The rejected child E-Book

Norma K. Koenig

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 106

Beschreibung

After her parents are killed in a road accident, Inka visits the house where she grew up. She is clearing out documents, holiday souvenirs and photo albums from the cupboards and reminiscing when a neighbour rings and invites her in for breakfast. The young man calls himself Peter and is behaving strangely. Nevertheless, the two become a little closer until Inka's house is burgled and the supposed neighbour disappears overnight. Neither he nor his sports car appear in the days that follow. Inka is puzzled, just like the police, who she has called in out of fear. In the attic, she finally discovers newspaper cuttings and her father's diary - a find that reveals an unexpected secret.

Leseprobe

Chapter 1

1

Inka walked towards the house, which had once been very familiar to her, with a queasy feeling in her stomach. What would await her inside? She hadn't been back since her parents' fatal accident. It had been three months now. She opened her handbag and took out the bunch of keys. Her hands began to tremble. She finally managed to put the house key in the lock and turn it.

She took heart and opened the door. Immediately, a familiar smell wafted towards her.

But today everything was different.

She entered the hallway, walked through the kitchen into the living room and suddenly became aware of the incredible silence.

No one was there. There was no pot of steaming soup on the stove. The old radio in the kitchen didn't make a sound either.

What was she supposed to do now? She let herself fall into the thick wing chair and wept bitterly. Her grief finally broke through and she couldn't stop crying.

Eventually she fell asleep, exhausted.

A knock on the door woke her up. She must have slept for a long time. It was already dark outside.

The knocking got louder and louder. "Is someone in the house?" she heard a male voice call out.

She went to the front door and looked through the peephole. Who could it be? A man, about Inca's age, with dark hair and a long coat was standing in front of the door. "Yes, me. I'm the daughter of the Langmanns who used to live here. Why do you want to know that?"

"Excuse me, I thought there were burglars in the house. I'm the neighbor across the street."

Inka opened the door and looked into two friendly but strangely reserved eyes.

Now they introduced themselves properly and Peter, as the neighbor was called, expressed his heartfelt condolences. He hadn't known Inka's parents closely, but he could remember seeing Inka from time to time when she visited Bötzow.

"I don't want to appear indiscreet, but allow me to ask: what are you going to do with the house now?" asked Peter. "I don't know yet," replied Inka, "first I'm going to have a proper look around and spend a few days in the house. There are still a lot of my parents' personal belongings here."

"And then I also have to look for something specific," Inka thought, but she wouldn't confide that to a stranger.

"If you need help, you can ring my doorbell at any time," Peter offered.

Then he left her alone for the time being and she was able to inspect the house in peace.

Inka's parents' house consisted of two floors, a cellar and an attic. There was a large terrace adjoining the living room, which led into a beautifully landscaped garden. Inka's mother had always loved gardens in their original state. However, the garden and terrace would have to wait for now.

First, Inka got her bag out of the car and took it to her former childhood bedroom. It had been redecorated as a guest room after Inka moved out of her parents' house. She had always slept here on visiting weekends and it was only natural that she would spend the coming nights there too.

Now, one by one, she looked into the other rooms of the house.

She had to take a deep breath in the bedroom, her mother's wonderful perfume still lingering in the air. The clothes in the wardrobe also smelled of it.

The living room was full of "standing rummages". They included many mementos from vacation trips.

Childhood memories appeared before Inka's eyes.

Suddenly she was 9 years old again.

The large, colorfully painted shell was from a vacation at the Baltic Sea. Inka couldn't remember the place, but she still remembered the small, thatched house. It was only a few meters from there and they were right on the beach. Inka and her mom had spent hours searching through the silt that had washed up on the shore for pieces of jewelry. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single shell among the finds that wasn't broken. So her mom took Inka to the little souvenir store and comforted her daughter by buying her a large, brightly painted shell. How her father had made fun of this shell. He thought it was tacky and not pretty at all. His love for Inca must have been very great if he still allowed her mother to put this shell in the cupboard.

Tears welled up in Inka's eyes again and she had to swallow. After all, it had been her parents' last vacation trip when the fatal accident happened. They had been torn from their lives far too suddenly. The worst thing was that her mother had called Inka before the trip to tell her that she wanted to talk to her after the vacation. She had something on her mind that she finally wanted to get off her chest.

What could that have been? Inka had no idea. Perhaps she would find an answer in her mother's personal belongings. If only she knew what exactly to look for.

Well, it would have to wait. Inka was suddenly very hungry. No wonder! After all, it was well past midnight and she hadn't eaten since leaving her apartment in the morning.

She couldn't find anything in the kitchen cupboards that she could eat in a hurry. Of course, her parents had cleared everything perishable out of the cupboards before they set off on their long vacation.

So she went into the guest room. There was a roll of cookies in her bag. Luckily, she had thrown them into her bag at the last moment. There was also a small bottle of water. She ate a few cookies, took a sip of water and decided to lie down and sleep first. First thing in the morning, she would go shopping to fill the fridge in the house with the essentials for the next few days.

2

She woke up early in the morning. At 7 o'clock sharp, there was a knock at the front door. Peter was standing outside with a bag of fresh bread rolls, butter, jam and a packet of coffee in his hand. "You're a godsend," Inka was delighted with the spontaneous visit, "I'm starving." "I thought as much," replied Peter.

"Then why don't you come in and have breakfast with me?" she offered. Peter sat down at the kitchen table and Inka prepared the coffee machine. Inka found filter papers in the corner cupboard.

Crockery and cutlery were also found in the cupboards.

During breakfast, Inka had a strange feeling. Peter was friendly, but somehow his friendliness didn't seem sincere to her. Well, maybe it was because of her particular emotional situation that she felt that way. After all, he seemed to be very interested in her. "It must be very difficult for you to cope with this loss," said Peter, "both parents at once, that's tough. How did you find out about the accident? Did your parents suffer a lot or were they dead straight away?"

"I was called while I was at work," said Inka. "They had both been taken to hospital in Berlin-Buch. They both died in the ambulance, and I wasn't allowed to see them until the next day to say goodbye. It was just awful."

Tears ran down Inka's cheeks again. 'Oh, I'm so sorry,' said Peter. "And you haven't been back here in the house since that day? How long has it been now?"

"It's been three months now. I didn't have the courage to enter the house," Inka replied, "the shock was so deep that I haven't even been able to cry yet. I just had a lump in my throat all the time." Somehow, Inka was surprised that she told this man everything when she had such a strange feeling about him.

Ever since she had seen her parents lifeless in hospital, she had buried these things deep in her heart and had never spoken to anyone about them. Even at the funeral, she had been frozen and had perceived everything as if through a veil of fog. Her friends and her parents' many acquaintances had expressed their condolences and talked about what had happened.

Inka couldn't grasp any of this. She had answered mechanically and had lost all feeling.

Now it was breaking through. Perhaps it was because of her parents' house and the vibrations she felt here. Inka hadn't even known it was possible to cry so many tears.

Peter handed her a handkerchief. He had an indefinable expression in his eyes, they seemed unfathomable and as if you would fall into a bottomless pit if you looked at them for too long.

Inka noticed that neither of them had eaten anything yet. The coffee in the cups was also cold by now. She hastily got up, emptied the cups and poured new coffee. "I'm a lovely hostess," she said. Peter waved her off: "I'd feel the same way in a situation like that. And even as a bystander, the story is very close to my heart."

Did that explain the strange look in his eyes? He was probably not practiced in dealing with mourners.

"Now let's finally have breakfast," said Inka. Her tears had finally dried up. She enjoyed the fresh rolls and ate with a big appetite.

Inka told Peter that she had usually sat at the kitchen table with her parents for a long time at breakfast. Everything that was important was discussed here. It was always very lively at the breakfast table. At lunchtime, her parents ate in the restaurant and Inka ate at school, except of course at the weekend. In the evenings, they met in the living room or on the veranda and listened to old records together. Inka loved these evenings. Even after she moved out of her parents' house, they had a hearty breakfast every time she visited and listened to music together in the evenings. They discussed everything important over breakfast and listened to music and chatted about pleasant things in the evening.

Every evening we had some kind of soup for dinner. It simmered on the stove all afternoon and exuded its enticing aroma throughout the house. The radio in the kitchen also played the whole time.

A shadow flitted across Peter's face, barely perceptible, but Inka had noticed it. "What's wrong with you? Didn't you have such a good relationship with your parents?"

"But you're very observant," Peter remarked, "No, I don't have any memories like that. My parents died when I was very young. But I don't want to talk about it any more."

"All right," said Inka sympathetically, "I can understand that."

After breakfast, Peter invited her to go to the shopping center with him so that she could stock up on the essentials.

"Don't you have to work?" asked Inka. "No, I'm on vacation at the moment," replied Peter.

He told her that he only lived here in Bötzow when he was on vacation and at weekends, but the rest of the year he lived in an apartment in Berlin-Spandau.

So Inka accepted the offer and they arranged to meet in front of the house at 9.30 am.

Peter drove up on time in a luxury sleigh. Inka was very excited. She had never ridden in a car this nippy before. Peter got out, very gentlemanly, and held the car door open for Inka. She got in and sank into a comfortable leather seat. She could stretch her legs out completely. Inka was only 1.57 m tall, but even for her height, the cars she usually rode in didn't offer that much legroom. Peter started the car and she was immediately enveloped by fantastic interior lighting and enchanting music.

The trip to the shopping center went by in a flash.

Inka quickly found the groceries she needed and there were only three people in front of them at the checkout. While Inka put the items on the conveyor belt, she felt strangely watched. Peter kept looking at her with an inscrutable look when he thought she didn't see it. "Strange," she thought, "is it just my imagination or is he looking at me?". But she didn't ask him about it. Instead, she quickly packed up her shopping and Peter carried the bags into the car. The drive back was just as pleasant as the outward journey had been.

Peter carried her bags into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table as a matter of course. Inka put the things in the cupboards and in the fridge. Then she sat down too. She was actually expecting Peter to say goodbye now. But he didn't. She thanked him again for his help and hoped that he would now leave. Nothing of the sort happened.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself, "I don't want to seem rude. But I'm starting to need some time to myself again."