To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  My gosh. Did she have to ask? It was like she had just nailed it in writing to our individual foreheads. But we all nodded.

  “I am sure you have many questions about why you are here and why these terrible things have happened to your family. It is time you know. But I shall give you only the essentials now. The full story will have to wait for later. We have much to do.

  “Originally, my name was Liesel Elizabette Kessler. It was changed to Gisela Decker when I was about four years old and had to flee Germany with my mother. My father was Colonel Horst Kessler of Munich, Germany.”

  Mother gasped. “Kessler? Colonel Kessler? Of the Gestapo?”

  There was the briefest of nods. “The same.” Then her eyes swung to me. “You are not surprised by that name, Carruthers. Why is that?”

  She had me. Stupid me. I was so caught up in her and Niklas and their new identities that I had already forgotten Rick’s warning. “I ... I wasn’t surprised because I don’t recognize it,” I stammered.

  There was a soft sound of disgust. “When you lie to me, Danni, that will only cause you pain.”

  She opened one of the side drawers in the desk and reached down. What she came back with made me gasp, even though I should have expected it. She gave a little flip of her hand, and Le Gardien plopped down on the desk just a few feet from me. I almost leaped up and grabbed for it, but I saw Niklas watching me, daring me to move. So I looked away, as if it meant nothing to me.

  Gisela reached in again and took out a thick sheaf of papers with a rubber band around them. She dropped them on the desk, then picked up the pouch and put it back into the drawer and pushed it shut. I was watching her closely. She did not lock it. Good.

  Tapping the papers, she said, “What I have here is a copy of your journal. Which, I must say, provided me one of the dullest and least enjoyable reading experiences of my lifetime. I may as well have been reading the city phone book for all the pleasure it gave me. You prattle on like the empty-headed fool that you are. I found it quite dreary.”

  I raised my eyes to meet hers. “It warms my heart to know that it was only quite dreary, not extremely dreary.” But even as I spoke, my mind was racing. Grandpère had gotten it right again. They had somehow copied my journal. That was how Cierra Pierce had known so much about everything. About the kiss.

  Suddenly I screamed out, writhing in pain. Doc had stepped up behind me. Now his fingers were digging into that muscular cord that runs down from the neck across the shoulders to the upper arm. His fingertips dug in, and agony shot through my body. He held it for several seconds as I jerked violently and tried to pull away. Finally, he let go and stepped back.

  “My mother wasn’t asking for one of your infantile responses,” Niklas said.

  It was as if Gisela had seen nothing. Her voice was calm and conversational. “I’ve read your journal, Danni. So I know that you know very well who Colonel Horst Kessler is. So cut the childish games. You are far out of your league here. So I’ll ask again. Why weren’t you surprised when I said that I was Horst Kessler’s daughter? Did you already know that?”

  Cursing myself for being so stupid, my mind started to race. No way could I tell her about Louis. Then it came to me. “Say that again? You’re Kessler’s daughter?” I was happy to hear that I sounded truly amazed.

  “I’m warning you, Danni ...”

  But I rushed right on. “I’m sorry. I must have missed that. To be honest, I’m still reeling over the fact that you and Philippe are behind all of this. Our dear friend, Juliette? When I was lying in my cell, I refused to believe it. There had to be another explanation. But now, as I watched you come in here like you were Queen of the Night, I realized it must be true. I am still shocked. I was barely listening to what you said.”

  To my great relief, Gisela bought it. And I saw both Rick and my father visibly relax again. Returning to her cool and calm persona, she went on. “When my father was captured by the Americans in Paris and was tortured for information, he—”

  “That’s a lie!” I shouted. “He was never tortured.”

  Instantly I was screaming again. This time Doc had me by both shoulders, and I nearly fell out of the chair trying to escape. It felt like his fingers and thumbs were actually massaging each other through the muscles. When he finally released me, I was gasping for breath.

  Gisela went on as if nothing had happened. “When he was tortured by the Americans and the French, he was forced to give them information about German troop movements and other critical war information. Because of that, he was charged with treason in absentia and convicted of being a traitor to the Third Reich. A local civic official used that as an opportunity to seize our property and bank accounts. My mother was thrown out into the streets in the dead of winter with myself and my older brother. We were forced to live on the streets, starving and cold. After a particularly cold winter storm, my brother caught pneumonia and died.”

  Her eyes swept across ours, daring us to contradict her. None of us took the dare.

  “We were forced to flee Germany altogether to avoid arrest and possible death. Through the help of a good and decent man, we eventually were able to go to England, where my mother became a scullery maid—the lowliest of all household servants—in an English manor house. And my mother, an elegant, gracious woman of class and breeding and culture, spent the rest of her life in abject poverty and servitude. She finally died a few years ago, a broken, unhappy, tragic figure of a woman.”

  I saw Mom lift a hand and tensed. To my surprise, Gisela nodded at her. “Yes?”

  “That is a terrible thing, tragic beyond our comprehension. We mourn for you and your mother and your loss.” It was said with simplicity and the deepest sincerity. I was watching Gisela, and while there was suspicion in her eyes, she also seemed to sense that Mom was sincere. “But what has that got to do with us?” Mom went on. “I know that my father and his parents met your father during the war, but they had nothing to do with what happened in Munich. Why are you trying to punish our family?”

  In an instant, Gisela was trembling with rage. Her face had become an ugly mask. “In 1947, my father was convicted of war crimes in Nuremberg. He was accused of torturing and killing several members of the French Resistance and also an American airman who had been shot down near Strasbourg. It was all a lie. A terrible lie. The evidence was questionable at best.”

  “And my grandfather and grandmother were at the trial,” Mom said in growing horror, understanding at last. “They testified against him.”

  “Yes. But what really convinced the jury that my father was some kind of a monster was the testimony of an eleven-year-old boy. His name? Jean-Henri LaRoche. So, Angelique, your father, more than any other, is responsible for the death of my father and what happened to my mother.”

  Dad raised his hand, but she ignored it, so he lowered it again. She was staring at the desktop now, her chest rising and falling. “Two months later, my father was taken to the gallows. A noose was put around his neck.” Her head came up, and I saw that her eyes were glistening brightly. “My mother and I were there, though no one knew who we were. The sister of the same kind benefactor who helped us escape Germany made it possible for us to come back and see my father one last time. At the gallows, he refused to have a hood put over his head. And when they asked him if he had any last words, he snapped to attention, saluted the air, and shouted, ‘Heil Hitler.’”

  “So this is what this is all about?” Mom asked in a bare whisper.

  “Yes! It has taken many years. And, after all that time, just as we were about to see justice done, what did your father do? He took the coward’s way out and committed suicide.”

  Mom leaped to her feet. “What?”

  I shot to my feet too. “He didn’t kill himself!” Doc moved in and grabbed my arm, but I jerked free. “You were chasing him. It was an accident. You’re responsible for his death.”r />
  She waved Doc back. “You are wrong, little girl. Having your grandfather dead is the last thing I desired. I wanted him alive. I needed him alive.”

  I launched myself across the desk at her, but Doc and Jean-Claude had clearly expected that. Strong hands caught me and jerked me back, slamming me down into my chair.

  “So now,” Gisela said, her voice still strained with anger, “I have no choice but to take it out on his survivors.” She leaned forward, looking at me, her blue eyes so chilling that I had to look away. “Especially on his favorite granddaughter, whom he chose to be the next keeper of the pouch.”

  She swung on Niklas. “Get them out of here. Get them out of my sight.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I sobbed. “He’s not dead. I know that he is still alive. You just couldn’t find the body. And, yes, justice will be done. He will see to it.”

  To my surprise, after a momentary stare of astonishment, she started to laugh. At first it was this soft cackle, but it quickly became a full-throated roar. It was chilling, because it was almost like there was a touch of madness in it.

  “You are such a child,” she hissed. “You take all the fun out of it.” She spun around to Niklas. “Bring the old man in.”

  So he was alive! Soaring, I laughed in her face. Here it was again, this hideous game of psychological warfare.

  Niklas strode to the door, opened it, and called to someone outside. Seconds later the euphoria came crashing down. Two more guards appeared. They were wheeling a hospital gurney. On it, beneath a gray shroud, was the shape of a human body. I gasped as the breath was sucked out of me. I heard Mom cry out and saw Dad leap to his feet. I couldn’t move or speak or think. My eyes were riveted on that shape beneath the cloth.

  Gisela was out of her chair. She came around the desk and grabbed me by the wrist, yanking me to my feet. Then she jerked me hard forward. In three strides we were to the gurney. With her free hand, she reached down and whipped off the covering.

  “No!” I fell back. I started to cover my eyes. I couldn’t bear to look. Yet I couldn’t not look. It was Grandpère.

  And he was cold and stiff in death.

  CHAPTER 32

  Gisela stood there in imperious majesty. She pulled me forward, then grabbed the back of my head and pushed it down so I was just inches from Grandpère’s face. “Look at him!” she shouted. “Is he dead or not?”

  I choked out a sob. “Yes.” With a soft sound of disgust, she shoved me hard back toward my chair. Mom was sobbing uncontrollably. Dad held her, trying to comfort her. I saw that Cody’s eyes were filled with tears and his face was white as a sheet of paper. Rick stood with his head bowed and his fists clenched.

  Gisela nodded curtly to Jean-Claude. “Get them out of here. All but Danni and Rick.”

  As he marched my family out, Gisela walked back and stood behind the desk next to Niklas. She called after the retreating figures, “Jean-Claude, take the parents and the boy back to their cells. See that they get a good dinner and warm blankets.”

  I guess my eyebrows shot up because she turned to me and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  Jean-Claude took Mom, Cody, and Dad out the door through which they had entered. I saw Mom shudder and avert her eyes, crying softly as she passed by the gurney. I wished I could do the same, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from my grandfather, my lifelong friend. The sense of loss was spreading through my whole body and numbing me. I wanted to scream out in agony, to launch myself at Gisela and scratch out her eyes. But I couldn’t move.

  As they left, Gisela turned to her son. “Niklas, you and Raul take Danni and Rick back to their cells. Rick gets dinner and a blanket. She gets nothing. In fact, strip her down to her underclothing. Let her spend the night that way.”

  I felt a shudder ripple through my body. My underclothing? With Niklas and Doc looking on? The cold would be nothing compared to the humiliation.

  She turned to the two guards. “Get that body out of here. We can’t leave it in here with the fire going. Put it in the cooler downstairs. We’ll cremate him tomorrow.”

  “No!” I whirled and darted to the gurney, throwing myself between it and the door. “Don’t cremate him. Please.”

  Gisela looked at Niklas. “She’s right,” she said. “It’s not worth the fuel it will take to start up the crematorium. Have the guards take the body to the dump tonight. Make sure no one sees them. Leave it for the ravens.”

  I leaped forward, my hands coming up like claws. “You horrible woman!” I screamed.

  She fell back, but Niklas was faster than I was. He shot in, catching me from the side and knocking me away from her. His arms clamped around me, crushing me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. Behind us, the two guards hurriedly pushed the gurney through the door, closing it behind them.

  I started to gasp for air. Her chest rising and falling in rapid, short breaths, Gisela stepped in, thrusting her face up to mine until we were separated only by inches. “Get her out of here,” she screeched. “Now! Before I shoot her myself.”

  “With pleasure,” Niklas said, a wicked grin twisting his face. Before I could react, Niklas grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back hard.

  “No!” Rick launched himself at him, but Doc evidently had anticipated that. He stepped in, swinging his pistol, and Rick went down like a rock.

  I screamed as Niklas pulled my head down. My back arched and I felt like I was falling. But he held me so I couldn’t. I reacted instantly, exploding into action. I kicked out, catching him in the shins. He yelped and loosened his grip on my hair. I went after him, pummeling him with my fists, kicking at him, screaming in rage.

  It took him a second to recover, but, quick as a cat, he swung me around to face him, then pulled me to him with such force that it cut off my breath. One hand came up and grabbed the back of my head, pulling it down so that it forced my face up toward his. Then he leaned in and kissed me. Actually, he came in with such force that our faces collided and I felt his teeth cut my upper lip as he tried to force open my clenched teeth.

  I was fighting him like a wild woman, trying to bite at him, kick at him, knee him in the groin, hit him with my fists. But his grip was too powerful. I was like a child fighting a giant.

  Kiss him back!

  That stunned me. It was Grandpère’s voice, and it shouted at me again, Kiss him back!

  Though the very thought filled me with utter revulsion, I stopped resisting. I let my body go limp. I could sense his surprise, and he reared back, staring into my eyes. I pulled one hand free from his grasp, reached up, and pulled him in toward me.

  His eyes widened. Then he grinned. “Now, that’s more like it.”

  This time he was more gentle, not so demanding and violent. I went up on tiptoe and I kissed him back. I mean, I really kissed him back.

  Somewhere behind me, I heard Gisela’s gasp of surprise. Then she laughed. I opened my eyes and saw Doc standing right behind us. He was shocked. I could see the hunger in his eyes. And at that same moment, Niklas suddenly stiffened. His eyes flew open, and there was sudden panic in them. He released me and fell back, gagging and clawing at his throat.

  “Niklas! What is it?”

  He waved his hands wildly, staggering now, eyes bulging as he struggled for breath. I stepped back away, wiping at my mouth, spitting out the taste of him. Both Gisela and Doc jumped forward, grabbing him by the arms as he started to sag. Doc started pounding on his back. Niklas fought him off, his head jerking back and forth wildly, his mouth moving, but no words coming out. I could see that his face was turning blue. Gisela spun around and started toward me. “What did you do to him?” she screamed.

  Before I could react, Niklas jerked free from Doc’s grasp and, clutching at his stomach, started in a lurching run for the door. He only made it as far as the big table. He slid to a stop, dropped to his knees on that el
egant Oriental rug, and began to retch. He vomited again and again, gasping in pain, moaning in between the violent spasms that wracked his body. Then he would hunch over as it started again.

  Watching someone be violently sick is not a pretty sight. But I have to say that I can’t remember seeing anything that has given me more satisfaction than the sight of him heaving his guts out. After Grandpère, it was small payback.

  I walked up and stood over him. Gisela looked up, her eyes frightened and yet cold with fury. “What did you do to him?” she shouted again.

  Still breathing hard, I forced a bright smile. “Maybe it was something he ate for lunch. A touch of food poisoning, perhaps.”

  I didn’t hear her response. Doc grabbed my arm and pulled me away. I wasn’t sure if he thought Gisela was going to kill me or vice versa. But he didn’t wait to find out.

  I had no sense of the passage of time. Outside the window the sky was nearly black, but I couldn’t tell if that was because it was night or because a storm was coming. Not that I cared. Curled up in a fetal position, I was like a huge black hole sucking up every shred of grief, sorrow, and pain in the universe. Grandpère was gone. My body ached with pain from the wracking sobs and twisting stomach. Now I was empty. I had no more to give. And, I guess when I reached that point, I had fallen asleep.

  A flash of light, followed by a crack of thunder a few seconds later, brought my head up. I turned over on my back and looked up at the window. Then I sat up. There was some fading light still in the sky, but obviously, a storm was coming. Then an odd thought came. A winter thunderstorm? Was that common here? It sure wasn’t in Utah.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering with the cold, and it was then I realized they hadn’t stripped me down to my underclothing. I was still barefoot, but I had my pants and blouse still on. And my single blanket was on the cot. I took it gratefully and wrapped it around my shoulders. In the chaos with Niklas, I guess Gisela’s instructions had been forgotten. Or had that been just another shaft in the mind games she was playing with us. Sometimes the anticipation of something bad was almost as bad as the thing itself. Either way, it was one tiny blessing in an otherwise horrible day. I reached up and wiped the last of the tears out of my eyes, then closed them and spoke in my mind.