The breath rushes from my lungs, leaving me clutching at my chest for air. “Arrested…” I won’t ask why, because I can think of many reasons why, but not while he has been working with the German government.
“He and his wife had kidnapped a baby. She was faking a pregnancy for data on women of an older age who are able to conceive and give birth to a healthy child. During a thorough investigation and home search, it was discovered Dietrich also had an assistant years ago whose remains were discoveredbeneath a dirt pile in a wooded area behind his house. Her identification card was found in the corroding dress pocket.”
My heart hammers against my rib cage as another unexpected revelation sinks in. I drop back down onto the sofa and clutch my arms around my stomach. My entire body becomes limp as I process how anyone could be so heinous and cruel, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I know what he’s capable of, what he did. He committed crime after crime, and yet he kept his word about Danner. Except, that word means nothing now. “He knew he was close to being caught. That’s why he said he didn’t know if he’d have much more work.”
Papa holds his hands out, palms down. “Most likely,” he says, making his way over. He pulls me back up to my feet and wraps me in his arms. “Stephan said Dietrich told him and Marion to get as far away as they could, and he said he had sworn never to mention your name as he has already predicted his fate.”
“How can we believe him? The man is a liar. He doesn’t have a heart. He’s selfish and wants what’s best for himself. It’s obvious.”
“We need to leave. We can’t be around here,” Papa says, not arguing with my statement.
“Papa, no! I can’t leave Danner behind. We must help him.”
“The guards at Dachau know who you are, and they now know about Dietrich. I fought with Stephan until he nearly drove over my feet to get away. I told him I need his help to get Danner out of that hellhole, and without a hint of remorse, they just left. You’re our daughter. We need to protect you too. I’m so sorry, darling.”
“No, I can’t?—”
“We need to leave now. Please, don’t make this harder than it is. I’m sorry I have to do this to you. I’m so sorry,” Papa says.
“I won’t go. I need to get back in through those gates, at least once more. Just once more, please. Papa you can’t?—”
Papa pulls me away from the sofa and I do everything I can to resist, fighting to pull my hands out of his.
“Let go of me, Papa. You can leave me here. Just leave.”
“Emilie, Emilie, sweetheart. You’re in danger,” Mama says. “Danner wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger for him. He would blame himself if something happened to you and you can’t put that on his shoulders. You can’t. It isn’t fair to him.”
“This isn’t fair to him! This isn’t fair to me! I’ve lost everything! Everything, can’t you see?” I cry out, realizing I’ve become too weak to fight. Papa has managed to pull me across the living room. “I’ll come back to get her belongings. Let’s just get her in the car,” Papa says.
“Please let me go. Why would you do this? Not now. I can’t take any more, please!” My knees give out and I fall, but don’t hit the ground as Papa sweeps me up into his arms, cradling me like a child. All I can do is cry, feeling as though I’m purging my soul as I do so. Through thick tears covering my eyes, I spot blurry figures, my neighbors, watching this scene unfold.
“She’ll be okay,” Mama says, following behind Papa, waving at the neighbors who are standing outside their front doors.
I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.
FORTY-SIX
DANNER
APRIL 1945
Munich, Germany
When I wake once more in the darkness, I question if I’m alive or if this is the abyss. My internal clock winds up a couple minutes before the siren alerts us to all wake up. If I were dead, I don’t think I’d still smell the rotting flesh, bile, and sewage that lingers like a fog between these walls. I also wouldn’t hear purrs of snoring, wheezing, or delirious mumbles. My spine wouldn’t feel like it’s fused to a metal pole, and there wouldn’t be stabbing hunger pains writhing through my stomach.
Three-hundred and eighty-four days have passed since I last saw Emilie. I read the last of her words every night before bed, hoping I’ll dream of a better tomorrow as she taught me to do. Emilie was full of promises for a hopeful future, of the war coming to an end, of the happiness I’d find when this was all over. I waited at the location she passed each night, but she never came again. Night after night, I waited, but Emilie never returned.
The girl who would never give up has left me wondering what has become of her. I fight off nightmares of her being caughton the way out of the gates after sneaking me food. Even worse, there have been air raids and planes crashing in the not-so-far distance, telling me anything could have happened to anyone outside of these walls.
Here, people are dying, dropping face first into the dirt or onto a wooden floor by the hour, left pulseless by the time someone can move fast enough to check for the trace of a heartbeat. Every second of every day, I question how—why I—of all the people here—have managed to defy the odds and survive.
But there’s nothing left of me now except the skin sagging from my bones.
The morning siren rings, screaming at us to move faster than we’re capable of, to make it outside in time for roll call. A light bulb flickers to life by whomever was asleep beneath that spot of the ceiling. Hans doesn’t sit up right away like he usually does. It’s hard to avoid being startled by the ear-splitting alarm. I grab his thin arm, squeezing between his frail bones and tug him. He doesn’t budge, so I shake him with more force.
“Get up, brother. We have to move.”
He groans and struggles to open his eyes, his thin eyelashes wavering like a wing that can’t take flight. “I can’t move,” he says.
