Hand of Fate, or the Story of Julian Reichlin

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Prologue

“Mama… why do they want to take Birgit away?”

Hannelore jumped at the sound of her son’s voice, startled away from the conversation taking place a few feet away. She had stood to put the kettle on the stove and got distracted when the words ‘London’ and ‘special school’ passed through the lips of men she had only met ten minutes ago. A small hand tugged at her skirt and as she glanced downward, the frown on the boy’s face deepened.

Her frown mirrored his. One hand resting on her swollen belly, she reached for the eight-year-old with her other hand and nodded at her husband and their guests once he took hold of it, saying, “If you’ll excuse me, please.” The statement came out in English, as had the rest of the discussion until that moment, when Julian had broken through using their native tongue. She walked him deeper into the house, switching to German when she spoke. “Mein Mausi, not now. I’ll explain it to you after our guests leave.”

Julian’s eyes sparkled, but his jaw clenched and a nod punctuated all the answer the little boy was apt to give. Hannelore summoned as much of a smile as she could for his benefit, tousling his hair once before waddling for the kitchen again. The view of the table and chairs was partially obstructed by the wafts of smoke drifting from Mannfred’s pipe, and if the Englishmen were offended, neither gave any indication. They had refused a drink, but settled for tea and didn’t look like they’d be easily dissuaded.

The first one – a taller, thinner fellow – reached into his jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. His features hawkish and his eyes narrow, he made Hannelore instantly uncomfortable when he sported a toothy grin. “Are you sure we can’t persuade you to sit, Frau Reichlin?” he asked, his focus shifting to Hannelore as he lit his cigarette.

“No, please. I was making tea,” she said. “Continue.” Her husband exchanged a glance with her and she turned to face the stove, switching on the burner.

“If you change your mind, please let me know. I’d sooner stand than force you to.” The Englishman looked toward the family patriarch, pausing briefly before picking up the conversation again. “Herr Reichlin, I understand your concern, but this affects the future of your daughter. With another one on the way –” He nodded toward Hannelore. “– This is a matter which should be addressed sooner, as opposed to later.”

Mannfred issued a grunt in response. The recent years had settled around his belt in an unflattering manner, but his mind remained sharp even as his hair had started to gray. He shook his head in response. “Herr Berwick, I know what it affects,” he said, his voice gruffer and English not quite as polished. While he had never been the type given over to frowning, one looked to be taunting its way to the surface. “Why do you think your school should take Birgit and not one here in Germany?”

“As I told you, we have special instructors more suited to Birgit’s needs.”

“What does that mean?” Hannelore interjected before she could stop herself. Her eyes stole quickly to Mannfred, then back to Berwick when her husband failed to scowl. She paused beside the stove, but made no motion for the kettle yet. A hand rose to clutch her bosom, fingers curling around the collar of her shirt. “Birgit’s needs? Special instructors? It feels like you’re speaking riddles on purpose.”

“And I assure you we’re not.” Berwick twisted in his seat, lifting the filterless cigarette to his lips and drawing from the end. His partner – a much shorter, older man – remained mute the entire time, content just to observe. Hannelore had never seen eyes so green so identically matched between two men who couldn’t have ever been mistaken as brothers.

Berwick continued, smoke billowing past his lips. “Your daughter has special talents none of the local teachers would be able to handle, Frau Reichlin. We’ve talked to her school about her recent problems.”

“She’s having trouble concentrating in class. That’s all.”

“Not just concentrating in class.” He glanced at his partner and pointed toward a black briefcase poised by his chair. The man nodded, reaching for the handle. “Didn’t her school recently request a psychiatric evaluation?”

The mute partner set the briefcase on the table top and popped the lid open. A manila folder was passed from one man to the next, and the briefcase closed and placed back on the ground before another word could be exchanged. Hannelore watched in horror as a page filled with typed text bearing a photograph of Birgit came into view once the file was opened. “What was the result of the evaluation?” Berwick asked without glancing up from the page.

A flush rose on Hannelore’s cheeks. “She is a bright and beautiful little girl!”

“Schatzi…”

She glanced quickly at Mannfred as the look in his eyes softened. Her shoulders squared at first, but buckled when the downward curl of his lips finally surfaced. “They said more than that,” he continued in German. His eyes shifted briefly to Berwick before returning to her. “I agree with questioning these men, but we can’t pretend there isn’t something wrong.”

She bit her lip and looked away, her eyes squinting shut. Mannfred glanced back at Berwick, switching to English again. “What is your point, Herr Berwick?”

“Simply put, our facilities are able to handle young women like Birgit. Bright and beautiful–” He nodded toward Hannelore. “– Young women with special concerns.”

“The psychiatrist said there were places like that here.”

“Ah, but do those places look to take exceptional children like Birgit and help them flourish? Do they see the remarkable beyond the problems and keep that part of them intact?” The frown touching Berwick’s lips was startlingly genuine. “Or do they favor things like electroshock therapy? Do they shroud them in a haze of medication simply due to a few little voices?”

“Do your people, Herr Berwick?” Hannelore asked, her lids slowly opening.

“Perish the thought. It is our goal to see Birgit learn and grow, to become the exceptional girl we know she is. And I promise you we don’t resort to things like narcotics to achieve that end.”

The Reichlins shared a glance. Mannfred reclined in his chair and waited for Hannelore to nod before glancing back at the British visitors and gesturing with the hand not holding his pipe. “Tell us more about your school then,” he said, the gruff intonation returning to his voice.

A smirk graced Berwick’s face again. He reached forward to tap ash from his cigarette and flipped a page in Birgit’s file, beginning a sales pitch leaning heavily on seclusion, one-on-one care, and challenging lessons for gifted students. The sound of his voice droned from the confines of the kitchen, reaching the small ears of the eight-year-old boy still standing nearby.

Julian frowned while turning away.

He passed the youngest, Heike, as she sat zoned into the one television the Reichlins boasted. A dark hallway ran the remainder of the length of the house, leading to four bedrooms arranged on either side. Birgit sat in the first one to the right, her solemn eyes fixed on the window as Julian pushed the door ajar. Julian lingered by the doorway, not even sure his sister had heard him until the corner of Birgit’s mouth curled upward. “You make a terrible sneak, Julian,” she said.

Grunting indignantly, Julian padded the rest of the way inside. She chuckled and finally regarded at him, her crystal blue eyes much brighter than his cloudy, steel irises. Her hair was the same dirty blonde color, though, and her fingers just as spindly even if hers were more delicate. She patted the empty space beside her on her bed. “Well, come on. You don’t need to be shy.”

“I’m not shy,” he said, crossing the distance between them. With a hop, he settled onto the bed and folded his hands on his lap. His brow furrowed as he stared at Birgit. “Why are Mama and Papa talking to those men about you?”

The amusement which had danced across her face mere moments before melted like the snows of winter. A frown tugged at her lips, not able to crack all the way to the surface. She sighed and lowered the volume of her voice. “The people at school think I’m crazy.”

“Why do they think that?”

She shrugged, not making eye contact again. “I said a few things. It scared the teacher and she made Mama and Papa take me to the doctor.”

Julian frowned, concern flickering past his gaze. Instinctively, he inched closer to his sister and studied the floor, as though that was the right response for solemn news. He hesitated, knowing the question he wanted to ask shouldn’t be said aloud, but not able to contain it. “Is this why the men want to take you away?”

The inquiry had the affect he knew it would. Birgit’s face contorted and tears sprang into her eyes, bubbling to the surface so quickly, Julian wondered if she had been fighting them back the entire time. He wrapped his arms as far around her as he could, and she rested her head atop his while her chest rose and fell with laborious sobs. He wrinkled his nose when several drops landed on his clothing, but held tightly onto her while Birgit cried.

Something about the whole thing was so bizarre, he couldn’t begin to unpack it. Even after Birgit settled and shooed him out of the room, the rest of the house clamored, with Julian helpless to do a thing about it. Berwick and his partner rose with Hannelore and Mannfred, accompanying them both into the girls’ room. A short, tearful argument broke out between father and daughter with equal parts German and English being tossed between the two.

Julian sat at the end of the hallway, head against the wall, and knew then why Birgit had been so broken up at just the mention of leaving. Suddenly, he had tears in his eyes with nobody to tell him everything was going to be alright.

His mother ignored him when she spirited past, the now-wakened Ilse in her arms. Even Mannfred’s attention remained focused on his daughter as she walked out of the room with a tear-streaked face and one large suitcase clutched in each hand. Berwick made mention of seeing to ‘school transfers’ and that the ‘proper paperwork was filed’, but no one paid much mind to Julian.

Not until they were walking out the door.

Julian stood by the corner, watching the parade and accepting a goodbye hug from Birgit when the time came for them to leave. The action drew the attention of Berwick’s partner, but even he left with only a passing glance spared to the small boy. It wasn’t until Berwick himself noticed Julian that any of the adults afforded him a lingering glance. Berwick paused at the doorway, making eye contact as Julian motioned to retreat toward the hallway again.

The eight-year-old froze. Berwick raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as his eyes traced Julian in an appraising fashion. The young boy stood a little straighter, not flinching under the examination even if he didn’t understand the meaning behind it. The grin Berwick summoned in response was the only thing the other adults saw before the Englishman made his exit.

But Julian blinked at the door as it swung closed. A voice still echoed in his mind, strangely disconnected from his own thoughts, yet spoken in the clearest German.

“Perhaps we’ll see you again. Until then, be careful, young man. There are monsters in the dark.”

Next Part Available on Friday 7/22