I thrash violently off the side of the table, into the doctor.
I clobber my hands around his neck, scratching at him.
For one second. Just one…
I thought I could take him down with me.
I was wrong.
He tosses me to the side like crumpled paper. Right into her small frame at the bottom of the table.
Rosalie.
And I’ve just nearly knocked her to the ground.
I clench her arms, holding on to her…too tightly.
But I can’t release my grip. I can’t let go. My veins throb like they might burst from my head.
Shouts, whistles, sirens, bells, and high-pitched screams explode from every corner of the room.
Hands grab me. Take me down. Tear us apart, again.
My back slams against the table, hard. My head bounces. Whips of leather slap against my arms and legs. Then tighten. And tighten more.
Metallic zings through my mouth. Not from blood.
More screams. Sirens. Whistles.
Air, sucked from my lungs.
Nerves throbbing.
Veins exploding.
Heart pounding.
Drowning.
Muffled sounds.
Rosalie.
Her eyes.
They’re all I see before the walls close in and the ceiling meets the floor.
TWENTY-SIX
STEFAN
SANOK, POLAND
March 12, 1942
My family is gone. The Nazis took them. We’re supposed to be protected from deportation or displacement from the factory agreement. There’s no way of knowing where they’ll be taken. Or if I’ll be able to find them. But I must find them.
Rosalie and I have pushed into the thick of the trees to the side of the main road that travels up the hill toward home. We’re both breathing so hard there’s a patch of fog encircling us from the damp air.
