Eyes Without A Face

Chapter 1 - Eyes Without A Face

- Alwin -

Köln, Germany, 7th of February 2019

When death has a story to tell, you listen. Not out of convenience or the pure mannerism of the situation. You're forced to sit down on the uncomfortableness of everything you've ever perceived as truth until now, and watch how your reality crumbles. It's the way of things.

Nonetheless, I must admit I'm slightly unsure why my downfall begins like this. On a gloomy day of February. Because blue Mondays are totally overrated, mine had to happen on a Thursday. I'm certain it's the ugliest day of the year. I can already feel everything. Because, if I'm aware of something, it's that the moment I'll turn my head, my entire existence will take the most tumultuous turnaround I've ever experienced.

But I have to.

It's impossible to resist the urge not to have an image attached to the person who's been watching me ever since I set foot into the cafe. My usual place to have a quick breakfast before heading to work. Apparently not anymore, since I'll have to seek a good replacement soon. But, before any technical arrangements regarding my morning dietary options, I'll have to focus on the important thing that I'll have to solve.

Never in my life have I felt so terrible. Almost like those eyes without a face prying on me from across the room can penetrate all my protective layers. And there's nothing worse than the thought that someone might be reading into your soul. It's excruciating. It has to end now.

I'm not a person who's into impulsive movements, yet I surprise even myself when my body starts acting out on its own. I get up from my seat and walk to the barista who's looking at me probably just as confused as I am.

"Another coffee, please," I voice the only thing that sounds appropriate in this situation. "No sugar."

For one year since I moved here from Berlin, this place has acted like my morning home. It's hard to think I'll have to leave it now, only because those curious eyes don't give me peace. It hurts almost like a heartbreak.

"You want the coffee here or to go?" the barista asks, still a bit confused.

"Here," I reply and take out a bill to pay for my order.

There's a burning sensation going from my back and spreading through my entire body. My muscles are so clenched it hurts. I cannot breathe as I grab the mug the barista is handing me. My palms are sweaty. Such a situation has never occurred before.

"Two shots of espresso, please," a feminine voice says behind me. "To go. And no sugar."

Berliner accent. This is the last thing I acknowledge about the intruder who ruined my morning entirely. Right before I turn and look into those curios eyes which burnt a hole into my protective layers as easy as a lit cigarette.

They're dark brown. Almost black if you would overlook the details like most people do. And the problem is that I've seen this face before.

"Do you need help with that?" she almost laughs gesturing to the cup in my shaky hand.

Not only that my cover has been entirely destroyed in less than half an hour. Now I have to pick up the ashes of my uninspired impulsive decision as well.

"No," I reply, struggling to sound casual. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You're from Berlin," she smiles.

"You too," I answer the obvious.

Elin Beatrice Solak. Nice and soft Froschteich DJ by night and a psycho killer by day or any other time when she's not doing her coverup career. Her presence here can only mean one thing — I'm in big trouble.