?? ?? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??????

  "Humans salvaged two bodies from the sea,

  punished by its waters, cursed to never be free.

  At sunset, the merciless currents of the Rhine,

  as time goes on, will slowly make you mine.

  Following its call, I will lead you into the abyss,

  Humanity is something you shall never miss.

  Enjoy the last of your freedom, my child,

  six months it takes for you to be exiled.

  Whatever it takes, you belong to the sea,

  no matter, how many times you plea."

  ?? ?? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??????

  Rhineland-Palatinate. 10th of April, 2017.

  It was only 8:30 am on a regular Monday morning and the police department of Sankt Goarshausen already found themselves in an uproar. Several calls were hastily being made, all kinds of divisions contacted, while German bureaucracy operated at full stretch against all expectations due to unforeseen circumstances.

  Near the slate rock 'Lorelei', the scene had been put under security with the famous yellow and black 'Keep Out' signs, guarding what had been found in the waters of the Middle Rhine from curious civilian eyes.

  Officers flooded the site, one after another coming and going, among them a 1,80 meters tall, athletic, dark blonde, brown-eyed male in his mid-twenties, dressed in his uniform: German policeman Henning Dorn.

  The young man got out of the car and set foot on the area, his sight set on the recovery ship waiting at the dock in front of him. The sun's beautiful, warm rays shined on the rivers surface, reflecting its greenish blue hues. Taking in the scenery for a short moment, he sighed.

  Dorn simply felt that the vicinity with its laid-back citizens was too peaceful for it to be a crime scene - and yet, just the opposite had come true.

  Without wasting any more time, he made his way forward down the stairs leading to the site. With each step he took, his mind wandered, carefully going over all the facts he had been provided with - he had been briefed about the case beforehand.

  At approximately 7:05 am in the morning, the salvage team had started their day and set out into the Rhine's waters, until they made their discovery at 7:30. Ten minutes later, at 7:40, the first call was made, 110 dialed and the salvage ship returned at the dock at 7:50 in accordance with the station's orders. Forensics were dispatched, concluding the collection of evidence at 8:20, ten minutes prior to the detective's arrival.

  What had been supposed to be a salvage for an accidentally sunken steamboat, turned out to be a case in need of police investigation.

  Slightly nervous about the find, he passed a row of startled people, members of the rescue team, only to be greeted by a middle-aged, maroon bearded man clad in an orange uniform that failed to cover his protruding potbelly - an effect commonly linked to beer consumption - and a yellow helmet rested on top of his bald head.

  "You're the policeman we've been waiting for," he stated calmly, taking a pull on his cigarette, squinting his eyes as a cool April breeze passed by.

  "Yes, Henning Dorn, police department Sankt Goarshausen. I'm here at the behest of inspector Wolfgang Eckert, he might be a bit late, I'm afraid," he gave his opposite a firm handshake while introducing himself, as his eyes wandered to the ship in front, secretly yearning to get business done as soon as possible.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Dieter Kühn," the man kept it short, exhaling smoke, while following Dorn's wary gaze. The boss of the rescue team coughed into his fist and pointed with his thumb behind himself at the metal vehicle, nodding to confirm Henning's suspicion.

  "What you're looking for is on the deck. They're in the coffin. Your guys from the forensic division were already here. Please, follow me."

  Kühn turned around and climbed the stairs aboard, leading the way. Hands cautiously trailing along the wobbly banisters, Dorn forced himself to follow him closely. While he wasn't necessarily prone to being seasick or hydrophobic, he definitely preferred his feet to stay on firm ground.

  Whatever situation he would rather prefer to be in, it did not matter. At the end of the day, he had to fulfill his task and investigate - his superior Eckert counted on him.

  Stepping onto the ship's deck as another breeze passed by, it didn't take long for Henning to spot the coffin situated in the center. At a meters distance, Dieter stopped in his tracks, shooting the policeman a glance, as he silently nodded into the burial case's direction, fully passing the baton to him.

  Without wasting any words, Henning Dorn stepped forward to begin his investigation. He silently pulled out a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket, slipping them on his short fingers - a precaution he had turned into a habit the past three years.

  Kneeling down, his fingers glided along the brown case's simple wooden design and its wet texture. Despite a few rifts, the coffin oddly enough displayed few blemishes. As he moved on to open the casket carefully, Henning hardly believed his own eyes.

  A young boy, about five or six years old, laid there, motionless. His frame appeared to be of the small height of 110 centimeters, the fair light skin of his limbs covered in green bruises, golden hair disheveled and partially ripped out, clothes tattered from supposed blunt force trauma. Eyes closed, his expression was far from peaceful.

  Averting his eyes for a short moment, Dorn took in a deep breath. Over time, he had grown accustomed to see a few dead bodies, no matter their age, women or men alike, or the condition they had been left behind in, whether it be burned, poisoned or in some rarer cases mutilated.

  For him, the requirement to endure the sight came with his occupation. Disconnecting one's heart from the job as part of self-protection, forcing one's own mind to accept the matters at hand as a given, not letting any emotion shine through - that all was part of his work as a criminal investigator.

  Contrary to his first case ever as a policeman that had made him gag, almost even vomit, his few years of experience gradually had him grown numb to most gruesome deeds he was exposed to now, shaping him into the stern policeman in the present, there only being one exception many of his fellow colleagues struggled with.

  The dead body of a child.

  He could never overcome it, let alone understand how one would be malicious enough to be able to hurt the incarnation of innocence such as them. Laying hands upon small humans was an act that should be punished severely.

  Henning didn't even dare to think about the youngling's last moments - how much terror and fear he must have went through, traces of those hardened into the depths of his terrified facial features.

  And so, when he found himself confronted with the little boy's wax corpse, saponified due to the lack of oxygen at the bottom of the Rhine's waters, preventing the cells from decomposing, he had chosen to avert his eyes from reality, just for a short instant.

  Blocking out all the resurgent memories and mixed feelings of past investigations, Dorn exhaled, daring to look at the case in front of him again.

  Next to the little child, laid a woman the policeman hadn't noticed before. Her arms tenderly enveloped the boy's physique in a loving embrace, chin protectively resting on top of his head, resembling a gut-wrenching picture of a mother and her child.

  Long, blonde curls flowed down her shoulders, past her small chest area, wrapping themselves around her lean, fair-skinned stature, reaching her thin waist. Perplexed, his eyes scanned for any bruises along her limbs, but to his surprise, he couldn't detect any.

  Why was only the boy bruised and all battered up? Henning couldn't see any blood and the woman's body seemed to be unscathed, upon further sight.

  It wasn't until then that the policeman noticed she was half-naked, barely covered by a short see-through white nightgown of some sort, causing him immediate embarrassment. Blushing, he quickly averted his gaze for a second time, earning him an amused, raspy laugh from the man behind him,

  "You don't swing that way, Herr Dorn?"

  Henning turned his head, eyebrows furrowed, slightly indignant and annoyed at his remark, given the seriousness of the situation. He attributed Dieter's comment as a poor attempt to distract from the hardship of it all, as he retaliated to save some face,

  "I am just concerned about my appropriate exertion of professionalism."

  Upon looking at the old man's face, Henning saw how his expression changed from amusement into shock, mouth agape, his eyes dancing back and forth like a pendulum.

  Turning his head around yet again, the investigator froze. What he thought to be a dead sleeping beauty, had awoken from her slumber, rubbing her eyes tiredly with the back of her hands. When she was done, for the first time, Dorn caught glimpse of her face, scrutinizing it from the bottom up: oval formed, heart-shaped mouth, button nose, long lashes and two round, big orbs beautifully complemented the rest of her facial features.

  As soon as their gazes met, her azure blue eyes widened in shock at his sight, a mixture of fear and disbelief equally proportioned in them, rose lips mouthing a single question, voice quivering,

  "Ruven?"