Deadfall in Berlin

by Robert Alexander

  “No!” I shrieked. “No, I won't let them get you!”

  “Willi, you're being absolutely ridiculous.” As she tried to pull herself free of my clutches, she muttered, “You're so silly. No one's coming after me.”

  But they were. I didn't know who specifically, though somehow it was connected to Loremarie—the countess who had lost all of her estate in Silesia—as well as to that pilot and the Jew and the one-legged man. I felt a stab of pain. The Gastapo. Yes, they were after Mother, wanting her, desiring her.

  I couldn't take it, and I started twisting and kicking, beating on her, my very own mother. A hand descended from somewhere else and pressed firmly on my shoulder.

  Then a very distant voice called out: “Willi… Willi… there's something you need to tell her.”

  What? Oh, yes, there was something burning a hole in my heart. Something I needed to say but had never been able to.

  “Mama… Mama…” I began.

  “What is it? What's the matter now?” my mother demanded, looking at me angrily.

  I looked up into her big dark eyes, smelled her sweet breath. I loved her, and I had to tell her that.

  “I… I…”

  Her body started to quiver, to shake. “Why, Willi, you look as desperate as a soldier!”

  I needed to tell her how much I cared for her, but… but she was laughing. Her head fell back and a huge shriek of amusement burst out and echoed through the Zoo Bunker. Laughter? Why? She grabbed at her bottle, took a huge swig of schnapps, but nearly spit it all out because something was so funny and—

  “No!” I screamed.

  No, don't laugh at me! Don't make me go away! Don't! Don't! I threw my hands over my ears, pushed away and rolled off her lap and onto the floor. I heard her laugh and wanted to forget her and that high-pitched cackle.

  “Willi… Will. . .”

  Oh, God, what did I do? I screamed: “What?!”

  Then there was more chanting and more counting and seconds later I opened my eyes and I was on my hands and knees staring at a fuzzy blue floor. Oh, God, where was I? Chicago. Yes. America. I had rolled out of my mother's lap and fallen into the Midwest. I sobbed more, buried my face in my hands. Deep within the rings of my life I felt my mother laughing, felt her still jiggling with amusement. And right then and there I knew precisely why a part of me had always wanted just one of those bombs to drop directly on her head. Yes. Before I saw that bullet-eye hole in her head, hadn't I always wondered if I'd cry if she died?

  Chapter 6

  After Alecia spent some fifteen minutes calming and essentially debriefing me, I stumbled from her office, incredulous but quite certain I'd seen and heard someone I'd thought lost forever. Yes, I had drunk in my mother's beautiful looks, been hypnotized by her song, collapsed in her lap… and felt her jarring ridicule. My mother, I now remembered, had had a favorite, and it hadn't been me.

  I rode the elevator down, turned right on Madison, again right, and wandered down Wabash, the sunny warm day embracing me. I heard the rattle of a train overhead, stared up into the bright sky as the El charged madly by. How, I wondered, could this be? How was it that I was now here? No, this shouldn't be Chicago but Berlin. I should be seeing brown, bombed-out apartment houses and feldgrau—dingy field gray—trucks and soldiers, as well as wounded and maimed refugees. Uniform, uniform, uniform. Dear Lord, there weren't even any defeatist traitors hanging from the lampposts.

  When Alecia had pulled me back from the Zoo Bunker, I was in a state of shock, blown away as if there had just been an air raid. And like a bomb victim, I had to be pulled from the ruins of some deep, dark cellar. I had to be comforted, touched, talked to, reassured. I'd just been in wartime Berlin, and even though I'd emerged fully from the trance, Alecia still had to talk me into present day reality. It was the concept of 1975, me age forty, that I was having difficulty accepting.

  Alecia said it was such a powerful experience for me because not only did I return as young Willi to Berlin, but I also carried with me insights of the future. I was part Willi and part Will. Past and future rolled into one. At that I was silent. Hadn't I really known, not just in the trance but in the past as well, that my mother was in mortal danger? Absolutely. I didn't know if what I had experienced on Alecia's La-Z-Boy was one hundred percent true, but I did know without a doubt that the essence of that regression was absolutely accurate. Back in the past my mother had found any number of soldiers with long arms and loose lips and she had often sung of Berlin. And I had even told my mother that I was afraid for her life, and when I had wanted to be close to her, she had laughed. Most horribly, I distinctly remembered having thought that I would welcome her end.

  I now knew the key people involved in my mother's final day—the countess, the man with one leg, the pilot, Anton, as well as some eel from the Gestapo. And I had caught a glimmer of how deeply my mother was involved in the black market. Still, however, I hadn't lifted the darkness enshrouding that mysterious face and exposed the true identity of my mother's murderer. But I had to. For my own sanity, perhaps even safety, I needed to learn the truth of her death.

  Alecia, though, was on a schedule and I had burned up all of her lunch hour. Quite distraught, I begged for more time, and she, recognizing my urgency, agreed that we needed to continue with all this as soon as possible. She suggested six that very same evening; she'd be done with clients at five, take a dinner break, then return. Appreciative of her offer, I left. I was to wander the Loop and return for an extended age regression, one that could last well into the evening.

  I stopped at Kroch's, tried to browse the paperbacks, but couldn't focus. I came out, turned right and headed for Marshall Field's. I just wanted to be lost, and what better place?

  On the next block, a crane was busy bashing apart a building, reducing it to ruin and rubble as if one of those Berlin bombs had just done its duty. I continued down Wabash and thought about my stolen file, and the ensuing general paranoia caused me to glance over my shoulder. I'd assumed I'd be safe down here, that the numbers of people would protect me from anyone or anything. And at first I saw nothing to fear. But then I noticed a figure lurking by a store window. An old man, he nevertheless looked formidable, and he twisted away from me, attempted to keep his face unseen. I walked another twenty or so feet, glanced back again. At this, the stranger slipped into a doorway. Shit, was someone following me?

  I started across Wabash, sidled up to one of the El posts, clothed myself in the shadows of the overhead tracks. He reappeared on the sidewalk, and I saw him, not too tall, gray haired, and wearing a black patch over one eye. As he hurried in my direction, I started off. Had he been the man behind the wheel of the big blue car? I would be stupid to think otherwise.

  I moved rapidly, still heading toward Field's. Forgetting about Berlin, Alecia, my mother, I skirted around clumps of slow walkers, looked back. The stranger was crossing the street, tracing my path, staring after me. He wore a long raincoat, and I wondered why. It was so warm, so humid. What could he have hidden in the folds of material. A gun? A knife? Was I crazy or did he mean me harm, would he attack me right here in the middle of millions of people? I thought about that Bulgarian who'd been killed in London by a deadly poison on the tip of an umbrella. Yes, there were lots of ways to eliminate someone in the rush of a city's core.

  My pace doubled now. I had to lose this guy, had to get away, disappear into Chicago until it was time to return to Alecia's and Deutschland. I glanced back. This thug was probably a senior citizen, but he was surprisingly agile and now completely open in his pursuit. I tried to get a clear view of his face, but couldn't. The patch over one eye was large, and he kept his head hung.

  I cut left, broke into a trot toward State Street. My head beaded with sweat. Where was a policeman? Where could I seek help? Should I circle back to Alecia's office? Yes, perhaps.

  I ducked past two little ladies, looked back. My pursuer had just come around the corner, and now seeing me fleeing, he pushed himself into a s
low run. Oh, shit, I thought. I shoved past a clump of teenagers. The old man after me was determined, and I looked for a place to charge into, to hide. Nothing. Coming to State, I tore to the right.

  The subway. I saw one of the glass entries and bounded toward it. I checked behind once again, saw no sign of my pursuer, and leapt down the steps two at a time. I could board a train, ride it to the end of the line and back, then head to Alecia's again. Yes, I thought, digging in my pocket for change.

  In no time at all, I was down on a dingy platform, sweaty and heaving. But safe. Hugging a column, I turned from side to side, scanning the waiting crowd. There was no sign of the mysterious man, no menacing figure circulating among the strangers. Whoever he was, I realized, I'd lost him. I began to relax. The grimy, gray station held many secrets, I was sure, and now, I hoped, I was one of them as well. Still, I kept my attention sharp, my eyes darting. I could easily imagine him reaching State Street, not spotting me, then heading down here.

  The subway stop began to fill to capacity, a steady stream of blacks and whites filing down. Soon there was such a crowd that I wasn't able to see more than twenty or thirty feet. Where, I wondered, was the damn train? Couldn't my pursuer now be lurking in the crowd, just waiting to attack?

  I heard it. The distant growl of machinery charging through the tube. I stepped from behind the column. Hurry. Quick. I glanced down the tunnel, saw it warm with light. Escape was on the way. I surveyed the mass of people again. No sign of the stranger.

  At last the train burst from the tunnel, charged into the station. I, along with all the others, seethed forward. I took two steps, prepared to stop myself a safe distance from the edge. But then suddenly I felt something behind me. Something, no someone, that continued to push me forward.

  “Hey!” I cried, trying to brake myself.

  Two boney hands grabbed me, continued plowing me forward. I understood. It was him. My pursuer. I glanced to the right, saw the tigerlike eyes of the screaming train. Oh, Christ, I thought, he means to push me off the platform.

  I heard a woman cry, “Watch out!”

  I tried to twist myself, attempted to dash to the side. But the grip from behind was so sharp and determined. He put all of his body into it, and I felt myself hurled to the very edge of the concrete. One foot was hanging over the edge, and I looked down, saw tracks and water and torn candy wrappers. To the right I saw the front of the racing train, saw steel wheels that would roll over me, crush me. And snapping blue electricity.

  “No!”

  With all my weight, I twisted to the side, leaned back against my assailant. I jabbed my elbow back as hard as I could, felt it burrow into hot clothing and soft flesh. A deep groan burst from his mouth, and that gave me courage, determination. I turned, pushed harder, but sensed myself tumbling, going down on my knees. That's okay, I thought. A huddled body would be harder to push onto the tracks. Angry now, I dropped to the concrete, saw hundreds of legs. His, too. I reached out, grabbed him by the cuff. Just as quickly, his other foot came kicking upward, sinking painfully into my shoulder. My grip loosened, he jerked away. I tried to lunge after him, but he dashed to the side, behind a woman with big, thick legs, then started taking off through the crowd.

  “Stop him!” I shouted from below the mass.

  I scrambled up as the train screeched to a final stop. In the crowd of people only the back of him was visible. Thin gray hair, a dark coat. I started after him, then heard the doors hiss open behind me. Get away, I thought. Get out of this dingy place. And so I turned, let the crowd press me onto the train, let the train carry me away.

  Chapter 7

  At six sharp I was back at Alecia's clinic, knocking on the door. The receptionist and, it seemed, nearly everyone else was gone. Moments later, Alecia herself came to the outer door. Despite what I'm sure had been a long day, she greeted me with her customary grin and motioned me in with a long stroke of her arm. We spoke of the weather as she led me back to her office, then closed the door. Settling back in that recliner, I told her about the incident on the subway platform, recounted it as calmly as I could. She forgot about the heat and was completely still.

  “So then what?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “I rode the train to O’Hare and spent the afternoon at a coffee shop out there.”

  She bit her bottom lip, and her eyes lowered and scanned the empty air for a reasonable explanation. None came.

  “Alecia,” I said, about to reveal what had started growing in me out at the airport, “I have a new fear.”

  “What is it?”

  “What if someone's realized that I'm trying to piece together my life in Berlin?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Afraid of a process I might have launched, I sat forward, and said, “You know those letters I wrote to Europe asking about my family? Well, what if they alerted someone, who then followed me to your office, and stole my file. Then maybe, just maybe, that person did indeed learn something that sufficiently scared him.”

  “What are you saying, Will?”

  “Someone might be trying to stop me before I can remember who murdered my mother.”

  Alecia looked as if she'd been hit. She'd dealt with all sorts of distraught people, I knew, but this I assumed was a first of its kind. She just sat there, brow crunched in confusion.

  Finally, I asked, “Did you get something to eat?”

  She nodded.

  “What?”

  Irritated at my asking, she responded, “A taco salad.” She also knew my penchant for details. “And no, it wasn't very good. Too many olives and the taco bowl-thing was soggy.”

  “Oh, olives make me gag,” I said as I twisted around. What was that noise in the hallway?

  “Will,” she said, “This worries me. I wonder if we shouldn't—”

  “Sh,” I ordered.

  I heard it again. Footsteps. Quite soft ones.

  “Is anyone else here?” I whispered, sitting up.

  “What? No. Everyone's gone.”

  I held a finger to my lips. Alecia turned, looked toward the door, was silent. She tensed, caught her breath, and I wondered if we'd left the outer clinic door unlocked, thereby making ourselves pitifully easy targets. I realized that although I'd lost the stranger this afternoon, I hadn't checked for him lurking down on the street when I returned.

  The stealthy steps continued, and then seemed to stop right outside Alecia's door. If the door opened, she'd be in immediate view, and so I motioned to her to come over to my side of the room. She did so, calmly, quietly. I came to my feet, and the two of us stood there, staring and wondering who was about to enter. My eyes focused on the silver knob; I watched it quiver, then twist. Alecia nervously touched me on the arm. At once I grabbed a nearby metal waste basket. It wasn't much, but it was something.

  Abruptly a foot kicked the door wide open. We were behind it, mostly out of view, but I saw a heavy boot, dark pants. I raised the black metal can in my hands, readied myself to hurl it at our assailant. One more step and I'd bash him in the head.

  All of a sudden, Alecia caught my arm, and yelled, “Will, no!”

  The figure retreated at once into the hall. I continued on, charged out. A man in dark blue clothing jumped back, raised his hands in protection.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” he shouted.

  “Will!” said Alecia, rushing after me.

  I wanted to grab the man, shake the truth from him, but I stopped, held myself in check.

  “Will!” continued Alecia. “this is George, the janitor.”

  “Listen, I'm sorry,” he began, “I didn't know anyone was still here.”

  I stared at his balding scalp, his wrinkled, frightened face. No. This wasn't the man after me. This guy was too small, too cowardly.

  “Sorry, George,” said Alecia, lifting the waste basket out of my hands and handing it to him.

  I took a deep sigh, and added, “Yeah, we…we were just in the middle of some primal therapy.”

  “O
h.”

  George accepted the trash and quickly went on his way, muttering how we wouldn't see him again tonight. I turned to Alecia, shrugged.

  “I guess I'm a little uptight.”

  “Don't worry. Come on, let's get back to work.” She called after the janitor, saying, “George, just make sure the front door's locked when you leave, okay?”

  “Yeah, you bet,” he snapped.

  Rather sheepishly, I returned to her office and dropped myself again in the recliner. I was eager to move on, and I pulled the side lever and moved into lift-off position.

  “Let's get on with it,” I said, desiring to block everything out. “Just get me on the next trance out of here.”

  “I was wondering if we shouldn't call the police.”

  “And tell them what?” I had this horrible vision of Alecia and me, the shrink and her nut case, at the police station. “You think they'll do something if I tell them I'm afraid for my life because of something I learned while doing a hypnotically induced age regression?”

  She groaned, “You're right.”

  “I know I am. I spent an hour thinking about just that out at the airport.”

  “Then first things first. Let's see what else we can find out.” Settling herself in, she was unable to hide a slight smile. “Hey, you have quick reactions.”

  “I feel like a fool.”