Warning: AU –Second World War

M-Rated!Contains coarse language, violent imaginary related to the context of war, and sex.

I do not own South Park. I do not own anything. I wish I was that f* genius!

Kyle returned home after a particularly hard day.

Winter's cold and gray weather was doing a great job in fueling his depression. School was great as usual, but Kyle was starting to feel the weight of being the Conservatory's great talent. The teacher's demands and co-students expectations were starting to overwhelm him. He wished the Cat's Hat was open every night. It had become his safe harbor. When he played with the band he forgot his worries and sorrows. Two shots of absinth would be ready for him, so he could drown his depression and feel happy again, even if it lasted only a few hours.

Kyle walked to the building where his and Kenny's apartment was. The Jew wondered when the pain would stop stinging so much. Because there were days it seemed only to grow instead of subsiding. There were days the sadness increased to an unbearable point. Days like today, when he wished he could simply give up everything. His schooling, his music, his friends, his family, his life. Days like today, he wished he could simply lay down and fall into a dreamless eternal sleep. And wake up when the pain was finally gone. Kyle was immersed in these dark thoughts when he opened the building's main door.

His eyes widened greatly and he barely had time to move out of the way when a man rushed outside at the same time. He was taller and larger than the Jew and therefore accidently shove Kyle aside, while hastily exiting the building. The redhead turned around and shouted some insults at the guy. The man hadn't even bothered to apologize for the bump. Kyle watched the faceless guy run down the street in his long beige trench coat and hat, while he caressed his left arm, which had hit against the wall when the other forced his way out. He frowned upset and muttered something about uncivilized people under his breath. When he finally reached his apartment, he was surprised to see blood and crumbled brick on the floor. He looked up and gasped when he saw a hole on the ceiling.

"That shit fell right on top of my head when I went to answer the door." A voice told the redhead. Kyle flinched and turned around startled. He sighed of relieve when he saw it was only Kenny.

"Did you just - resuscitate right now?" Kyle asked almost warily. His friend nodded, with an annoyed expression on his face. "Am I guessing correctly that the guy that practically ran over me was the person that knocked on the door?"

"Yep. I guess I scared the shit out of him." Kenny said while he ruffled in his pocket. "The guy was looking for you." Kyle's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What makes you think that?"

"This paper that the bastard shoved into my pocket before running away." Kenny said while he exhibited a white sheet of paper. "It has your name on it."

…

Kyle stood outside the beautiful Hotel Liberty. On his left hand, he was carrying his violin's case. On his right hand, he was holding the letter that Kenny had found in his pocket. The redhead had read it aloud after the blonde had handed it over. He had quickly discarded it. I was just another guy promising him glory and fame in the music world. But Kenny had insisted he should go. The blonde acted urgent and stressed he needed to go immediately. He practically send Kyle off his way. The Jew had failed in understanding his friend's resolve. But Kenny was so convinced this was important that Kyle decided to sacrifice his free evening and venture to this last-minute interview. He looked down at the handwritten words and read it for the hundredth time.

Dear Mr. Broflovski,

I have recently had the pleasure of enjoying your musical talent at the Jazz club "Cat's Hat". I believe your talent is one of a kind. And I am mostly certain you will shine in the near future as a great violinist. The reason for this letter.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Matthew Parker III and I am a manager for artists in diverse areas, including music. I am interested in investing in your talent.

I'm in New York for a short while and am staying at Hotel Liberty. I would be more honored if you would come over this evening for an interview. I would be truly devastated if you would miss it. This is a chance you cannot allow yourself to pass by. Believe me.

My best regards,

Matthew Parker III

Kyle's eyebrow arched at the letter's last sentences. And wondered if this was the reason Kenny was so urgent about the interview. The Jew wasn't familiar with the name at all and had the slight suspect neither did the blonde. Maybe Kenny simply had a good feeling about this. But Kyle couldn't shake away the strange feeling Kenny simply knew more than he let out. He took a deep breath and, with a decisive expression, stepped inside the luxurious lobby. The redhead repressed a gasp of awe. The interior was absolutely sumptuous. His eyes darted to the beautiful carved oak furniture, to the soft divans, to the golden mirrors and chandeliers, while he coolly walked towards the reception. By the time he reached it, his heartbeat was racing madly. Never in his life had he been in such an exquisite place. The receptionist smiled at him.

"Good evening, sir. How can I help you?" She spoke with an eloquent British accent.

"Ehm. I'm supposed to meet Mr Matthew Parker III …He's staying here." Kyle repressed a frustrated groan, realizing how unsecure and lame he had sounded. His statement had come more out as a hesitant question. But the receptionist smiled kindly.

"You must be Kyle Broflovski." She said and Kyle's eyes widened in surprise. He nodded and she picked up the telephone, dialed and announced his arrival. Okay, so this guy was truly counting with him. The Jew became curious. Mr. Parker III was obviously rich. And therefore was probably influential. So why did he take the trouble of going to his apartment in person? Why not send somebody else? Or talk with him in the nightclub while he was there? "Mr. Parker III is not feeling very well at the moment. He has a headache, but he will see you. Room 709."

Kyle thanked with a smile and hoped it didn't come out too awkwardly. He headed to the lift, pressed on button 7 and inhaled deeply. He took out the smashed piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it again. The handwriting. It was clear it had been written hastily. The guy had witnessed a death. Instead of asking for help like a normal person, he took his time to write coherently a letter before running away. Kyle was feeling more and more nervous about this, but curiosity was killing him. He wanted to know who this Matthew Parker III was. This person who wanted to see him so badly that even a nasty headache wouldn't cancel the meeting. Which had never been appointed in the first place. Kyle wanted to know what was the deal with this guy. The sound of a ring announced he was on the seventh floor and woke him up from his musings. With a pounding heart, Kyle searched for the room and found it. He knocked on the door to discover it was already open. Slowly, he pushed the door fully open and peeked inside.

"Hello? Mr. Parker?" Kyle called out and shyly stepped in. He gently closed the door behind him. "I'm Kyle Broflovski." He announced while he took two steps. There was no response. After a few moments of hesitation he ventured to the first division, a small living room. It had two large leather couches and a table in the middle. He furrowed his brow when he saw a bottle whiskey on it and a glass with the liquid. A small paper stood against the glass. Kyle picked it up and read it.

Take the drink Mr. Broflovski and walk into the next division.

Kyle's brows arched as he read the message with the same handwriting as the letter. He became the more mystified by the minute. He took the glass with whiskey and headed to the next door. It was shut. He knocked twice and waited. No response. He sighed as his stomach turned around. Fear was starting to get him. What if this was some kind of trap? What if this was an escaped Nazi that had found out he was a Jew and wished him dead? But he shook this thought away, telling himself he was just being paranoid. If there was a murder here, the receptionist alone already knew more than the assassin would like. No, if somebody would want to take his life, it would be somewhere in the streets, in some dark alley and not in a luxurious hotel room. He laughed internally at himself, feeling silly for the uncalled suspicion. He knocked again. This time he heard a sound inside.

"Mr. Parker? If it's an inconvenient time for you I could always come back tomorrow." It struck Kyle that Mr. Parker III could have fallen asleep. He wasn't feeling well after all. The redhead was about to repeat his offer when the door was opened to a small breach. Unsure, Kyle pushed the rest of the door open. The room was dark but lit enough to discern a bed and a tall shelf. The Jew wasn't really comfortable with the idea of entering a stranger's bedroom so he remained standing by the door entrance. He noticed a slow movement and saw Mr. Parker III walking to the window. He stopped in front of it. The redhead forced his eyes to see the other's face, but it was too dark to make out his features. All he could discern was that Mr. Parker III was tall and strong built. He sighed frustrated. "Mr. Parker, I can understand if you're feeling too sick right now… It's really no bother for me to come back tomorrow."

The man remained silent. Kyle could see him take a glass to his mouth and heard the sound of sipping. He was certain the guy was drinking whiskey too, which he thought imprudent. Mr. Parker III had a headache after all. And going by how dark he kept his room, it was really bad.

"No." The other said. It was a hoarse whisper but it travelled to Kyle's ears. The Jew repressed a sigh of annoyance and relieve at the same time. "It's a beautiful city, isn't it?" The man whispered, staring out of the window. A pale artificial light illuminated drew the silhouette of his face, making it impossible to read. Kyle's heart started racing again and the fears from earlier returned to him. He eyed warily the other man while he carefully walked inside the room.

"You are German too." Kyle pointed out ignoring the question. He was unable to hide a slight hint of defiance in his voice. Was this a soldier that somehow escaped Dachau? This wasn't Clyde, he had the body structure, but not the height. It could be Craig, but then he had to put on quite some muscle pounds.

"Yes." Kyle cursed the hoarse whisper. It was too low to discern the voice. It was as frustrating as the spot where the guy chose to stand, where the light was just not enough to see his face. Kyle walked closer, his mouth drying, his heartbeat racing, his stomach turning. He knew it was an imprudent bold move, because he could be putting himself in danger. It could be a trap. But he needed to know who this person was. "Du hast keine Ahnung, oder? (You have no clue, do you?)" Mr. Parker III asked, this time in German. Chills ran down Kyle's back. He could feel terror slowly slip through his whole body, but curiosity was betting the better of him.

"No. I have no idea who you are." Kyle sincerely answered. He halted midway the room, hoping vainly he was close enough to discern the other's features. He sighed frustrated. "Who are you?" He decided to go straight to the point. It was clear this person, who obviously wasn't called Matthew Parker III, didn't want to discuss his musical talents. That had been the bait to lead him here. "Why did you call me here?"

"Your violin…" The stranger whispered. Kyle swore the stranger's voice cracked at the word. There was a pause. A sigh. And a gulp of whiskey. "Your violin is a very special object." The whisper was almost inaudible but the redhead heard it clearly, nevertheless. He looked at the violin case perplexed and back to the other man.

"Why is that?"

"It keeps bringing us back together."

Kyle's blood froze in his veins. His heartbeat sped to a dangerous speed. Who was this guy? What did he mean by that? Was he impersonating Herr Cartman? How dared he impersonate him! How did he find out about him and Eric, in the first place? Kyle felt tears sting his eyes while he felt compelled to attack this imposter. But he was paralyzed in his spot.

A faint hope grew in his heart. Eric was dead. Nobody can survive such a fall. Right? Green eyes watched expectantly as the stranger slowly moved closer to the window. Outside's artificial light slowly illuminated his figure. He was tall like Eric. He was strong-built but had too few of the Nazi's overweighed pounds.

The pale light touched the man's face and Kyle finally discerned the features. The right cheek first, then the mouth and chin and finally the eyes. Kyle felt the air get stuck in his throat. He couldn't breathe. His legs lost all their strength. He stared with widened eyes at what could only be an apparition. The man was staring back at him, his eyes on his, piercing his soul. Sorrowful, blissful, longing and waiting expectantly. Kyle took a few gasps of air while he forced his legs to remain standing. He opened his mouth and for moment believed he had become mute. And then he spoke one single word in a desperate gasp of air. The other smiled.

"Eric!"

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