Brockmann understood the young man’s dilemma. His girlfriend had been killed and a stranger stood in front of his door. It might mean he was in danger. But the door would probably not save him, it would probably just keep him from getting answers. A young man like Simon Bleicher needed answers. He was used to having all the answers to the world just one click away.

The door opened and the young man gave him an almost shy smile. “Come in,” he said, keeping his back out of sight and his hand behind it. A knife probably? Brockmann entered without another word and looked around. According to the information he had, Bleicher was a young student, but this looked nothing like a student’s flat. Too big, too expensive. Daddy, he guessed.

“She's dead. Do you want to talk about that?” Simon Bleicher asked.

“Why are you so eager to try and stab me with the kitchen knife?” Brockmann looked at him, and he would have given him a smile if he would have been the “give-you-a-smile” kinda guy. He was clearly not.

Simon slowly drew the knife from behind his back.

“Next time get one with a better blade,” Brockmann said.

“Pardon?” Simon asked; a little surprised.

“The knife is long, but the blade is flexible and thin. It will break easily. You want a steak knife or a butcher knife for self-defense, even if it’s got a shorter blade. It only needs to be as long as your index finger, but as sharp as possible.” Brockmann said this as if he was speaking about the weather. He was much more familiar with how to kill someone with a knife than he was with how to interrogate a young man.

“Thanks, good to know, I guess,” he said, and raised his brows before making a gesture to a chair, “Coffee?” Simon asked. Brockmann nodded, which surprised him. It had probably been more of a polite gesture to offer coffee than to try and stab him. He went to the kitchen and Brockmann walked through the room. There was a smell of female deodorant here, which meant there was a woman in his life and clearly it was not Sandra. Brockmann curled up his lip, thinking the guy might have fucked around while his girlfriend died.

“She was your girlfriend, right? Sandra Folkert?” Brockmann asked as some strange machine sound came from the kitchen. A modern-looking coffee machine made exactly one cup at a time. How long did a caffeine junkie need with one of those things to get his daily dose? Probably a way to limit yourself. These young people were all about self-optimization. Considering that they seemed like the generation which had nothing to do, he wondered what they had to optimize? They should just wait for reality to bite their butts and then they would see what they were made of.

Simon came back and Brockmann realized that was what was just happening to the young man. Reality was catching up and it was, as always, a real bitch.

“Ex-girlfriend. She broke up with me a couple of weeks ago,” he said. He handed Brockmann a small cup of coffee in something that was probably supposed to be a “designer cup”, but in truth it just held some damned little coffee. He took a sip and sat down, waiting for Bleicher to do the same.

“I see,” at least he wasn’t a complete asshole. “Why?”

Simon looked at him and sighed. “You aren’t police, are you?”

Brockmann shook his head.

“So why exactly should I tell you anything?” Simon asked.

“Why did you let me in?” Brockmann asked.

“I let you in because when I last called her you visited her and I want to know why. I want to find out if you killed her,” Simon said and looked straight into his eyes.

“And if I did, what would you do?” Brockmann asked, feeling challenged by the boy.

“I don’t know. Probably call the police?” Simon said. Brockmann eyed him. He had anger in his eyes, filling with water at the same time. He shook his head.

“Naaaah, Simon. You wouldn’t call the police.” Brockmann took another sip from his coffee but made sure his free hand stayed near the gun. “Would you kill me?”

“Maybe. Maybe I would try, yes. Especially if I had to,” Simon said.

“You think you can?” Brockmann asked curiously.

“You seem pretty old. I’m probably younger, faster, probably even stronger.” Simon said. Brockmann gave him a grunt. He could break every bone in this boy’s body and something inside of him wanted to do it. Just because he was young, good looking and assumed he would be able to kill him.

“Well, did you get a steak knife out of the kitchen this time?” Brockmann asked.

Simon nodded and produced a stainless-steel Japanese steak knife. Brockmann raised his brows.

“Nice. Good choice. You’re a quick learner.” Brockmann had to admit the coffee was good. “Good coffee by the way,” he said, setting the cup down. As Simon followed it with his eyes, he got out his gun and laid it down on the arm of the chair. He raised his brow.

“Ready for another lesson?” Brockmann asked. Simon stared at the gun. He saw panic rise inside of him. Fear. A feeling of losing control of the human body and mind, like no other, gripped him. The boy fought it down though. He was a fighter at heart. Brockmann had to give him that.

“Sure,” Simon said, his hand closing around the knife. Brockmann raised the gun.

“Never bring a knife to a gunfight. Always bring a gun.” He lay his head aside. “So shall we kill each other, or shall we have a civil conversation about why Sandra Folkert had to die?” Brockmann asked.

Simon stared at him and finally let go of the knife. “Why did she have to die?” Simon asked Brockmann.

“No idea, I hoped you could tell me,” Brockmann said and leaned forward, taking the cup of coffee again. He looked at the knife and Simon lay it aside.

“Well, I got an idea, but you wouldn’t believe me,” Simon said.

Brockmann stayed silent for a moment before nodding. He was not in the mood for playing around.

“You knew about the monster too, didn’t you?” Brockmann asked. He put his gun away. Simon’s eyes widened.

“So you saw it too? The monster?” Simon asked.

“There are no monsters, Mr. Bleicher. Only people.” He almost had to laugh at himself. Simon shook his head.

“No, no way. You are not gonna tell me this was my imagination. Before she was murdered, maybe, but now? I imagine seeing something and the other person who imagined the same thing conveniently just gets killed off? No, makes zero sense. You know what makes sense?” Simon pulled himself forward, now he was sitting at the edge of the couch. “That she knew too much. That the monster exists and that the monster killed her.” Simon took a deep breath.

“There are no monsters, believe me,” Brockmann said.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t the monster then. Maybe it was the Nocturne Society?” Simon asked, now becoming more and more daring. Brockmann controlled the look on his face and just raised one brow to release all his curiosity.

“She told you about the Nocturne Society?” Brockmann asked.

“Maybe,” Simon smiled, “She told you too?”

“She asked about it,” Brockmann didn’t like how Simon had turned the tables on him. He wanted to stand up and leave but knew that would be confirmation too.

“Well, what did you tell her? Let me guess. You never heard of it?” Simon smiled, “But that isn’t true, Mr. Brockmann, is it? Something about the monster made her look for this Nocturne Society and whatever lead she found seems to have led to . . . you.” Simon looked at him. Brockmann felt like drawing his gun and shooting this smug son of a bitch in the face. Had he just been outsmarted by a boy? He clenched his teeth so hard he was afraid they might break, but then inhaled sharply.

“You think tracking her steps is a wise move, Mr. Bleicher? Considering where her journey ended?” Brockmann asked.

“I loved her. You get that? I loved her and I lost her twice. I might be stupid, or I might be insane from grief, but believe me, I will find out why she died and make sure someone pays for it. I will post in every forum and every social board the question of what the Nocturne Society is and why I have seen a monster. I will ask my dad for a loan and put a 20,000 Euro bounty out there. I will drag every last one of you into the light where everybody can see you, so DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THERE IS NO MONSTER,” Simon screamed at Brockmann before collapsing back into his couch. “I have seen it,” he added.

Brockmann stared at him for a moment. He understood the boy. This was why he had never let anyone get close to him for the last three decades. It was dangerous. Humans did everything for those they loved. Simon Bleicher had no choice but to go forward. He was driven now and, as the word implied, that meant he was no longer driving. He had lost control. Regrettably, this might have brought him on a collision course with Brockmann. Also, regrettably, Brockmann could respect it. He had given up his life many times and accepted death. Maybe the first time that happened, he was around the boys’ age.

“There are no monsters, except this one,” Brockmann corrected himself.” So what do you know about it?”

Simon smiled. “Next to nothing. I studied every source on cryptozoology I could find. Well, not all of them. But the ones that looked most serious.” Simon shrugged. “Nothing that resembled it.”

“Where did you find those?” Brockmann wondered fearfully. This knowledge was not easily available. Was it?

“Websites mainly. Ordered a few e-books,” Simon said. Brockmann stared at him as if he was not following him.

“Internet?” he asked.

“Hm,” Brockmann replied, “Those websites are on the internet?”

Simon laughed. “Are you serious? Yes, they’re all over the place. A million or so. Plus, some Instagram channels and Facebook groups. Some are specialized, like sasquatch.com, but most of them are pretty broad.” Simon saw in the face of the man that he didn’t fully follow him. “Wikipedia was also a great source,” he then added.

“What is that?” Brockmann asked. Simon raised his brows.

“You're joking, right?” he asked and shook his head. Brockmann lay his head aside and gave him a deep grunt.

“Alright, it's a database containing pretty much all of the world’s knowledge. Amazing, actually.” Simon stopped. “That is where I found all the info about the Nocturne Society.”

“What?” Brockmann snapped up and felt his back punish him for it right away. Simon laughed.

“Just kidding. Nothing on them on Wiki, but once I'm done here I might write something.” Simon leaned back. Brockmann was now sure that a tooth or two might break, with how hard he clenched them. He leaned back and considered if it was not easier to just shoot the boy right here and now. It would give him a certain pleasure. Simon Bleicher was starting to really annoy him.

“Very funny,” he said instead. Both men looked at each other.

“Yes, it is. So funny I think nobody will laugh anymore when you pull your little joke and tell me you don’t know what the Nocturne Society is,” Simon said. Brockmann asked himself if he really could leave him alive. He finally admitted defeat and pushed the problem of how to shut up the boy to the future. For now, the only way he could get anything from him was probably a bargain.

“There are no monsters. It wasn’t always that way.” Brockmann sighed, “When they were more common, the Nocturne Society took care of them.” Brockmann wondered if he had ever explained to anyone what Nocturne did. The words didn’t really do justice to it.

“Monster hunters?” Simon asked. It sounded funny, but it was quite important to him. If there was anything of such in the subway, it made perfect sense to hunt it.

“Search. Contain. Protect the public. A lot of research too,” Brockmann said. He added another grunt.

“Were you . . .”

“My turn,” Brockmann interrupted him sharply, “An answer for an answer.”

Simon looked at him. “Fair enough, big guy.”

“Tell me how it came that you and Sandra saw a monster,” he asked. Simon raised his brows.

“An accident. We came from a punk concert in the harbor and walked up to the nearest subway at Königstraße. We got down into the station and there it was, lurking in the tube. We stared at it and it at us and then it vanished. We ran away and took a cab.” Simon shivered at the thought.

“The nearest subway station, you say,” Brockmann said. He thought about it. This whole thing made still little sense, but at least he got a clearer picture. Stretching his shoulder, which still hurt, he looked at Simon.

“Yes. The only one nearby actually,” Simon said. “Why? You think it's still there?”

“No,” Brockmann said.

“Then why do you ask?” Brockmann looked at him and lay his head aside with a smirk.

“That is my damn question. Why do you ask about the subway station?” Simon asked.

“These things are usually good at hiding. I don't think it was a coincidence you saw it. I think it wanted to be seen by Sandra.” Brockmann said, admitting that he could not rule out Simon. “Or you.”

“Why?” Simon asked. Brockmann shrugged.

“What did Sandra tell you about the monster?” Brockmann asked. Simon smiled.

“Nothing. She stopped talking to me afterward. She completely shut down, until she asked me to leave,” Simon said. The memories hurt, obviously. Brockmann nodded.

Simon knew it was his turn again.

“Did the monster kill Sandra?” he asked and Brockmann looked up right into his eyes.

“No,” Brockmann said. “Not directly,” he admitted.

Simon raised his brows and leaned back. “Then who did?”

Brockmann put his finger up and moved it from one side to the other. “A question for a question.” He was buying himself some time so as to come up with a convincing explanation for Sandra’s death. A lie, so to say.

He could hardly tell Simon he killed her, right?