Year 1957
The bell rang with its dull, metallic echo, scattering students into the courtyard like startled birds. Voices overlapped, shoes scraped against stone, and the pale English sun hung lazily above the schoolyard—present, but distant, as if it did not wish to involve itself too much in human affairs.
She sat on the far bench beneath an old oak tree whose branches leaned protectively over the ground below. The leaves whispered softly, moved by a breeze that smelled faintly of damp earth and chalk dust. She had chosen this bench deliberately. It was quiet. Slightly away from the noise. Always the same place.
She was fourteen now.
Time had changed her—slowly, gently, almost apologetically. Her hair, once cut short for convenience, now fell freely past her shoulders, darker and thicker than before. She had learned how to tie it differently, not for attention, but because Anna once said it suited her face better that way. Her features had softened, yet sharpened at the same time. Her face seemed brighter, not because she smiled more—she did not—but because her eyes reflected something deeper now. Something older.
Still, her posture remained guarded. Shoulders slightly drawn inward. Hands close to herself. As if the world were always one careless movement away from hurting her.
Across from her sat Anna.
Anna had grown too. Not just taller, but louder, more confident. The kind of girl who spoke with her hands and laughed without checking who was watching. She bit into her sandwich carelessly, crumbs falling onto her skirt, completely unbothered.
They had been friends for years now. Or at least—Anna had decided they were.
The girl opened her lunch box quietly. She ate slowly, methodically, as if each bite required permission.
Anna glanced sideways at her, eyes narrowing with mischief.
"You still haven't told me about that boy," Anna said suddenly, her tone light but sharp enough to pierce silence.
The girl stiffened.
Her fingers paused mid-air.
"C'mon," Anna continued, nudging her knee playfully. "You always go quiet when I bring him up. That only makes it more suspicious."
"I said no," the girl replied quickly, her voice soft but firm. "No means no."
Anna sighed dramatically, leaning back against the bench.
"You're no fun when you do that."
The girl said nothing. She lowered her gaze to her food, pretending to focus on it, but her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere—somewhere far beyond the schoolyard, beyond England, beyond even time itself.
Anna watched her for a moment, then shrugged.
"Well, anyway," she said casually, as if changing the subject were an afterthought, "have you heard about that boy case from Germany?"
The girl's breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.
Germany.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her spoon.
"I lived there," Anna added. "Didn't you?"
The girl nodded slowly.
"W-what case?" she asked.
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
Anna grinned, noticing nothing.
"Ohhh," she said teasingly, "so my innocent girl knows nothing, huh?"
The girl did not smile.
"Well," Anna continued, lowering her voice theatrically, "around three years ago—when you just came here to the UK—a small boy, about eight or nine, killed his mother."
The world seemed to narrow.
The distant laughter of other students faded into a low hum. The leaves stopped whispering. Even the breeze felt like it had hesitated.
The girl lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes fixed on Anna—not with fear, but with attention. Pure, concentrated attention.
Anna went on, unaware.
"I mean, normally that wouldn't even make headlines. There are murders every day, everywhere. But this one was different."
The girl did not blink.
"The German court actually changed constitutional laws just for him," Anna said. "Can you imagine that? For a child?"
The girl's chest felt tight.
"They sentenced him to life imprisonment," Anna added. "Life. For a kid."
A long pause followed.
"And the judge who sentenced him," Anna continued, her voice lowering now, curiosity replacing excitement, "ended his own life a year later."
The girl's fingers trembled—barely.
"And last year," Anna said softly, "1956… the boy was found dead in prison."
Silence fell between them.
Not the comfortable kind.
The girl stared at her lunch box, but she no longer saw it. Her mind replayed each word with unnatural clarity, arranging them, dissecting them, weighing them like evidence.
Devil.
Mother.
Germany.
Dead.
Anna exhaled.
"People say the boy was possessed. Or that he was born a devil."
She laughed awkwardly.
"Honestly, I don't get it."
The girl finally looked up.
Anna continued, unaware she had crossed into sacred ground.
"No matter how much I think about it," Anna said, shaking her head, "how can someone kill another person? And their own mother? I just don't understand it."
The girl swallowed.
Then she spoke.
"It's not the question of why people kill," she said calmly.
Anna froze.
The girl's voice was soft—but precise. Each word landed exactly where it intended to.
"It's the question of what forces them to desire it."
Anna frowned slightly.
"Desire?" she repeated.
"Yes," the girl continued. "Fear. Anger. Pain. Control. It can be anything."
She looked down at her hands.
"We can never know the exact psychological state of the killer," she said. "It could be abuse. Harassment. Trauma."
Her voice did not shake.
"Or something worse," she added. "Something that started before memory itself."
Anna leaned closer now, listening.
"Maybe it began in the mother's womb," the girl said quietly. "Post-traumatic stress. Extreme emotional instability. Things that shape a mind before it even knows what a thought is."
The wind stirred again.
"It didn't happen to us," she finished. "So we fear it. That's human nature."
Anna stared at her.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she laughed lightly, trying to break the tension.
"Wow," Anna said. "You know a lot."
The girl's heart skipped.
She opened her mouth without thinking.
"He told me—"
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh crap," she whispered. "I wasn't supposed to say that."
Anna tilted her head.
"Told you?" she asked slowly. "Who told you?"
The girl looked away.
Her fingers clenched.
Anna leaned forward on the bench, resting her elbows on her knees. Her earlier teasing smile had softened into something gentler—curious, but careful.
"C'mon," she said quietly. "You don't have to hide it. Tell me."
The girl stared ahead, past the schoolyard, past the iron gates, past the world in front of her eyes.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she took a slow, deliberate breath—as if preparing herself not to speak, but to remember.
"Okay," she said at last. "Fine."
Anna's eyes lit up instantly. She straightened, excitement flickering across her face like a spark finally catching flame. She did not interrupt. She knew, instinctively, that this was something fragile.
The girl folded her hands in her lap.
"When I was still in Germany," she began, her voice low and steady, "there was a boy."
She paused.
"I won't tell you his name."
Anna nodded quickly.
"Okay."
"He was three years younger than me," the girl continued. "I was eight when I met him."
She allowed a faint, distant smile to touch her lips—not happiness, but recognition.
"He had no friends," she said. "Not because he was loud. Or rude. Or strange in the obvious way."
She glanced briefly at Anna.
"He was quiet. Too quiet."
Anna frowned slightly.
"He was half German," the girl went on, "and half Russian. That alone was enough. Children didn't like him. Teachers didn't understand him."
Her fingers tightened together.
"My case was similar," she admitted. "I didn't belong either. So… we ended up playing together."
Anna waited.
"At first, it was normal," the girl said. "Games. Talking. Silence."
She shook her head faintly.
"But there was something different about him. No—he was entirely different."
She struggled for words, her brow furrowing slightly.
"I don't know how to explain it properly," she said. "But he wasn't like a child. Not even close."
Anna blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"He understood people," the girl replied. "Their emotions. Their intentions. Their weaknesses."
She hesitated, then added quietly, "Better than they understood themselves."
Anna felt a chill crawl up her arms.
"He predicted things," the girl said. "Not guesses. Not luck."
She looked down at her hands.
"He knew."
Anna laughed softly, nervously.
"You're exaggerating."
The girl shook her head immediately.
"No," she said. "I'm not."
She lifted her gaze, eyes calm, unwavering.
"I can say this without exaggeration," she continued. "He could plan decades ahead. Not dreams. Not fantasies. Actual outcomes."
Anna's excitement faded into confusion.
"That's impossible," she muttered.
The girl did not argue.
"But despite that," she said instead, "he was very… sincere. From the heart."
Her voice softened.
"To be honest," she added, "he's the reason I became interested in psychology. And philosophy."
Anna stared at her now.
"He asked questions," the girl said. "Not like children do. He asked why people fear what they don't understand. Why morality changes depending on who has power. Why pain shapes some people into monsters… and others into nothing."
The wind stirred again.
"He and his mother moved to our town later," she continued. "Because of murders in their previous town."
Anna stiffened.
"M-murders?"
"Yes," the girl said. "Someone killed a pregnant woman. And her child."
She did not add details. She did not need to.
"It was never solved," she said quietly. "The killer was never found."
Anna swallowed.
"He told me about it," the girl said. "That's when I asked him something."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"I asked him exactly what you asked earlier."
Anna leaned closer.
"Why people kill," the girl said.
She opened her eyes.
"And his answer," she continued, "was what I told you."
Anna's breath caught.
Silence stretched between them.
"Well," the girl added softly, "yes. He's the same boy from the promise."
Anna's face brightened instantly, as if the tension had snapped.
"So!" she said eagerly. "Did you two ever kiss?"
The girl flinched.
Her cheeks flushed immediately.
"No!" she said quickly. "No, you idiot."
Anna laughed.
"We didn't do anything like that," the girl insisted. "Nothing romantic."
She hesitated.
"Well…" she added.
Anna's smile widened.
"Oh?"
"There was something," the girl admitted.
Anna leaned in so close their shoulders nearly touched.
"He used to touch my face," the girl said quietly.
Anna froze.
"That sounds—"
"It wasn't like that," the girl said quickly. "It was… strange."
She searched for the right words.
"It made me uncomfortable," she admitted. "But not scared."
She twisted her fingers.
"He always asked before doing it," she said. "Always."
Anna blinked.
"He would look at me," the girl continued, "like he was trying to understand something that wasn't visible."
She lifted her hand unconsciously, touching her own cheek.
"And when he touched my face," she said slowly, "I felt something from him."
Anna whispered, "What kind of something?"
The girl's voice dropped.
"An emotion," she said. "One I never sensed from him otherwise."
She shook her head faintly.
"He was always calm. Always controlled. Always… distant."
Her eyes darkened.
"But in those moments," she said, "there was something else."
She paused.
"For the best definition," she said quietly, "I think it was sadness."
Anna opened her mouth to speak—
And the bell rang.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
The moment shattered instantly.
Students rose from benches, voices erupting around them as if the world had been holding its breath only to exhale all at once.
Anna blinked, disoriented.
"Oh—class," she muttered.
The girl stood up slowly, smoothing her skirt, her expression already retreating back behind its familiar walls.
They walked toward the building together, footsteps echoing along the stone path.
Anna glanced at her once more.
"Hey," Anna said.
The girl looked up.
Anna hesitated for a moment—an unusual pause for her—then smiled.
"Can I come to your house this evening?" she asked. "Our conversation isn't finished yet."
The words hung between them.
The girl did not answer immediately.
She stood still for several seconds, eyes unfocused, as if weighing something invisible. Then, softly—
"S-sure."
Anna's face lit up.
"Great!"
And just like that, the moment passed. They walked out with the others, the school emptying around them, unaware that something subtle had already been set into motion.
By the time evening arrived, the sky had taken on a muted orange hue, fading gently into gray. The girl returned home quietly, greeted by the familiar stillness of the house. She placed her bag aside and went upstairs, the floorboards creaking softly beneath her feet.
She took a bath, letting the warm water wash over her, steam fogging the mirror. Her thoughts drifted—not loudly, not urgently—but steadily, circling the same ideas like a slow current.
Germany.
The boy.
The promise.
She dressed carefully, choosing simple clothes, brushing her hair until it lay neatly down her back.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the house.
She froze for a second before calling out, "Mom! There's someone at the door—she might be my friend!"
A reply came faintly from another room.
The girl moved downstairs, her steps measured, and opened the door.
Anna stood there, smiling brightly, cheeks slightly flushed from the evening air.
"Told you I'd come," Anna said.
The girl stepped aside.
"Come in."
Anna's eyes immediately wandered as she entered, taking in the quiet warmth of the house. There was something calming about it—no clutter, no noise, no rush.
They went upstairs to the girl's room.
It was clean. Almost meticulously so. The curtains were drawn just enough to let the fading light filter in. Books were stacked neatly, the bed perfectly made. The room felt calm—peaceful in a way that suggested discipline rather than emptiness.
Anna looked around slowly.
"It's… really nice," she said. "It feels quiet."
The girl nodded.
"I like it that way."
They sat on the floor, backs against the bed. For a while, they talked about small things—school, teachers, silly complaints. Time passed gently, without pressure.
Then Anna tilted her head.
"So," she said casually, though her eyes were sharp, "anything else about your boy?"
The girl stiffened slightly.
"My what?" she asked.
Anna smirked.
"Your boy."
The girl frowned, flustered.
"What do you mean by 'my boy'?" she said. "There's nothing left to say. I already told you everything during lunch. That just… came out."
Anna shrugged.
"Alright, alright."
She paused, then leaned closer.
"Then let's talk about that murderer boy instead," Anna said. "What do you think? How do you think he died?"
The girl sighed softly.
"Why do you like such dark things?" she asked. "Well… anyway."
She thought for a moment.
"You said the judge took his life about a year after sentencing the boy, right?"
Anna nodded.
"Well," the girl continued, "suppose—except that boy—there existed a very, very intelligent man."
Anna raised an eyebrow.
"Like yours?"
The girl's expression changed instantly.
"That's not funny," she said sharply. "He can't do a murder."
Anna blinked, surprised by the sudden firmness.
"Oh—sorry," she said quickly. "Please, continue."
The girl exhaled and looked away.
"If such an intelligent mastermind existed," she said slowly, "what would he do to escape prison without anyone ever suspecting that he escaped?"
Anna thought hard, her brows knitting together.
"I… I don't know," she admitted. "That sounds impossible."
The girl nodded.
"To most people, it is."
She continued calmly, almost academically.
"There are two ways," she said. "The first is to escape prison and exchange himself with someone who looks exactly like him."
Anna's eyes widened.
"That's… extremely difficult."
"Yes," the girl said. "Almost impossible."
She paused.
"The second," she said quietly, "is to escape prison… and become dead to the world."
Anna's breath caught.
"S-so…" she stammered, "are you saying he might still be alive?"
The girl shook her head quickly.
"No. No," she said. "I'm not saying that."
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
"I'm just suggesting that if the boy truly was as cunning as people claim—if they really call him a devil—then such a possibility could exist."
Anna fell silent.
Her thoughts raced, colliding with one another, logic struggling against imagination.
"That's…" she whispered. "That's terrifying."
The girl tilted her head slightly.
"Possibilities usually are," she said.
After a moment, she smiled faintly.
"Okay," she added, lighter now. "Let's stop with these deep talks. Let's play something."
Anna exhaled in relief.
"Yes, please."
They played cards, laughter slowly returning, the tension dissolving into something more familiar. Time passed without them noticing.
Then, suddenly—
Anna spoke.
"How would you like to spend your last moments?"
The girl looked up sharply.
"What?"
Anna shrugged.
"Just curiosity. How would you like to die?"
The girl did not hesitate.
She smiled.
"In my seventies or eighties," she said softly. "On a bed. My children and grandchildren around me."
She paused.
"And my partner," she added. "Holding my hand."
Chapter Ends
To be continued