Fuzzybootz
Hari
Iracebeth
JumbusBerlin was quiet in the wrong ways. No children laughing in courtyards, no trams clattering past shop windows. Just the wind sifting through ruins and the occasional knock of loose bricks falling like brittle bones from a time forgotten. The war had ended two years ago, but the silence felt worse now. Like the city was waiting for something.
Like it hadn’t exhaled since the last bomb dropped.
Detective Emil Weiss stepped over a collapsed balcony rail and into the shell of what used to be a tenement lobby. Half the floor was missing, the rest slick with rain and ash. His dog Sam was close by his side, and the man gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ear. The dog was tense and had been all week, but Emil trusted his instincts more than most men’s. This was the third time in the span of a week he had been in or around this city block, searching for clues on yet another murder in connection with three others that have been a real thorn in the side of law enforcement. The war wasn’t ugly enough without the senseless slaughter of innocence even during a time when things should be in recovery.
As the sun was nearly set, Emil scanned the growing shadows, when he heard the faintest of sounds. Somewhere between the slight gusts of wind whistling through buildings and the tick of his wristwatch. A woman’s voice? Distant. Echoing. Speaking his name.
Not yelling. Not begging. Just…saying it.
“Emil.”
He turned full circle. No one. No movement. The street was empty except for a flickering sign above an abandoned tailor’s shop across the street that hadn’t worked in ages. Sam’s ears went flat. Emil stayed still a moment longer. That stillness was a detective’s instinct, which essentially gave the moment a chance to unfold and perhaps reveal itself. He thought he saw something shift in the third-floor window of the tailor’s building. A curtain drawn back by unseen hands. But when he looked again, it was just broken glass and darkness.
He made no note of it in his book. Not yet. Besides, this wouldn't have been the first time since the end of the war when he was hearing or seeing things that may or may not have been there.
Instead, he clicked his tongue and he and Sam moved forward again. The dog didn’t bark, but rather kept glancing over his shoulder like something was following and keeping pace with the pair, and far enough not to be seen.
By the time they cleared the building and crossed the alley toward the next, the voice was gone, and the light rain had slowly turned to mist.
The plane crash almost a week ago still buzzed in his mind, and the chatter through various Allied news sources and street-level whispers were sparse and unusual to say the least. However, regardless of the strange occurrences, Emil continued to feel something in his bones: Berlin was waking up.
Or maybe it had never gone to sleep.
Like it hadn’t exhaled since the last bomb dropped.
Detective Emil Weiss stepped over a collapsed balcony rail and into the shell of what used to be a tenement lobby. Half the floor was missing, the rest slick with rain and ash. His dog Sam was close by his side, and the man gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ear. The dog was tense and had been all week, but Emil trusted his instincts more than most men’s. This was the third time in the span of a week he had been in or around this city block, searching for clues on yet another murder in connection with three others that have been a real thorn in the side of law enforcement. The war wasn’t ugly enough without the senseless slaughter of innocence even during a time when things should be in recovery.
As the sun was nearly set, Emil scanned the growing shadows, when he heard the faintest of sounds. Somewhere between the slight gusts of wind whistling through buildings and the tick of his wristwatch. A woman’s voice? Distant. Echoing. Speaking his name.
Not yelling. Not begging. Just…saying it.
“Emil.”
He turned full circle. No one. No movement. The street was empty except for a flickering sign above an abandoned tailor’s shop across the street that hadn’t worked in ages. Sam’s ears went flat. Emil stayed still a moment longer. That stillness was a detective’s instinct, which essentially gave the moment a chance to unfold and perhaps reveal itself. He thought he saw something shift in the third-floor window of the tailor’s building. A curtain drawn back by unseen hands. But when he looked again, it was just broken glass and darkness.
He made no note of it in his book. Not yet. Besides, this wouldn't have been the first time since the end of the war when he was hearing or seeing things that may or may not have been there.
Instead, he clicked his tongue and he and Sam moved forward again. The dog didn’t bark, but rather kept glancing over his shoulder like something was following and keeping pace with the pair, and far enough not to be seen.
By the time they cleared the building and crossed the alley toward the next, the voice was gone, and the light rain had slowly turned to mist.
The plane crash almost a week ago still buzzed in his mind, and the chatter through various Allied news sources and street-level whispers were sparse and unusual to say the least. However, regardless of the strange occurrences, Emil continued to feel something in his bones: Berlin was waking up.
Or maybe it had never gone to sleep.
