A heart. A beating heart.

That twitching mass of blood and tissue, nestled safely behind an imperfect screen of bone, working tirelessly. A beating heart, a heavy heart, the painful heart. Perennial subject of aphorism and analogy, overblown and overimagined. A simple pump of flesh - smaller than credited, fragile and soft. A strange and oddly impersonal thing for all the grief, all the agony it seemed to create.

It was absent, an icy blackness settled in his chest where the organ ought to have been. His pulse felt old and hollow. He rocked slowly from side to side to the gentle walk of the horse, listening to the rhythm in the darkness. The muddy slosh of hooves on the wet roadway, the tweak of bit and weathered sigh of leather were quiet murmurs to the tall and silent trees. It was a pregnant moment, ahead the low clouds were glowing a heady orange, though east lay behind and dawn would not come for another two hours.

Klaus listened and what he heard would be the sound of a nightmare, distant and aching. The sound of clamoring misfortune and jarring terror. Ahead lay Karlsruhe, some kilometers further still. But the roar was unmistakable, the chaos pitted in his memory. The planes had returned on this night, their great and lazy rumblings bringing death to the city in eruptions of fire and misery. Above and unseen they would pass with throaty roars, endlessly it seemed, long formations slipping by like shadows in the dark. He would tremble at the sound, the corresponding shockwaves distant. Beneath him the horse would then step nervously, edging against the quaking air, until at last the engines faded away, dropping in tone, leaving only the dull white noise behind. It was an odd frequency, deep and penetrating and bizarrely familiar. At a different time and place Klaus would have named it to be the sea, yet the rank stench on the breeze, the glow in the sky, told a different story.

It was the snarl of an inferno, all too recent in memory, this he knew and to this his mind flinched. He curled his nostrils at phantom scents and gritted against painful recollection. And yet he rode ever towards it, unsure even now of his purpose. Certainly he must cross the Rhine, at the single-piered bridge. But just how would this be accomplished? Would the bridge even be there? Could anything have survived those blasts, the wretched heat and wanton destruction? And then what of the police?

There was so much uncertain, it lay like a chilly mist. He felt suppressed, anxiously subdued by the endless variations of annihilation. There was but one hope, the beautiful woman that he had loved, had betrayed so recently. So wretchedly. Klaus grimaced to himself. She waited on the other end of the Earth perhaps, with nothing but a void between them. An untold expanse of waste and shocking danger.

Somewhere ahead, across the Rhine, lay the front.

The backlit sky grew ever in intensity with the false dawn, smoke bulbous and drifting through the night and ground shaking with rippling blasts. They climbed a lone hill on the forest track, soon now he would see the valley and what havoc had been wrought upon it. He unconsciously braced himself for the images, for the memories and the uncontrollable gripping and fixations. Ducking against the cloying spider's threads of stalking psychosis. Klaus knew it would come, he felt it creeping, whispering in his ears like a comfortable threat. So self-assured, such a mind of its own.

Eventually ahead the trees parted, revealing well enough the coals of what had once been a lovely valley, Ettlingen and further Karlsruhe, both devastated but still unmistakable at predawn. Long and twisted furrows of fire rose steadily into the sky, like a field raising the crop of hell, black shrouds chasing upwards and obscuring heaven. It was an ominous sight to which Kelpie, the dark horse, protested gently. She twitched on her feet at once mimicking pity or disgust.

But by now half his mind had gone, lost to screams of agony and collapsed in an slavering stupor. Klaus stared absently ahead, transfixed he saw a soldier's eyes and the driving of his thumbs into soft flesh, flickering light and hot breath on cold air. The twisted form of a man covered in ash, his torso gaping in blood and viscera, lolling out as a filthy slop trailing about him. Intestines were so long and thin, almost absurdly entangling and slick.

Blinking rapidly back, Klaus started to chuckle lightly at this thought, watching a towering lash of flame distant consume some poor soul's home. Where had he seen that man? That memory was new, yet the face was familiar. Hadn't he been a patient? Yes, he had been, the one with that perforated ulcer. What a mess that was. And the smell, quite unmistakable.

He continued to laugh, now remembering a colleague whose hand had kept slipping on serous fluid while attempting retract the man's duodenum, everyone around waiting good-naturedly. The doctor was a decent surgeon, but they had never let him live it down. Klaus then drew out a long sigh, shifting himself in the saddle and feeling bizarrely relaxed at the thought. The patient ended up dying in the end, from sepsis, but there hadn't been much hope in the first place.

A hard and sickly knot of remorse then began to form in his stomach, swiftly, as he guided the horse forward along the trail to descend down into the river valley. Everything was ruined, so clearly. Monika's family was gone, their home was gone, she was gone. He'd never stand again at an operating table, or research, or make his rounds.

And for what? Because he couldn't quit? He had been so afraid and selfish. And greedy. He should have just walked away when he'd first been asked to kill. Honorably pursued another profession instead of violating everything he vowed to protect. The excuse was safety, for his safety and hers, to avoid suspicion and persecution. But it in truth it was his own vanity and unwillingness to sacrifice his lifestyle that doomed him and brought them to this place. It was completely and entirely his fault, from beginning to end.

And now he rode, so black in guilt, to a woman he so clearly did not deserve and in all likelihood would never reach. But it was the only thing left in the charred remains of his life. Flinchingly, currishly, as a dog who rightfully receives the heel he had to continue. If he ever saw her again he would throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness, and take her scorn. And the best, the only possible outcome would be her leaving him.

He was damned and deserving and even still this knowledge broke his heart and sent him reeling.

It was there after all, that organ hidden somewhere in his chest, shrunken in a black pit. A small and stupid thing shattering under the pressure of an unbearable reality.

Klaus swallowed rapidly and urged the horse forward.

Steadily now the world rose grey from the darkness in the trees, illuminated at times by unsteady lights from below. Occasionally a deep bellow would echo through the morning air, some explosion from the cities. Sirens could be heard wailing in the distance, a familiar and foreign phenomena, and the further he descended the more caustic the atmosphere became. Through watering eyes and with burning breath Klaus watched the sky light in bloody red as the sun climbed, trailing ever closer to the valley the path widened and eventually joined with a larger thoroughfare out of the forest hills. Here the track was deeply rutted with long ridges of mud, churned up from excessive use and generally impassible to motorized travel. Upon it a choke of humanity pressed forward, struggling up the terrain. Men, women, and children. Horses, mules, carts, bicycles. Few precious possessions and what provisions could be found all packed together, laboring in the puddles and cold muck, aggravated by melting snow and the long and hellish night. They moved like ghouls.

Klaus watched them for a moment before turning against the crowd, heading down towards the city. He felt oddly conspicuous upon a well-thrown horse, comparatively fresh to the battered souls trudging up into the hills. Along the skirt of the trees the Kelpie picked up into smooth trot and Klaus posted along for a while before slowing her again, unwilling to put weight on his injured leg. So he continued past the mass of humanity at a walk down further until the outskirts the first farms came, pitted and destroyed in the very same way as those of Stuttgart had been.

It was near the farms with a small sense of tired accomplishment he could then make out, beneath a heavy blanket of smoke and haze, the meandering form of the Rhine. Its waters glistened like the fires all around from the rising sun. He hadn't thought it possible to come this far, yet here he was. Now it would be an unsimple matter of navigating the ruins, locating the bridge, and getting across. But if the bridge remained passable it would almost certainly be heavily guarded, and his pursuers had likely guessed this to be his destination, so to even approach the area would be foolish until he has some kind of plan.

Resignedly Klaus then guided Kelpie off the road, which had now become better in quality but no less packed with desperate foot-traffic, many waiting with long and forlorn faces in the grassy ditches, pale and shaking in the shadow of the trees. Down a smaller lane Klaus rode towards an apparently deserted farmhouse. It had been hit by some kind of explosive, half the walls were missing and debris spilled out in ruinous piles. Rooting around the yard he found what he was searching for, a well and trough for the horse. Gingerly he dismounted and pumped up the frigid water, and while the mare proceeded to drink he loosened her girth strap and breast plate, pulling the saddle from her and with his supply bag setting it aside. Returning he gave her neck a pat. She was a good animal, a Württemberger, warm-blooded and well suited to work in the local terrain. Her hooves were hard and limbs clean, deep withers and an elastic action perfectly agreeable for riding. He remembered when Mr. Bauermann had first purchased her years ago at the local market, only green-broken and still a little skiddish. Monika and he had just started seeing each other and he drove out that afternoon and watched as the older man led Kelpie around the yard, beaming proudly.

"She's a fine beast, this one." he had said in his usual, gruff way while pulling at her mane affectionately. After years of hard work he was finally able to afford a horse simply for his own pleasure, and she would be his pride and joy for as long as Klaus had known him.

With a strangled whine Klaus choked, suddenly overcome, catching himself in Kelpie's sweat-sodden hair and pushing his glasses away. It was all too much, how could he even keep living after what he had done? What right did he even have to see her again? Her parents were as good as murdered by his hand, her livelihood destroyed. If she loved him now she would certainly not after this news.

Monika was better off without him in Paris, she'd always admired the city. She spoke French and Hirth would support her in his absence. There would certainly be a large community expatriates with which to comingle and they might even return after the war was over. What good could he possibly do for her now? What difference did his life even make? In all likelihood he would perish, if not while crossing the Rhine then while attempting to cross the front. She knew she'd never see him again. Looking back it seemed so foolish to think he could even make it in the first place.

With gritted teeth and a brow deeply furrowed Klaus started to sob violently into the horse, gripping the winter hair tightly between his cold fingers as the weight of all his transgressions alighted heavily upon his shoulders. Kelpie's body was warm against the air, her sighs loud and full in his ear creating a strange and vacuous effect. It would be better for it in the end. He deserved nothing. After everything he'd done and everything he'd seen. There would be no recovery for him, no happy ending. No comfort. No light. Klaus wept bitterly there in the farmyard beneath a steely sky, utterly crushed and without will, the world silently spinning away.

How he would do anything to just hold her again, if only for a moment. To talk to her and hear her voice. He never thought he'd need her the way he needed her now and the severity of their separation brayed his heart, leaving him helpless and short of breath. It was a knurled and icy anxiety, twisting deeper with each passing thought and pinning him stark and flinchingly exposed.

There was then a faint pulling at his calf and Klaus looked down, shuddering. Kelpie was sucking his field boot searchingly, ears pricked forward with intent. She was hungry, it seemed. He watched her for a moment, sniffing and wiping mucus away. Then readjusting his glasses and with a long shaking sigh he removed her bridle, leaving the halter rope tucked up and stepping away from her. She simply followed him with soft eyes, head lowered slightly and patiently swaying. He silently returned her gaze, tracing the subtle features of her expression. A handsome animal to be sure.

Quietly he turned towards the old stable and limped on, feeling hollow and exhausted but with purpose. Ahead the stone and wood structure stood at a cocked angle, precariously uprooted and gap-toothed from abuse. It was so oddly quiet out, not even a bird in the February air. So close to springtime and with such death in the silence. The doors lay unhinged and tossed aside and he passed through the darkened portal, pausing a moment for his eyes to adjust. In the musty blackness his presence disturbed inky shapes which slithered like lighting, glowing eyes disappearing in flashes to crevices unseen. He went forward, boots echoing unevenly against the stone floor, scraping aside old hay and dirt. The stalls were all empty save one piled with various tack and other odd equipment. To this he went absently, scanning for and finally located a length of dusty rope hanging unobtrusively from a metal peg. Trembling he retrieved it, feeling the rough fibers slowly between his fingers while glancing upwards to the rafters so obscured by thick cobwebs. Above shafts of light struck glittering and drifting motes like distant snow caught in a cold breeze. With a profound sigh he then seated himself wearily on a nearby bench and began to work the long cord deliberately, unhurriedly, and placidly. It would be better, after all. For it to be the end.

Dry of tears or any scattered affect a noose he tied, with a simple and sturdy knot.

After some time with casual forbearance the black horse appeared at the stable door, gazing inward curiously, expectantly. Standing up Klaus limped towards her, catching her halter line and leading her in, her hooves echoing mutedly. With a jarring scrape against the stone floor he dragged the bench over and stepped up with the long rope over her bare back, seating himself on the dark mare. She shifted gently to the side as with solemn finality he then tossed the noose around a thicker beam above, securing it fast, listening to the chords whisper hoarsely together as he tightened them. It was so quiet out, the winded inferno of the city but a shallow growl. It sounded desolate like a driving gale across some barren steppe.

Ahead of him the stable entrance glared in its light, almost blindingly. It could have been leagues away, a portal to a different world. An alternate time and place where lives remained intact and people happily carried on, oblivious to the faceless futility of this hellish nightmare. Swallowing back a sigh, Klaus fitted the rope around his neck, still staring straight ahead and tightening the fibers against his skin. A different life out there where he and his wife could have been together to their end, happy and hopeful. A world where every morning he could have woken to her sleepy smile and slipped off to work with the memory of her kiss. Where he would come home to her grace and speak openly of his day. An existence untainted by his murders or secrets, without the drinking or will for revenge. Without the sacrifice and the sorrow and the slaughter. Some place not drenched in fire and the stench of death. Not broken into trenches of rubble and shattered concrete, and the pale and rushing screams of horrified helpless souls.

Thoughts seemed to flicker swiftly by as fish in a stream and he failed to grasp them any longer, too quick to catch or comprehend. With hushed pain he only knew a deep, broad void, cold in its impersonality. It stared back at him dead like a trout, unblinkingly, a shaming well in indifference. He could almost observe himself, with such a detachment, and it was then he knew.

Closing his eyes Klaus dug his spurs into the horse, causing her to startle with a grunt and lurch forward. The rope caught and he passed over her, with a shock swinging backwards and jerking against the slack. Pain shot through him as he weighted the line, hearing the beam creak, shaking involuntarily as quiet horror set in against his closed breath. With morbid and frantic satisfaction he then acquiesced, finally, and he hung himself there for an eternity trying desperately to gasp but unable, spitting up and feeling his pulse hammering through his skull, legs kicking involuntarily. He gritted his teeth, feeling dizzy and faint and relaxing into the burning of his lungs. The world faded to grey, black spotting in and then eventually consuming all, washing away the panic, and the suffering, and his miserable heartbreak. It left nothing behind.

(X)

It was with fear and torment in the dark. He spat and foamed with realization and tore at the hands that closed his throat, feeling the agony and searing death all around. It watched him struggle and thrash against a cold and unfeeling earth, he spasming and jerking and stranded, chest on fire. The grip broke then, with a scraping and ravaging reluctance and he swallowed down a single lungful of stinging air. Greedily he panted and sputtered, tearing the rope away, rolling and coughing. Klaus lashed out with his fists at something, anything, groaning at a sudden wash of relief. He opened his eyes, trying to comprehend, but saw little. Everything drifted obscured and moving in a shower of dust and debris. He lay there for a moment, blinking wearily. About him, then he realized, were the fractured remnants of the wooden beam. Dirt hung in the air, chaukily, bringing little else to his sight.

Klaus sat up slowly, feeling a sharp pain in the back of his head as he pulled the noose from his neck, breath rasping in the mildew. He shook reflexively as he removed and smearingly cleaned his glasses, muscles trembling from exhausted strain. His fluttering mind buzzed in a limping cacophony, absent of any piercing thought save for an unusual and aphasiac euphoria leeching inwards. Achingly Klaus bent on hands and knees and rose with a strange cough quite close to a laugh, brushing splinters and roofing away, stumbling out to the glaring entrance of the stable. Blindly outside the sky was brooding and still panting he focused through smudged lenses, a short smile tugging at the edge of his lips, feeling oddly light as if he could drift above the ground to those very low and sullen clouds.

So there was his answer, perhaps he wasn't meant to die after all. Not just yet.

And indeed for such a wasted, pallid countenance the world now seemed a sight nothing short of wonder. To watch his breath rise in the air, to smell yet the sick fumes of a ruptured city mixed with manure and feed from the yard.

Even if he was a hopeless man there was still something here, something for him to hold on to. And it didn't really matter that he would never actually know what it was again.

Quietly then a thought slipped through, low and murmuring and simple.

Just to see her face.

Certainly, yes. To lay eyes on her again. To tell her one more time, one last time, that despite everything he loved her. To her ruin and his destruction he loved her. He really could walk the plane of the earth and crawl in blasted ditches of despair just to love her, if that was the last thing to manage, his very last act.

A sad and wistful smile then drew across his lips as he remembered her looking down at him for the last time, her eyes red and swollen from tears, hair strayed and rushing in the propeller stream. She wore an expression at once lost and at peace, like she knew their parting was final. It was reluctant but without violent affect. Just acceptance, wrapped in his overcoat, flying into the rising smoke to the unknown. Did she grieve him as he grieved her? It didn't matter so much anymore.

Just two years ago they had dined out together, the sounds of the terrace humming merrily on a warm summer evening, music drifting amid the smooth lights on a gentle breeze. Their worries had been so distant at that moment and perhaps it was the last time he felt genuinely at ease, despite everything still. They were unburdened, her laughter was sweet as they argued playfully whether or not to go dancing later with several of his colleagues and their wives. Perpetually tired, he would have rather left but she was avid about not wasting their short time together. In the end they spent the hours away, arm in arm, moving through a pleasant cloud of cigarettes and liquor, her smile flashing in the dim lights of the lounge.

It was very late when they finally returned home, a little drunk and quite happy. He hung his hat in the foyer and looked over to her, recognizing instantly the expression on her face as she slowly let her stole fall to the floor. All the frustrating years and trials seemed to slip away then as he went to her, tasting with a new freshness, catching the scent of her dark hair again. Hurriedly they found their way upstairs, youthfully exigent in undressing and feeling a kind of neediness thought long comfortably retired. With flawless detail he could recall every moment of that night. The gentle curve of her back and their quiet moaning. Her smell and her warmth, the suppleness of her embrace. They moved together, as imperfectly as always, but with an intensity that had been absent for some time. It was not long before he lay next to her again, smiling and sweaty, listening to her breathless in the darkness and feeling her hand sneak into his. He couldn't fathom how beautiful she was then, it blew him away like it did when they first had met.

And this was after she had come back to him, after his betrayal and all of the lies and the drinking and the avoidance. They had been together like they had always been, there was no doubt of that. She had loved him right up to the moment they parted.

He had to see her again. Just once more so that she may send him away, regardless of the cost to himself.

Klaus straightened up in the doorway of the stable, adjusting his glasses slightly, and setting his jaw. Paris lay leagues from here but it could be worse. He could be headed east. He could be on foot. He could be maimed. For everything now what was a few hundred kilometers?

With a shuffling gait he then proceeded out into the yard to collect Kelpie, who was feeding from a nearby grain shed split open like a carapace. She looked up, ruminating, watching him curiously as he approached and took her by the lead, patting her gently on the muzzle before walking back to the stable. Inside he found a morral for her and set her to it before moving off to retrieve his own supply bag.

He ate mechanically, resting next the water basin. Above the overcast sky continued to lower and by the time he had re-saddled the horse the first sporadic slivers of rain had begun to fall, drumming impersonally upon the soft earth. Mounting Kelpie again he rode out back onto the main road into town, and continued down the long file of survivors towards the Rhine, past ruined hamlets and craters hot with coals. All manner of destruction could be found, buildings still smoldering stood out amidst bare trees, blackened and thrown askance, guts spilled into the streets and colored occasionally by woeful remains. Klaus passed factories still engulfed in fire, whipping wickedly about in what had escalated into a downpour.

He shuddered in the saddle and fought a cascade of images, but to his surprise and relief was not driven to distraction by the howling trauma, able to push back and control the jarring thoughts. Whether it was from the acknowledgement of his hopelessness or simple conditioning he couldn't be sure, nevertheless this was a heartening development. Blinking out rainwater Klaus found himself able to relax slightly, pushing further into Ettlingen. The streets downtown were mostly deserted save for a few staggering individuals lost in their own heads. A stray dog, limping and grey, licked and chewed at a corpse laying in the gutter, blood tainting the waters into the sewer. A woman wept, distraught and ash-laden, tearing through a pile of rubble with shredded hands. A man sat, half-naked in the cold, staring absently ahead and with glassy eyes clutched a bleeding canvas bag to his chest.

Unaffected and quiet as death Klaus continued past this tableaux of anguish through the blackened and obliterated streets, beyond flayed remains and shattered lives. The fires steamed and guttered, throwing up a fog which settled close to the earth and obscured the panorama in mist. Now on the road directly to Karlsruhe Klaus listened closely to the invisible world ahead, muffled by white mantle. Past the hushed sound of sucking hooves in the wet earth, below the mournful wail of sirens he could determine the steady hum of heavy equipment and many, many engines. Wiping rain from his eyes he considered this information carefully, for it was not surprising. The rail yard had probably been destroyed in the bombing last night, or at the very least lines had been damaged. This would make the tracks over the bridge useless and cause considerable congestion, if that wasn't the case before.

Hopefully it would actually play into his favor. Klaus frowned thoughtfully. Assuming he could get onto the bridge, the overcrowding might allow him to evade the police and slip through their net. Certainly a mounted contingent would be passing through in one form or another. There would be no way to know for sure until he actually observed the situation though.

He crossed the tracks south of the railway station, growing more nervous the further into the city he went. The roadway, already pitted and littered with debris, became increasingly difficult to ascertain and the fog only grew thicker as time passed. Soon it was a heavy blanket, washing out anything more than a few blocks away. The rain continued rushing over the ash-coated ruins, creating rivers of ink and puddles of murky grey. There were people still, though many had taken shelter, huddled beneath lopsided awnings and gazing emptily from shelled out structures like lost children. For motorized traffic the previously broad avenue was entirely impassible, the horse gingerly finding her path amid broken glass and past precarious trenches of exposed pipeworks. Many of the trees that had lined the thoroughfare had been blasted apart and felled in the night's violence, cast aside as casually as matchsticks. Amid these and still-burning cars they had to navigate, at times even leaving the main road to work around an impasse.

All of this, coupled with the fog, made the city hard for Klaus to identify and he found himself quite close to being lost on a few occasions, unable to recognize old landmarks amid the destruction. He was tense, feeling locked in by the haze and dreadfully exposed. It left him little time to react if he came across the police, although at the same time his movements were masked and he might be able to disappear rapidly. Above rain continued to pour, creating an odd and sodden smell in the air of death and cinders. Kelpie's mane lay stuck to her neck as she sighed irritably in the damp and continued to plod along the ruined roads.

Eventually they came to a broad intersection and some distance from it Klaus peered hesitantly through the mist, trying to discern who might be in the square, for ahead he could hear a few vehicles idling. They were nearer the bridge now and simply running out into that open space could prove disastrous. He halted the horse and strained his eyes into the rolling vapor. It flowed in and out like an ebbing wave, but he could make out the dark silhouette of a transport truck before the its bulky form was consumed again. There was then a whinny in the distance, of a horse, but no other hints than the low mumbling of engines.

Kelpie shifted nervously as Klaus sat there, trying to decide how to proceed. While he knew he was near the bridge, he wasn't entirely sure how close. This might be one of the arterial routes along the way, but there were many squares in this section of the city. Puzzled, he then guided the dark horse out of the road and to the buildings, hoping to remain more inconspicuous near the walls. Perhaps it might be better to head out to the Rhine and follow it down to the bridge, thereby avoiding disorientation.

But while it seemed like a viable plan, this would cost him a route of escape.

Frustrated and unsure of what to do next Klaus continued to search ahead into the square, hoping for some kind of sign inform his decisions. But no signal came, the mist would not recede any further and he heard nothing riding the cold air but the roar of fires and the occasional deep reverberation of some structure collapsing.

Then, with a kind of coiling start cutting through his stomach two figures came into view from the fog, moving in his direction. Klaus tightened on the reigns and Kelpie took a few hesitant steps backwards as he watched with slow horror as they walked on, clearly holding rifles of some kind. He couldn't tell yet who they were, police or army, and if he ran that may give them cause to shoot or pursue him. Did they hear him approach the square? Or see him? Perhaps they'd only want to direct him away from this area. In any case fleeing was no longer an option without inviting some kind of debacle.

So Klaus waited for them to come closer, despite everything he'd rather do at that moment, making his best effort to look nonchalant with trembling hands. Soon it was obvious the two were army personnel and one waved as he approached, his actions smart though his face was very tired. He looked Klaus over quickly and with slight perplexion before speaking.

"Hello there," he said exhaustedly, "I'm sorry but we can't let you come through here, you'll be impeding vital traffic."

"Then," Klaus replied slowly, feigning confusion, "what am I going to do? I don't know where to go."

"Where do you need to go?" the other man responded, every bit as weary as his partner.

"The river. I'm lost though, I have no idea where I am. If I could just get there I'd be able to find my way around."

The first man to speak nodded before gesturing out into the square, "If you go that way," he started, "you'll hit a road that'll take you right to it. You can go on ahead through here if you need."

Klaus returned the nod, "I'll do that then," he said and pressed the horse forward, "thank you for your help." He was filled with an immense wash of relief as the two walked away, and he rode in the direction the man had gestured, soon espying the roadhead he spoke of.

It looked like he'd be using the river after all, which was probably as good an option as any at this point. Nothing could be predicted beyond things getting more dangerous the closer he got to the State personnel waiting to cross over the water. It might be beneficial to find a place, perhaps some abandoned home, to tie the horse and then proceed on foot to survey the area. Klaus contemplated, trying to weigh his options while moving down the modest street, listening to the horse scrape on and taking a moment to wipe the rain from his eyes again.

He almost didn't notice the blockade ahead through the mist until it was too late. Looking up he immediately halted the horse, gaping with shock at the concrete barricade that seemed to have risen from nowhere, cordoning the road off from the waterfront street that lay further beyond.

Shit.

Oh shit.

The men that stood here were a mix of police and soldiers, heavily armed, and of course they had spotted him. He couldn't have been more obvious if he had taken a riding leap over the barriers.

Klaus's heart started to race, swallowing back a hot and sick feeling while watching as one of the men stepped out from beneath a canvas shelter, walking towards him. He could practically hear his pulse skipping in his ears as he watched, like in slow motion, the man move casually to his position, without alarm or too severe a suspicion.

What to do? Was there anything? He had just committed his final act of stupidity, this was it. So he wouldn't be seeing Monika again after all, as it was obviously destined to be this way from the start. Klaus's mind race at a thousand kilometers an hour, at once running and rejected every wild scenario he could grasp and waiting patiently for officer to walk up and shoot him.

The rain continue to pour in a ruthless fashion.

Just how long would it be before he was recognized? It wouldn't take too much time, he figured. Maybe a few minutes. He didn't have any papers and absolutely no excuse for being out here on a horse.

Klaus swallowed, now started to shake visibly, frozen where he sat in the saddle.

As the officer approached a strange change started to come over his face. What was an impassive or even stoic expression began to slowly transform into a squinting scowl. He scrutinized Klaus, still striding forward, and then with a great suddenness his expression lighted, eyebrows shooting upwards.

At the same time his hand whipped down to his sidearm.

And the stillness of the street was shattered.