3 - Visitors

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3

Visitors

Robert scoffed, strengthened himself with a fresh sip, stepped forward and drew the curtain closed. Notary Wilmswedel was right. This Halloween dress-up nonsense is going too far.

He took a deep swig and turned his empty bottle over in front of his eyes, before stepping to his backpack and taking out the next beer. Moving across the room, he noticed a large envelope waiting for him on the fold-out secretary desk to the right of the door.

Right. More instructions.

He shuffled across the room, plopped down in the swivel chair and pulled the letter opener, modeled after a Japanese shortsword, from its sheath, holding it before his eyes.

Nice piece. Robert had always had a soft spot for all things Japanese. Maybe we have more in common than I thought, Uncle.

Robert opened the envelope and found three sheets, typed in typewriter script.

Dear Robert, the first page began.

"Hello, uncle," Robert grumbled. "Care to tell me what this is all about?"

I am glad that you have come. Now that you have seen for yourself that my house and property are worth your efforts, it is time to explain a few more things to you. I recommend that you find a comfortable seat and I ask that you remain patient during the following explanations.

"You hear that?" Robert said, turning to the cat. "A comfortable seat. He means the one you stole from me."

Much of the following may sound disorganized and confusing. Regrettably, I am in a great hurry at the time of this writing. I am on the trail of a great mystery. There are powers that would do anything to prevent me from ever revealing it. To ensure your safety and survival, I will try to the best of my ability to prepare you for what is ahead. I recommend that you take notes to memorize what I will be telling you.

Now homework, too? Robert leaned over to his jacket and searched the inside pocket for his ballpoint pen. Where are you hiding? I had you just a moment ago at notary Wilmswedel's place. He shook his head, found a fountain pen and a sheet of paper on a shelf, and continued reading.

First of all, witches exist. They are women and men who have given themselves over to demonic forces to enhance their own powers, and who are now being corrupted by these demons, whose sole intention is to bring suffering and destruction to the world. They are enemies of humans and the opponents of all creation.

Robert sighed and ran his hand over his face. Witches and demons... That's exactly how Alois had sounded back then. But who could have guessed that he really meant these things? Robert shook his head and continued with the next line.

Second, they are coming...

Shouting in the garden jolted Robert up. The cat turned its head as children's laughter rang out. Stepping toward the window and peering out between the curtains, Robert saw a group of kids in costumes approaching across the gravel path, already halfway to the villa. He let out a sigh and prepared to head downstairs to avoid having his door egged, when the last line of Alois' instructions drew him back to the desk. 

Second, they are coming. On this very night, they will be out looking for you. Accept it so that you do not fall into despair when the moment arrives. Once again I urge you: Do not let them in under any circumstances. Our enemies take a variety of forms and disguises. No matter what mask they show themselves in: Do not open the door to them! They can enter a protected house only if you invite them in. Do not fall for their ruse!

Muffled footsteps thumped on the porch. The rattling of the doorbell rang through the house.

"Chantal! Let go of Kemal's chocolate bar!"

"No!"

Lots of shapes, huh? In this case, their enemies had really gone to great lengths.

The bell rang again. "Trick or treat!" a chorus of children sang "Give us something good to eat!"

Robert remained still. Maybe if he pretended that no one was home...

"Nobody's coming."

"Come on, let's head to the next place."

"This house sucks."

Crunching footsteps on the gravel signaled that the little pests were leaving. Robert was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard the dull thuds of several eggs hitting the wooden facade.

Damn brats. They could count themselves lucky that he was under siege by the 'forces of darkness'. He made sure to draw the curtains properly closed, then turned back toward the desk.

Third, you must realize that it is no coincidence that I called you here. It is your destiny. The blood of the Burmantels flows through your veins. It is a very special blood, with a very special blessing. Since I am no longer alive, I have no choice but to pass on the sacred calling of our family to you. Your mission is to exterminate the brood of witches. You must hunt them down and destroy them, as I have done all my life. 

But first: Survive this night, and everything will be revealed to you. You will realize that I have told you nothing but the truth. Further instructions await you in my Refugium on the ground floor. It is the heart of every witch hunter's home. Until then, make yourself comfortable. And stay alive.

Sincerely,
Your uncle

Alois Burmantel
Venator Maleficorum
of Berlin

Postscript. If for some careless reason you should disregard my admonitions and expose yourself to an attack by our enemies, there remains only one prospect of salvation: You must make a sacrifice of your own flesh, combined with a vow to join our order: accipe me ordine in fidem et in sanguinem in nomine sancti huberti amen.

It is your last form of protection against the sorcerous work of the wicked, as it places you under a special kind of blessing that weakens the effects of enemy spells. At the very bottom of my cabinet of spirits (which you have undoubtedly already noticed) you will find a humidor and, in it, a cigar cutter. I recommend that you cut off the tip of a little finger. It is painful, but the impairment is nothing in comparison to the fate it will save you from.

At the very bottom of the page was an oval outline, a mutilated fingerprint in ink, showing a rough surface without any lines. 

"Damn it," Robert muttered, rising from his chair and running his hands through his hair. This was even worse than he had feared. There could be no more doubt: What he had found fascinating about Alois as a kid was in fact some kind of dangerous psychosis. This was the home of an aggressive, self-destructive man whom isolation had driven to madness.

Robert's gaze grazed the gruesome painting of the witch hunt on the wall. Only now did he notice that one of the gunmen on horseback was missing the tip of his little finger. Another one had a mutilated ear.

This is just too much. What am I supposed to do? I need someone to tell me I am not hallucinating.

He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. Who could he ask for advice? His buddy Sascha?

No. Sascha had never given a single piece of good advice in his entire life. Robert's thumb paused over another entry.

Dad, his screen read.

He pondered for a moment. Should I really… This is going to invite more problems. But then, I can't think of anyone more firmly planted in reality than Dad. Plus, he is the only one who truly knew Alois. After a few seconds of hesitation, Robert dialed and lifted the cell phone to his ear.

"Hello?" his father's voice sounded after a brief ringing. As usual, he was either unwilling or unable to read the saved contacts on his screen.

"It's me, Dad," Robert said.

"Robert. That's... nice. What's going on?"

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. We just came back from having dinner at a place close to the beach. How about you? How are those job applications coming along?"

"They're… This is about something else. I just wanted to ask you something. It's about your brother."

Silence followed, then breathing sounds.

"Alois," his father said with a low voice. "What about him? Did he... did he contact you? I warned him if he ever..."

"No," Robert lied. "It's just... I was thinking about him."

He bit his lip. It was wrong to keep his father in the dark, and he knew it. But he also knew another thing: If he came clean about everything now, his Dad would order him to leave the villa immediately. And no villa meant no trips around the world.

"I was wondering if Uncle Alois is okay," Robert continued weakly. "We haven't heard from him in so long."

Again, Robert could hear his father breathe.

"No, he isn't well," his father grumbled. "He hasn't been for a long time. He is... confused. And a bad influence. My brother's dangerous, Robert. He lives in a world inside his head that has nothing to do with reality. Are you sure you haven't heard from him?"

"What do you mean, dangerous?" Robert urged. "You never explained to me what's actually going on between the two of you."

He could hear his father sigh, then his mother saying something in the background in a soft voice.

"I know," his father pressed out reluctantly. "It's just... What's the point of rehashing this old nonsense?"

More words from his mother, followed by a snort from his father.

"Of course, dear. Yes, yes, you're right," Eduard grumbled. "It's just... I don't want to burden him with these things. Believe me, Robert, it's better if you..."

"I'm not a child anymore, Dad," Robert interrupted him, feeling himself grow agitated. "This is my family, too. I deserve to know the truth."

A pause followed. Eduard Terwin took a deep breath.

"As you wish," he said. "But I'm telling you, you'll see why I try to keep these things from you. All I'm trying to do is to let you live a normal life, you understand? Back when I was your age, I would have wished for my dad to…"

Eduard interrupted himself, then sighed once more.

"Your grandfather Wilhelm…" he continued. "As you know, he died before you were born. What you don't know yet is that he suffered from an illness. An illness that ultimately drove him to his death."

"What kind of illness?" Robert urged. "What do you mean, it drove him to his death?"

"We're not sure, but something wasn't right with his head," his father replied. "I guess these days you would call it…"

More quiet words from Robert's mother in the background.

"Right, some form of mental illness," his father said. "He lived in a delusion that compelled him to behave in ways that… He abandoned us, Robert. Me, my brother and my mother. Last we heard of him is he wanted to travel to Norway on the trail of some... He never returned from there. The police told us he went missing in a remote mountain region. Your uncle Alois... I'm afraid he suffers from the same delusions, the same illness. He has never been diagnosed, but I fear that my father's condition might be hereditary. I know it sounds bad, but you have no reason to worry," he rushed to assure Robert. "Surely you would have shown signs by now if you were also affected. You are normal, you hear? We are normal. That's why I want you to stay away from Alois and his fantasies, you hear me? To keep it that way. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Robert muttered."Makes sense."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm all right," Robert replied. "Thanks, Dad. That's all I needed to know. I need a moment to process it."

"Call if I can help you with anything," his father urged. "Anytime. You hear me?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to... No need to worry, okay? You guys have a great vacation. I'll talk to you later.

Robert hung up and stood lost in the room.

A mental illness. That explains a lot. On the other hand... From Dad's perspective, any form of adventurousness probably passes for some kind of disorder.

Robert screwed up his face.

Sometimes I wonder if Dad really wants to help me, or merely turn me into his younger doppelganger.

He noticed that his beer bottle was empty. When he reached for the next one and opened it, his gaze went to the spirits cabinet.

This evening calls for something stronger.

He knelt down in front of the cabinet, and, after a short inspection of the expensive-looking labels, picked out a crystal glass to pour himself a whisky.

"Here's to you, Uncle," he toasted, taking a generous sip. "You strange, strange man."

The amber liquid left a pleasant burn in his throat. He was starting to feel a gentle buzz. Walking over to his chair and sitting down on it, he turned to his laptop, where Dr. Frankenstein's freshly resurrected monster lurched across the screen.

At least I can be comfortable while I'm being horrified.

A buzzing sounded in his pants' pocket.

Probably Dad, wanting to know what I…

Kathy, the screen read. 

Robert straightened himself up and raised his phone to his ear. "Kathy," he said, trying hard to sound casual. "I was just about to..."

"Robert? Robert, are you there?" She sounded alarmed, almost panicked. 

"Kathy?" His body tensed. "Kathy, what's wrong?"

A sob came from the line. "I... A man is chasing me," she whimpered. "He's after me. Please – I think he wants to hurt me."

"What?" Robert jumped up from his chair. "Where are you?"

"At the subway station," her shaky voice rang out. "Where we met. I was alone with him on the platform. He's been acting creepy toward me the entire time. I think he wants... Oh no!" 

Panting followed, then the sound of running footsteps.

"Kathy! What's going on? Say something!"

"He has a-" she cried. "He... he's after me. And he's got a knife!"

A shock went through Robert. His mind raced as he pressed his hand to his face. 

You can help her. She'll be safe with you.

"Come to me – you hear me?" he shouted. "To my villa. Run in the direction I went. Follow the road. It leads to a big house in an open square. There's a light on the second floor. I'll let you in." 

He rushed to the window, almost stumbling over the cat that had jumped from the armchair onto the floor, and tore open the curtains. 

"Kathy? Can you hear me?" 

Only static came from the phone.

He leaned toward the window – there! Someone was running around the street corner. A shadow darted across the sidewalk toward the villa, looking around, holding their coat closed with both arms. 

"Kathy!" He tossed his cell phone onto the chair. The cat meowed in protest as Robert jumped over it, leapt into the hallway, and stumbled down the stairs. He unlocked the front door and yanked back the deadbolt. His hand was already on the handle when his uncle's warning echoed through his head: Do not let anyone in!

You must! You must help her!

His fingers trembled. Two opposing voices seemed to be shouting at him from inside his head. He gasped and took a step back as the door shook with a thud. 

"Robert! Robert, it's me! Robert, let me in! He's right behind me!"

"I…"

Don't listen to her, the voice from the letters scolded. She's lying to you. What was she even still doing at the subway station after all that time? Can't you see it's all a trick?

"Robert – help!" she pleaded. "He's already through the gate. He's coming here! Robert! Open the door!"

Save her!

Really no one, do you understand?

Damn beer. Damn liquor. Damn letters and paintings. Think! 

"Robert!!"

Screw it! He yanked the door open and found Kathy half-crouched on the porch. 

"Come, come in!" he shouted, grabbing her by the sleeve and pulling her over the threshold, prompting her to stumble past him and fall to the floor. He slammed the door and slid its latch. Panting heavily, he turned around.

Kathy was half sitting, half lying on the tiles. Her wet hair hung wildly in her face. Her breath was coming in jerks. She was as pale as a ghost.

"Are you hurt?" he blurted.

She shook her head. "So cold..." she uttered. "I have to..."

Robert looked helplessly around. The witch hunters in the oil paintings stared down at him reproachfully. Only now, he noticed that bits of flesh were missing from their hands that held books, scrolls, and weapons.

Police. I have to call the police. 

He searched his pockets, only to remember that his phone was still upstairs. 

"I'll be right back," he shouted, leaping up the stairs and sprinting down the hall into the study. 

Where is the damn thing? He found his cell phone in the crack between the seat and back of his chair and dialed with trembling fingers.

"Police," the line crackled. "What's your emergency?"

"I..." Robert rushed out of the room and down the hall to the top of the stairs. "It's an emergency," he stammered. "We need..." 

He bent over the stair railing and froze. His heart took a leap. The entrance hall was empty. The only remnant of his visitor was a water stain on the floor. 

"Kathy?" he croaked. The lamps in the iron chandelier flickered. His eyes shot to the door of the Refugium down the hall, half hidden in shadows. Did something just move over there?

"Hello?" the police operator's voice sounded from the phone. "Do you need help?"

"Kathy?" he whispered.

Something stirred in the darkness. A low laugh rang through the hall, sending a tremble down his spine. A figure was approaching him from the direction of the Refugium, gliding across the checkerboard tiles. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized her.

"Kathy," he said. "I almost..."

His voice failed him when he saw it. His blood turned to ice. Down there on the tiles stood Kathy. Her reflection in the mirror on the wall, however, showed an entirely different creature.

Kathy spun around, following his gaze, and saw her too: a pale, haggard-looking woman, with waxy skin, long gray hair, and eyes filled with a yellow glow.

A low snarl came from her jaws as Kathy turned around and fixed her predatory eyes on Robert.

"Gaah!" Robert screamed, his cell phone slipping from his hand and clattering down the steps. The cat, suddenly between his legs, let out a sharp hiss, its back arched and mouth wide open, displaying its gleaming teeth.

Kathy jumped forward with unexpected speed, rushing up the stairs. Robert wheeled around and ran toward the study. The cat barely made it through the gap before Robert slammed the door and locked it. He got hold of the desk chair and shoved it under the latch. The pounding of his heart boomed between his temples. On his laptop, Frankenstein's monster was wrestling with a man holding a torch. 

What the hell is going on here? Am I drunk? Have I gone insane? Down there it looked like...

He winced as a soft knock sounded through the wooden door.

"Robert?"

He held his breath. It was Kathy's voice – sweet, without a hint of threat.

"Robert. I don't feel well. Why..." The latch moved. "Why did you lock the door?"

He stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Robert, what are you doing? I need your help. Why are you locking me out?"

Indecisive, he stood frozen in place. This had to be some kind of delusion.

Or the illness of your family has finally caught up with you, an inner voice whispered. The curse of the Burmantels that your father warned you about.

He shook his head. "We're normal," he growled. "I am normal!"

The hallway had fallen silent. What he had seen must have been his imagination. Slowly, he reached for the chair jammed under the door handle.

Bang!

The door shook so violently that he stumbled backward and fell to the floor.

Bang!

Another attack, followed by a crunch.

Panic flooded him. No woman nor man could muster such force. It was as if someone was throwing refrigerators against the wood.

Bang!

The cat shrieked. Robert's eyes shot to the oil paintings, then to the glass case with the spirits. 

No, he thought to himself. 

Yes, a voice screamed in response. His instinct took over, pushing reason aside. He leapt forward and yanked open the glass door. His hands rummaged through the clinking bottles. 

Bang! 

The cracking sound of breaking wood intermixed with the relentless thrusts.

Where?! Where is it?

Finally, at the very back, he spotted it. He grabbed the cigar box, flipped open its lid and sifted through the smokes. At the very bottom, he found what he was looking for. 

Bang! 

Part of the door shattered with a crunch. Robert blinked away the panic and drunkenness. 

What are you doing? a voice inside his head screamed as he slid the tip of his trembling pinky finger between the blades. Have you completely lost your mind?

His heart was racing, his chest heaved up and down. No turning back now. If he went through with this...

The oath!

Panicked, he snatched the letter from the desk and searched it in a haze.

"Accipe... accipe…" he stammered, struggling to piece together whatever little Latin he remembered from high school.

"Accipe me ordine in—"

Bang! came another crunch of the door, causing Robert to jump.

"—fidem et in sanguinem in nomine sancti huberti amen," he read with a quivering voice.

The legs of the jammed chair screeched across the floor.

Robert closed his eyes.

Don't do it!

"Gaaah!" The pain was sharp and piercing as he pressed the blades together. His scream merged with the sound of the door's wood splitting and hinges squeaking. Time seemed to slow down. A dull throbbing went through his body. Black spots danced before his eyes as he stared at the bleeding stump of his finger. Half stunned, he sank back, clenched his fist around the wound and rolled onto his side. 

The study had turned completely silent. On his laptop screen, a mob raged, burning Frankenstein's monster to the ground in a windmill. Splinters of veneer lay scattered everywhere. All that was left of the door was a single fragment, hanging twisted on its hinge like a frayed flag.

"There," Kathy said, pushing over a jagged piece of wood that fell clattering into the room in front of her. "Was that so hard?"

Robert opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The shape of his attacker blurred before his eyes. Her skin was toned and healthy one moment, and then wrinkled and scarred the next, in a sickening yellow and brown – like a body that had been decaying in a swamp. Something about the woman standing before him was the Kathy he knew, but mixed into her was something else: a sneering, alien presence, accompanied by a stench, and radiating coldness.

Robert tried to crawl away from her. The woman in the oil painting on the wall seemed to be grinning down at him.

"Robert Terwin," Kathy's voice rang out. There was an ominous echo in her words as she pointed a finger at him. "Stand up. I command it."

Robert flinched. It was as if an unknown force tried to take hold of him and lift him up, but he clenched his jaws, resisted it and stayed on the floor.

Kathy's face froze. Her expression twisted into an angry scowl when she spotted his bleeding pinky finger. 

"Curses," she snarled. "So it is true. Oh, the Mistress will be pleased when she…"

"Stay down, boy!" a deep voice roared from across the room.

A thundering shot robbed Robert of his hearing while he pressed himself to the floor. Kathy was hurled over him, her body knocking over the desk chair, before crashing into the opposite wall and falling to the floor.

Robert screamed; screaming was all he had left. He screamed and screamed, even when the room was silent again. Only after several moments had passed did he dare to lift his head.

The double barrels of a sawed-off shotgun jutted toward him. Smoke curled from one, while behind the barrels, the piercing gray eyes of a grim-looking older man with a bushy gray beard stared at Robert. The angular body of the intruder, dressed in a heavy coat with silver buckles and a silver-threaded trim, nearly filled the entire doorway. 

"And now for you," the man boomed. "Stay down! You have exactly ten seconds to explain to me who you are and what you are doing here."

Robert blinked. His lips took a while to catch up to his thoughts. "You..." he croaked, looking over at Kathy, who lay contorted over the armchair in the corner, unmoving. "You shot her! What..."

"I'm asking the questions here," the man interrupted him. His beard was old-fashioned, with sweeping sideburns. His eyes were alert, with a glare that expressed hardness, perhaps even cruelty. 

"You let a witch into Alois' house," he shouted. "A crime that is punishable by death. How did you get in here? What did you..." 

The man fell quiet as he caught sight of the wound on Robert's hand, the cigar cutter and the letter covered with bloody fingerprints on the floor. 

"Lord in heaven," he groaned. "Did you… did you take the oath?"

"I just wanted to..." 

"Answer me! " the old man thundered.

"Yes," Robert groaned. "Yes, I read it out loud."

"Unbelievable," the old man gasped. "How could you… Who the hell are you?"

"I just wanted to..." groaned Robert. "Uncle Alois ordered me to come here. In his will. I was to inherit his house."

The old man stared at him wordlessly for a few moments. 

"Alois' nephew?" he finally grumbled, lowering his shotgun. "You don't say. The old boy is always good for a surprise."

The intruder's leather boots pounded across the floor. He squatted beside Kathy and checked for a pulse. Satisfied, he leaned his sawed-off shotgun against the desk and pulled out a handkerchief. 

"Here," he said, holding the rag out to Robert with his calloused hand. "Bandage the wound. But wait just a minute." 

He reached into the liquor shelf, pulled out a bottle and, without warning, grabbed Robert by the wrist. "Clench your teeth, kid." 

"Arrrrgh!" Robert squirmed in pain as burning liquor poured over his finger. After briefly inspecting the wound, the man released him. "Tie up your finger well," he commanded. "Don't let the wound get infected."

Robert followed the order and wrapped the cloth around his finger, too confused to object. 

The man fished out a pair of round-framed silver glasses from the pocket of his vest, stepped to the desk end and scanned over the documents.

Robert turned toward Kathy. His mind still refused to process what had happened. The cat had crawled out from under a sofa and was sniffing her corpse. 

"Well, well," the intruder said, dropping his glasses back into his pocket. "Robert, huh? Who would have thought. A hidden Burmantel emerging from nowhere."

"Terwin," Robert corrected, feeling alternately hot and cold. "My last name is Terwin." 

"Looks like you failed Alois' test," the old man said, holding up the document. "'Let no one in' – a simple command, you'd think. And yet, you did not only let her in, you invited her. Otherwise, this witch would not have been able to enter the house."

"You killed her!" Robert croaked. "You... You're the guy who chased her! You're a psychopath! Just like Alois."

The old man sighed. "You don't know what you're talking about, boy. You're lucky I keep my eyes open. And that your uncle was smart enough to predict that you were going to do something stupid. Here. A few days ago I got this mailed to me from his notary." 

He took out a piece of paper from inside his coat and tossed it on the floor.

October 31st, 2019. 8 pm. Come to my villa. Take care of him. PS: Don't look for me. His fate is more important.

"Looks like your uncle wanted me to find you here," the old man said. "As for taking care of you... I'll assume for now that he didn't mean that I should treat you the same way I treated her," he added with a nod toward Kathy's body.

"You shot her," Robert repeated helplessly. "Just like that. You..."

"Yes, I did," the old man announced. "But I haven't heard a single 'thank you' from you yet. How did this happen? Did the young witch follow you? Or was she already here?"

"I met her at the subway station," Robert stammered. "I knew her. There's no way she was a wit..." He closed his eyes. Slowly, Robert, slowly. "What on earth was all of that, anyway? What did I see?" Robert asked. "Down the hall – she looked so different. Old and twisted, like a..." 

"Listen," the intruder said. "From the looks of it, you've gotten yourself into something that no one has prepared you for. Why it appears in Alois' letter that he wants you to follow in his footsteps as a witch hunter is beyond me."

"I'm as confused as you are," Robert groaned. "This must all be a big misunderstanding."

The old man pinched the bridge of his nose and seemed to think.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," he said. "I'll take care of the... mess in here. You'll be safe here for the night. Lie down. You're wounded and need rest. I'll put your fingertip in a cool place – downstairs, in the kitchen." 

The old man stepped over to the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I'll write down my address for you," he said. "Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, you can make your decision. You can go to the hospital and get your finger sewn back on and never return to this house. In this scenario, you won't go to the police. You'll just go back to your old, normal life and forget about all this. You'll have peace of mind again, and you can tell yourself that none of this ever happened."

With a scraping sound, the man picked up his shotgun, checked both barrels, and snapped them shut. "Or you leave the finger as it is. You accept it as a sacrifice of your flesh and come to the address I've written down on this note. In that case, your life will become very different. I will show you things far beyond what you can imagine. You will enter into a battle that goes back centuries. And if luck and fate are with us, we may even find your uncle."

"What do you mean?" Robert blurted "Uncle Alois is dead. He gave me..."

"Nonsense, boy," the old man interrupted. "A Burmantel is not so easy to kill. I know your uncle. I'm sure the old fox just wanted to make sure you really come here tonight."

"He's still alive?" Robert blurted. "But how…"

His head was spinning, making it impossible to order his thoughts. 

"Get some rest," the man said calmly. "Lie down on that sofa over there."

Robert dragged himself through the room and stretched out on the couch. 

The old man stepped closer, checked the makeshift bandage on Robert's finger, then patted him on the shoulder. "Good boy," he said. "Alois must have a plan for you. Alois always has a plan. I suggest you have a look at the hunting directory in his Refugium first thing tomorrow. Everything will become much clearer to you."

Robert lacked the strength for a reply. Waves of drowsiness took over him. The gold of the lamps and the brown of the heavy furniture blurred into a pleasant glow. The intruder drew the curtains and loaded Kathy's body onto his shoulder with a groan before stomping away through the tattered door. Through the edges of his eyelids, Robert saw the cat curl up on the armchair next to him. 

"That's… my chair..." he protested, before passing out.