<span style="color: #FFFFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">Present, 09:00</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">The Village</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Mittenwald, Bavaria</span></span><br/><br/><br/>As he walked along the streets of the old village, drinking from a large cup of coffee previously served with two milk and one sugar, Luciano's eyes fluttered shut briefly. No trouble was hard to overcome when the sun was shining brightly above. The man advanced towards the pink colored Roman Catholic church of Saints Peter and Paul and briefly looked past his shoulder as if expecting that the dark shadows of his great burden would have fallen behind him, cast behind forever.<br/><br/>The man was tainted by filth and had touched and tasted every form of sin available to mankind, but nothing could change the fact that he was a true believer of God and His message. Every effort he made in his past would have added but goodness to his face, and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, his self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. Love was the least thing he wanted to associate himself with, though, but love once seen as weakness was found in the natural aspects of life in general. It was this emotion, love, that made his soul expend in the worship of his creator and face the trials of ache and suffering with dignity and strength.<br/><br/>He held closer to his hips the blue blazer that hang over his arm, of the same color as his navy blue polo shirt. His legs draped in white material advanced towards the stunning architecture of the church, when suddenly, every fiber of his being was overwhelmed with the intense sensation of skipped heart beats. He sighed and looked away, troubled by the sight ahead of him as a woman in golden locks gleaming feverishly under the sunlight, advanced into the church. Suddenly his whole world felt like a darkened valley where the mountains rarely turned red at dusk.<br/><br/>The man blinked a few times, eyes shifting from one side to another. He knew there was a possible chance he would cross her path once again in Mittenwald, he simply was not prepared. Agitated, he crossed the street quickly, attempting to step as far away from the church as possible. He ended up walking into a tight lane; the spacing between the flower shop building and the 18th century apartment building next door. He paused and leaned back against a wall, eyes falling shut slowly in an attempt to regain himself.<br/><br/>That January night... He was not certain anymore if it did more harm to him than good, but She and himself have reunited a week later to sail away to the end of the world, and back again to reality a month and half later. Only that he could not remember exactly what happened during their seven days stay in South Africa. For some reason, within a matter of a few days after his return in March, the memories seemed to fade away in the horizon as he sailed to England and then to America. These memories faded away along with Her image, yet the olive of her eyes was forever inked in his head.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Ah, there you are.”</span><br/><br/>Tiny muscles at the base of each hair on his forearms, legs and neck contracted, pulling the hair erect as he glanced at his visitor, the greys of his eyes leaving room for the blue, darkening around his pupils the more and more he was being approached by the 'bloody cop'. The ghostly figure seemed to have made its first appearance that one night at the bar in Munich in the presence of Darcy and some puppet named Zanzibar she carried around. This bloody cop also saved him and seemed to make his appearance whenever danger was nearby.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this time?”</span>Luciano annoyed, arched a brow as the other approached but the man's features quickly softened as the ghost transformed into a vaporiform substance and then into a very familiar image. When he was close enough to Luciano to look into his eyes, the entity's mouth curved into a tender smile.<br/><br/>Luciano could not control the tears that began to form in his eyes although he fought to blink them dry.<span style="font-style: italic">“Ahhh...”</span>A groan of agony escaped the man's lips as his hands let go of his coffee cup and blazer and fingers lingered on his clean-shaven chin, breathing deeply over and over again.<span style="font-style: italic">“Can't be, no no ... no”</span>He refused to look at the ghostly figure, at this constant companion during times of need, standing next to him in an outfit adored and praised by the Aryans of Germany and feared by the victims of the Fuhrer. The ghost shifted his body around, dressed in a Nazi soldier's uniform, a beret titled on his head; the outfit itself stained with blood around the neck and chest area.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“It was me, all this time. It was too soon for you to know, brother.”</span>Sadness touched the entity's face. He raised a hand to touch the other man on the shoulder, but to his added misery, found out that his hand went straight through the physical body of the mortal. That one last touch he craved, he could not get.<br/><br/>Luciano's eyes reddened with tension, the feeling of longing and despair. He shook his head softly, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked at Fabiano with vacuity, not knowing what to say or what to do. The sight was unbearable for someone who lost a loved one so recently.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“You love her...”</span>Fabiano lowered his head to the ground.<span style="font-style: italic">“I know you do.”</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“You're wrong. Absurdity. You are being ridiculous.”</span>Finally looking into the brown of his deceased brother's irises, Luciano's coldness made even the entity arch its back, yet, his brother's words made him feel those first stirrings of appetence - desire - inside him which he quickly suppressed. Control, one of his greatest attributes.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Am I? I know it when I see it, brother. We always thought alike. You cannot expect to lead a positive life with a negative mind."</span>Fabiano's gentle voice responded quietly.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Sweet and innocent, impulsive and emotional like always, even in your death. That is what got you killed. I endured bravely the trials of mortal life to know what exactly I am feeling. What do you know about love, Fabiano? You're dead. I am nothing like you.”</span>Luciano displaying an unusual character of a rantipole by losing his temper, he snapped at the entity in an attempt to take control. Arrogance and pride failing him miserably, making him somehow artificial, even in the presence of one who was once apart of himself.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Such a bully are you, since the day we were born. Fair enough.”</span>Fabiano forced a smile, struggling to tease his brother with a positive attitude. He did not feel offended though, not like the impact and results would take him anywhere in this life that is no more.<span style="font-style: italic">“I have come to warn you. You must see the positive in the negative events. You will need it. You are going to go through though times. If you shine your soul with egoless humility, then you might come out of this alive.”</span>After a pause he added.<span style="font-style: italic">“He ... He is coming for you.”</span><br/><br/>The Italian watched the ghost of his brother with confusion.<span style="font-style: italic">“Who? Tell me, I must know what you know. I covet the knowledge you have.”</span>Luciano advanced towards his brother's spirit, holding a hand up to an arm he could not feel.. There was only air. Desperate, his voice softened,<span style="font-style: italic">"I have given up everything for you, to find out what happened to you. I do not believe in this war, yet I volunteered to bring you justice. Who were you following? I saw your documents, your journal; that picture, heard the recording..."</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Sir, are you okay? Who are you talking to?”</span>A feminine voice made the man glance over his shoulder quickly without paying attention to her face. When he looked over at his brother again, the ghostly figure was gone, and there he stood with so many questions and no answer.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Yes, yeah. I was talking to myself, indeed...”</span>His voice trailed off as he turned around on his heels to pick up the blazer he dropped, but not the spilled coffee cup. When he raised his eyes, the feminine presence approached him and gasped. Luciano's face mirrored the same excitement as he called her name, stomach tensing.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Chaya? Chaya is that you?”</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Luciano? Oh God, where have you been? I have not seen you since your father's passing three years ago and you promised you were going to come visit for Hanukkah that year like you always did, every year. I am so sorry for your loss... I mean your brother.” </span><br/><br/>As innocent looking as he remembered her, the man leaned into her and embraced her with a hug.<span style="font-style: italic">“It is good to see you safe.”</span>He immediately pulled back and stared at her questionably.<span style="font-style: italic"> “Mittenwald is not a safe place. This place will be swarmed by Nazis this weekend. You must leave. Are you here with Myra, or with your parents?”</span><br/><br/>The female – sixteen years old - looked away sadly and shook her head with a heartbreaking whimper.<span style="font-style: italic">“I have so much to tell you. So much happened. I am safe, though. I am here with Frau Isolde Devesreaux. Ah! Such a wonderful friend. Oh, and Ham...”</span>Chaya Berger blushed, mooney-eyed when she looked up at the tall man as she secretly thought of Hamish. She put a hand over her mouth, hunched her shoulders and looked around.<span style="font-style: italic">"Shhh..."</span>she pantomimed but at the same time realized that she let herself speak too much information for the good of the people involved.<br/><br/>Luciano on the other hand lifted his chin up and appeared to be thinking for a while with a triumphant spark in his eyes, exploring the female's.<span style="font-style: italic">“Can you ... Can you take me to this female friend of yours? I would love to meet her.”</span>He asked the young Jewish female, charmingly. Chaya bit her lips, blushing, and put her arm around his left, leading the man away towards the flower shop.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Let's wait for her here, Luciano, meanwhile, do tell me, can you take me on a trip to America? Please? I want to visit New York, I want to go to the New York World's Fair.”</span>Smiling, her fingers clutched at his arm. But even though her smile seemed to portrait a young woman with dreams ahead of her, the man noted something very different about Chaya and it made him wonder what exactly happened to this child, but most importantly, why wasn't she in the company of her parents!? The man grinned and his expression was soon followed by a low laughter. Unable to disagree, he nodded when his attention swiftly turned to the woman with the short red hair, as she stepped outside from the flower shop.<br/><br/>Perplexed, eyes grew wide.<span style="font-style: italic">"Is that her?"</span>He asked Chaya with a tone one pitch below a whisper. When she nodded her head, his heart began to beat fast as he let go of Chaya, practically rushing towards the woman like a crazed reporter with fantasticated look on his face.<span style="font-style: italic">“Isolde, Isolde Devesreaux. I have finally found you.”</span><br/><br/>Somewhere out there, Fabiano's spirit smiled to itself, glad that he was finally able to connect the dots. Perhaps now, he could rest in peace?