Lost in Blue

𝖁𝖎𝖊𝖗𝖟𝖊𝖍𝖓 : Todestag

In his mind, as clear as day, Elena's round, childlike face emerged. He remembered her girly laugh, her sweet smile and those honey-colored eyes brimming with happiness whenever they'd play a round of the board game he'd always hated since childhood because of his bad luck – "Mensch ärgere dich nicht" – parcheesi.

His chest tightened awfully. "She was fourteen, when she died."

He knelt down and began to pluck the few weeds tearing through the earth. Fräulein copied him without hesitation.

Henning opened his mouth to tell her she didn't need to, but the blonde only shook her head. He contemplated about telling her how he was the only family member who took care of his sister's grave as visiting only caused his still grieving mother severe heartache, but he refrained.

Silently, he kept digging his fingers through the squashy soil, appreciating her kind gesture. Earth tainted his hands and stuck underneath his fingernails, but he'd gladly risk getting himself dirty for a bit of peace of mind the activity provided.

After a while of only the sound of weed being plucked rang in their ears, she chose to break the silence.

"Henning, how did she ...?" Fräulein's voice, usually a soft purr, trembled.

"She drowned. In the Rhine," he replied, as neutral as possible.

Sad-eyed, she only nodded. Hesitantly, she edged closer, centimeter for centimeter, until her shoulder gently touched his.

Henning pretended not to notice, but the spot grew warm and so did his heart. Deep inside, her attempt to soothe his pain elicited a sense of gratefulness in him. More than ever, he felt understood.

His hands stopped moving as his heart skipped a beat, when Fräulein carefully leaned her head on his shoulder. They just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, while he silently reminisced and took the time to mourn the death of his only sister.

Once again, like each death day, he became painfully aware he would never see or hear Elena again. When people die, the only thing they leave behind as a legacy are the memories of their existence, rooted in the minds by the bereaved.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Henning jumped and instinctively rose to his feet. All of sudden, next to his left side, the one and only coroner Henning despised stood proudly. Provocative as ever, she was dressed in a revealing, scoop- necked black tank top paired with olive green cargo jeans.

"Am I not allowed to visit the grave of the first person I ever conducted an autopsy on?" Melanie arched her eyebrow's, hands placed on her hips.

Fräulein looked up, mouth agape. "The first person you conducted an autopsy on ... ?" Her gaze shifted to the tombstone.

Henning crossed his arms and nodded, his index finger moving up and down.

"Schneider was the one who confirmed Elena's death," he growled.

"But that was nine years ago ...!" the blonde objected, her head taking turns between the grave, the policeman and the pathologist. The latter cupped her face in her hands, obviously thrilled.

"Oh, so you thought I was the same age as Henni-boy over there? I'm flattered."

He rolled his eyes. "You're not visiting her grave to pay her respect on her anniversary of death. So why are you here?"

Melanie smirked, "Oh, I just wanted to see you since you did your best to avoid me these past few weeks. I just had to see the urge to see how you're doing, especially today."

"Forgive me for not wanting to see the person who ratted me out to my opponent, especially today."

Henning shrugged. Her betrayal had influenced his work and had earned him a few restless nights. He never thought highly of her as a person, but he never considered her to be a snitch either.

"You mean that handsome journalist? I just couldn't resist his charm." Her finger brushed her lower lip – a gesture that infuriated him even more.

Charm, my ass, he thought. She had deliberately betrayed him due to base motives. He assumed she took the first chance to retaliate, because he always denied her advances and ignored her teasing nature.

"Last I've heard handing out confidential information to a third party so carelessly was a criminal offense."

Melanie shrugged. "It wouldn't be if that journalist just happened to overhear me talking to myself. Who knows."

"I'm not surprised at all you're so malicious. Seems you've always been like that." He just shook his head.

"Ouch. Is that a reference to how I grew up? Bringing my past into this, you meanie."

"... Your past?" Fräulein chimed in, blinking in confusion.

Henning remained silent. He knew of Schneider's upbringing, but he sure as hell wouldn't elaborate. Spilling out another person's messed up childhood was simply not his business.

"Oh, right. You don't know, dear damsel in distress."

Schneider approached the blonde like a lynx would a deer. Melanie bent forward and closed in on Fräulein's face to force direct eye-contact.

"My mother hung herself in front of me when I was five," she grinned.

A shiver went down his spine. No matter how often he thought about it, it was tragic, but the way she nonchalantly described her trauma was beyond emotionless, making it hard for him to feel pity for her.

"Schneider, you shouldn't -"

Melanie wagged her index finger in his direction, gaze still glued to the now frightened Fräulein cowering on the ground.

"I didn't feel scared. I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel shocked. In fact, I didn't feel anything. Death is a part of life and to me, nothing disturbing. It's natural. If I had to conduct an autopsy on you, I'd gladly -"

Dorn grabbed the coroner by the shoulder and pulled her a few feet away from his companion. She staggered and almost stumbled, but regained her composure.

"Enough! Just because you're jealous doesn't justify you trying to scare her!"

When Fräulein flinched, he became aware how coarse his voice sounded.

"I'm sorry you had to experience something so awful, Frau Schneider ..." the blonde mumbled under her breath, tears pricking at the end of her eyes.

Scoffing, the forensic pathologist just cocked her head to Henning's direction. An unsettling emotion flashed across her chocolate irises.

"You're never going to forgive me for being so casual about your sister's autopsy, are you?"

He remembered her devious smile when she told him Elena had drowned nine years ago. The empty way she had looked at him, without batting an eye.

Quick like a shot he shook his head with determination. "Never."

Schneider freed herself from his grasp. In disgust, she brushed off the spot where his hand had held her back.

"Well, anyway, I accomplished what I wanted."

In passing, Melanie leaned into his chest, too close for comfort, her fingers burying into his shoulder tightly like claws. Now her grip held him in place. Lips brushed against his ear and his stomach churned at the touch. If he stepped back, it would give her a surge of power after her act of disgrace, as if he was a dog crawling at her feet. Yielding to her sublime threat was the last thing he'd grant her.

She whispered, so quiet only he could hear:

"Be careful, Henni-boy. Pretty women are able to cloud a smart man's mind. They're even able to sneak out of the hospital at night, so I've heard."

With those words, Melanie Schneider turned on her heel and left. Only if she could have taken the disgust as well as the seed of distrust blooming in his mind and heart with her.