Brandt let out a theatrical sigh, her lips curving into a cold smile. ‘Another who believes whatever he’s told. Honestly, this was all too easy.’ Her laugh was sharp, brittle, before the familiar snarl returned to twist her features. ‘Once I’m finished with you, I’ll let the authorities finish your sister.’
Instantly, Clara felt the air in the room shift, thickening with menace. Paul straightened himself to his full height, his eyes blazing as they locked onto Brandt. Clara could see the fury building in him, coiled and dangerous. Something terrible was about to happen.
‘Paul .?.?.’ she began, but it was already too late. Whatever storm had been brewing was now unleashed.
Paul moved with deliberate slowness towards Clara and Marie, never breaking his stare with Brandt. The woman’s voice cut through the tension. ‘Hurry up.’
This was their only chance. Clara knew it with an unfathomable clarity. No time to think, only to act. She let out a sudden, piercing yelp and grabbed Marie’s arm. ‘A mouse!’ She pointed wildly towards the far corner of the room.
The ruse worked. Brandt’s head snapped towards the distraction, her weapon wavering for a crucial heartbeat. In that split second of confusion, Paul struck. He lunged forwards, one hand seizing the gun while the other drove upwards beneath Brandt’s chin with brutal force. The impact sent her reeling backwards. One arm grabbed at Paul and they both toppled over. The gun flew out of Brandt’s hand.
Paul and Brandt grappled with each other on the floor, then Paul managed to get to his feet first. He looked around wildly for the gun but before he could do anything else, Brandt was on her feet, swinging a knife at him. Paul jumped back, curving his body away from the blade.
Brandt went to lunge at him.
A deafening crack sounded in the room.
Brandt dropped to her knees, the blade falling from her hands. She swayed back and forth.
A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth, and she fell face first onto the carpet with a thud.
Clara froze, unable to take her eyes off the dead woman as blood oozed out from under the body.
Clara looked at Paul and then at Marie. Her friend was standing on the other side of the room with the gun in her hand.
The distant sound of boots echoing in the stairwell snapped Clara from the trance she was in.
Paul was already moving, grabbing her arm. ‘This way. Quickly.’ He dragged her over to the window and slid it up. A gust of wind rushed in through the opening. ‘Hurry. Down the fire escape,’ urged Paul.
Clara put her leg over the ledge, finding the metal landing of the fire escape. She looked back at Marie who was still standing on the other side of the room. ‘Marie! Quickly!’
Marie shook her head. ‘You go first. I’ll follow.’
Clara hesitated but Paul gave her a shove. ‘Move!’
The footsteps thundered closer, echoing off the narrow walls of the hallway. Clara’s pulse hammered in her ears as German voices cut through the air. Harsh, urgent commands barked between the heavy boots on the stairs.
She gripped the cold metal handrail and plunged down the fire escape, her feet striking each step with desperate precision. Her medical bag, still slung across her shoulder, banging against her hip. The iron steps clanged beneath her weight.
At the half-landing, she spun around, breath catching. Paul hung halfway out the window above. ‘Go!’ His voice cracked like a whip.
Clara didn’t hesitate. She launched herself down the remaining steps, three at a time now. Her feet hit the alley’s broken pavement and her ankle buckled, sending lightning pains through her leg. She stumbled forwards, arms windmilling and somehow managed to stay upright.
The first gunshot split the air like thunder.
Then another.
Clara’s world narrowed to the rhythm of her own ragged breathing and the slap of her shoes against stone. She didn’t turn back. She couldn’t afford to. The alley stretched ahead into shadow, and she ran towards the uncertain darkness. Her life depended on it.
Clara’s hand shook so violently she could barely fit the key into the lock of her apartment door. The familiar hallway felt foreign and dreamlike after the horror she’d escaped, and she had to lean against the door frame for a moment to steady herself before turning the handle.
The apartment was ablaze with light. Every lamp and overhead fixture burning and she could hear Friedrich pacing frantically in the living room, his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. As she stepped inside, clutching her medical bag like a lifeline, she heard him talking rapidly on the telephone, his voice strained and desperate.
‘Arnold, yes, it’s me, Friedrich Bergmann.’ As if sensing her there, he spun around. His gaze took her in from top to bottom, as his hand holding the telephone dropped away from his ear. She could hear the tinny voice of Arnold sounding through the receiver. Slowly, Friedrich moved the receiver back to his ear. ‘Actually, Arnold, it doesn’t matter now .?.?. Yes, I’m sure. Goodnight.’ He slowly replaced the telephone into its cradle.
Friedrich stared at her for a frozen moment, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Then he crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled her into arms so fiercely she could barely breathe.
‘Mein Gott, Clara,’ he whispered against her hair, his voice breaking. ‘I thought .?.?. They said the Angel of Life was caught. I thought you were .?.?.’ His words dissolved into shuddering breaths as he held her.
