Lost in Blue

𝕹𝖊𝖚𝖓 : Another one

July's heat let his clothes stick to his skin. Few droplets of sweat trickled uncomfortably down his neck as he descended the familiar stairs to the riverside in a hurry.

If someone had told him that he would return to the same site where everything began, he wouldn't have believed them in the slightest. Maybe he'd have laughed it off awkwardly, denying the possibility for it to happen twice at all. After all, people weren't salvaged from the Rhine on the daily.

It turned out even a policeman like Dorn could be sorely mistaken when a certain call had made him hurry out of his office to drive his car down the road faster than the law allowed.

Dorn couldn't believe his eyes when he found himself yet again in front of Dieter Kühn's cutter for the very same reason he was called in three months ago. It was like the imperfect re-enactment of the incident, a haunting déjà vu of some sorts.

"Long time no see, Junge."

Voice as raspy as the first time they had met, it took Henning a moment to recognize the person leaning on the banister. When the maroon-bearded man took a pull on his cigarette to blow smoke into the air, the name Dieter Kühn popped up in Dorn's mind.

Henning suppressed the need to cough. Ever since he was a kid he had despised the stench of tobacco. First off, it was irritating to the eyes and secondly, he certainly wouldn't participate in any activity hazardous to his health. In fact, it was so irritating that it almost went past him that Kühn had casually addressed him as just a 'boy'.

"Almost three months," Dorn got to the point immediately, "And today I'm here for the same reason."

"Somewhat true," Dieter shrugged, scratching the back of his head with his free hand that could be described as a bear paw rather than actual human hands, "This time's not as tragic, though."

Dorn secretly admired Kühn's ability to stay that unbothered and calm in this situation. It made his job a great deal easier than having to deal with and rely on a freaked out person's testimony.

"Follow me, Herr Dorn." Kühn turned around, threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it with his foot. Then, he began to climb the stairs up the hoveller's deck, hands clenched into fists.

After giving it a quick thought, Dorn concluded it was maybe because of the cigarette that the boss of the salvage team managed to act so composed. He respected the man's desire to keep the conversation as short as possible.

Without wasting any more words, he followed, but couldn't refrain from letting his hands trail along the wobbly banister for support.

𝕹 𝕴 𝖃𝕰 𝕿 𝕺 𝕽 𝕰 𝕿𝕰𝖄

Henning shivered, despite the heat.

Just how could this be possible?

On the deck in front of him, next to a coffin, stood a young, thin man the same height as Fräulein, his pale body covered by a blue maritime blanket with anchors imprinted on it. Golden curls bounced around his slick jaw, perfectly framing his oval face in a paradox combination of sharpness and softness.

Compared to Fräulein's azure blue orbs, his were several tints darker, royal blue so fierce as if to represent the Rhine's very abyss he had been salvaged from. But just like hers back in April, the blue, filled with a mixture of confusion and fear, sought help in Dorn's presence, like a lost puppy abandoned in the street begging the first person it came across to take it with them.

He was the spitting image of her down to the core, a male equivalent to mirror her distinguishing features. If they were to stand side by side, most people would confuse them for siblings or twins, Henning assumed.