The woman's hand trembled. The perfectly practiced, disabling blow missed.
The pistol grip slid down the victim's back.
Kassel didn't have a moment to waste. He took a step back, pushing the woman away with his body. Her weapon hit the stones with a metallic clatter. For a moment, she lost her balance. The man counterattacked. He had the advantage now. She
struggled to stay on her feet. With her left hand, she tried to grab his neck. If she succeeded, he could be unconscious in a split second. And a moment later, dead.
In her frustration, she made the mistake of raising her arm, exposing her torso.
Kassel turned slightly over his left shoulder and struck her in the area of her solar plexus.
There was a sound of air being expelled from his lungs. A searing pain seemed to burst through her chest. With a loud splash, she collapsed into a puddle. Lying in the icy water, she tried desperately to catch her breath, but that only intensified the pain. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't move.
The dark figure of a man leaned forward. The click of a gun being cocked rang out.
She felt tears streaming down her face. She just wanted it all to be over. Once and for all
!
The child struggled and sobbed. She tried to run to her mother. But a hand held her in the crowd. The human wreckage, the procession participants, watched passively. Without even the slightest interest. They had grown accustomed to the cruel sights.
Before the girl's eyes, a soldier aimed at the head of the fallen woman.
Her scream died in the air—a shot rang out.
* * *
A shot rang out!
A split second earlier, she had desperately lunged to the left. She couldn't let him win! She kicked the man.
The blow landed perfectly on the side of his elbow. The mayor's hand recoiled. The bullet missed her head by mere centimeters and disappeared somewhere in the bushes.
The weapon struck the alley.
Before he knew it, the stunned Kassel was struck in the chest. He didn't even have time to feel the pain. Unconscious, he slumped to the ground.
Two gasping policemen ran around the corner.
"Halt! Police!" "The ruddy officer exclaimed, yanking his gun from its holster.
The woman leaped for the fallen pistol in a single bound. She quickly grabbed it and rolled back toward the mayor.
The officer's weapon fired two loud shots. The bullets whizzed past the woman and, ricocheting with a whistling sound, disappeared into the tree branches. She had to hurry! She jumped to her feet and, without wasting time stopping, aimed at Kassel.
Suddenly, instinctively, she jumped to the right. Another police bullet slammed into the tree trunk, right next to where she had been standing.
Unfortunately, there was no time to use the drug. She aimed again at the mayor. Two deadly shots tore into his face. Now she was certain the man would not survive. She dove into the undergrowth.
A sudden wave of pain spread through her body. She fell onto the grass. The bullet, probably a ricochet, lodged in her right shoulder. She recovered quickly. Nothing serious, she decided.
Shifting the pistol to her left hand, she rose and ran. She slipped a few times, struggling to keep her balance on the slippery ground. However, she reached the small depression she'd chosen earlier. She crouched.
She knew that running made her an easier target in the dark. She controlled her ragged breathing, listening for the sounds of pursuit. She didn't want to kill the police. But if the need arose, she wouldn't hesitate. She wouldn't hesitate.
Fortunately, no one was running in that direction.
The police were clearly not foolish enough to risk a chase in the dark. She checked her watch—only a few minutes had passed. If everything went according to plan, she'd be far away before they could alert anyone, she thought.
She gently touched the wound; fortunately, it wasn't bleeding heavily. She found a nearby path and began to carefully creep along it.
Bromstadt Zeitung – 28/10/1964
MAYOR OF KASSEL MURDERED!
Yesterday evening, unknown assailants attacked the mayor of Bromstadt, Erich Kassel.
The attack occurred around 4:30 p.m. in deserted Goethe Park. The perpetrator, or perpetrators, had previously ambushed the victim.
The surprised man was subdued, and despite the intervention of two police officers who, alerted by the disturbing sounds, immediately arrived at the scene, two shots were fired. Both shots, from a so-far unidentified weapon, were fatal. The man died instantly.
Police findings indicate that one of the individuals involved in the attack may have been a woman in a black coat, walking that evening with a blue stroller. A stroller with a doll and a coat were found in the park this morning. The woman's identity remains unknown. Despite an all-night search, she was never found...
Concerneau – France. A few days later.
The room in the deserted, second-rate motel was in a terrible state. The faded blue walls, unpainted for years, were covered in terrible brown stains. The small metal bed, with its uncomfortable, stained mattress, creaked unbearably, almost as loud as the wobbly floorboards.
The window barely closed. So, frosty drafts whistled through the remaining large gap, filling the room with an unpleasant chill that the fire roaring in the small, tin stove couldn't alleviate.
The woman, sitting on the bed, wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks with trembling hands. From her small travel bag, she pulled a small metal box. It contained a single photograph, a smiling young girl in her girls' high school uniform.
On the back, written in navy blue ink, was the number 1932. Her mother was barely sixteen then.
It was all she had left of her mother. All she had left of her entire family.
Another tear rolled down the woman's face.
Even the only memory she had of her mother came from that cruel, moonlit night.
The night that had so tragically defined her entire life, the night she couldn't forget.
She gently placed the photograph on the bed. Without looking away, she pulled the passports from the bag. There were four of them. Each from a different country. Issued under different, false names. In fact, she'd never known what her real name was.
All she had left was her first name.
"Zuzia! No!"
A cold shiver ran through her body. With a quick movement, she threw all the passports into the stove. They immediately caught fire. They wouldn't be needed anymore.
She was just reaching into her bag when a loud banging on the door broke the monotonous silence.
"Open up. Police."
She grabbed a pistol, jumped to a chair in the corner, and jammed the doorknob with it.
"Open up!" Police! The banging grew even louder.
She picked up a photograph from the bed, glanced at it briefly, and jumped into the corner of the room.
The gendarme had just started to force the door open when a shot rang out.
When the door was forced open, the woman lay dead on the floor. In one hand she clutched a still-smoking pistol, and in the other a tattered photograph. Tears were still streaming down her face.
* * *
Inscription on a marble tombstone in the Avenue of the Distinguished at the Bromstadt Municipal Cemetery:
Here lies a man
of courageous spirit
and great heart.
A distinguished mayor of the city,
longtime.
Tragically deceased,
ERICH KASSEL .
Meanwhile, on an unidentified grave, a rotten cross bowed sadly. The wind wailed in the tree branches
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