(7th March 1935, Lucerne, Switzerland)
The afternoon sun shone through the yellow-stained glass panels. Shadows stretched across the waxed floors like street canopies. An obscure smell like a combination of hair gel and wood rot filled the time-worn police station to the brim, a scent that Steven Hodgett despised. It reminded him too much of that shed in his childhood residence, where countless spiders crawled in and out of the wall crevices. Less than a week ago, shortly after that weird green man's departure, he received a letter from the cantonal police department, claiming him to be an eyewitness to the shooting incident. He hesitantly accepted, not because he was uncomfortable with formal settings, but because he was unable to move on from his reminiscing about much self-doubt. And to make matters worse, the police seemed to all be eyeing him as he sat, their gazes piercing through his personal space. Those eyes looked of eerie spite.
Have they put themselves in someone else's shoes before? They're looking at me like I've committed a felony. Oh, those eyes, I don't like them; they remind me of myself in my adolescent years. It sucks ass. He swore quietly, attempting to avoid eye contact with anyone. At this rate, he couldn't stand another hour.
'Steven Hodgetts.'
Hodgetts reciprocally rose from his seat. The police held him for three hours, and he had to sit in the main hall, waiting.
Finally, he was taken into a dimly lit room where it was all pitch black except for the old teak table and the officer sitting behind it. A loud fan was humming near the ventilation hatch, unideal for questioning. The police officer was an old man in their 60s, his blue eyes unusually bulgy, resting upon those sullen cheeks and wrinkles. 'Glad to have you here. Have a seat, Herr Hodgetts. My name is Marlin Kosher.'
Hodgetts did as he was told, remaining expressionless.
'"On 1st March 1935, 15:30, two armed men, aged 20 and 24, opened fire and detonated explosives on Leisburg Street 200m from the Steheinsüß intersection. A toll of one death, thirteen injured, and four missing was reported to the Canton PD shortly afterwards. The two men, named Steph Lavender and Josef Schmerzminnen, were quickly disarmed and arrested. Obligedly, the open court will be held on Friday, 8th March, at noon. Officials have yet to debunk their intentions through coarse evidence gathering, which will be sorted and used in the trial. Traces of organised crime, however, were found at their residential addresses, and every Canton in the country will be obligated to investigate further into this matter." Some common conspiracy theories amongst the officers include the influence of Nationalsozialismus in Deutschland, to spread its ideologies and propaganda to the Swiss people. I believe you are aware of this, Herr Hodgetts.' The officer shifted his gaze from the article to Hodgetts's puzzled and distraught face. His eyes felt like invisible arrows piercing through Hodgetts's chest.
'That is true, Sir.'
'Which leads into another topic,' Kosher slid a photograph across the table.
Hodgetts peered at the small paper slip. The image was blurred as if it had been taken in a hurry. There were five people in it. It wasn't easy to notice, but Hodgetts knew who those people were.
'Part-time photographer Thomas Fritz, after hearing the shots go off, took this photo inside his second-storey apartment. There were three kids and an adult in the photo, and one unidentified figure hidden behind the canopy. From what we've collected, there seem to be no records of the unidentified person. Despite being war-neutral, we're living at a time when tensions are brewing rapidly between neighbouring countries. After the recent terrorist attack, the national police are on full alert. Any sort of unidentified persons could be illegal immigrants or worse, military spies. So I—' he took off his cap, revealing his thinning white hair' —would appreciate it if you could give us some insights, Mr Hodgetts.'
Hodgetts remained silent, but a sense of overwrought guilt was crawling up from his insides. He began opening his mouth to speak, but -
'Juni Rosedalen Byrondatt Havn,' the policeman said suddenly. 'Samuel Oskker Annje Havn, Benjamin Skyyall Faley. Faley… he's your uncle's son, isn't he?'
'He is,' responded Hodgetts, uneasily picking at his fingernails.
'My point is, we have done research around you a bunch in particular, much to the chief executive's interest. Born to a British father, Brian Lochlan Hodgetts, and a Danish mother, Raye Andersen, you have a very intriguing family background. First of all, your parents served in the British Navy for 10 years before they died in 1914 during the Great War. You were 15 at that time. Then you moved to Switzerland along with Joshua Andersen, your uncle-in-law, in 1916. After graduating from the Universität Bern, you moved to Norway. You became a physician in Stavanger, where your fifth aunt-in-law, the youngest daughter of Amber Andersen, Corlene Andersen, worked. Your grandmother-in-law then passed away in 1922, prompting your uncle to return to Denmark. Corlene bore Benjamin around that time to a Danish-German-Finnish Jayden Faley. She shortly passed away after moving to Skendåsgurg in 1927. Her death led to Faley's severe mental health issues that eventually caused the ramifications of the Faley factory.'
'I get all of that,' Hodgetts responded, flustered. 'But what does my personal history have to do with this affair?'
'You are currently living with Faley, along with the other two, correct? So who's the fifth person in this photograph?'
Hodgetts buried his face in his large, scarred hands. He knew he had to think. But what could he say? An extraterrestrial stranger appeared amid the riot and took the children he was supposed to be responsible for, then vanished from this world. In hindsight, how did he even convince himself to allow this? The sudden blizzard felt like a dream. He sweated. It was never easy to believe. I think that if left to anyone else to make a decision, they absolutely would have denied it all. Thinking back, at that moment, the whole scene resembled a fever dream. Magic doesn't exist. It's all a work of fiction. So then… what was the right choice? He felt faint, and he realised his hands were shaking.
'Have a soda, Herr Hodgetts,' the officer's croaky voice snapped him out of his daze. 'You look very pale. It's your hypoglycemia, correct?'
Hodgetts nodded, groping for the can of orange soda, and drank it. He was so jittery about it that it sprayed all over his thick beard.
'Apologies, Herr Kosher,' he gasped.
'No, you're all right. Shall we carry on?'
'Thanks,' Hodgetts took a deep breath. 'As for the person you are asking for, I'm sorry to say that I don't have anything to tell you. I don't have any connections with him. But you know, I can still describe his features if you wish. Here is, as I see it: A short, chubby man with a pale green feathery cloak of some sort, his green eyes darker than the ridges of the Schwarzwald. A long, hooked nose embellished by ancient wrinkles. But despite them, he cannot be distinguished from a middle-aged man. His body proportions resembled those of a gnome, with a clear exhibition of dwarfism. He talked little, speaking an accented German that had traces of Welsh and English. When the incident happened, he appeared in front of us unexpectedly, claiming to be a solitary of an unknown religion and a physician.'
'Was a conversation between you two held?'
'There was no immediate interaction between us specifically.'
'Why were you followed home?'
'Two of the children sustained mild injuries, including a broken wrist,' he exhaled sharply. A grenade had detonated close.'
'Solitary. Physician. Foreign,' jotted Kosher. 'Very well, Herr Hodgetts,' he said finally. 'We'll make sure to investigate this matter further. The case will remain open. This session is finished, you are free to leave.'
Hodgetts rose from the seat and breathed a subtle sigh of relief. He was about to step out into the sun-bathed corridor when the police officer called from behind him, 'Oh! Just one more thing, Herr Hodgetts. This has nothing to do with the interrogation—have you visited the Ranges yet?'
An earnest grin crept up Hodgett's face.
'Yes, sir. Do you also wish to seek solitude?'
'You're right. Perhaps I should retire soon, old enough to crave an' live an' forage along the ridges, y'know?'
'I can imagine,' was the last thing that the police officer heard before Hodgetts shut the door behind him and blocked off the sunlight once more.
***
(10th March 1935, Manchester, Great Britain.)
'Steve? You're talking in your sleep again.'
Waking up from a slumber, Steven could minimally hear an old female voice calling his family nickname. Steve? I haven't heard anyone call me that in years. Which means the person sitting next to me right now is…
"Why, the first thing you did after knocking on my door uninvited was to nap on my favourite armchair? That's where I sew around this time of the day, you know.'
'Sorry for the deep upset, Aunt Fernester,' muttered Steven. 'I shall– sort myself right away.' A strong smell of alcohol blatantly shot up his nose after he burped mid-sentence. Memories came rushing back and filled his drunken head soon enough, including where he'd been these past few days after he was released from custody.
'You look a mess. Your garments stench of beer and rot. I had previously thought you'd quit many years ago.'
'I relapsed. Badly, it turns out,' Steven quite literally blurted those words as he quickly realised he couldn't hold it in anymore. The vomit went into the kitchen sink, as the toilet bowl was too far out of reach. Shaking from reflex, he tried to stabilise his posture and managed to position himself on a dining chair.
'Care to explain yourself?' Fernester Andersen stared at him across the dim room behind gleaming spectacles. She had mostly grey hair, tied in a neat bun with a red hairband through the middle. Her eyes were pale green with clear wrinkles depicting her age. She wore a light purple floral blouse and a light grey skirt, with an authoritative gold chain around her neck just above the collar. Her face was stern-looking, yet there was no hostility, like a parent to a troublemaking child. 'Why on earth have you decided to come to Manchester out of nowhere without a word? I trusted to put my deceased younger sister's only son under your care, eller?'
'Ben's fine. Told him I would return in a week. He can housekeep the apartment.'
'Really?'
'No, he's not. I sent them away. I fucking sent them away!' cried Steven. 'An odd-looking man—like those trollfolks in tales—showed up at my doorstep and whisked them away! It's been on my mind ever since that day! I don't know which way I should react, nor what the right decision was! It was like my mind was a jumbled mess ever since I saw its face. Its face, which should've only been in our dreams! Am I dreaming? Am I? And then, he showed me real magic when he healed that girl's arm. Does magic really exist now? Is any of this REAL?
'And then, there was this ancient prophecy,' he looked really insane now. 'About Talismans. Which, once dispersed, casts down a calamity which even God cannot avert. Do you think I should believe that, eller?'
'Listen to what you are saying right this moment.' To his surprise, Fernester's voice remained calm. It was an uneasy sense of calm, like being lost in a misty forest at dawn. 'You must be unclear in the head still. Even if I dispose of all logic and choose to give you the benefit of the doubt, how can I accept what you chose to believe led to the absence of my nephew? You are almost 36. How could you choose to believe in something so far-fetched and ridiculous over risking the life of a child?'
'I couldn't do anything to prevent it. It was like hypnosis—magic. If that wasn't the case, not in a million years would I have done such a sinful act against Christ. I did not choose this outcome on behalf of my own conscience, my own will. It was forced upon me through some utter blasphemy that would ruin my faith permanently.
'I came to you because only you will believe what I say. If you don't believe it, then no one else will.'
'"I miss them so much." Is that what it's about then?' sighed Fernester. 'Still, I can't believe I'm looking at a grown man nearly on his knees begging me to listen to a fantasy. If, as you said, magic does exist, then the entire library of knowledge recorded by our civilisation will collapse as we speak. In this current world's state of affairs, just who else is going to listen to a madman's ramble? They'll look at you and see a manchild who abandoned children due to his own psychosis, because right now, even I am struggling to comprehend the words coming out of your mouth.'
'But that is the unspeakable, unbelievable truth, Aunt Fernester,' said Steven weakly. 'Just like how you cared for me more than my own parents as a child, how they abandoned me for military service. In hindsight, whether their deaths in the Great War were truly impactful to this country, even more so than being there for their own child, whether it was a loss or gain by giving birth to my existence, despite being unable to see the necessity, it couldn't possibly have been fully understood by a child deprived of emotions. However, what bothered me instead was the lack of reassurance. Reassurance that things can work out. Reassurance that there needn't be worry. Reassurance that accountability can be taken without devastation. That's what'd matter to me the most.'
'You were certainly different from other children. More eccentric, less playful, more pessimistic. It often hit me how you could never climb a jungle gym on your own,' Fernester put down her yarns of yellow wool and sewing needles with a gentle grunt. There was a subtle sadness that Steven saw beneath her unexpressive face. 'If you came here to garner my reaction, I care very much that I'm weary, and I won't be able to sleep well for ninety-nine long nights. Still, I hope to see you taking this responsibility to never forget about them. If they ever come back from this, I want you to apologise to them as you did to me. I, for starters, will not forgive you for what you did. I want you to treat them like you owe them for the rest of your life. I accept that this pain will be for both of us to share, piled on top of my heartache over the loss of my siblings, bearing the weight for my remaining years. For now, I shall and can only pray for the safety of those children you gave away.'
'It was a great sin that I could not prevent,' lamented Steven. 'May the Lord protect them, and may they forever be free from the hands of the Devil. I speak on behalf of the reassurance that was bestowed upon me, in an influenced state of mind which ultimately led to this fate.'
'Reassurance? Could that be true or false?' exclaimed Fernester.
'We cannot be certain,' Steven stood up. 'There is all but uncertainty surrounding the realm of magic.'