E.B.E. 21- the Hunt

by Peer Lehregger

  It took far more than an hour because Hannes had to cross the Mosel first, then drive through the countryside, on Highway 48 he did not want for an indefinite reason. Finally, he was on Highway 61 and rolled on. In Brohltal he stopped, bought himself a coffee and a sandwich, ate and drank while driving.

  Shortly after half-past seven, he arrived at Gingerbread-Street and looked for a parking space. It was already bright, but the street was empty and the windows, as far as he could see, were all dark. He found a place, parked, turned off the engine and the lights. Now quickly, he admonished himself. He fumbled the front door key out of his trouser pocket and put it in his jacket pocket so that he could fish it out comfortably. He got out, carefully closed the driver's door, went to the trunk, looked around again, not seeing a single soul. Then he opened the lid, put on his gloves, laid the blanket on his shoulders, pulled out the bundle, laid the roll over his shoulder again. He then gave the lid a push, it closed, and he went to the front door. Quietly he opened it and went into the stairwell. The bundle suddenly groaned loudly. "Shh!" hissed Hannes. The door fell into the lock. Loud. Hannes hurried to get up the three floors with the bundle on his shoulders as quickly and as quietly as possible. He unlocked his apartment door, walked in, turned around inconveniently, then pushed the bundle against the frame of the bathroom door. One muffled noise and one more moan. Hannes opened the bathroom door with his foot and laid the roll as carefully as he could on the floor. He turned on the bathroom lights.

  Washing - Part 1

  He stretched, felt his spine crack. He didn't lose any time. Hannes took off his jacket and threw it into the hallway, leaned the bathroom door. He took a closer look at the bundle: an old blanket tied up like a package. Thoroughly tied with a thick package cord with firm knots. He was thinking and looking around. On the bathroom heater stood his toolbox, on it a drill and a big water pump pliers. In the box was a cutting pliers, quite stable, so he could cut the string without much effort. There was also a pair of work gloves in the box, cloth gloves with rubber coating, which he had bought a few days ago. Under the sink, next to the heater, was a small cupboard where he kept his few towels and some old washcloths. The bundle was on the bathroom rug. He was going to throw it away anyway. It was an old and worn thing, he didn't have to worry about stains.

  "I'll cut the strings now and unwind them," he said to the bundle. Hannes squatted on the floor, put the drill and water pump pliers in front of the toolbox and rummaged for the gloves and the cutting pliers. He put on his gloves and knelt next to the part, took a deep breath and placed the pliers at one end of the roll.

  All of a sudden, the voice in his head came up again, loud, surprising, commanding: Stop it! Take this thing to the Rhine and leave it there! Hannes paused, shook his head, and cut the first string. It was not enough to loosen one end of the bundle, so he cut through the second and third string. Hannes fiddled a bit with the blanket and when he looked into it, he could see soles of sneakers, apparently the human was laying on his stomach. He hurried cutting the rest of the strings.

  Stop it! You're gonna be in big trouble unpacking this! Hannes ignored the voice again and turned the bundle carefully to the side so that he could grab the edge of the blanket. When he saw that the edge of the blanket was too crusted and realized he couldn't loosen the crusted fabric with his gloves, but didn't want to take off the gloves either, he reached behind and took a washcloth out of the cupboard.

  He stood up, wet the washcloth and then dabbed it on the blanket until the crust had loosened, then he was able to remove them with his gloves and grasp it. He pulled, but nothing happened. Another groan came from the inside. "It'll be a minute," Hannes murmured. He pulled again, but this time also with a strong jerk and the blanket loosened. He carefully turned the bundle further, and the blanket also gave in. After a few turns, he had loosened the sheet to such an extent that only a piece covered the body. He rolled out the fabric, saw that the person was lying on his stomach, but also that his hands were tied with cable ties on his back. The hands were severely swollen and blue. Hannes hesitated to cut the cable ties, but then, with two cuts, he loosened the plastic. The hands fell next to the body.

  Formerly white sneakers, chucks probably, dirty jeans, encrusted with blood and shit. Hannes gaze wandered on. A sweater, pink, also with big stains, in the bathroom light the stains looked orange red but dry. His gaze wandered back to his trousers, here, the stains were damp and fresh.

  Hannes looked at the head. Thick, long, reddish-brown hair, dirty, matted. The head was on the side, turned towards the shower tray. Shit, Hannes thought. The time seemed to run slower than usual, Hannes was like frozen when he let his eyes wander over her body, over and over again, a slim person, very slim, average size, maybe 1.70 m. Obviously, a person who was tortured. Hannes saw how the chest moved slowly up and down. This person was still alive, probably unconscious. It was warm in the bathroom, so the person wouldn't freeze. If, yes, if he first made himself a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette in the kitchen, he would be able to calmly think about what the hell he needed now. "I'll be right back," he said to the person, "first I need a cup of coffee, and then I'll call the ambulance." No response.

  Hannes got up, took off his gloves, dropped them next to his body, and left the bathroom. In the kitchen, he made himself a coffee, smoked a cigarette, and started thinking. Getting emergency services would probably be the only right thing to do. But explaining how the person got into his bathroom would be quite tricky. He would have to explain this plausibly, even to the police, who would undoubtedly be called in. Then the accident would also be discussed, he suspected. And failure to render assistance would not be a trivial offense. And if the woman behind the wheel of the black SUV really belonged to the Army, then he would be completely fucked. But, he thought, the fact that the person was in the trunk would have been difficult to explain by the occupants of the SUV.

  Hannes stubbed out the cigarette and drank another sip of coffee. Probably a secret operation, which is out of question. Should the person be liquidated? After she was tortured and all the information were squeezed out of her, somewhere in the deepest forest, out of the trunk, a gun to her head, bang, then dig a grave, with two men. No problem. The tied hands are a clear indication of it. Couldn’t be able to fight back. How could she, with her injuries? And the person is fucked up, too, he continued to think. How long was she in those clothes? Yes, torture, Hannes thought. Physical pain and humiliation. Sitting in your own shit humiliates you. Hannes put the cup down and went back to the bathroom.

  The person was laying unchanged on the floor. Hannes knelt next to her, put the gloves back on. "I'm going to turn you a little now. Don't worry, I'll be careful!" Hannes pushed his hands under her body and raised her carefully. Then, however, he saw that the head was turned in the wrong direction, so he reached over, grabbed the shoulder, the other hand on the pants and carefully turned the person so that she would lay on her back. Hannes pulled the blanket away, threw it in the corner, and looked at the person.

  It was a woman. Obviously. Look closely, asshole! Again, the strange, determining voice in the head. The breasts were clearly visible under the sweater. The chest raised and lowered slowly. Hannes looked at the head. The hair was also on her face, glued by blood, blood, and something that must have come out of her nose and stuck to all the blood and hair on her face. The trousers were also dirty and encrusted with thick stains at the front.

  Hannes groaned. What was that? Hannes grabbed behind himself and pulled from his towel holder a towel, folded it, raised the head carefully, and put it under the woman's neck. Gently, he lowered her head to the roll.

  He pondered for a moment, then got up and went to the shower tray. He reached for the plug, which turned the shower into a small bathtub and let warm water in. He got more washcloths and towels and placed them next to the woman. When there was enough water in the shower tray, he turned the water off and knelt down next to the woman.

  He bent over her
and dunked the washcloth in the water and began to clean the face, wet the hair, and washed her face carefully again and again with the washcloth. He was frightened when she moved her head a little, but after he grabbed it, he continued.

  But it took a while for the crust on her face to loosen to such an extent that he could begin to remove the hair from her face. This was only possible in a streak. Hannes always had to squeeze out the washcloth and moisten it again. In the meantime, the water in the shower tray had also taken on an orange-red color. After a while the hair was removed from the face, so Hannes took a close look at it.

  Look closely! The voice again. Hannes ignored it. It was a pretty face. Very pretty. Actually, it was beautiful. Even, symmetrical, oval, no, somewhat triangular. A high forehead, two Japanese Chinese Korean somehow Asian eyes, very big, but very aesthetically formed, closed, a small snub nose, a full mouth with wonderfully curved lips. The lips were closed. The skin was smooth, no wrinkles. A little weird coloring. Oh, yeah? The light orange shade again.

  In former times, Hannes remembered, there were tablets for self-tanning, there was a lot of beta-carotene in it, the dye that colors carrots. If you ate too much of it, the skin had such a strong color cast into orange.

  But the woman's skin looked tanned as if she had been in the south for a long time. And then eat the self-tanning capsules in high quantities, right? Amazed, Hannes stared at her face. The eyes were closed.

  But the eyebrows were strange. They looked kind of artificial. He went closer to her face. He saw that a corner of the right eyebrow had come loose and under the eyebrow Hannes saw a piece of fabric. He squeezed the washcloth out again, moistened it again and dabbed the eyebrow until he could see that it was indeed artificial.

  He went very close to her face, carefully lifted the end of the eyebrow, and after a deep breath, he slowly pulled it off.

  Underneath was a bone structure, perhaps also from cartilage, which reached from the bridge of the nose elegantly curved over the eye. Hannes looked amazed at the artificial brow, then back into her face. Before he could even stand up, the woman opened her eyes.

  Washing - Part 2

  Not 10 centimeters from her face Hannes stared into black eyes.

  Tough luck.

  No iris.

  Large black eyes, almond-shaped.

  Her head raised a little.

  "NNGGGRIIIIT!" made the creature.

  As if hit by a sledgehammer Hannes hurried back and banged with his back and head against the heater. For a short time, everything went black, a brutal, stabbing pain drove through his spine. He tried to catch his breath, but it didn't work. He looked at the woman, the thing, he could see that the eyes were open and looked at the ceiling.

  Hannes sat on the floor, gasping for air, his brain empty, his eyes wide open, his hands ice-cold, his legs pulled against his body. He saw the woman lying on the floor, without movement, only the ribcage lifted and lowered slowly. Finally, he could breathe again, but the neck was stiff.

  Then the woman slowly turned her head and looked at him. Speechless, thoughtless, Hannes sat hypnotized on the floor. An unbelievable cold spread through his intestines. Then, to his horror, the woman tried to stand up slowly. Hannes widely opened his eyes, unable to do anything. Some part in Hannes mind caused his hand to feel like a mad spider over the ground, what was he looking for? When his hand had found what it was looking for, it grabbed it. The big water pump pliers. One massive piece, two, three kilograms, red, with an enormous head. He closed his fingers around the tool.

  The woman tried to sit up, she released Hannes' gaze, puffed, and then sat down. Hannes saw this, but he also saw him getting up like a drunken grizzly bear and made a big step forward. Hannes grunted, grabs the pliers with both hands, lifted them slowly over the head and stretched himself like a steel spring, ready to strike with all strength, with greatest force.

  But he also saw that the woman looked at him. She folded both hands in front of her chest as if she wanted to pray. Hannes stretched himself even further, looking at the being, ready to strike, to destroy her. She tilted her head to the side, closed her eyes, and pointed her finger at a spot behind her ear. Time stood still. Then Hannes saw how a big tear ran from her right eye, ran over her cheek and dripped to the floor.

  That was it.

  Immediately Hannes lost his tension, lowered the pliers, straightened up. He held the pliers in his right hand for a moment, then it slipped. It fell to the ground with a bang. He stood there, looking at the creature that was waiting for the deadly blow. He saw her raise her head and look at him. Hot gastric acid shot up his throat, incredible nausea seized him. He choked.

  Hannes turned around, staggered to the toilet, barely managed to lift the lid and lowered his head. Like a hot jet of acid, his stomach contents shot up. He knelt in front of the toilet and choked endlessly. He straightened up and noticed how he lost consciousness, he couldn't do anything, he tipped over backward, still thought that he would bang his head against something. His hands fell down, he tilted back, blackness in front of his eyes.

  He didn't bang on the floor. He noticed a hand saving his head from impact. Nevertheless, it was painful, his back burned like fire, and all his muscles hurt. Hannes straightened his legs, but stayed lying, looked at the ceiling, tried to regain his composure, puffed. The creature had pulled her hand away again, and he heard her breathing.

  After a while, Hannes had caught himself again. He sat up, turned around, and sat cross-legged next to the creature, the woman. She had closed her eyes again and put her hands next to her body. Hannes looked at her for a long time.

  "I was scared to death," he said. "I'm sorry." She opened her eyes again. "I didn't mean to kill you." She raised her head a little. "I just got scared."

  Hannes couldn't tell if she was looking at him, but he felt that she looked him in the eye, waiting for him to say something. He looked down. "You're, uh, you're an alien, aren't you? An E.B.E.?" She didn't respond. Hannes moved a little closer, carefully, until he sat next to her head. He looked at her face for a long time, she turned her head and looked at the ceiling. He looked at the shape of the eyes, the little nose, the mouth. He should have noticed it right away. Right away. But if that was a camouflage, at first and second glance, she could have moved undercover in a crowd. But he also saw the body and the bloodstained clothes, and suddenly it clicked in his head.

  Of course, if the army transported a constricted alien in a trunk, which was obviously injured, perhaps even tortured, then it should certainly be executed. What kind of secrets did it keep? The manufacture of super-fast spacecraft? A cannon that can destroy entire worlds? The secret of a cure for cancer or something? Had those secrets been revealed? Was it useless now?

  Hannes imagined how a whole armada of aliens would haunt Earth to avenge this here. He also imagined an entire fleet of spaceships leaving Earth to conquer the universe. He could only picture this schematically before his mental eye by short pictures.

  Her hand nudged him. He flinched and looked at her. She made a laborious gesture with her hands as if she wanted to hold or pull something on her shoulders. She did the gestures twice and looked at Hannes. It took him a few seconds. "Shit, the backpack!" he shouted and jumped up. He ran out of the bathroom, grabbed the key to the front door, stormed out of the apartment, and ran down the stairwell. Down on the road he had to think for a moment where he had parked the car, then ran to the car. He opened the trunk and searched for the backpack. Finally, he found it, closed the trunk and ran to the front door. It took him a moment to open the door, then he stormed into the stairwell, where a fat, elderly woman blocked his way. The concierge, Frau Sommer-Baumert, resolute, gossip-addicted, fat, revenge-addicted, in her washed-out blue housecoat. The owner of the house and the concierge, bouncer, detective, all in one person.

  "What's this all about?" she ruled over Hannes. "It's Sunday, everyone wants their rest!" Hannes swallowed, looked past her up the stairs. "If you don't follow the house ru
les, there'll be trouble!" Hannes looked at her. "No, no, I have to hurry, a friend of mine needs help." "Oh?! You have a lady over? It's a decent house here. And your apartment isn't big enough for two." "No, don't worry!" Hannes was looking for words. "She's hurt, and I want to help her." "Oh, the Medical Counsellor gives first aid, huh?" "I just want to take care of some small wounds, then I want to take her to the doctor." She looked critically at the backpack. Hannes also looked at the bag, then again into her face. "In there is her wallet. I was going to get it." The concierge tilted her head and looked at Hannes with her eyes pinched, waiting. Hannes swallowed. "You know, Sunday, emergency service, you have to give the number of the health insurance company, if you want to register." This seemed to convince her. "Go up the stairs quietly. I don't want to hear any of that banging." She raised her voice. "Neither do the other tenants!" She stepped aside, and Hannes booted up the stairs, convinced that this nagging had now awakened everyone.