When Fräulein had heard that Rhein in Flammen, a yearly display of fireworks along the Rhine, would take place and be celebrated on the 16th of September, Henning had immediately known she would ask him to take her there.
Initially he had refused. With everything Eckert, Gessler and he had found out about her possible involvement in the case, as well as Schneider's interference on his sister's obit, Dorn felt uncomfortable facing the blonde, let alone spend time with her.
For the sake of getting a confession and her pleading puppy eyes, however, he and his two partners in crime figured it would be best to pretend everything seemed fine for one last time. Maybe this was the only opportunity they would get, so he was told.
In the end, he agreed to accompany her. For the occasion, he just knew the perfect place no one would be able to disturb the two of them.
Dieter Kühn's cutter.
A quick call at the mention that the salvage team's boss was indebted to the policeman – he reminded him that he willingly shared secret intel with his opponent in exchange only for some cheap beer – Kühn was more than happy to oblige for the sake of smoothing over the differences and of course the possibility to avoid legal action.
Evening came and when Dorn set foot on the hoveller, Fräulein in tow, his hands clenched up on the banister nearby. A flashback to his first trip here in April reminded him how much more he preferred to be on land.
While Kühn was nice enough to drive out along the Rhine in order to find a nice spot, Dorn decided to make small talk. With the engine roaring in the background, Fräulein talked about the newest events in the clinic – his favorite story being how some children pulled pranks on Eduard Arzt – and how she had started to dance as a hobby to pass the time, while N played the flute. He wasn't surprised in the slightest. Back in June she had already expressed great interest in music and dancing.
Suddenly, the cutter came to a stop. When he turned his head forwards, his eyes widened. Henning had to admit, Kühn had driven them to what was probably the best place to watch the fireworks erupt. In front of them, below the indigo night sky, the town of Sankt Goarshausen's illumination unfurled, bright like a sea of flames, the building's radiant silhouettes reflected in the Rhine's dark waters in contrast. Its waves carried the faint music echoing from the mainland across.
In awe, the blonde next to him gasped loudly – a sentiment he emphasized with. Despite having attended Rhein in Flammen many times, he was still amazed at the yearly Rhenish tradition and all the effort the townsfolk put into making it work.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked to which her only response was a nod.
The policeman glanced at his watch. 6:59 pm. Only a minute left until it would start.
"Henning," she suddenly spoke.
He tilted his head to the side to face her azure orbs staring at him. Her gaze was more intense than usual. As if he was struck by lightning, goosebumps ran across his skin. Just as her lips parted and moved, the fireworks exploded on cue, drowning her words among loud explosions of red, blue and green, each of them reflected in her orbs.
"Was?" he inquired, imagining himself scowling as usual. He realized he was too tense and her expression didn't make it easier for him to loosen up.
Again, he saw how her mouth moved to repeat herself, teary-eyed this time, but he still was not able to understand. On the night sky, firecrackers erupted constantly, immersing the sky in flames as they took the form of colorful stars, flowers, hearts.
"Wie bitte?" It felt like his ears could explode. Have the fireworks always been this loud?
What was only a few minutes in real-time of their eyes interlocking, felt like an eternity for him. He could see how she fluttered her lashes in slow-motion, how she nervously fiddled with her fingers and suddenly, he became aware how close to each other they stood. When had she closed the distance between them?
Eventually, the fireworks subsided, painfully slowly. He gulped in anticipation.
"Ich liebe dich," she repeated, louder, fiercer, more confident, pure, raw emotion in her eyes.
Utterly perplexed, he finally had understood what she had been trying to tell him thrice – I love you. He let it sink in, let the sentence cross through his mind, trying to grasp its meaning, not its content.
I love you.
I ...
love ...
you ...
Holy. Fräulein had just confessed her love for him!
Raising herself on tiptoes, she leaned forward, her trembling hands pressed against his chest for support, coming closer. As he realized what she was about to do, there was something in him that certainly didn't mind. Heck, under normal circumstances he'd embrace the idea. He'd let it happen.
If only his mind wouldn't have activated. If only his doubts wouldn't have crashed down on him like an avalanche, screaming bloody murder each time he viewed her as an ally. If only he could look at her and tell her he possibly felt somewhat the same.
If only.
When her face came closer and closer and her lips were in dangerous enough reach of his own to make him reconsider for even a split second, all the past weeks of investigation reminded him why this would be a bold venture for the both of them. It was simply not worth the risk.
He refused her approach gently by pushing her back by the shoulders, which dispiritedly drooped. Her pupils dilated.
"I don't understand, Henning ... You don't feel ...?"
She withdrew her hands and he could feel how the warmth vanished from his chest. He avoided her gaze. If he looked into those eyes, he would be confronted with what he imagined to be a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment.
"Don't tell me ...." she paused. "... Do you suspect me?"
For a brief moment, he thought about the possibility of answering truthfully, but the consequences of it were enough to silence his lips. When he looked up again to protest against her claim, a vague made-up lie ready to escape its way to her, he couldn't. No matter how much he tried to force himself, his mouth didn't move.
As toxic like the bite of a crossed viper, Schneider's words rekindled in his mind and caused any belief left in the blonde to fully rot.
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.
Fräulein took a step back, almost tumbling over her own feet. "You really think I killed that little boy."
Hesitantly, he shook his head, desperately searching for the right words – to no avail. His doubts gnawed away at him, leaving behind a cloudy, messy trail of what could once be described as coherent thoughts.
For the first time, he looked up to meet her gaze. Azure orbs turned glassy. "So that's it."
A surge of panic coursed through him. "No, you don't understand. It's just – Your behavior is suspicious!" he blurted out.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he was struck by immediate regret. How could he have lost his cool so easily under pressure? And yet he had so many questions he longed an answer for.
"Please tell me. Have you lied to me this whole time? About your memories? About who you are? About the little boy? About ... this?"
He alternated between pointing at her and himself.
Tight-lipped, she slowly shook her head and distanced herself even further. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill.
"I haven't lied about a single thing, Henning, but it seems you did." Her voice quavered, but her tone was firm. "I understand if you don't feel the same ... But those accusations? Out of all the people, I really thought you were the one I could trust."
A single tear ran down her cheek. Before he could stop her, Fräulein turned on her heel and steered towards the cutter's other end, storming past a confused Dieter Kühn who had just stepped on the deck.
The latter approached Dorn hesitantly, cocking his head back a couple of times, a cigarette loosely in his mouth. He positioned himself next to the policeman. One hand rested on the railing, the other pulled a lighter out of his pocket and a short moment later, he exhaled the familiar stench of smoke Henning hated so much.
"Romance troubles with your lady?" he asked carefully.
"If only that were the case," Henning sighed. He was too tired to deny the implication of his statement. At this point, he wasn't sure what he felt or at least believed to feel, either. Things had gotten out of hand way too quickly.
"You're not gonna go after her, Junge?" Kühn inquired as he exhaled again. He took the cig out of his mouth to twirl it pensively in between his fingers. "A woman shouldn't be left alone crying."
Henning slowly shook his head, throwing both of his hands over the railing in frustration as he leaned in. The Rhine's quiet ripples crashed softly against the cutter's bottom. Even though a part of him hurt, the other, probably more rational side of him didn't dare look back into the direction the blonde had bolted to. What good would it do?
"Even if I did, no matter what I say now, I don't think it would fix anything."
In silence, Kühn gave him a single pat on his shoulder. His bear-paw of a hand weighed heavily on him, but Henning appreciated the cheery gesture.
It unfortunately didn't soothe the feeling of having committed a terrible mistake, though.