I’d taken to wearing trousers during those uncertain days in 1928 when I walked around the city of Berlin. Soft cloche hat pulled down low over one eye, short jacket, white silk blouse, a square white handkerchief in my left pocket. The only note of worldly sophistication I added was a white carnation in my lapel.
A fashion statement? I was more of the opinion I could blend easier into the crowd of Berlin women who had taken to wearing long, fur-trimmed coats, men’s hats and trousers along with knee-high boots. I hoped my disguised appearance would make me less of a target and not attract the attention of–
The man who murdered Else…
I shall not deny his threat to kill me induced a wariness in me I’d not experienced before, an overpowering need to hide the curves of my female body from his decadent eye.
I shivered, thinking about him watching me on stage, my nude breasts and hard nipples making him salivate, arousing him to search for his erotic orgasm through murder. Cutting his victims in grotesque ways I deem too horrible to mention.
Nude girls. Always nude girls to satisfy his lust. A violent man seeking his macabre pleasures with a relentless frenzy that cut to the core of his mad obsession. His precise execution of his diabolical methods passionate and committed.
I dug my hands into the deep pockets of my gray woolen trousers as I walked toward the theatre for rehearsal. I enjoyed the casual style I had adopted that depended more on the cut and fit of my clothes than the frills so often seen in Berlin fashion mode shops.
I stopped in front of a window display to admire a simple two-piece suit in mottled brown tweed when a deep seated cold radiated in my bones.
I saw a man’s reflection in the store window that still haunts me to this day.
Broad-brimmed hat, long overcoat, black boots. Eyes shadowed in dark glasses with thick gold rims, oily black hair cut unevenly and curling around his large ears. His head bent to one side in what must have been a painful position.
A creature so covered in black deeds from head to toe it was as if he partook in a Satanic sex ceremony with every heaving breath he took. An exile from all that was good, a man whose soul was so polluted with mortal sins the Devil himself cringed when this denizen of lust walked through the portal to evil and never looked back…
The scourge of Berlin.
I watched his reflected image holding up a piece of paper tainted a sallow yellow by the touch of his dirty fingers, his long nails catching in its soft fibers. He smiled, then tossed the paper down onto the sidewalk.
I turned around in an instant, but he was gone. The paper remained.
With trembling fingers, I picked it up. The pungent scent of spicy cloves was overpowering as I looked at it. It was a handbill from the revue featuring photos of all the chorus girls.
My picture was circled.
I knew then I could never escape him.
Lady Eve Marlowe