“We’re going to take a little trip into Mama and Papa’s bedroom,” I whisper to Flora.
“Ma!” she shouts.
“Shh,” I hush her.
I go right for Ada’s vanity, my footsteps restrained but determined as I make my way across her pristine polished floor. A tremor jolts through my hand as I pull open the top drawer on the left, and the movement awakens the remnants of her expensive perfume, still lingering from earlier in the morning, blunt and rosy. I suppose roses can mask any façade. I shuffle through the top papers quickly, my fingertips skimming through the small pile of photographs on top until I find it—the prescription, and secondary infertility diagnoses papers.
A floorboard creaks in the hallway and my veins fill with ice and stone. I shouldn’t be afraid of this woman. I shouldn’t have to be. What if it’s someone else, though?
With nowhere to run, I wait for another sound, but there’s only silence to follow. I fold the papers in half and shove them into the pocket of my apron, hoist Flora higher up on my hip and make a run for the door.
No one is in the hallway. I’m not sure what I heard.
With only a moment of hesitation, I yank open the closet door and grab a few folded rags. In the washroom, I soak two of them in water, wring them out, and head for the attic stairs. As we reach the top step, Flora’s chin lifts from my shoulder and I twist to see what’s captured her attention. A look of confusion tugs at her blonde brows and she lifts her hand over my shoulder. “Ma-ma.” My pulse hammers. I turn, half-expecting to see Ada, but the hallway is still. It’s empty and just as silent, but Flora’s tiny hand is still pointing.
Whoever saw me or is watching me from afar—I don’t care anymore. I’m done being patient. I need to get Gavriel out of here before it’s too late.
FORTY-ONE
GAVRIEL
This isn’t going to work. My legs can hardly hold my body upright. I’m staring at the saw, still wondering what reason they had to send me back here. Is it so they can say I died of natural causes? Why would they care? They don’t. It’s clear. My knees refuse to straighten, and I move closer to the wall so I don’t collapse in the middle of the unfinished floor. I try to lower myself down with ease, but still lose my ability to control my weight, or lack thereof, I suppose.
Halina bursts in through the opening of the room, coming from her bedroom. Her arms are full with Flora, food, rags, and papers. I’ve come to realize when Halina becomes nervous, she overthinks, overdoes it, and jumps in headfirst.
“What is all of that?” I ask, my words garbled from the ache in my jaw. I don’t remember the last time I was beaten but it wasn’t long ago. I can feel that.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she searches around the wooden enclosure intently for something…
“Where’s the bag of first aid supplies?”
“In the alcove,” I murmur, trying to lift my arm to point toward the corner on my right. “There in the hidden closet on the left side.”
Her eyebrows stitch together, confused as I didn’t show her the small hidden closet. At least, I don’t think I did.
She places the rags and food down next to me, a not-so-perfect portrait for Officer Schäfer or Frau Schäfer to walk in and find me with.
Halina keeps Flora in her arms and searches the corner for the seam in the wall. She finds it rather quickly, slides her hand down to the floor and curls her fingers beneath the cracked opening, dislodging the plank door. She moves inside and stares to her left, at a blank canvas of a wall for anyone who doesn’t know I placed a small closet within the wall. It takes her a minute but again, she finds the seam fast and has the square door open within a few seconds.
The crinkle of the bag grows louder as she backs away and closes the panel, and the alcove panel too and makes her way to my side, lowers to her knees and plops Flora in my lap. “I’m going to pretend as if I didn’t see a stolen pistol with a round of ammo in your hidden closet, but only for now. We might need it soon.”
My eyes open wide, forgetting I had put Officer Schäfer’s pistol in there. Of all the things the prisoners have been blamed for stealing, he never mentioned the weapon again. “I forgot I?—”
“I was sure Ada was hiding it, waiting for the right moment. I believe she has the key to his office sitting right on her dresser. It was just one of many things I saw in her room.”
The overload of information makes me dizzy. Flora is on my lap, but I can’t do much else than rest my head back against the wall.
The sound of a can cranking open followed by a whiff of something salty with a pungent tang and a faint scent of spices hits my nose. My stomach lurches with rage as if it’s grown claws that are scraping along my insides.
I twist my head to the side, watching her bend the tin top into a curved scoop before handing it to me. “Be careful. I have nothing to smooth the edges of the tin with,” she says.
Flora twists herself around and presses her hands to my stomach, watching me as I try to get the first bite into my mouth. She must catch a whiff of the canned meat because she reaches up toward Gavriel’s chin.
“Oh, Flora, you just had applesauce an hour ago,” Halina tells her. “Don’t be rude, little lady.”
I get the first scoop into my mouth and my nerve endings go wild, pinching and smarting, but when the sensation subsides the taste is the most wonderful thing. I feel it travel down my throat. A frenzy takes over and my mind tells me to be careful, but I’m starving. The only thing I’m careful about is not slicing my tongue with the tin.
“All right, let’s just give your stomach a rest for a minute. You can’t afford to get sick,” Halina tells me, taking the can from my hand. I don’t release my grip at first, like some kind of mad animal, but then I find her eyes, her soft gaze, and I let go.
