Werner came down the stairs. He was wearing clean clothes—a dark shirt and jeans, with a pair of leather flip-flops on his feet. The lump by his eye had begun to turn blue, and his lip was swollen—there was a jagged black cut in it.

Emma gaped at her father. “Jeez, Dad.”

“I know—it looks bad, huh?” He laughed.

“Looks like you were in a fight,” said Thom. There was a note of admiration in his voice.

“If only—that way at least I might have gotten a good story out of it.” Werner looked at Helen. “Do you need any help?”

Helen looked around, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. “I think it’s all clean now.”

Emma walked over to the bulletin board. “Holy crap. There’s blood on the theater tickets.”

“They’ll still let you in even if your ticket has a few stains on it.” Helen hurried over, wrapped the cloth around her index finger, and quickly wiped off the spatters. Then repeated the action for the stains on the wooden frame. Her heart pounded behind her ribs.

Thom looked at his father. “Did all that come from your lip?”

“Yeah—crazy, huh? I can hardly believe it myself.”

“Wounds on the head and face always bleed really badly,” said Helen. She poured the bucket out into the ceramic sink and rinsed the towel. It stank of iron.

“What are you guys up to this evening?” asked Werner.

“Yorick and Stijn are coming over in a while to hang out,” answered Thom.

Emma took off her jacket. “I’m going to stay at Sophie’s tomorrow, so I want to get my studying out of the way for the exam on Monday. Why are you asking?”

Werner’s eyes sought out Helen’s. “Well, your mother and I were planning to go to the movies, but—”

“I think it’d be better if we stayed home tonight. You look shot to pieces.” Her hand flew to her mouth in shock, but she recovered and quickly added, “Want me to make you some coffee?”

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