Word Weld

Things were much different following our arrival in France and the meeting with Jean-Marc. We were constantly surrounded by the Resistance for a long time after that, and I never again felt like I had before–alone and isolated. No, from that point on I felt heavily embroiled in everything, and little did I know it then, but I end up in the middle of that whole war as squarely as any soldier or general. That was largely due to my ignorance of the real intentions of Jean-Marc and his associates.

In general, I was treated very well. Most of the Marquis didn’t think much of me, for none of them knew me. They considered me to be another fugitive and were kind to me, for the most part. Jean-Marc, who accompanied us to Nancy, seemed very careful around me, and it made me suspicious.

All of the Marquis thought very highly of Casey, who as an American was the savior of Europe, and they paid him far more attention than me, which was perfectly to my liking. They took us by truck to Nancy, and it was both boring and terrible, for we had to keep concealed throughout the long, bumpy drive. It was liking being wrapped in an absolutely dark blanket and then hurled through space, for it was dull and monotonous, yet always terrifying, for there was but a fragile veil between me and the enemy. There was enemy movement on the road, and several stops, but no one ever searched the truck.

Casey and I were in civilian clothes presently, and the Marquis had confiscated the Nazi uniforms the Fruehaufs had given us. I didn’t like mine anyway, no matter how fancy it looked. It felt like wearing the enemy’s skin. Regardless, it was still quite cold, and we were only given a little food and drink once.

It was dark by the time we arrived in Nancy, which was not what I expected. While I seemed to have a decent education for someone with my previous handicaps, I had obviously not traveled much and was not familiar with the cities and towns surrounding my family’s home. I was certainly not familiar with Nancy or any other French town, and only knew that Paris was the capitol of France and thus was–I assumed–quite large. When Jean-Marc and Robert had suggested we take a less guarded route through Nancy I assumed it was a small town like Eppenbrunn or Roppeviller. But Nancy was no small town. With over a hundred thousand people in the city alone and a strong German garrison, there was nothing small about it. It was dominated by its central square, which the Resistance called the place Stan’, though I understood the full name later to be Place Stanislas. It was a large open cobblestone square with many government buildings around it, and a large statue in the center. Nancy was formerly the capital of the Province of Lorraine, and was important to the Nazis, though not as important as Metz. The square divided the city into separate portions, with one being open and spacious, with great views of the countryside, and the other being more like Paris or London (though at the time this comparison would have meant nothing to me), with winding narrow passage-like streets. It was a beautiful place altogether, though of course I saw little of it. Casey and I spoke some, but we were tired and rested as we were able. I did discover that Casey was leery of Jean-Marc during this time.

Finally, late at night, we rolled to our final halt in the Ville-Vieille, the northwest division of Nancy, where the roads were tight and winding, and the buildings close up on the street. We were extracted rapidly from the truck and hustled into the darkness of an archway, through a door, and up many flights of stairs. Having been inactive for a long time and keeping down, I longed to see something other than dark or passing shadows, but it was not to be. The long inactivity also did not help when we were expected to move rapidly in the dark, and I tripped several times before we reached the room where we were to stay that night. There were noises even now, at this late hour, but I couldn’t make anything out. We were separated and placed in small rooms on the top floor of the building, and there we lay in silence and alone until we fell asleep.

When I awoke, I found myself alone still, though the glow of sunlight struggled through the curtains of the lone window. I rose and went to the window, and peeked out just barely, not even parting the panes of fabric more than a finger’s width. I saw the busy streets of Nancy below me, full of their own business. There were police, soldiers, even groups German soldiers marching toward the square. But for the most part the city looked like a city should.

I heard the door and as I turned about, Jean-Marc entered.

“Stay away from the windows,” he cautioned.

“I know to be careful.”

“Of course you do.”

“Where is Casey?”

“Getting ready, as you should be. Don’t worry, as long as you don’t wander off, you’ll be safe.”

I was able to bathe and refresh myself, and I was given clean clothes. Afterward, I had a small bite to eat in my little room, before a woman came and fetched me. She was a nurse, to my interest, but Jean-Marc had mentioned a hospital in Nancy that was secretly sympathetic to the Resistance. I was a little surprised that he had decided to house us in the hospital itself. She led me through various hallways and down stairs until we reached a large open triage area with many, many beds, each with its own occupant. Their injuries ranged widely, and many of the patients were German, but we did not stay in this hall long. We kept moving, descended some stairs and took a few turns. We ended up in a secluded passage with many patients whose beds were surrounded by curtains. Taking me quickly to one side, the nurse passed beyond one curtain and into the tiny room it created. As I joined her, I found Jean-Marc once more, along with Philippe, while Marcel stood immediately beside me, with the nurse. I was immediately wary, but in the bed was a young girl, slightly younger than Marcel.

“This is Sabine,” Jean-Marc whispered as they all stared at me. “She was tortured by the Nazis three days ago after being discovered stealing radio equipment from the propaganda center in town. They were getting ready to send her to the camps when we got her back. She’s been in hiding ever since.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked sharply, and perhaps rudely, but I still did not trust Jean-Marc.

They exchanged glances.

“Heal her.”

I hesitated. I realized this was what all of my involvement with the resistance had been leading up to. It was likely the reason they had decided to bring me through Nancy. I wondered if they had lied before, and there was not a more direct route.

“Is this why you brought me to Nancy?” I squinted, “…to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Try to think of this from our point of view,” he replied. “Your whole family is dead. Gabrielle is discovered alive and is given to us to transport to safety. She attests very strongly that every single member of her family is dead. Then, miraculously, you appear shortly thereafter, alive and well. You claim to have returned from the dead, with tales of healing the injured and dying like some miracle-worker. I think it not only prudent but necessary, for the safety of the Marquis, that you prove your claims.”

“We are very serious about this, mademoiselle,” Philippe added, revealing a pistol from his pocket. I could see, too, that Marcel was armed, though his face was not nearly as hard and there was something in his eyes that contrasted strongly with the others. It seemed to me like fear… or hope.

“And what if I don’t, or can’t?” I inquired. “You’re going to shoot me?”

“If you can’t heal people, then presumably you can also die.”

“You’re wasting my time,” I fumed.

“If you are telling the truth,” Marcel stammered in very broken English, but his voice was gentle as he gestured to the patient, “then you are wasting hers.”

There was silence for a few moments as I stared into his eyes, and then at the face of the young woman in the bed–she was younger than I was, surely.

“She’s your sweetheart,” I whispered.

I shut my eyes and scowled. Jean-Marc was a crafty man, I had already determined, but this was a glaring example of his manipulations. He could have had me prove myself on anyone in that room, but this was something I could not refuse, even had the guns and threats been absent. If there was any way I could help this young couple, I had to. Ignoring Jean-Marc and his guns, I knelt by the bed and took the girl’s hand. She was very frightened, and pale. I could tell she was not getting better, though I did not know exactly what it was that was killing her. For a brief moment I was also afraid–afraid that for whatever reason I would not be able to heal her. What would happen then? But the fear did not last. Likely, I would be killed, and if I didn’t come back as before, I’d  be with God, and that felt so long overdue. I had no idea how overdue it was to be.

I stared into her eyes steadily, with one hand on hers, and one over her stomach. She winced as I placed the latter, and her breath grew tight and quick. In spite of my brief fear, there was no delay, no tense moment. Immediately I felt the very fiber and essence of her wounds, like jagged holes ripped in cloth. And as I tightened my grip, my teeth ground together, for I could feel it once more, the pain of her damaged body entering my own, cleansing her at my expense. The girl gasped, but I was barely conscious of what was going on around me. I released her and crumbled onto the floor, holding my sides as I felt like my body were a cavity filled with fire, consuming me from within. My eyes shut and I wept, though I did not cry out. I felt arms under my shoulders, holding me up, and for a few moments I drifted in thought and consciousness.

After a while my eyes opened fully. The pain was gone. I was in a chair beside the bed in the little curtained room. Jean-Marc and his people were all around me. It was obvious at once that feelings were mixed. There was, of course, a good deal of fear in the room. There was also excitement, however, especially among the young people. Young Sabine was sitting up in bed, holding hands with Marcel as they wept on each other’s necks. Robert had arrived in the meantime also, and was holding a hurried council with Jean-Marc, in French.

“Je parle couramment le français,” I said dryly, bringing their rapid dialogue to screeching halt.

“Are you alright?” Marcel asked me in French, and that was what we spoke for the rest of the little gathering.

“I’m fine,” I nodded.

“You were in such agony,” Sabine looked worried. “It was my agony you felt…”

“It has passed,” I said firmly. “I am alright now. Please, don’t stop your talk for my sake. And don’t ask how it works because I don’t know. All I know is that I was dead, but now I’m alive. I can’t die, but I can heal others.  I have died several times since I first awoke in front of my house, with all of the people I knew dead, and with my formerly slow mind suddenly right and sound. Casey has seen me come back, and I’d rather not test that right now.”

“No, I don’t suppose that will be necessary,” Philippe mused. “You have no explanation?”

“God.”

“God?” Jean-Marc frowned.

“That is my answer,” I went on. “I know of no other explanation.”

“Do you know what you would be worth to the Reich?” Robert asked carefully.

“Little less than I would be worth to all of you, I deem.”

I was staring closely at Jean-Marc. He stared back silently.

“I can’t stay here,” I stated finally. “I did as you asked. I demonstrated what I can do, and now you need to fulfill your commitment. Take me to Paris. Take me to Gabriela.”

Again there was prolonged silence.

“But what about all these other people?” Robert frowned. “This hospital is filled with–”

“Members of the Resistance?” I interrupted sharply, surprising him. “Or just sick people? Shall I heal them all, Nazis too? Or should I just heal your people? You must understand… I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I can heal, or why I can’t die. Everything I had is gone forever. I am no one now, an empty soul drifting across this war-weary land, seeking some hint as to my purpose. I can’t heal everyone in this hospital. If I did I would certainly draw attention to it, and me, and you–even working in secret. I can’t afford to take risks like that, not until I find Gabriela.”

“Why?” Jean-Marc asked suddenly.

“Why?” I repeated, irritated.

“Yes,” he took a deep breath. “Why would you want to find her? She believes you are dead, and indeed even though you are not, you are not the same person she knew. And if all that doesn’t matter, then there is also her safety to consider. When the Nazis find out about you, they will hunt you down relentlessly. Will it be safer for Gabriela at your side?”

“Enough!” I raised my voice just enough to cause discomfort. “Gabriela is my sister. She is all that I have left in this world. She is my only reason for living at the moment. It is my duty to be there for her now, now that I can. Take me to her, Jean-Marc.”

“So, you will help no one else?” he looked angry. “All these other people left to suffer, merely to protect your own interests?”

“Do not speak to me of self-interest,” my eyes narrowed. “You reek of it, Jean-Marc. I know that the war has done terrible things to everyone, but what terrible thing has it done to you? In all things you seem to hold the string, but I can’t see where it leads. You are lying to and manipulating me for your own personal gain, and I know it full well. I’m not even sure you know where Gabriela is. For all I know she’s dead and you are merely using her as motivation to control me.”

“Father–” Marcel said presently, but Jean-Marc shut him down.

“Quiet!” he snapped.

“The life of every Marquis in this hospital is on your head,” Phillipe scowled at me. “Every person you pass on your way through this building is someone whose suffering or death you could have prevented.”

“Every person?” I feigned surprise. “So you mean all the Nazi sympathizers and German stooges too? No, I shouldn’t feel guilty about them. After all, they don’t mean anything to you, Phillipe. Somehow I don’t think your ethical judgement will bother me that much.”

“I’m sorry you won’t help us willingly,” he rose and parted the curtain, staring out over the dozens of beds  lined up in rows. An intermittent coughing and moaning permeated the atmosphere, as did the smell of morphine and other medicines. When he turned, there was something hard–something cruel–upon his features. It was a very Nazi look.

“Have you heard of a man named Reinhold Hölzer?”

“No.”

“No. I suppose you wouldn’t have,” he remarked. “If you had, your eyes would have told me and not your tongue. Hölzer is a Nazi, and he is just… like… you.”

“Like me?” I frowned.

“Yes,” Jean-Marc smiled hatefully. “He too can heal the sick and the dying. He too is beyond the power of mortal men to harm. But he uses this strength to the enemy’s advantage. He has explored his strange superhuman abilities, allowing the Nazis to experiment upon him. That man killed my family, and so many of my men. Four times I have found him. Four times I have killed him. Four times he has returned. Once, I spent some time in his power. He tortured me to the point of death, then healed me. Ten times he did this.”

Jean-Marc paused to gather his composure, but I had nothing to say in the meantime. I was horrified, angered, grieved, and confused. How could anyone else be like me? Why would God make someone else like me, only to have him become a Nazi, and use such power for such evil? When Jean-Marc looked back to me, his ire was not solely for his great enemy, however.

“Now you emerge–one just like him, yet unspoiled… True, you are German, but your family was slaughtered by the Nazis. If anyone would want revenge upon them for their atrocities, I would have thought you would be first among them. And with your abilities, you could stop Hölzer, you could stop Hitler. You could avenge our wives and sons and daughters… you could win back the freedom of our nation, and so many others. Yet what is your goal? To find your sister. And then what?”

“I…” I hesitated, searching for some reasonable answer. “I don’t know. I believe God made me this way for a reason, but I don’t know what it is yet.”

“You can heal the sick!” he shouted. “So heal them! You cannot be killed… so you must grow strong, and fight against those who can! What more do you want?”

He came around the bed and leaned down in front of me, his big scarred hands wrapped around the arms of my chair, his thinly-bearded face inches from mine, his blue eyes livid with the memory of his hate.

“What do you think will happen once the Nazis find you?” Jean-Marc whispered now. “Hölzer will have heard rumors of you by now. Once he knows there is someone else like him, he will hunt you forever. There will be no country to grant you amnesty, no rock you can hide under. He will bend you to his will–and there will be nothing you can do to stop him.”

Again he paused, rose, and seemed to make up his mind. And even though he had not revealed his decision, a cold feeling swept through me.

“No,” he scowled. “I will not let that happen. I will not let Hölzer break you. If I let you go, you will become his slave. And if you are to be a slave, then you will not be Hölzer’s… you will be ours. Robert, Marcel, take her downstairs.”

“But father…” Marcel began.

“Now!” came the answer.

As the two young men took me by the arms and lifted me up from my chair, my fear returned. Perhaps I should have played along? Perhaps it wouldn’t have come to this if I had been more cooperative? Then my fierce anger swelled to the top once more, and I fought against the two men. They seemed uncommitted to their task and I actually wrenched myself free for a moment before I felt my upper arm grabbed again, and then endured a stiff back-handed blow that dazed me. I was then more or less carried off. We went down flights of stairs and through cold, dimly-lit brick corridors.

In the end I was deposited in a dark room lined with shelves, with a single low-hanging lamp in the center of the ceiling. It was a store room for the less frequently-used supplies of a hospital, such as paint, floor tiles, janitorial equipment, and so forth. There was a chair in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor. I got the feeling I was not the first person to be incarcerated here. I was deposited onto the floor, and lay there recovering, which I did shortly. After that I tried the door, but of course it was locked. I beat upon it and called for help in several languages, but there was no answer but the echo of my own voice.

I was left to myself for several hours, and I went to work trying to dismantle or somehow weaken the door. There was no other way out of the room, so I focused all my efforts upon it. I tried prying up the hinges with a metal scraper, sticking wire into the lock… I tried everything. After a long while I sat down against the wall by the door, buried my face in my hands, and wept. I wept, and I prayed.

“Oh, God… why didn’t I just play along with them? Why didn’t I just cooperate? Why would you let this happen to me now? What is going to happen to me now?”

I was not much longer in finding out. At long last I heard footsteps along the corridor and a key turn in the locked door. I rose and backed away. Jean-Marc  entered, along with Phillipe. They ordered me to sit in the chair, and thinking perhaps I could still find a peaceful way out of this, I complied, while they faced me.

“I feel obliged to prepare you for what you will endure in this room,” Jean-Marc began. “As it is, we use this room for housing and interrogating Nazi sympathizers and even some Germans when we need to gain information. I don’t need to tell you men have died in this room.”

I was horrified, but I bit my tongue.

“We are going to perform what Hölzer would call ‘conditioning,’ on you. It is similar to what he went through when the Nazis discovered his abilities. The only reason for this is to make you stronger. You see, there is something about your power you don’t know yet. You know you can heal others, and that your body regenerates itself, even from death. What you don’t know, and the Nazis do, is that when you heal from extreme trauma or injury, your body will be stronger in some way as a result.”

“If you break your arm,” Phillipe said, though he looked unhappy, “the next time your arm will be harder to break. If you are shot, the next time you are shot your skin will be harder to penetrate. If your muscles are torn or damaged from overtaxing, they will become stronger, yet no larger.”

“Hölzer has gone through conditioning most likely more rigorous than we are capable of,” his brother continued, “but we will make the most of what we have. At this point, Hölzer is immune to .38 caliber rounds, cannot be cut with bayonets or other bladed weapons, and can survive holding a detonating grenade and being thrown through a brick wall immediately afterwards… all without losing consciousness. Your healing powers will grow stronger with use also, both for yourself and others. We will mimic those characteristics in you, if we can. When you are strong enough, you will work for us, and we will reward you by not killing your sister. I have sent word for Gabriela to be brought here so that you can know for certain that she is alive, and that will motivate you to use your gift for the right cause.”

I was dumbstruck. But not for long.

“You’re going to use Gabriela against me?” I was livid.

“Yes,” Jean-Marc stood over me once more. “You do not understand, because you have lost your sense of who you are. But I have not. I know that there is more at stake than myself. All of France… all of Europe… all the world hangs in the balance! What if I let you go, and you find your sister? You will flee with her, but you leave a trail and Hölzer finds you.  Hölzer will do no different than this. He will know he cannot kill you, so he will condition you, and then use Gabriela to motivate you.”

“So you’re Hölzer now,” I said. “You’re doing the same things, for the same reasons, so you’ve become your own worst enemy, haven’t you?”

“Except we are not doing the same things for the same reasons,” he snapped his fingers, making me blink. “Hölzer wants the whole world for himself, through Hitler. I want to be rid of the Nazis and Hölzer, and even if the Allies landed tomorrow, and swept across Germany in a great wave, and even if Germany surrendered overnight, Hölzer would never give up. He cannot be defeated. He cannot be killed and he is strong enough to fight ten men at once. Only someone like him can have a chance to defeat him. Only you can do so, and I will do anything I have to do to make that happen, even if it means making an enemy out of you also. This is for the greater good.”

I have never related in any detail what were the rigors of Jean-Marc’s “conditioning.” I will not relate them now. Suffice it to say they were torture, yet unlike torture to obtain information, or torture for the sake of cruelty, the goal was distant, and so it went on. Each day they put me through some other “technique” in order to strengthen my abilities. Days went by beneath the hospital, like my own private hell. I often questioned God during those days, and in spite of all the years that have gone by since, to think on it, even as I write this now, elicits echoes of the pain I endured. Some of the “exercises” made my skin tougher, some made my bones stronger, some made me more resistant to illness, poison, fire, or toxins. Jean-Marc was right in every point–my abilities strengthened in direct proportion to the threat I endured. Eventually, even my hair was resistant to fire, and I became strong enough that not even thick leather belts could not hold me to the hated chair I spent so many days and nights in. But that came much later. That is all the detail I can bear to provide. The pain was unrelenting at first, but that too diminished with time, until I could withstand tremendous violence against my person without feeling more than a dull thump. Strangely, the lack of feeling is often the one thing I miss the most about normal life.

Days piled upon days, and I never saw Casey. The only comforts I found were in Noelle, Phillipe’s young daughter, and Sabine. They both, along with Marcel, took great grief in what I endured, and even wept for me. They were permitted to bring me food and water, and sometimes they spoke with me.  Their care and affection for me was my sole comfort during that time, and is the only memory of it that I can bear without the emergence of my constant companion: hate. There were rare moments when I blamed God, and hated Him, but they passed easily. What did not pass was my hatred for Jean-Marc.

About a week into the process, I sat in the corner, reading the Bible by a frail lamp. Both the lamp and Bible were provided to me by Sabine, who loved me for saving her life, yet never spoke of it. There was something about that situation that I didn’t know, but she knew. Whatever it was, her knowledge of it only made her more sympathetic to me. In spite of everything that was going on, and the struggles that went on in my spirit, I managed to keep my testimony to the two young women who ministered to my needs, and we sometimes read Scripture or prayed together. Sabine was a Roman Catholic, but Noelle was a Christian herself. Those two, and Marcel, are likely the only reason I retained my sanity, and my faith. I was not strong enough then to have made it alone. God knew that if I had been alone, I would likely have come out as Hölzer had, vicious and twisted.

As I read about Paul and Silas singing songs in the dungeon, I heard footsteps along the hall outside my door. I put my hand to my head and felt the hot tears snake down my cheeks once again. Another session in my long “conditioning” was about to begin. But today was a little different, I found. When the door opened, Jean-Marc came in, looking as impassionate as he usually did when he entered my cell. With him, however, was Phillipe, who seemed more unhappy than usual. A number of other Marquis always accompanied Jean-Marc these days, as even in a week my strength and resilience had grown tremendously, such was the vigor and consistency of my conditioning. With Jean-Marc, however, was a young girl of about thirteen.

I hesitated at first, because Jean-Marc’s big hand was over her mouth, but as I stared into her eyes, as the curly gold locks fell around them, I could not have been more certain. It was Gabriela. She was dressed in new clothes, her dark floral dress showing its collar above the thick wool overcoat, and between the coat and her ankles. They were not the clothes she had been wearing when we parted. Her eyes were frightened, but she looked healthy. Immediately I rose and ran forward, only to stop short as the click of a gun echoed through the storeroom. Gabriela squinted and moaned as the muzzle of the German Mauser in Jean-Mark’s hand pressed uncomfortably into the side of her neck.

“Now,” Jean-Marc stated, “you will do as we say. Gabriela, recently returned from Paris–and at great risk to both her and ourselves–will be staying here in the hospital, under careful guard. If you do not cooperate, I will harm her.”

“If you kill her, I swear to God I will destroy everything you have built, Jean-Marc,” I said quietly.

“I didn’t say I would kill her,” he clarified. “I said I will harm her. I will harm her in whatever way I can think of at the moment. But I will not kill her unless you manage to escape. If I hear word that you are no longer in the cell, I will have her shot. These are desperate times, Miss Spengler. You will find that if you don’t choose a side, a side will be chosen for you. Hölzer and the Nazis must be stopped, and if this is the only way I can secure your aid, then I will do it.”

“You’re a monster,” my eyes narrowed as my fists clenched tightly. “At least Hölzer and the Nazis are honest. They torture and kill people knowing and embracing the evil that they are, but you, Jean-Marc… you lie to yourself. You do the same things as them, but tell yourself you aren’t them. You don’t care how many evils you commit so long as they all end up at the one good thing on the horizon.”

“That good is the ultimate good! The Nazis made all of this necessary! When they have been destroyed, then all this will be gone.”

“Will it?” I pressed home more. “That one good thing on the horizon is just an illusion, Jean-Marc. There’s always more tyrants, more wars, more death. You can save France from the Germans, and you can’t save France from itself. Read that book!”

I pointed fiercely at the Bible I had left in the corner with my lamp.

“No one is righteous, Jean-Marc, not even one of us! Hitler could just as easily have been a Frenchman! We can fight against the Nazis, but we’ll never be able to wipe out evil until we realize that it’s inside of us. That’s why we can’t do the same things these men do… or we will lose what makes us different… a pure conscience. You have tortured me with your ‘conditioning’ for days, Jean-Marc… I have prayed that God would give me the strength not to hate you for doing these things… but be sure of this: if you do not let me and Gabriela go free, I will destroy you, and everything you’ve built, even if it means exposing you to the Nazis.”

“Not such a pacifist now, are you?” he raised an eyebrow. “Too bad Hölzer didn’t find you first. If we had saved you from him, doubtless all this hatred you have for me would be directed where it should be, and then you would understand why I must do the things I do. Now, I’m going to take Gabriela to her room, where she’ll be staying for some time. Phillipe, I think we need to work more on the strength of her bones. Focus on trying to break her arms again. With how much they’ve already increased in strength and density, once more may be enough.”

“I’ll have to find something heavy enough,” the man shook his head, still looking unusually unhappy. “The last time we managed to break one of her arms, we had to drop a block of concrete on them.”

“Well, find something heavier, and get it done,” his brother barked, then forced Gabriela out of the room with him. After they had gone, Phillipe looked back at me, sighing.

“Well, I suppose I don’t have to bind you anymore,” he remarked. “You know what will happen to your sister if you don’t cooperate.”

“You’re even worse than your brother, Phillipe,” I tore into the man. “You’re not even the madman he is. You’re just a stooge–a thug.”

“You don’t understand, we both lost our family to Hölzer and the Nazis…”

“Well, who hasn’t! Where’s my family, Phillipe? Are you so consumed with your own grief and vengeance that you can’t see what you’re doing now is taking you to the same path? You hate Hölzer and the Germans for killing your family, yet you’re threatening me and what’s left of my family just to satisfy your lust for revenge! I understand all too well when someone takes away all that you have, and it led me to try to help people, to find out why I am the way I am, so that God could use me for His purpose. But instead of doing that, you turn around and compound the evils of your oppressors by passing on the same treatment to those under your power.”

“Enough!” he said finally, but I could tell my words stung him. “Gag her.”

The gag was not to stop me from talking, and thus it was not a true gag. It was a wooden bit, a round dowel about six inches long, and wrapped tightly in cloth. They placed this between my teeth and secured it around my head with a leather loop, and it helped with the pain for me to bite down on it, similarly to bits used by sailors who were to be flogged. I don’t remember what it was they dropped on me that night, but they did manage to break my arms. It was the last time anyone had ever broken one of my arms, until very recently.

That night I convalesced while my body healed itself. Already most of the bones in my arms were healed, just hours later. I lay on my worn bed against the back wall, unable to move much. My bones did not need to be set, and healed properly of their own accord. Guards stood outside my door at all times, equipped with radios, just in case I ever had a mind to risk Gabriela’s life.

I lay very still. By now my self-healing had progressed to a degree that I could feel it occurring, almost like a living thing of its own, creeping beneath my skin. As I lay there, staring up at the dimly-lit concrete ceiling, I thought back to the day I had lay in the snow on my back, staring up at the cloudy sky in blissful ignorance. Since then, my life had been a nightmare, and this was the deepest, darkest part of my dream yet. I wondered if my nightmare could get any more horrible or terrifying. I heard steps again, but I didn’t care who they were anymore. I got like that sometimes after a “session.”

It was Sabine. She brought me a tray of food and some drink, including a little wine, which was her own special way of being kind. I didn’t feel like eating or drinking anything, but I took the wine because it was from her, and because it made me feel warm and dulled the pain ever so slightly. She stayed by my bedside for a long while, her long braid wrapped daintily around her head, reading me passages of Scripture, mostly from Psalms. I barely heard them, such was my grief and depression, but as she finished reading, prayed for me, and was rising to leave, she dropped the Bible. Kneeling to pick it up, she whispered into my ear.

“Captain Casey is still here,” she hissed, glancing toward the open door where a guard stood watching us lazily. “He’s convinced he can get you out of here. He argued a few days ago with Jean-Marc about leaving without you and he’s had several chances to go, but he refuses to leave without you. I don’t know what Jean-Marc will do to him if he refuses, so Marcel and I are going to help if we can. Just keep your hope up and keep praying, Mercy… we’re doing everything we can.”

She left the tray with the food and wine, and later I would be glad of it. Already I felt a strange vigor stirring within me, like a light swelling from deep inside the darkened recesses of my mind. Over the last few days, I had given up on ever seeing Casey again. But if Casey did attempt a rescue, it would have to be with Gabriela. I hope he knew I wouldn’t leave without her, as much as he wouldn’t leave without me.