Looking back at it now, going directly to 1953 wouldn't have helped me at all. In that year, Helge Doppler would have been a mere child, and I doubted he was already in the business of kidnapping people. But 1986? Now, that had potential.
Not only was 1986 the year Mads Nielsen went missing, but Helge would be in his forties—prime age for a henchman. He would be active, mobile, and, most importantly, vulnerable to a well-timed ambush.
"Just to double-check, sir: you want ten meters of rope, one plumber's wrench, one welder's mask, and a bottle of Coca-Cola. That will be twenty-five marks."
The woman behind the counter of the small hardware store looked at my pile of items with a blank expression. I momentarily froze at the word "marks" before realizing my mistake. I was in 1986. The Euro was a distant dream of a unified future. Luckily, I had managed to covert a couple of dollars which I still had.
I handed over the cash. Back in 2026, this haul would have cost triple the price. It was still weird how no one questioned my shopping list. I had no idea how I would explain that I was preparing to kidnap a kidnapper.
Shrugging my shoulders, I took my change and left the store, whistling a low, rhythmic tune as I walked.
I had a plan. Granted, it wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. I intended to "persuade" Helge into telling me where Noah was hiding and where they kept the time machine. After that, I intended to get the hell out of dodge.
Some might wonder how I knew where Helge lived or worked. If I were as much of a dumbass as Grim seemed to think I was, I would have been wandering the woods blindly. But I'm not. Thanks to Torben Wöller—who had graciously given me a map—and a quick, illicit visit to the 1986 municipal hall, I had everything I needed.
I'd flashed a "special investigator" badge I'd bought for five bucks on Amazon, and the clerk hadn't even blinked.
"I can't believe that fake badge actually worked," I muttered between snickers as I reached the edge of the town.
Thanks to that bit of theater, I now knew Helge lived in a secluded cabin deep in the woods. That changed the math of the encounter significantly. I had home-court advantage; for as long as I could remember, I had lived in the wilderness. I knew how to move through the brush without snapping a twig, how to read the shadows, and how to wait.
I let a small, sharp smile pull at my lips.
"This is going to be fun."
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Walking through the woods, I felt at home. While the spectacle of civilized life had its charms, there was something about the forest that settled my nerves. Maybe it was the fact that I had always been close to nature, or perhaps it was just that I have difficulty bonding with humans. It often felt like there was a wall between me and everyone else—a barrier that stopped me from truly caring about the people around me.
In this moment, hearing the rustle of the wind and smelling the sharp scent of pine, I felt free. If only that fucking raven would just bugger off. That little shit had been following me since I left the cave. I tried to ignore it at first, hoping it would eventually find someone else to bother, but it seemed to have decided I was its new project.
Either way, I had to be close to the cabin.
I stopped in my tracks. I heard something—not just a sound, but a presence. Closing my eyes, I focused my senses, pushing my awareness outward.
"Yup. At least three people up ahead," I whispered, frowning as the silhouette of a watchtower appeared in the distance through the trees. When I got close enough, I used a thick oak as cover and peeked out.
Two teenagers were sitting at the base of the watchtower—a boy and a girl. The boy was dressed in a worn leather jacket, and the girl wore a letterman jacket. They were sharing a cigarette, leaning into each other with a familiarity that screamed "romantic relationship." The boy's face looked familiar; it had that same arrogant set to the jaw I'd seen before. If I wasn't mistaken, I was looking at a young Ulrich Nielsen.
On the other side of the field, a lone girl was crossing the grass. She had shaggy hair and glasses—a normal, unassuming appearance. Her face, too, sparked a memory, but I would need a closer look to be sure. The curious thing was that I could still "feel" two other humans in the vicinity, but I couldn't pinpoint their location. My senses were screaming that the woods weren't as empty as they looked.
Solution: Observe and wait.
Suddenly, I blinked, and a violent chill crawled up my spine. My vision blurred for a fraction of a second, and a wave of nausea hit me.
"The fuck was that?" I muttered, clutching the tree bark until my fingers ached. I felt like I had lost control of my mind for a moment, as if something else had stepped into the driver's seat. I needed to distract myself, to stop my mind from spiraling over whatever that neurological glitch was.
I crouched down low, sinking into the undergrowth to see what would happen next. I was so focused on the teenagers that I didn't even look toward my own shoulder. If I had, I would have noticed that the raven had quietly perched itself there. Even stranger, as I watched the field, my hand had moved on its own, subconsciously stroking the bird's dark, silk-like feathers.
I watched as the pair noticed the girl. The one in the letterman jacket walked up to her and pushed her while yelling. I saw the situation deteriorate; I felt myself wanting to interrupt, but my analytical side held me back. After a moment, a third individual walked toward the group. From his appearance, he was exhausted and clearly bleeding.
I watched as he tried to defuse the situation before pulling a gun—specifically, what looked like a Makarov. Eventually, both the teenage Ulrich and the girl ran like cowards. After a moment, the other boy approached the girl, stored his pistol, and collapsed.
I didn't even notice my body moving before I was approaching them with my hands up. The man tried to draw his pistol, but he didn't have the strength; he had been on the verge of passing out just from standing.
"Calm down. I'm not here to arrest or hurt you, kid. Besides, you're barely able to maintain consciousness. Let me check your wounds; I have medical training."
(Well, if you count reading a book on emergency treatments.)
The kid was stubborn and managed to point his gun at me. I closed the distance and disarm him, grabbing his torso to prevent him from falling.
"Told you, kid, you're too weak. And besides, I won't arrest you. Just let me have a look at your injuries."
The boy looked at me and reluctantly nodded. I smiled and pulled up his shirt to get a better view. He had internal damage, but nothing that necessarily required a hospital. The only thing that needed immediate attention was the bullet hole in his right shoulder. Feeling the area around the wound, I heard the boy squirm as I confirmed the bullet wasn't in his body—it was a through-and-through. From the shape, it appeared to be a .22, so the damage wasn't catastrophic. A couple of stitches and a good cleaning should stabilize him.
I looked at the girl, who jumped in surprise when I caught her eye. I realized why she felt familiar: she was Regina. Would you look at that? Small world.
"He doesn't need to go to the hospital, and even if he did, I'm sure he wouldn't want to, right?" I said, looking at him. He nodded. "See? Normally, no matter what kind of pain you're in, you should go to a doctor. But since you can't, you need someone to stitch you up and disinfect the wound. That's the only immediate danger you face—if you don't close it in the next twenty-four hours, well, I don't have to tell you what'll happen."
I saw a look of realization on his face. I looked at Regina and saw her worry. Look at that—it appears love at first sight does exist. Neat.
"Still, there's a veterinarian in town who performs house calls, you get it?" It was the truth, though that man would be found dead in five years; while his crimes would be discovered, the police would never find proof.
I saw both of them nod. "Good. Before I go, let me introduce myself. I am Arthur Grimsen."
"Regina Tiedeman."
How strange. Seeing her past self, I would never think they were the same person were it not for her face. The boy, on the other hand, remained quiet, seemingly juggling a thought.
"Aleksan—"
"Lie," I interrupted the moment he spoke.
The boy flinched, then sighed. "Boris Niewald."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is Aleksander the one who put you in that state?"
The boy blinked and nodded.
"You don't have much experience in this type of career, do you?" I frowned. "Don't give me that look. Assuming the guy is talking to Saint Peter, taking his name temporarily is okay, but you will need to create a new identity. Lucky for you, the veterinarian has a lot of friends who will help you—for a price, of course."
I got up, watching Regina hold Boris. "Welp, you guys should get going. The woods are about to become very dangerous."
"Why did you help? You didn't have to," Boris said.
I scratched my cheek. "It's never wrong to try to help someone. And if you don't believe that, let's just say you owe me a favor. Nothing dangerous, of course, but if we meet again—which I hope won't happen, because that would mean I failed—you can pay for my beer or something. Alright?"
I turned and left, but not before discreetly swiping the gun. I had a feeling it would be useful. Now that the distraction was out of the way, I could focus on my hunt.