Bernhard Aichner - Woman of the Dead - A Thriller

When she saw it, Blum struggled to breathe. The Rover, here. She hadn’t expected to see that car ever again. But there it was, outside the house, with children clambering out of the back seat. Blum ends the call and Ludwig disappears into the house. For a few minutes she and Reza are alone. Together with her fury and hatred, she has the sudden answer to her question. Who was driving the car? Who killed Mark? The car really exists, it was in Bavaria all along. It belongs to a world which was still intact. There it is, in front of her, coming down the road.

Her husband’s murderer is sitting in front of her, his overnight bag is on the back seat. Ludwig has done as she told him. He emerged from the house after four minutes, his wife standing in the doorway waving him goodbye. Benjamin Ludwig was in a hurry; he had to make sure the children were out of firing range, he had to protect them and his wife. He had to do as Blum said. He stopped, and they got in. The pistol is in Reza’s hand. Blum has no idea where it came from. They discussed their need for a gun and the gun materialised. I’ll see to that , Reza had said. Now the gun is in his hand, forcing Benjamin Ludwig to drive towards Starnberg. He is silent, still: Blum doesn’t want to hear his lies and excuses, she doesn’t want to hear him beg, whimper or wail. There’s only the gun in his back, the past, and Reza by her side.

All night, her naked body lay against his. She just wanted to feel his skin, to undress him, disappear in him, plunge into him, and let herself fall. She would have let it happen with a clear conscience, she would have taken and given everything, because she thought it was time to give him something in return. Something like love, a sense of gratitude. She was curious, too. Blum wanted to know what he would smell like, what his tongue would taste like moving in her mouth. What his hands would do as he thrust into her. She wanted to feel him, all of him, continue dancing with their eyes closed. But ten hours ago, his eyes said no.

Benjamin Ludwig drives through the city. Reza gives him directions; they have to make a stop before they reach the lake. They need cartons, clingfilm and sticky tape. They stop in the car park of a DIY store, one car in a sea of cars. Reza hands Blum the gun and goes into the store, leaving Blum alone with Ludwig. The actor and the undertaker sit in silence for ten long minutes. He is too afraid to turn around, he feels the barrel of the gun in his neck. Blum is pressing it firmly against him. She would like to pull the trigger, eliminate him just like that, send this man who looks squeaky clean to hell, tell the world what he is really like, what he’s done. She wants to kill him here and now, in a car park somewhere on an industrial estate in Munich. She would like to hurt him, tell him she loved the man he knocked down and killed, that he meant everything to her: Mark, the father of her children. She thinks of him playing with Uma and Nela in the garden. A family that isn’t a family any more. It would take only a second to kill him. A single shot and it would be over. Now, before Reza comes back to stow his purchases in the boot. Before he gets back into the car and tells Ludwig to drive on.

But they get the TV star to chauffeur them to Starnberg as though it is the most normal thing in the world. Slowly, they skirt the lake. Summer is almost over, many of the houses stand empty. Rich people’s villas, boathouses, holiday homes. Reza directs him; they are looking for the perfect house, a house with a drive they can disappear down in broad daylight. No one will notice. It will just be an expensive car parked outside an expensive house, three people getting out of the car and going down to the water through a large garden. There’s only a fence to be climbed; they carry their rucksack, bags and cartons with them. Reza, Blum and Ludwig are quite the trio. He walks ahead of them and keeps turning round, looking for a way to escape. Because he knows that this is the end, the end of everything.

When Reza fell asleep, his fingers stayed on Blum’s skin. He was tipsy and tired. She didn’t move, she wanted to stay close to him and not move an inch. It was for the best that he turned her down, that he didn’t just accept her body, her mouth, her breasts. She would have followed through, she wanted to. But Reza just took her hand and looked at her. Blum could see how much he liked her. He wanted her, but he restrained himself.

But now there is no restraint or embarrassment, now he is Blum’s faithful little soldier, functioning like a machine. He forces the lock and opens the door. There’s no alarm, only a beautiful old boathouse which has lain untouched for weeks. It is the perfect place to talk to Ludwig. No one will hear him; the house next door stands empty too, and on the other side of the boathouse there is only woodland. It won’t matter how long and loud he screams. Reza spreads tarpaulin on the floor as if he were about to lay the table. He takes tools out of his rucksack, places the sticky tape and clingfilm within reach. The preparations are over quickly, giving Ludwig no time to work out what is going to happen next. He hops from one foot to another, wanting to run far and fast, but the gun in Blum’s hand prevents this.

She didn’t sleep all night. She didn’t want the feeling to stop, didn’t want Reza to get up and leave her. She wanted to go on feeling it as long as possible, until morning when he opened his eyes, and began caressing her back again. Reza carried on where he had left off. But then she said it was time to go back to the house and to the nightmare. Now Reza is hitting him with an oar and tying him up with sticky tape, binding his hands and feet. Night is mingling with day, life with Mark is mingling with her life now. A life in which people die, and die when she wants them to.

Blum stands there watching as if she had nothing to do with it, as if she were a rubber-necker at an accident, eager to satisfy her curiosity. The boathouse contains a rowing boat, a small launch with an electric motor, and Benjamin Ludwig, who is screaming. He has come round and can feel the sticky tape, realises how hopeless his situation is. He can’t control himself any longer, he has to act. First he curses, insulting them. Then he calms down, breathes deeply in and out, and pulls himself together. The actor is rehearsing before he comes on stage to play his part and tell the truth. He will try to save his life by talking, because he guesses what is coming, because he knows the others are dead or have disappeared. Because he knows that these two mean business. He can read that in Blum’s face; nothing in her features gives him reason to hope. All he can do is talk and speak nothing but the truth. If you lie to me you’re dead . She is sitting on the floor beside him, the gun in her hand. She is very close now. She presses the barrel to Ludwig’s forehead.

While Blum talks to him, Reza moves away. You will answer my questions. Keep your answers short and to the point. I won’t ask twice. His questions remain unanswered. What are you going to do to me? What do you want from me? Why are you doing this? Where are Schönborn and Puch? You abducted them. Are they still alive? Are they dead? But Blum’s gun is against his forehead and she wants the truth about the cellar: where it is, how it came to be, why five men decided to throw off their inhibitions and act like animals, brutes who observed no rules. Blum wants to know, something in her wants to comprehend the incomprehensible, understand how such a thing can come to pass, a place where anything went, a place that traded on violence and humiliation, punishment and penance. How it lasted five long years. The cellar is in Kitzbühel. It is underneath the restaurant. I own the house, it was our holiday home. We converted it. It was Puch’s idea. We were drunk at the time. He thought it all up. We would eat well then play games in the cellar. Five men realising a dream. Five lucky men.