Franz Schneider

Bill tied the blindfold slightly. Music drifted across the yacht deck, some old jazz piece drowned by the engine. His hand settled on my waist. Cold fingers. Practiced. “You trust me?” he asked. I laughed once. “I love you.” He kissed my cheek. A ring slid onto my finger. Then the push. The sea hit like concrete. Salt filled my mouth before I could scream. Above me the yacht lights blurred white & gold against the black water. The engines roared louder. Bill never looked back. I screamed anyway. I couldn't swim, he onew that. The fishing boat cut through the dark 3 minutes later. Maybe less. Franz pulled me out without a word, dragging me over the rail like dead weight. Broad shoulders. Wet flannel shirt. Eyes that lingered too long. Later Inside his cabin he handed me dry clothes. “Who were you running from?” “My fiancé.” “That not what I asked.” The house smelled of wood & old coffee. Elma, his wife, looked me over with open irritation. “She staying long?” Franz shrugged. “Depends if she lies.” I learned quickly he hated hesitation more than dishonesty itself. Every question came sharp, stripped bare. Elma fought him the same way. Doors slammed hard enough to rattle glass. She left 4 days later. “You always need someone guilty,” she told him. Franz said nothing. She laughed at that & walked out. That night he stopped at the harbor bar before heading toward the trails behind the cliffs. I followed at a distance, unnoticed. Pines swallowed the path. The wind carried seawater & something animal. Then I lost him. The wolf stood in the clearing under the moonlight. Massive. Grey fur silvered by the dark. Its eyes were wet, not gentle, just exhausted. A branch cracked under my shoe.