. "Huh?" Ricarda was confused. There was no call and no message.

It shook and wobbled while the display shone in various colors.

Meanwhile, the brightness of her lamp changed the light intensity in the room in an untamed, wild rhythm.

From glaringly bright to a dull glow. Everything was there.

"What's all this shit?" she asked, annoyed. The cell phone was restarted. The music stopped.

Only now did Ricarda hear an unusually strong and monotonous squeak.

"Oh no, are they doing it too? I have to listen to that crap again."

With an iron will to close her door tightly and escape any further unpleasant noises, Ricarda made her way to the door. But something unexpected happened. Her curious gaze fell into the dark hallway. Endlessly dark.

"That's strange. Your bedroom door is wide open."

Everything remained silent. "Nothing. Only Dad's snoring can be heard?"

She exhaled. "Imagination?"

But again she heard creaking and jingling. This time, however, a little louder than before.

Ricarda slowly descended the wooden staircase towards the first floor. The view into the open hallway was even more threatening. Only the dull glow of the moon shimmered through a thin, pink curtain through the tilted window of the kitchen into the open living room.

"Everything seems to be quiet and tightly closed," Ricarda said reassuringly.

There was nothing strange to be seen anywhere. Even the guest toilet remained silent. But there was another creak in the house.

"What's that?"

This time it was clearly audible. From the second floor. From her room!

Ricarda ran up the stairs. She leapt up the first three steps in a single bound. Her left hand slid loosely over the banister.

Jerkily, she jumped up another three steps with her other leg. And again. It was as if she was flying. Then it happened. Her foot got caught. She got stuck on the penultimate step. She stumbled. There was a bang.

"Shit! Damn it!" Ricarda screamed as she tried to hold her hands protectively in front of her face at the last moment. But in vain. The tip of her nose approached the ground faster.

A quiet click sounded. Light illuminated the room. Marco and Emilia stood opposite their daughter.

"Are you all right, my baby?" Concerned, Emilia rushed to her daughter, who was only slowly able to help herself to her feet.

She gently stroked her hair, while Marco tried desperately to stifle a grin in total exuberance. He held his hand protectively in front of his face.

"What happened, darling?" he asked, finally worried.

"Nothing. Except that I slipped?"

"Your nose, it's bleeding." It was already running over Ricarda's pulsating lips. Her knees were scraped.

"Come on, angel, we need to go to the bathroom. Cool and disinfect. Marco, please get some cooling gel."

He literally jumped down the stairs. He landed on the first floor with a loud BOOM.

"Where's the gel?" he could still be heard shouting.

Emilia rolled her eyes. "Probably in the freezer," she called out loudly. She then added a quiet "You idiot".

Ricarda had to smile. It was the little jibes that warmed her heart. That was her idea of a family. Love and madness.

"That looks nasty, my darling." She carefully dabbed up the blood and sprayed a generous amount of disinfectant on her knee. Ricarda gasped.

"Does it hurt? Honey?"

"Yes, it certainly does. Especially your spraying."

"Good. I mean, why are you jumping around in the middle of the night, too?"

"I thought I heard something. Noises."

"Noises? What noises?"

"At first I thought they were coming from you."

"From us?"

"Yes. Like a squeak. As if ... your bed is shaking."

"Good God..."

"Yes, I thought so too. But you were asleep. Then these noises came from downstairs. I mean, from the living room. But when I was downstairs, they suddenly came from my room. I must have gotten stuck somewhere."

"Yes. That's how it seems to me. Your nose seems to be fine, by the way. At least it's not broken. That's lucky. Otherwise you'd have a hump like Dad."

"Where's Dad been for so long?"

"Well, good question ... Marco? Where are you with the cooling gel?" Ricarda called out loudly.

"I'm coming!" he replied quickly.

"Mom, I have one more question."

"Yes, please? What is it, my darling?"

"I've noticed that you've been talking a lot lately about all the things that can affect my fertility. That I won't have children if I do this or that. That's a bit creepy. Why?"

Startled and caught off guard, Emilia looked at the white sink where she placed the blood-soaked cloth.

"I'll be happy to explain that to you. But not today. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, fine. That's fine." Ricarda put on her perfectly rehearsed pouty face.

Shortly afterwards, Marco rushed to join them in the bathroom with a huge bag of refried beans.

"That's not quite the cool bag I had in mind, darling."

He tried to explain himself somehow "That's right. But I only found it in a hurry."

"Quickly? It took you almost ten minutes. If not longer."

"That may be. But I deliver top quality in return."

"On beans?"

"Absolutely. The purest organic beans."

"Wonderful," grinned Ricarda. She listened to the argument for a short while before intervening.

"It's all right, Dad. I think my swelling has gone down a bit. Thanks anyway."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Marco strolled back into the kitchen. Stowing away the frozen beans, he pushed aside another package of food. Including the previously coveted refrigerated bags.

"Idiot me." He slapped his hands in front of his face.

He shoved some other things in front of the cooler bags to cover up his failure as much as possible.

"Awesome, it's so stuffy in here," he finally realized.

He pulled the kitchen window wide open and let a fresh breeze into the house.

"I can't make my beloved coffee in this muff tomorrow. Where are we going?"

He looked out of the window and observed the neighborhood a little. Everything was dark and quiet. "Interesting. Our neighbor still seems to be awake, too." Indeed, the curtain on the window of the neighbor's house moved slightly. "Or maybe it's just the wind."

Marco took one last look around all the rooms. He switched off the lights and locked the window, this time completely.

He then gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead before joining his wife in bed.

Ricarda's cell phone was working again in its usual form. So she stretched out comfortably on her mattress and chatted a little with Alice.

"Where are you?" was her last message.

"Back again. Just had a full on fall *cry*"

"Oh wow sweetie, what happened?"

"Missed the last step in the dark."

"Poor little girl. Not so bad for you, though."

"Oh come on, shut up."

"I mean, why are you sneaking around in the dark? Of course you're lying down."

"Just a minute, Ally."

Another whimsical squeak and creak assaulted her ears. She carefully got up from the bed. It got louder. Now she was standing in the middle of her dark room. The shrill sounds monotonously ate their way into her head. A small bead of sweat rolled down her back.

This time it was a cold sweat of fear.