by Hope Franke
“Yes. I can teach you everything you need to know in an hour.”
“Don’t I have to talk to the boss?”
Renata laughed. “I am the boss.”
By the time the afternoon rush hit, Katja was versed in all methods of coffee making: cappuccinos, macchiato, espressos, lattes and plain old coffee. She knew all the kind of teas they offered and how to present the pastries. She’d even mastered the till.
What surprised her most was how much she enjoyed the work. She liked interacting with the customers, working alongside the other employees, especially Renata, and she even enjoyed cleaning off the tables.
Before she knew it, it was well past six o’clock, well past the time Micah would be home from work and wondering what had happened to her. She checked her phone and noticed several missed calls.
She went to the back of the restaurant to call back.
“Hey,” he said. “Just wondering where you are. If you’re okay.”
“Actually, I’m at work.”
“Work?”
She smiled at the surprise in his voice. “Yeah. I’m working at the café.”
“Right, you kind of mentioned you got a job.”
It wasn’t true at the time, but it was now. Katja didn’t see the need to point that out.
“Yeah, so I’m not sure when I’ll be done here.”
“That’s fine. I was just worried that maybe you left, or something.”
“Micah, did you not see my guitar in the hallway?”
He chuckled. “Right. Okay. See you soon.”
When Katja got back to Micah’s flat, he had leftovers waiting for her. She didn’t think she was hungry until she saw them and set to work putting them in the microwave.
“How was your day?” Micah said from his spot on the sofa. It was a reversal of roles. She was normally the one who asked him that.
“Good. I like working there. Renata, my boss, is great.”
She didn’t want to get into details like she would if he weren’t someone she was trying to figure out. What role exactly did Micah play in her life anyway? Roommate? Friend? More than friend, but not quite boyfriend?
A better question was what role did she play in his life? Roommate? Friend? More than friend, but not yet girlfriend? Moocher he wished would just move out already?
His expression was unreadable. Her eyes moved to the blank space on the locked door and his gaze followed hers. He looked at the floor and then his hands and finally back to her face.
The microwave pinged, and she brought her hot plate to the table. Her appetite had disappeared in the twenty minutes she’d been back. She played with her food. “I can look for my own place now that I have a job.”
Micah moved from the living room to the chair opposite her in the kitchen. “I want to apologize for yesterday. For my mother’s rudeness, but especially for the uncomfortable position I put you in. I should’ve just told her the way things are here.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Did you see her? She’s scary!” His eyes glinted with humor, but Katja could tell there was a hint of truth there. She held back her smile.
“Katja, I understand if you want to go. I do. But I want you to know, that I don’t want you to.”
“What do you want?”
“I… can’t say.”
“What does that mean? Why can’t you say? Why do you have to be such a mystery all the time?” Katja dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “You’re like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.”
Micah inhaled and let his head flop back. Then he looked at her. “I know. That’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry.”
He left her alone to finish her meal. When she heard his bedroom door click shut, she got up and scraped her dinner into the garbage. She held back the dam of tears that threatened to burst, and burned through her frustration by aggressively doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
She got herself ready for bed, pulled out the sofa bed and draped the blanket over her body. She twisted and turned. There was no way sleep would come. She stared at the ceiling with her hands behind her head. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and her gaze moved to the wall, landing on the empty spot on the locked door.
She remembered the sketch she drew of Micah. What would he say if he spotted it hanging there, in place of the sun and moon? Katja’s rebellious streak was roused. She opened her sketch pad and ripped out the etching. She fished the scotch tape out of her bag and stepped quietly down the hall. She folded the tape and pressed the paper to the door.
She stepped back to take a look, then frowned. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea. Maybe he’d think she was being passive aggressive or something. Or maybe he’d like the fact she bothered to sketch him. Or at least he’d be intrigued. Maybe he’d be creeped out?
She placed one hand on the knob as the other hovered over the sketch in indecision. Leave it or take it down? She shifted her weight and her hand pressed down on the handle. It moved and Katja heard a click.
The door opened.
She flicked on the light.
It was a small room, unfurnished except for a wooden desk pushed up against the back wall. A gold-plated reading lamp was aimed at a large cork board hanging above it. On it was a map of Germany along with several pictures of young women, all with long, honey-blond hair similar to Katja’s.
She swallowed hard, a thread of fear shivering up her spine.
White plastic thumb tacks were pressed into different cities and towns and red wool was stretched between them like a bloody spider’s web. What was this? Who were these girls? Were they… victims? Were they… dead?
Who was Micah Sturm? The glaring fact was she didn’t know the guy at all. She’d trusted a stranger blindly, and she might just pay for her gullibility with her life. Every survival instinct kicked into gear. She had to get out of there. Now.
“You weren’t supposed to see this.”
Katja jumped at his voice. He stood in the doorway, bare-chested in boxer shorts, arms hanging loosely by his side. His hair was messed in the way she normally found attractive. His expression was sad.
She felt something she’d never felt before in his presence. Fear. Her chest tightened and her nerves tingled up and down her arms and legs. She was naked except for her underwear and the long sleeping T-shirt she wore. She felt vulnerable and exposed, trapped by someone whom she now suspected was mad and possibly dangerous. She folded her bare arms across her chest in a feigned attempt to look tough and unafraid. “Who are these girls?”
Micah took a step forward; she took an immediate step back. The expression on his face darkened.
“It’s only one girl,” he said. “Why are you afraid of me?”
Katja flashed him a startled look. Maybe because you’re crazy? A stalker? Katja’s mind raced. Was Micah a killer? Did he have a fetish for girls with light-colored eyes and honey-blond hair? Girls like her? Was she to be his next picture tacked to the wall? Maybe this was the real reason why his mother had acted so possessively. Maybe she didn’t hate Katja. Maybe she feared for her life!
“I’m not afraid.” Her voice trembled, betraying her lie. “Just let me go.”
Micah stepped away from the door. “You’re free to leave any time.”
Katja sprinted past him. She wished he didn’t watch her as she struggled into her jeans, pulling them up over bare legs. She pushed all her belongings into her duffle bag. She placed her guitar in its case and closed it, snapping the fasteners. She grabbed her coat.
“Won’t you at least let me explain?” Micah asked, softly.
Katja hesitated. Did she want to know?
She risked a glance, and her heart softened at the grief in his eyes. The pain there made her chest squeeze. These weren’t the eyes of a killer. Something else was going on.
“Okay,” she said. She owed him that much. He’d rescued her from the streets, taking her in like a stray kitten, no questions asked. Maybe his kindness was a result of s
omething other than a snare. A snare he hadn’t yet snapped.
She sat on the kitchen chair closest to the door, her things by her feet. If he made a move, she’d at least be able to reach the door to the stairwell and scream.
He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared wearing jeans and a button down shirt left open. He walked carefully to the chair opposite Katja and sat down.
“The girl in the photos is Greta. She’s my girlfriend.” He ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. “Or was. Was my girlfriend.”
Katja watched as a flurry of emotions crossed Micah’s face. “What happened?”
“Three years ago we were at a party. We partied a lot back then, and I was one of the wild ones.”
Katja found that hard to believe but stayed quiet.
“I drank too much, dabbled in drugs. Always after the good time. Greta was worried about me, wanted me to slow down, but I just laughed it off. Laughed at her.”
“And?” Katja prompted.
“We went to another party. Greta didn’t want to go, but I coerced her. I was good at manipulating people and always managed to get my way, especially with her. Someone gave me something, pills, I don’t know what they were. They hit me hard and I passed out. The last thing I remember is stretching out on a sofa with my arms around Greta. When I came to, she was gone.”
“She left the party without you?”
“That’s what I thought. I was angry, but I didn’t blame her. I went home, showered, got myself together and started calling her. She didn’t answer her phone. I figured she must be really mad at me for getting so wasted. I wanted to explain to her that it wasn’t my fault. I got bad junk.”
He sighed long and hard. “Of course it was my fault for being willing to take anything at all.”
“So, I’m guessing she broke up with you?” Katja said. This was the part that made her nervous. Micah was a guy obsessed with a girl who obviously wanted out of the relationship.
He stared out the window and then back at Katja. “No. I wish it were that simple. I went to her house and no one knew where she was. Her parents thought she was with me, and when I assured them she wasn’t, we became frantic. We called all her friends, everyone she knew, searched the places she liked to hang out. Finally, her parents called the police.”
Katja’s heart pounded. She gripped her thighs and dug her fingernails in. “Where was she?”
Micah shook his head. “We never found her. She’s been missing for three years.”
Katja’s breath hitched. “Missing?”
“The authorities immediately suspected me.” He rubbed his face. “It was awful. I was desperate to find her and instead of being out there looking, I was held up in a jail cell. The fact that I was passed out all night with several witnesses secured my alibi. I’d lost a few days, but I made it my mission to find her. I followed every lead, every tip. I set up a website, a Facebook page, but nothing. It was like she’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”
His gaze moved from his hands to Katja’s face. His eyes were so full of pain, Katja’s own heart ached.
“She was my first serious girlfriend.” Micah’s voice cracked. “I would’ve married her.”
His shoulders shook as he gave into weeping. His chin dropped to his chest, and his hair hung over his forehead. Katja felt hot tears pool behind her eyes. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, but she was immobile.
Micah tugged the cuff of his shirt sleeve and wiped his eyes. “Sometimes I get an anonymous tip that someone thinks they spotted her in this town or that one. It’s why I move around so much. I’m always looking for her.”
It made sense to Katja now. “You thought I was her, the night you stopped to pick me up.”
“Yes.”
“How long are you going to keep looking for her?”
“I don’t know.”
Statistically Katja knew that a young woman who’d been missing for three years was probably dead. By the stricken look on Micah’s face, she believed he knew that, too.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Micah shrugged. “It’s my fault.”
“How is it your fault?”
“If I hadn’t passed out, I would’ve taken her home. She would be safe. She would be…”
Alive.
Micah stood, keeping his eyes on Katja. “I don’t want you to go, but you already know that. I understand if you need to leave. You’re welcome to stay if you change your mind.”
He walked to his room and closed his door.
Katja dragged her things back to the living room. She’d changed her mind a long time ago.
Katja awoke once again to the aroma of fresh coffee. Her eyes flickered open, adjusting to the light. Judging by the brightness in the room, she’d slept in.
Then the events of the previous night exploded in her memory and her eyes widened. She sprung to a sitting position and searched the apartment.
For him.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, staring at her. Had he been watching her sleep?
“Why are you home?” she asked when their eyes met.
“It’s Saturday.” He lifted his cup. “Coffee?”
He was freshly showered, hair slicked back with the odd curl escaping to his forehead and his face shaved. He wore the same shirt he’d pulled on in a hurry the night before but it was buttoned closed now. His expression was different: lighter, friendlier. His lips actually pulled up in a slight smile.
He looked good.
Katja suddenly felt self-conscious, knowing how she always had crazy bedhead in the morning and probably also had wrinkle imprints on her cheek from her pillow case.
“Uh, sure. I just need to…” She waved to the bathroom. She pulled her long T down over her butt before standing and moved rapidly. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her fears. She looked a mess.
She washed her face and brushed her hair, clipping it back with two barrettes. She heard the espresso machine wail and smiled a little. Micah was making one just for her.
She put on her jeans and a shirt, and at the last moment a little mascara and lip gloss.
Her coffee was waiting for her when she returned, but Micah was nowhere. She fought back her disappointment. She took her cup to the window and stared out as she drank. It was a sunny morning, and the park that ran along the river was full of sun seekers, walking and cycling.
“Would you like to go out?”
She startled at Micah’s voice. Go out?
“We could eat breakfast in the park.”
Katja nodded. “That sounds great.”
Micah already had buns with meat and cheese made up by the time Katja finished her coffee. He tossed a couple apples into the bag and grabbed two bottles of water.
Katja smiled. A picnic.
She slipped into a coat and followed Micah down the stairs and outside. The warmth of the sun on her face was a balm to her soul. She didn’t mind that she still needed a light jacket, so long as she could wear her sunglasses as well. They chose a spot on the grass across the river from the magnificent baroque Semper Opera House.
Micah spread out a blanket and set the bag of food in the middle. Katja sat across from him and smiled broadly as he handed her half of the meal. They ate in silence, people watching. Katja couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances at Micah, thankful for the sunglasses that hid her eyes. He brushed the crumbs off his hands and then rested his arms on his knees.
He cleared his throat. “About last night…”
“It’s okay,” Katja broke in. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to if it’s okay with you. I feel like I need to talk to someone about it.”
Katja was willing to listen. “Okay.” She put her uneaten food away and sipped from her water bottle.
Micah rubbed his face. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Would it help if I asked you questions?”
His eyes cut to hers. “Ask
me anything.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Hamburg.”
“That’s where you met?”
Micah nodded. “We went to school together.”
She knew the story up to Greta’s disappearance. She wanted to know what happened afterward. With Micah.
“You said you’ve been following tips, moving around the country trying to find her. How many times have you moved in the last three years?”
“Nine.”
Nine. Wow.
“Where were you before Dresden?”
“Stuttgart.”
Katja was confused. Micah obviously had money. “How does that work with your job?”
“My father is a board member of the bank I work for. He pulls strings to get me a new position every time I move.”
“He must believe in your mission?”
Micah shook his head and blew out a breath. “No, but he believes in me. Or at least in helping me. I’m grateful for his support, but I know he’d be the first to cheer if I told him I was stopping the quest.”
Micah lay flat on his back, folding his arms over his lean chest. “My mother is another matter. She’d love for me to forget about my mission completely, and get on with my life.” He chuckled humorlessly. “She doesn’t think any girl is worth this much grief.”
Katja remembered what Frau Sturm started to say. She looks like…
“Do we look a lot alike?” The question came out in a whisper. She’d seen the pictures of Greta, but it had to be more than hair and eyes.
Micah rolled onto his side, leaned on his elbow and stared at her.
“You do, but not exactly, of course.”
Katja didn’t understand the emotions that warred within her. She felt strangely jealous. She wanted to know who Micah thought was prettier. Could she be any shallower?
Micah continued, “Personality-wise, you’re very different.”
That piqued Katja’s interest. “How so?”
“Even though you’re both outgoing and like to laugh, you are more introspective and conscientious. You care what people think, even if you don’t want to. Greta is…”
Katja noticed that Micah talked about Greta in present tense, like he really believed she was still alive. She filled in the blank. “More self-confident?”