My chest tightens, vision stutters along darkening edges. My legs begin to shake. Arms, too. Muscles fizz like static, convulsing against my control. I lean into the tree, using it to hold up my weight as Rosalie makes her way to the front steps. She presses her ear to the door, then squeezes the thumb latch on the handle. She slips inside and closes the door behind her.
Breathe. In and out.
In and out.
It’s all Icando.
It’s the hardest thingtodo.
The pop and crackle of tires against rubble yank my attention toward the road where I spot a black Mercedes, adorned with swastikas, pulling up in front of the house. Ice runs through my veins as I clutch the tree with both arms, watching the worst thing I can imagine happen before my eyes. I can’t even call for her or warn her. The estate, once our haven, is now nothing more than a trap.
Rosalie is now a hostage of the house with no way out unless she sees this car and makes her way out the back door before it’s too late. I want to throw a rock at the top floor window. But the man in the car will see. He’s just waiting there.
As if he’s waiting for something specific.
He’ll see if Rosalie opens the front door.
A flash of motion to the left catches my attention. An object seemingly falls from the sky, but it must be from the top floor side window. The man can’t see from his angle. The paper-wrapped objects fall one by one into a pile of snow. It must be her. Unless it’s not…
Minutes pass and we’re all stranded in a frozen globe with the world spinning around us. The silence consuming me as thin twigs snap beneath my boots.
The faint sound of footsteps crunching in snow comes from the distance ahead and I search between both sides of the house. It isn’t just one set of footsteps.
My stomach burns as I keel forward.
A spasm quakes through my core.
An SS officer has Rosalie by the arm.
She won’t look in this direction.
My knees give out. I fall to the muddy snow, shivering and shaking.
The fight between my muscles and nerves holds me still and conscious, to bear witness to my worst fear. I never should have promised her father I could protect her when it’s clear I don’t always have full control over my own body.
The struggle to pull myself back up to my feet is unbearable as I scrape my fingernails down the tree bark in a failing attempt. He’s taking her to the car. I clench my eyes and inhale through my nose, trying to slow my breathing, slow my heart rate, do what I can to recover from the tremor rumbling through me. They can’t take her. They can’t.
My knees finally comply and lock into place. I shove myself from the tree, moving toward the gravel with unsteady steps. Just as I step out of the woods, the Mercedes sinks beneath the hill, taking Rosalie with it.
The quiet lingering in the exhaust fumes is louder than the screams echoing in my head. Alone, without a ledge to hang from, my stomach sinks, my heart deflates. I promised her father I would protect her, but I’ve let them take Rosalie against her will. All because I couldn’t even stand.
First my family, now her. The only people who have ever shown me undying love, overlooked my weaknesses, saw me for my strengths. They believed I was capable of anything, and I’ve let them all down.
As if the sky hadn’t already become dark enough, a heavier set of clouds move in, and steal what warmth was left. I drop to my knees, clawing my fingertips into ice-lined sludge, enduring cold shards that bite into my flesh. I want to tear at the ground and scream until my throat splits open, but even that isn’t a choice. I can’t make a sound, or they’ll come back for me. Then I won’t be able to help any of them.
I press my fist to my mouth and bite until I taste blood and dirt, then choke on the pain writhing through my veins. Rage spears through me as I push myself up and race for the driveway, searching for the tracks the Mercedes left behind, like two deep slashes cut into a white quilt, leading down the hill and into the fog. They disappeared into the fog—a blur of a world I no longer recognize. Stranger or not to a place I’m unwanted, I’m not done here.
I will find them.
I will find her.
Even if it kills me.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ROSALIE
BIRKENAU (AUSCHWITZ II)
