The Spur Of Phonos

Chapter 2: Wolfgang's Statement

"Petra! Petra! Unbar the door, Petra!" I urgently called out.

Startled by my urgent cries, my vexed wife exclaimed, "What in the name of all that is holy is transpiring, Klaus?"

"No time for explanations, my dear!" I implored. "We must tend to him immediately. Fetch some warm water and the first aid kit."

With a touch of annoyance evident in her demeanor, Petra dutifully complied, procuring an assortment of medical supplies.

"Pray tell, who is this man? And what could possibly be the reason for his gunshot wound?" My wife queried, her curiosity is piqued. "What has occurred, Klaus?"

"Petra, my dear, this individual is none other than a criminal," I revealed, my voice filled with conviction. "It seems he has managed to elude capture by the police. As I made my departure from Haliburton's establishment, I caught sight of him hurtling towards me, resembling a steed in full gallop, desperately beseeching my aid. Naturally, I first sought his name, and when he uttered the words 'Arthur Wolfgang,' a shudder ran through me, for he is the infamous killer whose heinous exploits I had only recently perused."

"By Jove, Klaus, why on earth did you bring a criminal into our midst?" Petra exclaimed, her voice dripping with a mix of shock and indignation. "I shall contact the authorities forthwith!"

"Please, my dear, do try to remain composed," I implored, attempting to assuage her mounting distress. "Allow me to elucidate further. I have absolutely no intention of allowing him to remain within our abode. Initially, upon hearing his name, I too was compelled to flee in haste and summon the nearest constabulary. However, as I gazed into the depths of his eyes, something within me stirred. Call it an unwavering intuition honed over years of practicing psychiatry, but I sensed a profound desperation within him that screamed for salvation."

"I beg to differ, my dear. It is not for us to cast judgement nor determine the fate of another, especially without the proper precedence of a court of law," I responded, staunchly rebuking my wife's negative assertions. "One ought to be assessed by their own merits, not for the hearsay of others. I deem it imperative to extend an offer of assistance to this man out of a sense of inherent decency and humanity. There is an enigmatic air to him, a certain mystique that I simply must unravel."

"Curious indeed," my wife interjected with a hint of skepticism. "How could a man afflicted with a grievous gunshot wound to his leg, gallop towards you like a spirited equine in full stride?"

"Ah, my dear, it was after I inquired about his identity that a sudden explosion reverberated through the air," I recounted, the memory vivid in my mind's eye. "In an instant, crimson streams cascaded forth from his leg, the wound hemorrhaging profusely. Lacking expertise in the medical arts, I found myself at a loss. Alas, as fortune would have it, I hastily grabbed hold of a towel and fashioned a makeshift tourniquet, endeavoring to staunch the blood flow as best I could."

"And pray tell, did you catch sight of the individual responsible for firing the weapon?" She pressed.

"Regrettably, no," I confessed, my tone tinged with frustration. "It is conceivable that it may have been the handiwork of the police, considering the suspect's treacherous status as an escapee tied to three heinous murders."

"Unlikely," Petra interjected firmly, her voice resolute. "If the perpetrator were indeed law enforcement officials, it would be highly improbable for them to execute such a rash act. They would undoubtedly be cognizant of the value this suspect holds as a key player in their investigation. Furthermore, if they were responsible, a swift and decisive headshot would have been their chosen method."

"Astonishing, Petra! Your dormant detective intuition has reawakened," I exclaimed, a mixture of admiration and nostalgia filling my voice. "How many years it has been since I last witnessed this remarkable quality of yours."

"Well, Klaus, it appears that this intriguing case is destined to captivate our attention," She mused, acknowledging the allure it held. "For this reason alone, I have granted you the responsibility of tending to Mister Arthur here until he can recount the true sequence of events."

"But my dear, you referred to him as a criminal earlier! Is it not rather prejudiced to make such a claim?" I questioned, my voice filled with a hesitant concern.

"Silence!" Petra interjected sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "I merely uttered those words in a fit of anger, prompted by your incessant nagging. Should you persist in provoking me further, the consequences may find themselves etched across your own forehead."

Heeding her biting warning, I promptly fell silent, awaiting Petra's diligent administration of cleansing the wound and applying a sterile dressing.

Exactly thirty minutes had elapsed when my wife, Petra, settled herself beside the wounded man. Meanwhile, I occupied a seat near the crackling fireplace, indulging in a meal of savory sausages and a piping hot cup of coffee. Abruptly, the man stirred from his slumber, jolting upright with a startled gasp.

"Where am I? What is this place? were the first words that escaped his lips upon awakening.

"Please, dear Mister Arthur, compose yourself," I interjected, a reassuring tone permeating my voice. "Rest assured, you are in a place of safety. Your whereabouts remain unknown to all, and I have no intention of disclosing them to the authorities. Both my wife and I are in agreement on this matter. Therefore, you need not fear. Take solace in a cup of aromatic coffee, imported from the far reaches of India. It possesses the finest qualities, and it may just help revive the pallor that has befallen your countenance."

The man's demeanor gradually pacified as he took a sip of the coffee I had offered him.

"Ah, it appears that you have regained your composure, Sir," I remarked, a note of relief lacing my words. "Thanks to my wife's meticulous care, we have managed to staunch the flow of blood from your leg."

"Thank you, Madam," the man expressed his gratitude sincerely.

"You are most welcome, good sir," my wife responded, her tone laced with a lingering degree of mistrust. "However, I still harbor reservations regarding your true nature. Please, do not be startled to find me wielding a knife in my hand at this very moment."

"Dear, there is no need for such drastic measures. The man is incapacitated, unable to even stand," I implored, a sense of reason punctuating my words.

"I would rather err on the side of caution," my wife replied, her voice resolute in its conviction.

"Ah, that explains a great deal," the man mused with a sense of resignation. "It is understandable, considering I am indeed a convicted murderer."

"Quite so," my wife affirmed, her tone devoid of surprise or judgment.

I found myself struck by my wife's remarkable preparedness in such matters. It was a testament to her past as a detective at Scotland Yard, where she honed her skills on the treacherous streets of England. As I observed her, a glimmer of her former self, the sharp-witted investigator, seemed to resurface.

"Well, if we are to consider your trustworthiness, we shall require the full account," I declared, my curiosity piqued.

"I am Petra Hartmann, wife of Doctor Klaus Hartmann, who, incidentally, is the very individual responsible for bringing you here," My wife introduced herself and myself also. "Now, pray tell, who are you and what series of events led to the tangled affair you find yourself embroiled in?"

The man, Arthur Wolfgang, placed his cup of coffee aside and began recounting his tale with a somber expression.

"As you are already aware, my name is Arthur Wolfgang," he commenced, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. "I hail from a lineage that intertwines American and German descent. My father, a valiant American soldier, bravely fought in the tumultuous World War II, earning the distinction of a decorated veteran."

"During one treacherous siege in the relentless march of the Nazis," Arthur continued, his voice laden with the weight of his father's plight, "my father suffered a grievous wound. Left alone, abandoned on the desolate battlefields, he faced a harrowing battle for survival, succumbing to starvation and the cruel hands of death. It was then that a kind-hearted traveling merchant discovered him, concealing my father within his wares, leading him to the sanctuary of the countryside in Texas."

The savior of my father, who hailed from the heartland of Texas in the United States, happened to be none other than my own mother. Born and bred in the Texan soil, she possessed the spirit of the American West flowing through her veins. As fate would have it, my father, the battle-worn veteran, discovered love amidst the rugged landscape of Texas. Their hearts intertwined, two souls from disparate backgrounds found solace and affection in each other's company.

The union of the German soldier, with his lineage beckoning from the old world, and the Texan merchant, a symbol of resilience and thriving ambition, bore fruit in the form of my existence. With my golden locks inherited from my German ancestors and a Texas accent firmly ingrained, I emerged as a testament to the fusion of cultures and love that transcends borders.

Following the cessation of the war, my existence in the tranquil embrace of Texas assumed an air of calm and serenity. Imbued with an entrepreneurial spirit, I rose to affluence by skillfully managing my beloved mother's thriving trading enterprise. Remarkably, at the tender age of twenty-four, I found my coffers swelling with wealth, surpassing even the fortunes amassed by my esteemed father. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, a desire for independence gripped my heart, compelling me to set forth on a journey of exploration.

With a resolute spirit and fervent determination coursing through my veins, I bid farewell to the comforts of our cherished home, venturing forth into distant lands, each with its own allure and mysteries awaiting my discovery. It was during my travels, amidst the enchanting embrace of Spain, that the beautiful Mara Dolce emerged, captivating my heart and soul with an irresistible allure. Love, that most elusive of emotions, unfurled its delicate tendrils around us, ultimately leading to the wondrous blessing of twin offspring, Roseir and Marcus Wolfgang, who graced our lives with their celestial presence.

However, dear Mr. and Ms. Hartmann, it is at this precise juncture that the tapestry of my life began to unravel, spiraling into a tumultuous abyss from which escape seemed nigh impossible. Ah, how my life would veer off its intended course, plunging me into a maelstrom of unforeseen adversities.

"Pray elucidate your meaning," I interjected, my tone tinged with curiosity and concern.

"Do you remember, our precious progeny, Roseir and Marcus," beseeched Arthur, his melancholic revelation hanging heavy in the air. "Alas, one of our cherished offspring has met an untimely demise namely the younger one Roseir"

"My word, that is indeed a most sorrowful circumstance," my wife responded, her voice heavy with sympathy.

"Yes, it is a heart-wrenching tragedy to bid farewell to one's own flesh and blood. One can scarcely fathom the depths of anguish the surviving twin must endure," I lamented. "Undoubtedly, he shall be overwhelmed by grief, his very soul shaken to its core. The shock of such a loss carries the potential to leave an indelible mark, evoking profound trauma upon his tender spirit."

"You are mistaken, Doctor Hartmann," Arthur countered with conviction, his voice laced with determination.

"And pray, what do you intend by such a statement?" I questioned, my tone infused with a blend of skepticism and intrigue.

"Contrary to your belief, dear doctor, the twin brother, Marcus, exhibited no signs of sorrow nor were traces of trauma detected within his being," Arthur expounded confidently.

"Absurd! How can this be? To lose a younger sister, let alone one's very own twin who shares an unbreakable bond, is a blow that strikes the heart to its core. It defies all reason that he would display no semblance of grief," my wife interjected, her disbelief evident in her voice.

"My sentiments exactly! How can one not shed a tear or experience even a modicum of sadness in the face of such a loss?" I remarked, crossing my arms upon my lap. My attention was fixed upon Arthur, awaiting his further elucidation, an air of curiosity swirling within the room. Likewise, my wife's hands sat motionless in her lap, her gaze intently fixed upon Arthur, her eyes seemingly beseeching him to reveal the truth that had stirred our deepest intrigue.

A hush settled upon the room, as if time itself held its breath. Arthur, finally breaking the heavy silence, uttered words that sent shivers down our spines, intertwining both relief and fear within his voice.

"The truth, my dear companions, is that Marcus remained untouched by emotion because he, in fact, was the perpetrator responsible for his sister's demise."

Startled and shaken to our very core, both my wife and I leapt to our feet, lost in a whirlwind of shock and terror.

"Impossible! By his own twin brother... a mere child, capable of committing such a heinous act? Tell me, I beg of you, that this was a tragic accident," I desperately demanded, my words tinged with a glimmer of hope.

"No, sir. I can assure you, with great sorrow, that this was no mere accident. Marcus's actions were deliberate, driven by a dark intent that even I struggle to comprehend."

"And what, pray tell, could have been the motive? Even a child, innocent as they may be, does not simply turn on their own flesh and blood without some underlying reason," my wife interjected, her eyes fixated on Arthur, her curiosity piqued, as she crossed her legs and leaned forward, fully engaged in the unfolding narrative.

"Indeed, there appears to be no discernible motive or any indication of animosity that would drive my son Marcus to harm his beloved sister," Arthur affirmed. "They shared a bond so close, a bond free from conflict or resentment. It is a true mystery, one that left us dumbfounded."

In the aftermath of the tragedy, we turned to the esteemed authorities, summoning both police and detectives in hopes of unraveling this unfathomable mystery. Yet, during their investigation, no trace of emotion or remorse was discovered, leading them to conclude that the perpetrator's actions were akin to the deeds of a heartless monster, devoid of any shred of humanity or dignity."

"I must inquire, Arthur, did the authorities make an attempt to interrogate Marcus?" I interjected, desperate for any shred of insight.

"Indeed, my friend, they did. However, their efforts proved fruitless as Marcus remained unyielding, refusing to divulge even the slightest morsel of information," Arthur revealed.

"Allow me to interject, Mr. Arthur," my wife interposed, her voice filled with curiosity and determination. "Could you kindly shed some light on the manner in which the murder transpired?"

"My dear, perhaps it is best not to delve into the details of a deeply painful and personal matter," I cautioned, recognizing the potential reopening of old wounds.

"Fear not, Mr. Hartmann," Arthur responded with a steadfast resolve. "I stand before you seeking assistance, and it is only right that I do not withhold any secrets from those who have saved me."

"In that case, please, continue," my wife implored, her eyes fixed upon Arthur, eager to uncover the elusive truth.

"In the darkest hours of the night, precisely at the stroke of ten, my son Marcus executed a heinous act, snuffing the very life from his twin sister, Roseir," Arthur divulged, a tinge of sorrow lacing his words. "It was a chilling scene, dear friends, one that forever haunts my memories."

"During that fateful moment," he continued, "his hand trembled as it clenched a nearby trophy, a prized possession of mine, wrought from the purest copper. The magnitude of the blow delivered upon the crown of her head proved fatal, its force shattering her delicate skull."

"The autopsy report," I added, my voice heavy with grief, "confirmed the single, merciless strike as the fatal blow that claimed the life of my beloved daughter, Roseir."

"And what age, pray tell, did these abhorrent crimes transpire" my wife inquired, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched upon her face.

"You may be shocked but Marcus was but a tender ten years old, nearing the cusp of eleven, for the following day would have marked his birthday," Arthur explained, his voice filled with both sorrow and deep regret. "Alas, any semblance of celebration was thwarted, as the local constabulary swiftly apprehended him, subjecting him to years of counseling and confinement.”

"You mean to tell me they did not incarcerate him?" I exclaimed in disbelief, my countenance reflecting my astonishment.

"Indeed, Klaus" My wife interjected, her voice resonate with certainty. "The law expressly forbids the imprisonment of a mere child. The jurisdiction's sole recourse lies in providing guidance and counseling or, in instances such as these, entrusting the child to a specialized orphanage, one well-versed in the nuanced care of young souls."

"However," I pondered aloud, unable to quell my rising curiosity, "I find myself compelled to probe deeper into the mystery surrounding this perplexing affair. How, pray tell, has your name Mr. Arthur become irrevocably entwined with this morning's headline? Accused, it seems, of the horrifying murder of not one, but two innocent children, as well as the proprietor of said orphanage."

"As Mrs. Hartman says, it was to be either the counsel of my son Marcus or his relocation to an orphanage, the latter of which became his fate. Upon receiving this tidings in the heart of Texas, my wife and I sought solace, placated by the belief that Marcus would find himself in capable hands, potentially uncovering the truth behind his puzzling actions. Alas, this sense of reassurance was abruptly shattered when a trusted ally within the police force conveyed to me the disconcerting news of Marcus' transport to the distant lands of Germany, to a specific place known as the 411 orphanage in Dusseldorf. In a whirlwind of urgency, I undertook a swift voyage, crossing the vast expanse of ocean to reach my destination, intent upon seeking out the aforementioned institution. However, little did I foresee the harrowing turn of events that awaited me, as I soon found myself ensnared within the clutches of a crime I had not committed."

As I ventured towards the precinct confines of the orphanage, my sole purpose firmly set on delivering young Marcus from his unjust predicament, little did I anticipate the tumultuous twist of events that sought to ensnare me. The specter of murder, a sinister presence cloaked in the shadows, loomed before me. Two lives extinguished by the hands of asphyxiation, another cruelly poisoned to their demise. Yet, to my dismay, the evidence conspired to cast its damning gaze upon me, Mister Arthur,I the accused in this macabre theatre.

"It seems, Mr. Arthur," my wife proclaimed, her voice carrying the weight of undeniable suspicion, "that the elements discovered within your accursed backpack; that sinful towel and the vile vial of poison, coupled with the incriminating fact of your foreign origins, deemed you the prime suspect in the eyes of the press. The damning headlines declare you the very perpetrator responsible for these heinous acts."

With an air of resolve, Arthur passionately responded, "Believe me or not, my I was wholly unaware of the insidious evidence concealed within my personal effects. Before commencing my journey, I can ensure you, my backpack underwent comprehensive inspection at every German port."

"So, you propose that you have been meticulously framed," my wife countered, her unwavering gaze piercing into the heart of Mister Arthur, as though challenging him to refute her assertions.

"Forgive my intrusion, my dear," I interjected, addressing my wife amidst the intense interrogation.

"Why did you venture overseas to retrieve your child, only to surrender them to the custody of the police? And what injustices unfold within the walls of this peculiar 411 orphanage?" I posed the questions, seeking answers to the mysteries that unfolded before us.

In response, Arthur, displaying an air of intrigue, requested a pen and paper from my possession. Without hesitation, I obliged. With utmost concentration, he fervently inscribed a message upon the delicate parchment, before tendering it to me.

My eyes fixated upon the words, a forlorn address etched upon the paper's surface. Additionally, I received a set of instructions, outlining the protocols that must be observed in one's approach to the enigmatic orphanage. A sense of apprehension gripped my being as I absorbed the implications of Arthur's concerns for the welfare of those residing within.

As I perused the document thoroughly, my wife, sensing the conclusion of our discourse, arose from her seat and graciously addressed Mister Arthur.

"Thank you, Mister Arthur. Tomorrow, we shall embark upon our journey to the orphanage. Rest now, for these tumultuous times have surely weighed heavily upon your weary soul," my wife tenderly expressed.

As my wife and I lay in our bed, a question sprung forth from the depths of my curiosity. "Pray tell, my dear, what is your opinion on this mysterious orphanage?" I inquired, eager to glean any insights she might possess.

A resolute certainty filled her voice as she responded, "Ah, but I already know, my dear. I have deciphered its nature."

Surprised by her confident claim, I pressed her further, "You have foreseen its true essence? Then enlighten me, I implore you, what is this dreaded orphanage that has ignited Arthur's fears?"

A mischievous smile appeared on her lips as she gently brushed aside my inquisitiveness, bidding me to rest. "Sleep, my love, and the truth shall be unveiled to you tomorrow. I shall not spoil the suspense," she declared, succumbing to the embrace of slumber.