A PERFECT CRIME chapter 1 of 21 by Wolfgang Klein :

“Do you think which one is true?” She said without looking at him. The movement of the dark ocean with pale moonlight reflecting on it’s surface that night invited all questions about the latent things that may never crossed one's mind. But for her, those things like why animals can't talk is all that matters.

“Which was what?” He asked. She was very thoughtful that he couldn’t catch up. That was a slight glitch because he was meant to be the poet and she was the princess standing on balcony. Somehow it’s the other way around.

“The true self of the ocean. By day it was so playful and optimistic, and now it looked... sad.” Her bare feet dipped in sands, a coctail placed between fingers. “An alter ego. And one of them is true.”

“Sad?”

She nodded, “...and mysterious, vengeful. Distinctively angry.”

He shoved his head backwards. Seemingly had accepted the fact that everything she said was somehow needs a little time for him to understand. “What’s so strange about it? I thought we’re all feels a bit different when the night comes, aren't we?”

She didn’t say a word and it’s goddamn cold.

Then she smiled... warmly. He guess’ that night was the first time for everything.  

“You're right. What's so strange about it?”

 All those night and all those unanswered question. She lived her life seeking for the unecessary things because she got the rest easily. The world is a big fat unsolved puzzles but that night she just got one placed right.

“But how about you? Which one you really are?”  Little did she knew that even the world is a big fat puzzle, solving her puzzle was the hardest for him. “Day.. or night?”

Long—long silence.

***

RIGHT AFTER I SIGNED THE CONTRACT, a montage was playing inside my head: her big enthusiast eyes reflecting the movie on screen, her fragile collection of literature and stamps she told me thousands of times not to fold accidentally, the movie lines game she’d always won, the book quotes game she’d always lost, and melancholy mind—yet strong personality of hers. The intimidation, longing feeling I got everytime I recall the taste of her plum lips. How I used to trace her collarbone’s line structure. The sound of her heavy sigh everytime I did something wrong. It’s all there. 

I didn’t plan to hold the potential sales of my novel just to get higher royalty like they said, no. The issue of me being picky writer who wants to get involved in the movie set itched some ears. They thought that I’m so self-righteous and theorical about the movie making just because it adapted my book. A book with it’s rhyme and enchanting words is one thing. Movie with it’s visualization and effects and screenplay is another thing, I’m totally aware. So, why don’t we aim to make a movie that actually as good as or even better than the book itself?

“You good?” Mark tucked his finger to the sheets that kept me awake all night. The profiles I need to take a look at. Mark is the man. He knows my real intention to get a hold of the movie is not to mess around, but to make sure it will delivers the precise after-movie mood. “If it’s finale, I’ll contact them tonight, see what they’re gonna say about the role.”

Mark is one rare kind of people in film production industry who actually cares about what he’s going to brought to million eyes—and if it succeed then it keeps rolling. He’s not those noisy man with pot belly who cares about nothing but the money.  These people prefers lame and cliche plot with the least chance of making them loss. Let’s say, a horror-themed movie where bunch of teens went to hideous place doing some spirit calling game. He’s a man whose name promised a high standard in movies he produced.

“Yeah, I’m good with some of them. I marked the ones I thought you should reconsider and added some names for your reference.”

He checks the paper I handed him and smirks, “I know it. You’d never say no to her, aye? She didn’t even need to act for this role, I mean, she and the main character was like a copy.”

The windows are wide. Its clear glass makes me could see the skyscrapers ripping out the thin air. Berlin is sharp and secretive, always has its own way of reminiscing people what they want to forget so bad. Like germans bitter history, like certain someone for me.

 “Yes, she’s perfect for the role.” I replied quickly. Ah, my palms are sweaty.

***

A PERFECT CRIME chapter 20 of 21 by Wolfgang Klein :

            The term of relationship sounds strange to her. Not a surprise, things that requires more effort to him never applies to her. Parent’s approval, opposite sex’s attention, she twisted them round her little finger. She was born in a backgound where good means not enough, which made her always wants more. She told him plenty of times she can’t stay in one place though people say everyone has their “home”. Everytime he told her to hold on, she finally dropped the bomb: “But what if not to be home was my home?”

They were never lived together, not even once she said she loves him, haven’t met each other’s parents, but she took him to a movie festival she used to gone by herself, he let her read his early writings which he swore he wouldn’t let anyone see, valentine dates, stars spotting. And those unspeakable nights. She just couldn’t take things like that for granted.

“Are you always this selfish?”

“We’re weary... Two years is a long time for me.” She never cried. What a wicked truth untill he spots shiny tears gathered in the corner of her eye. Something suffocated his throat.

“We were on and off, barely counted as a year. You made it that way because you’re affraid!”

“Ha.” She scoffed, “affraid of you?”

She was sophisticated and confident. Waking up to espresso and paper works. Hardly find enough time to have fun but when she did she’s sure made it plenty. He thought she was his’, but no, he was hers. As for her, the feelings for him was always fluctuating. She suppressed it like how she’s been taught to make things under her control. He was never expected and it shook her system, so she pushed him away.

“You’re affraid of what we could be!”

Somehow that triggered something inside her as he could see her scorny green eyes sharpen as if they were going to sparks fire. The accumulation of tears were no longer seen.

“You dont control me.” That cold tone was familiar for him. She only used it if it’s time to say good bye. “I’m tired. It wouldn’t go anywhere, it’s like water in a damp—”

“If you don’t want it then what do YOU want?”

“Go. I want to go.”

When two people love each other the ties that sums up their life encounter. Somehow the ties attached to one another even more complex, tangled. The on and off relationship didn’t affect anything. The problem is, when you tied with somebody you could feel either grateful or tortured.

She was ready to leave. He stared at her back like the first night he saw her quietly from behind, untill she called him out. Two strangers at mutual friend’s beach party years ago, now having the bitter farewell ever.

“Hey,” he called her, “if you walk through that door tonight promise me you’ll never walk yourself in.”

She didn’t flinch nor turned her back, walked through that door with no hesitation. He couldn’t feel his legs and it brought him down. Now comes the worst part of cutting the ties you once had with somebody: one always gets too attached than the other.

***

THE PRESS BELIEVED THAT WRITERS are basically someone who could describe what they feel better than other people. Pain, mostly. Heartbroken could be a good bussiness. We, writers, know how to transform that mixed feelings that stuck in your lump into words you hardly say. And that’s relieving, doesn’t it? Because among billions people alive finally you got one person you thought had felt the same.

The hall was crowdy. I sweats like crazy. Not because of the press conference that just been held. I heard a voice, and prepare myself in that millisecond.

“Wolfgang.” It’s been forever since I heard her voice calling my name. We didn’t get to say anything before the conference because I was a bit late. “Been so long.”

“Yeah? Anyway you look great.” As if she never were?

She is wearing a slick black dress with red lipstick, both are her favorite colors. She told me once she loves to looks bold. The kind of look that insecures men.

“Thank you. You too.” Cameras flashing us and gave me nausea. “Mark told me that you’re so kind for keeping me on the casting list even after five times review.”

I scoffs. “Like you didn’t expect that.”

“Finally, some real talks!” She laughs and I hate it. I grab my glasses then rush to the back door. Can’t stand the way she’s imprevious to pain. “Wolgang, wait.”

She stopped me before i reach the door. “I’m sorry, I know I’m such a horrible person... If only I knew what I want better.”

“You wanted to go.”

“No.” She looks at me and I can’t predict what’s next. I lived my life believing I’d never see her again but here we are. “I always had my life under control, then you came. You get under my skin. I dont—i dont like it. Having my mind stolen by you and needing someone other than myself. I hated it, Wolfgang!”

            “But you left—”

            “That’s because I dont want you or anyone get that much hold of me! You could... destroy me. So I quit you.” She inhales. I’m thinking, how funny two people wants the same exact thing under their skin but failed to express it just because they are different about everything on the surface. “But it’s already too late.”

Plenty of scenarios of what i’d like to say if we meet again was just gone. Yet this overwhelming nostalgic feeling I felt about her floating like a bird’s fur. Truth is, I never hate her for why she left me. It was a momet where nothing else exist. She hesitantly touches my cheek, the tip of her finger is electrifying.

            “You should’ve come for me, i can’t go back to you even if i wanted to.”

            “Why can’t you? Your pride?”

            “Because I promised you once I walked through that door.”

            A phone rings. She sighed before pulling her hand away as we both wake up from that dreamy pseudo-world; an alternate ending. Reality bites as Mark’s contact displayed on her phone screen. Our mutual friend who held the beach party. Now her fiance.

I reach for the door handle and walk past her. The phone keeps ringing as she stood there watching me through the door. I turned back, shoot for the ultimate unanswered question the night we first met. “Iris, day or night?”

            A tears, then a smile. The alter ego of the ocean is only separated by dawn. So brief, yet feels so long because in farewell there’s always one side who doesn’t want to let go. “ It’s night.”

            What she did to me was a perfect crime. No trace, no eviedence, no witness, only a victim. Only we both know it’s real  and it happened. Maybe they thought that you look like the main character of my story but little did they know, that it was the story of you and me.

            “Good bye.” Finally I said...

***