Flowers On The Grave: Thriller

By Neal Chadwick

Psychological Thriller by Neal Chadwick
(299)




The size of this book corresponds to 120 paperback pages.



He knew that he would never get rid of these pictures...

Images that he sees again when his girlfriend suddenly disappears and investigates the crime scene.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CassiopeiaPress
• Release date: Jan 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9783753212388

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Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Novel by Author

© this edition 2024 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The fictional characters have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities of names are coincidental and unintentional.

All rights reserved.

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Everything about fiction!

1

He often thought of the past.

Very often.

Over and over again.

And he knew he'd never get rid of those pictures.

Never! - a word spoken by a bitterly cold woman's voice.

It was a cold, uncomfortable autumn day when they went to the cemetery. The woman had brought flowers.

Geraniums. She laid the flowers on the grave with a deliberate, almost solemn gesture. And then she stood in front of it for a while and kept silent while the boy with whom she had come braced herself against the cold wind and froze.

The boy knew not to disturb the woman now. She got pretty upset then. So he said nothing and remained calm as time crept forward like an infinitely slow snail.

The grey clouds had darkened in the meantime. It started to rain. It was not the first shower on this dark day, but a particularly heavy one.

It's raining! he said, but it didn't seem to bother the woman at all. She didn't hear what the boy said.

She seemed to be lost in herself, almost in a trance. Mother, I'm all wet!

Now she looked down at him and the boy met the look in her ice-grey eyes. Something was moving in her face. Her lips almost smiled.

She knelt down to him.

You're the man of the house now, she said with a strange seriousness in her voice. You know what that means, don't you?

Can't we go home? It's raining!

Yes, we'll be leaving soon.

I'm all wet! And there's already water in my shoes!

Yes, yes. I'll make you some hot chocolate.

She bent over a little further and then said, You have to promise me you'll never leave me, you hear?

Why would I leave you?

You promise me, right?

Sure.

Never!

Never.

2

There's nothing I can do about your stomachache, young man.

You can write something down for me.

Of course I can. But that won't solve your problem.

What kind of problem?

Well...

The doctor had a black full beard, a high brown forehead and a very gentle, very deep voice that was capable of immediately inspiring confidence.

I don't want you to misunderstand me, he began clumsily, constantly twisting his fleshy thumbs around each other. The doctor already knew he had started it wrong.

Don't worry, came the rather cool response.

The doctor leaned back and looked at the other person. Once he opened his mouth half open, but then only blew a little air through it. He just didn't have the words yet.

It's like that, he then began very carefully and with an undertone that the young man did not like. You're perfectly healthy organically.

Oh, yeah?, it came back with an ironic undertone.

The doctor nodded decided. Yes.

Do you think it's all in my head?

No, not that.

That's how it sounds!

Listen...

If you don't write anything down for me, I'll go to another doctor. There's enough in the phone book!

The doctor sighed.

I'll write something down for you. But I've really tried out my whole repertoire of research and testing on you.

And my stomach is healthy!

That's right.

Perhaps the pain radiates from another organ to the stomach area. There is such a thing!

Yes, of course... But I guess that's not the case with you. I can give you something for the pain, but... The doctor hesitated and scratched his earlobe nervously before he finally brought out: But you should do something else!"

The young man was skeptical.

And what? he asked.

You need someone who... to talk to you.

What?

Yes, I think your symptoms are psychosomatic, the doctor finally explained.

Finally it was out.

The doctor bent over the table and tried to put on a neutral facial expression. I can recommend a colleague who can give you psychological counseling.

The young man looked at the doctor in horror and then muttered: You know what? Just give me something for the pain and spare me with such offers!

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

As you wish. It was just a suggestion.

And I turned him down!

I meant well.

Sure.

3

If your father were alive, everything would be different, she once said to him.

He frowned.

She'd said that many times before.

Mostly when everything that happened to her at a nice regularity threatened to grow over her head.

She stood at the window, had her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked out into the garden, lost in thought.

It had just stopped raining and the clouds slowly tore open.

What would be different? he asked carefully.

His own voice sounded strange to him, as if it were someone else's.

Everything, she muttered absently.

He wouldn't let up. Not this time.

What exactly?, he hooked and fixed her with his gaze.

Now she turned to him.

Her smile was fleeting and a little sour.

I've got a lot of work to do, boy, she explained then and left.

He watched her, looked through the window, and a little later she started working in the garden. He breathed deeply and shook his head slightly.

She really believes in it, he realized it with a mixture of astonishment and horror.

4

Their first meeting went quite unfavorably. It was in the parking lot of the supermarket when he had probably left his thoughts in the car and just ran around them. He simply hadn't seen her.

He looked at her a second time when it happened.

She was pretty, he thought.

Brown, shoulder-length hair, green-grey eyes and a finely cut face.

I'm really sorry, he said as he watched her pick up the things that had fallen out of her bag. One of those yoghurt cups