Honor Killing

Sensitive content note: implied sexual abuse, violence & gore, mental disability.

Inside a cell encased by four-inch thick walls, housing one narrow bed and a toilet, locked behind a heavy, iron door with a narrow slit window of fortified glass, sits a man humming. His face has no hair, only scars littering his skin like an infection—none bigger than a needle but more numerous than a flock of locusts. His left eyelid is permanently swollen, swallowing half of his sight. Inmates call him ‘The Cyclops’. His nose has a dent in the middle, crooked to the side, causing him to snore violently at night.

    Dieter Bergmann is his name, a German man hailing from Dusseldorf. He is serving out his life sentence at Tegel Prison in Reinickendorf, north of Berlin, for the murder of his brother-in-law. Every day, he starts by taking a carrot, a potato, or anything else solid from breakfast and brings it to his cell. There, he draws simple shapes on the walls, the most complicated thus far being an elephant and a cat. He has lunch at 11:45 a.m. before he wanders around in the courtyard during the afternoon, either bouncing a ball back at himself or sitting on the ground picking at dirt. Sometimes, he lets out a short scream—just a sound, not a word—which most prisoners and staff have gotten used to by now. Then, after dinner, he returns to his cell again, where he sits on his bed, rocking back and forth while softly humming to himself until he grows tired and falls asleep.

    None of the other inmates talk to Dieter because they are afraid of him and what he can do. A prisoner at his previous location, Justizvollzugsanstalt, had his eye socket caved in and jaw dislocated when Dieter attacked him unprovoked, throwing the man to the ground and clobbering his head relentlessly. They moved him to Tegel Prison afterward, where, within the first week, he picked someone up and threw them against a barred window, breaking several ribs and dislocating a spine disk.

    By all metrics, Dieter is unhinged. No one can tell what goes on in his head or what triggers him into violence, but the outcomes say enough. Men break bones and lose teeth when they mess with him, so everyone avoids him at all costs.

    It is no secret that Dieter suffers from severe mental illness, that his brain is not right… but what most forget to consider is that he did not become this willingly.

—

When he was a child, hiking with his mother Charlotte and his sister Ida up the mountains of Allgäu while on vacation in south Germany, Dieter suffered an accident where he fell down a slope and hit his head against a rock, knocking him unconscious and causing internal bleeding in his brain. He was rushed to the hospital by an ambulance and immediately operated on. Doctors quickly closed the laceration in his head and stabilized his condition, but the damage was already done. The impact, together with the immense loss of blood, left him mentally handicapped.

    He could not speak properly anymore, at most able to handle three words at a time, had trouble reading, and was prone to quick and violent outbursts. On a regular basis, he would unexpectedly lose control when his bread didn’t have enough chocolate spread or yell at his sister for flushing the toilet twice. At school, he had trouble adapting to normal life again, incapable of sitting still or following along with the lectures. Other parents started asking the teachers or Dieter’s family to take him away because they thought he was a danger to their children, despite him never turning to violence.

    They found him too loud, too impatient, too unruly.

    His sister and mother still loved him, however, since they knew he could not do anything about it. Charlotte carried around a tablet in her purse wherever she went, filled with videos of animals in zoos so she could calm Dieter down whenever he freaked out. And as they grew older, Ida adapted to him as well, learning how to talk softly so he understood her better, when to let an argument go, and spot his signs for when he was angry, sad, or happy. No matter how hard living with him got, they showed him endless patience.

    Until he murdered Felix, Ida’s husband.

    After that, their love was spent. It went too far. All the care and affection they showed Dieter throughout his life, they saw him throw every bit of it away and, in return, give them only more pain. Ida and Charlotte made no effort to argue Dieter’s culpability, his Schuld. They knew he was guilty, and no version of mental illness could justify his actions—let alone make up for the suffering he had brought upon his sister.

    The one thing Ida still wanted from her brother was a reason. Why did he, for the first time in his life, attack someone so violently, and why her husband of all people? Unfortunately, during the interrogation of Dieter by Dusseldorf police, he only ever said, “Twenty-three, twenty-three, twenty-three,” and nothing more.

—

The incident happened on May 17^th, a hot summer day with the fierce sun shining down from high above. Inside their backyard, the family was celebrating the fourteenth birthday of Ida’s eldest son, Arno, a skinny young boy with wild, black hair and a hooked nose. Their neighbor, Hedwig, stood on the grass, watching Arno as he played with his new water gun, shooting at Giselle, the peppy blond girl from next door. Close by, on the grey brick patio, Charlotte and Felix sat on steel chairs softened with white cushions, gathered around a glass table while watching or listening to the kids shrieking across the backyard. Adjacent to them was an oakwood shed filled with bike pumps, hoses, a rake, and toolboxes.

    Meanwhile, Ida was crouched next to their trampoline, fixing up the collar of Luke’s polo shirt, the younger brother of Arno who had hazel eyes instead of blue and a much snootier face. Ida’s brown hair had been tied back into a ponytail, freeing her round face, puffy cheeks glistening in the sun.

    “Hold still,” she said, pulling him closer.

    “But Arno is winning!” The boy shook his water gun in the air while whining like a cockatoo.

    “All right, all right, you can go.” As soon as she freed him, Luke sprinted onto the grass, his fake pistol dangling in his chubby little hand.

    Showing a weak smile, Ida joined the other adults at the table, hearing her kids’ shrieks cut through the air. She looked over and saw her husband tapping at his phone, a strained furrow pulling his eyebrows together. His curly black hair stood up, shiny from an ocean of wax.

    “What’s wrong?” she said to him.

    After a short pause, Felix turned, still wearing the frown. He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line, and without uttering a word, his attention went back to his phone.

    “And how does Luke like his new bedroom? ” Charlotte asked, her grey hairs shooting out in short wisps.

    “He loves it,” Ida replied. “So much more space than where he used to be, but he still won’t clean up after himself.” A snicker jolted her lips as she offhandedly stared at her slate blue wedding ring. “Today, I had to clean up so many of his little LEGO guys—I even found the Spider-Man one he lost. It was under the bed, of course.”

    “What did you do with the supplies?”

    “We threw it in the basement or the trash if we didn’t use it.” Ida turned to Felix. “I think most of them were old, school textbooks and baby clothes. Right, sweetie?”

    Felix looked around briefly, confused. “Mhm, yeah.”

    “If there were things you still needed, we can take a look—”

    The sudden and sharp sound of crying grabbed Ida and put her on alert. She peered out at the grass and saw Luke crying, her friend Hedwig trying to calm him down. Next to them, Giselle and Arno watched on with blank faces.

    “What happened?” Ida shouted.

    “He wanted to take my gun!” Arno blurted out, his voice pitched high.

    “What did you do to your brother, Arno?” Her tone rose in power.

    “Nothing!”

    “Hey, hey.” Hedwig stood up, holding out her hands. “It was an accident. Nobody needs to blame anyone.”

    “What did he do?”

    “Luke grabbed his gun, and he pushed him back, but—”

    “Arno!” Felix’s voice boomed through the backyard, clenching everyone’s mouths shut. “Come here.”

    With his head held low, curls of hair covering his eyes, the boy lumbered over to the table, grabbing his shirt and tugging it down. He glanced toward his mother for a second as he passed her by, but after that, his gaze stayed locked on the ground.

    Once Arno stood next to Felix, his father slammed a palm onto his shoulder, which made him jump and tug his shirt down with both hands. Then, Felix tapped his son’s shoulder again several times, doing it more playfully.

    “Why did you push your brother?” he whispered into his ear. Arno shook his head very slightly. “You didn’t? So Hedwig is lying, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

    “Felix,” Ida groaned.

    “No, let him talk. He’s old enough now.” Felix’s hand grabbed Arno tighter, and the boy disappeared into himself. “Are you going to apologize to Luke? Are you going to stop bullying your little brother?”

    “But—”

    “You’re fourteen. He’s eight. You should know better, Arno.” The hoarse voice of Felix neared his son’s ear. “Will you behave from now on?”

    Arno’s face sagged into a deep frown, shoulders tensed so high they swallowed his neck. He could only shake his head, too afraid to speak. Felix opened his mouth, taking a breath to talk, but then, he was interrupted.  

    “Felix.” Dieter’s voice rumbled like the growl of an engine. Everyone around the table suddenly remembered his presence, his hushed stillness having blended into the background thus far. “Football. Who pick him?”

    Felix straightened, keeping his hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “What?”

    “Who pick him? Football. Who pick him?”

    “I think…” Ida leaned over to her husband while watching her brother. “I think he’s asking who picks Arno up from football.”

    Her eyes then glanced at Felix, witnessing his face stiffen, its skin stretched taut across a cold, sharp expression.

    “Who pick him?”

    “He does,” she answered, glancing between her husband and Dieter, searching for the meaning behind that question.

    But then, her brother started to wobble back and forth in his seat, staring at the tablecloth while humming to himself.

    “What is he doing?” Felix asked, a tremble in his voice.

    “I don’t know.” However, deep inside, Ida did. She knew that Dieter acted like this whenever he was agitated, upset to the point of breaking down—but by what, she had no idea. “Dieter, what’s wrong?” Skimming through the past conversation, she searched for what could’ve triggered him but came up blank.

    And then, Dieter stood up.

    Everyone watched him as he darted around the table and towards Arno. In a blur, before anyone could react, he grabbed the boy's wrist and dragged him away, rushing towards the passage beside the house, leading outside through a metal gate.

    “Dieter, what are you doing? Let him go!” Ida shouted. “Dieter!”

    “Dieter!” Felix yelled, shooting up from his seat and chucking the chair back.

    Meanwhile, Hedwig, Giselle, and Luke ran over to check what was happening.

    As Dieter passed the trampoline and almost made it to the gate—Arno still behind him—Felix jumped in front of them, pressing his hand against Dieter’s chest.

    “Where do you think you’re going with him?” he growled, bits of his hair coming loose. “Let Arno go, asshole.”

    “Bad pictures,” Dieter said. “Bad pictures. Bad pictures.” He was stuck on the same words, repeating ad nauseam, his temper slowly rising. “Bad pictures. Bad pictures.”

    “What pictures?” Felix’s face contorted into a condescending sneer. “What is wrong with you?”

    “Bad pictures! Bad pictures!” Suddenly, Dieter let go of Arno and charged at Felix, pushing the man down onto the ground. With his immense weight, he got on top of his brother-in-law and began pounding his clenched fists against Felix’s head—again and again—slamming with all the force he had in his big arms. “Bad! Pictures!”

    Ida yelled, rushing over to stop him, but when she grabbed his shirt and pulled, Dieter just pushed her aside, sending her stumbling into the house’s red brick wall as he continued bashing Felix’s face in.

    Blood spurted from his ears. His nose flattened until it was pressed into the right cheek. Teeth broke off and whirled inside his mouth. Parts of his skull cracked, caving in against the brutal pounding of Dieter’s stained hands.

    Ida got up while her mother and Hedwig rushed over. Together, they pried him off of Felix, yanking on his shirt, latching around his neck, and pushing against his belly. Once he was on the ground and restrained, Hedwig called the police, telling them on the phone what happened while kneeling next to Felix.

    Arno watched from a few steps away as his uncle writhed on the stone path, letting out a cry that started as a bitter growl, loud and visceral sounds like the claw of a lion slowly scraping through flesh, which then softened into a low moan filled with hiccups, closer to a dying moose crying in pain. All the while, just a frog’s leap away, his father lay on the ground, shuddering, the unrecognizable heap of flesh that was his head painted red and purple. Hedwig put her hand on his chest, trying to stop his violent shaking, and to Arno’s surprise, it eventually did. Although, Hedwig and his mother didn’t seem so happy about it. They screamed and cried when it happened.

    Suddenly, as if he just remembered, Arno let go of his shirt and walked back to the garden, past Luke and Giselle so that he could pick up his water gun.

    “Giselle!” he shouted. “Come on, let’s play!”

—

An ambulance rushed to the scene in under fifteen minutes, but it was already too late. Spit, teeth, and blood clogged Felix’s throat, one of his eyes had burst, and cracked edges of his skull were pressing into his brain. By the time they delivered him to a hospital, he was already dead, having suffered a stroke while in the ambulance and his heart giving out due to the blood loss before they could operate on him. A doctor informed Ida and Charlotte of the news in the waiting room.

    At the same time, police officers had taken Dieter into custody and interrogated him about the incident. Apart from ‘Twenty-three,’ he gave them nothing. In the end, despite his mental disability, he was charged with manslaughter and sentenced to life imprisonment. Charlotte visited him just before he was imprisoned, and Ida didn’t.

    She was busy planning a funeral and working night shifts to earn enough money so she could pay off her mortgages. Even then, it was never her intention to see him again, as just the thought of Dieter caused her incredible heartache and a squeezing sense of guilt.

    For all intents and purposes, she wanted to forget everything about Dieter and move on, but tragically enough, just when she started to heal two years later, the truth finally revealed itself.

—

While Ida combed through her house, cleaning up old junk of Felix they still had lying around, she stumbled upon a cardboard box hidden away inside a secret compartment—accessed by a small door built into Luke’s closet. She opened the box, and inside, Ida found an analog camera, several film rolls, and a picture book at the bottom.

    She did not know Felix had these.

    Upon turning over the front cover and witnessing the first collection of images, Ida let out a whimpering gasp.

    They were all pictures taken of Arno in his football uniform, sitting in a dark room with dry, wooden walls, a bike pump in the corner, a rake behind him, and a rope tied to something invisible up above. They were numbered per page, from one to ten, and upon turning to the second page, Ida felt her heart drop and her throat close up.

    With each picture, Arno was slowly undressed until he lay naked on the floor, tied up by the wrists, red in the eyes, and his cheeks wet with trails of tears. She turned the page again. The glued-on images showed Arno in various poses, showing off different parts of his body, but his weeping expression always stayed visible. In some, a hand showed up, clutching Arno’s face, and on that hand was a slate blue wedding ring.

    In a dizzying haze of abhorrence, unable to process the things before her while her stomach bubbled with acid, Ida noticed something. In the middle of the page, she saw that one picture was missing.

    Number twenty-three.