He caught the waiter’s eye and nodded, indicating he was ready for his glass of orange juice. The waiter nodded back, accustomed to Frederich’s regimen. Minutes later the waiter brought the drink over with a smile then returned to the front. The staff at Novalis had learnt quickly not to bother with the chit-chat and to stick to the routine; each day two espressos followed by an orange juice, all now ordered with nods and gestures.
He sipped his juice and lost himself in his thoughts again while continuing to watch the deluge outside. When the staff began wiping down tables, he sensed his despair rising. It was time to face another restless night in the black, followed by another morning with only memories of Kraas to comfort him.
He stood up and looked around. He was the last one there. The earlier liveliness was gone, and Novalis felt still and unfamiliar. He put on his black leather jacket and made for the exit.
It was now dark outside, and the rain was coming down harder than ever, taking only seconds to soak him through. He pushed his mop of hair out of his face and walked faster. As he neared Savignyplatz, it became apparent that the worst of the rain had reached Charlottenburg. The street leading to his apartment was flooded. He sighed and began trudging his way through the water, which seeped immediately into his boots and jeans and weighed down his legs. He laboured forward, struggling to see ahead. The rain came down harder again and gave him vertigo, forcing him to a standstill. He lifted his chin to the clouds in frustration while water crashed onto his face and a sea of white noise filled his head. Could things get any worse?
From within the noise came a barely audible scream of distress. He lowered his head and turned toward the source of the sound. He listened hard. It came again, this time from further down the street. Or had it been behind him? It was hard to tell with the rain. He waited a long time and finally shook his head dismissively. His mind was playing tricks. He lifted his leg and resumed pushing through the deluge. Then he stopped again. He noticed his heart was beating quicker and that his skin had grown more sensitive to the impact of the rain. His body never played tricks. He shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the parked cars with their submerged wheels. There was no movement. He checked the entranceways of the apartment buildings. It was hard to know from his position if anyone was there. Then he turned back to one of the cars, a Mercedes SLK convertible. He moved a few steps closer until he saw it; the car’s windows were foggy. Someone was inside. He plodded forwards without hesitation, his feet crashing against the water. He tried the front door. It was unlocked. When he pulled it open, his body shook. A brawny man in a light grey suit was in the driver’s seat, bent over the passenger side and gripping a young woman in a chokehold.
The man spun around and looked at Frederich in surprise, his gaze fierce and unsettling and his chest heaving up and down. He had a crew cut and a long, bushy beard. The woman’s hair was tangled, and her deep brown eyes were wide open and filled with terror.
“Help me!” she yelled.
Something primal electrified Frederich. He knew his training; maintain space while assessing the situation, and fight only if communication broke down. Despite that it blew past him, and he was too slow to catch it. Just like he had been the last time it came. Oh, no. The rage surged through and took him with it. His peripheral awareness sharpened, and all he could see was the man; all he could feel was an overwhelming need to destroy him, to reach inside and snatch the life out of him.
He stretched his arms out and yanked the man out of the car by his shirt collar, dragging him onto the flooded street face first. The man reacted quickly, jumping at Frederich’s feet and knocking him off balance. Frederich now found himself in the water with the man’s superior weight on top of him. Two hands pressed down on his face and submerged it. He tried pushing his torso up, then twisted left and right with his hips, but his opponent relented. He grasped the man’s arms. They were immovable. Shit, he’s a brawler. It was all happening too fast. There was no space or time to think. The void was now his only comfort, seeping into him like water as he ran out of oxygen. He let go and went with it, further than he had ever gone. The panic dissolved, and calmness reigned. His mouth opened, and water began pouring into his throat.
The woman’s muffled scream sounded in the distance.
“Stop it! Let him go!”
Her words jolted Frederich. He remembered that two lives were in danger. He opened his eyes and turned his focus outward again.
“Please!” came her muffled voice again.
Frederich tried wriggling his body. When that failed, he lifted both of his knees and rammed them into the man’s backside, forcing him to fall forward. He wrapped his left arm around the man’s shoulder and with a mighty heave and twist of his body, dislodged himself and reversed their positions. He now had the high ground, and the man was the one underwater. He knew his advantage would not last long against his stronger opponent. He took the man by his shirt collar and pulled him up. He then bent back and head-butted him with full force, smashing
