Panacea

by Brad Murray

  They paced carefully towards the fenceline and the brick building where they were to reunite. But Father wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. Somewhere to their right, a muted cry rose above the commotion. A wounded soldier, perhaps. In unison they jerked their heads in the direction of the sound.

  And then they saw it.

  About thirty yards away, Letta could make out the outline of a boy. It was difficult to see his features in the sun’s blinding light that shone dazzlingly behind him. But he was kneeling - kneeling over something. Letta shielded her eyes and the three of them warily walked toward him.

  With each step, details began to come into view. The boy was crying. More than that – he was wailing – sobbing inconsolably. His body convulsed in grief.

  “Oh no,” said Lars, “someone was killed in the explosion.”

  Her heart sank as she pondered the possibility that the body over which the boy mourned could be her father. But just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she saw it – the uniform of the dead man. Father had taught her the ranks of the SS and how the distinctions could be made by a quick look at the collar. This was not Father. The man held the rank of Obersturmbannführer. Letta’s mind quickly comprehended that the dead man was Commander Schwarz. The grieving boy must be his son, Viktor.

  What had happened?

  Did a bomb kill him?

  Why was Viktor Schwarz here with him?

  Why was there no one from Haasberg here helping their commander?

  And where was Fa –

  Just beyond the body of Schwarz, lay another figure. She hadn’t seen it until now; it had been concealed by the glare of sunlight and hidden in the shadow of the tall pine trees standing at the edge of the forest. And then Mother saw it too. And then Lars.

  They all knew the terrible truth, even without visual confirmation. She simply didn’t want to accept it. She couldn’t accept it. Father was too full of life. Father was her everything. A life without him was -- unimaginable. He couldn’t be dead. Without thought, her eight-year-old legs carried her swiftly across a field of lush green grass, racing to a place she did not want to go. Two pairs of feet followed closely behind her, converging upon a sight they did not want to see. Their mud splattered, grass covered shoes stopped abruptly at the side of the figure, its features no longer hidden by the shadows. They flopped to their knees, the strength for remaining upright sucked away by the vision of the man lying dead in front of them.

  There was so much blood. Blood stained his chin and neck a deep crimson and pooled onto the grass beneath his head. It defiled his once sharp gray field uniform and trickled over the pair of lightning bolts affixed to his collar. His eyes were open. And at first Letta thought he was looking directly at her, into her eyes. But there was no twinkle remaining; no life - only emptiness. Letta’s throat tightened and her vision clouded from tears.

  “Hans!” she heard Mother cry.

  “No,” Lars moaned.

  Lars placed his hands on Father’s shoulders and shook him. He lightly slapped his father’s face to wake him from slumber. But Father did not respond.

  The glint from something metallic lying behind Father’s head flashed in Lars’ eyes. He desperately reached both hands under one of Father’s shoulder blades and pulled, rolling the body onto its side. As he lifted and rolled the body towards him, Father’s head slumped forward, his nose poking the grass. Blood gushed from his throat and spilled forward, staining the ground.

  Letta stopped crying. Mother stopped wailing. Lars stopped trying to revive him. They all saw it. And they all stared at it, not sure what to make of it.

  A swastika stared back at them, the glint of its gold embossment reflecting in the morning sun. It proudly adorned the black nickel-plated butt of a stainless steel dagger in stark red, black, and white. The blade of the dagger was buried to the hilt in the back of Father’s neck.

  Hitler Youth Knife.

  In unison the twins turned their heads toward the boy. Viktor Schwarz was hunched over his father, head down on his chest. A cool breeze drifted over the camp, stirring the pines, and tickling the soft grass that surrounded them. Letta watched in a trance as it gently teased the jet-black hair on the back of Viktor Schwarz’s head; playfully lifting and lowering. His breathing was slow and his back trembled on the exhale – enough to shake his father’s corpse.

  Letta couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her father’s murderer was there - just a few feet away. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to make him feel the deep ache in her heart. Her mind spun. The cloud of confusion was so paralyzing that all Letta could do was stare at the boy in a stupor.

  The rumbling of a car engine diverted Letta’s attention. Over a hill, down the fenceline beyond the brick building, its black silhouette came into view. It roared across the grass field, a cloud of dirt and dust billowing in its wake. It lurched to a sudden stop and a man jumped out of the driver’s side door. He was an older man, but despite his years, he moved nimbly to the side of the Commander and his grieving little boy. His felt fedora toppled from his head and tumbled until it came to rest against the rear tire of the idling car.

  “Viktor!” the man wailed. “What has happened?”

  The man feverishly inspected the Commander, placing his fingers upon his neck, checking for life. When he found none, he frowned and put his head in his hands in anguish.

  “Why didn’t he listen to me?” the man wondered aloud remorsefully.

  He glanced quickly at Letta and her brother and Mother, all of whom were on their knees in a semi-circle around Father. But it was a cursory glance. He didn’t even take the time to check on their well-being. Instead, he scooped up Viktor Schwarz and carried him towards the car. A woman jumped out from the passenger door and sent a piercing shriek into the morning air. The man opened the back door of the car and practically threw Viktor inside. He circled back to retrieve the Commander’s wife and pulled her, against her will, into the car. They sped away like a black bullet, the rear window flashing in the sunlight just before it disappeared - over the hill, down the fenceline from the little brick building.

  ***

  Benoit Brumeux looked as if he’d seen a ghost, Letta thought. He had ceased leaning on his cane and was reduced to parking his backside against the arm of the sofa. He hung his head and stared blankly at the floor, lost deep in thought. Letta had finally unburdened herself of her dark companion. She felt its weight lift away as she had recounted the excruciating details of her story. And now it appeared, Benoit Brumeux – Viktor Schwarz, had taken on the full brunt of its weight. She had shed a lifetime of burden and cast it upon the very person who had created it in the first place. Poetic justice. Finally.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jimmy. “What does your story have to do with me or any of the rest of us?”

  “Primarily, Mr. Porter, it has to do with Benoit Brumeux,” said Lars. “You remember the boy in my sister’s story, the one who killed our father from behind like a coward?”

  “Yes?”

  “That boy was Benoit Brumeux.”

  Jimmy looked to Brumeux inquisitively. The old man was parked lethargically on the arm of the sofa, his back to Jimmy. His typically confident, self-certain body language was absent. Brumeux’s shoulders slumped forward, his head angled towards the living room carpet.

  “I thought you said the boy’s name was Schwarz,” said Jimmy.

  “That’s right,” said Lars, smirking. “Viktor Schwarz murdered our father. Snuck up behind him and stabbed him in the neck with his knife – the very knife Father had taken great efforts to procure for him as a birthday present just the day before. But Viktor Schwarz never paid for his crime, no.”

  Lars dug one hand into his sport coat while he spoke, all the while his eyes never leaving Brumeux.

  “In fact, Viktor Schwarz ceased to exist after that day. Vanished without a trace. Never to be seen or heard from again.”

  “As my brother said, ODESSA hid you quite well,” Letta quippe
d. “Mother expended a considerable portion of our family’s wealth in search of any trace of your family and that repellent Dr. Wagner, but to no avail. Even the resources of the Alicante provided no leads. Initially there were rumors that you had fled to Argentina, but we scoured the country for years and not a shred of evidence turned up. Drove us mad, truly it did. Tell me Mr. Brumeux - satisfy the curiosity of an old woman – where on earth did you go?”

  Brumeux exhaled deeply, remaining fixated on the carpet.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Brumeux.

  “Don’t have any memory of it?” growled Lars, taking a step towards Brumeux. “Don’t have an inkling of what you did that day, do you? Well, perhaps you’ll remember this.”

  Lars held out his hand as he approached Brumeux. The Sisters and Malvado tensed, ready to strike should someone make a false move.

  “Look familiar?” Lars snarled. He held the object under Brumeux’s nose. “I’ve kept it with me these many years.”

  Exteded from Lars’ hand was a small silver knife with a black handle.

  “A bit morose, I suppose,” Lars continued, returning the knife to his pocket and rejoining his sister’s side. Brumeux had not so much as lifted his head to acknowledge the knife’s existence, and Lars’ expression reflected a hint of irritation. “But it has served as a constant reminder for me. A keepsake that stokes me to maintain the single-minded determination to fight for Father’s cause.”

  “Do you believe in predetermination - destiny or providence, Mr. Brumeux?” asked Letta. “I for one certainly do. Things happen for a reason, of that I am sure. There is a natural order to the world, and when things get too far out of line with that order, nature serves to provide a correction – a correction that returns things to the state they are intended. You’ve been living outside the lines, well beyond your class. The time has come to collect your reparations, Mr. Brumeux. Fate demands it.”

  Silence filled the room, as everyone’s eyes rested on Brumeux, who remained motionless.

  “So…this means the rest of us are free to go then, right?” said La’Roi. “Your beef is with Brumeux. Glad we could help you catch him.”

  La’Roi started towards the front door, passing Brumeux on the arm of the sofa.

  Malvado shifted in front of him, blocking his path. La’Roi stopped short of running chest to chest with the man. He noted Malvado’s hand on his hip-holstered gun.

  “Please return to where you were, Mr. Dawkins,” hissed Malvado.

  “Y’all are damned crazy,” huffed La’Roi, reluctantly pacing back to his place. “I ain’t got a damn thing to do with any of this, and neither does Jimmy or his family. So why don’t you just take Brumeux and let the rest of us alone?”

  “Calm down, Mr. Dawkins,” said Letta. “There are a few questions that need answered. Once those answers are provided, to our satisfaction, I’m quite certain you will be permitted to return to your lives.”

  “We learned some interesting things from our discussion with Dr. Minkowski this morning,” Letta said, resuming her attention on Brumeux. “One of the most noteworthy is your interest in the Porter family and in particular, with Jimmy. In fact, Dr. Minkowski enlightened us with the revelation that you believe Mr. Porter to be a human panacea. Is this true?”

  Brumeux remained fixated on the floor, head drooping.

  “This revelation was quite interesting to my brother and me,” she continued. “We recalled the stories of a Superjunge during our time at Haasberg. Father spoke at dinner once about the guards and their tales of a boy prisoner who didn’t get sick. He dismissed them as fairy tales of course; as did we. All these years, Lars and I never really gave it a second thought - that is, until this morning. Minkowski’s disclosure brought it all back. ”

  Letta leaned forward in her wheelchair, an age-spotted hand appearing from underneath her elegant white scarf. She pointed an arthritic finger accusingly at Brumeux.

  “Tell us, Brumeux,” she said. “What were your father and Dr. Wagner doing at Haasberg?”

  Brumeux slumped forward for a moment longer before sighing dramatically. He lifted his head and rose assertively from the arm of the sofa. His body language suddenly radiated confidence. His shoulders no longer slumped. His expression no longer somber. The entire room, save Lars and Letta, felt the shift in his presence. His beaten demeanor was gone, and the façade fell away.

  From the vest pocket of his crisp black suit, Brumeux produced a cell phone and began rapidly punching buttons, all the while maintaining his gaze at Letta.

  “It appears you have found me out,” said Brumeux, placing the cell phone back into his coat pocket. “The ruse is up, as they say. There is nothing left for me to do but reveal myself in full.”

  Lars and Letta exchanged satisfied glances. Brumeux had been beaten, and he had come to the sullen realization that there was nothing to do but reveal the truth. Even a man as stubborn as Brumeux realized the power of the Alicante. It was futile to resist.

  Letta grinned.

  A faint creaking of a door somewhere in the back of the house gave everyone pause. Everything in the room stopped. Footsteps approached the living room. Malvado drew his gun. The Sister standing nearest to Lars and Letta quickly moved in front of the twins, defending them from the approaching footsteps. Jimmy rose to his feet and stood close to his parents on the sofa. The footsteps stopped at just the other side of the timeworn, paint-thirsty door that separated the living room from the kitchen.

  The twelve souls who resided in the living room of the old farmhouse held their breath, muscles clenched.

  The door swung open slowly, creaking as it went. Out of the darkness of the kitchen and into the light of the living room came Jenny. Forgetting the situation, Jimmy’s heart soared for a brief moment at the first sight of her, before realizing that she was perilously walking into a room of gun-drawn lunatics. She was stoic – completely expressionless. Jimmy didn’t know what to make of it. And then, as he saw Stern shadowing behind her, his gun pressing firmly against the backside of her head, his heart sank.

  “Jenny!” shouted Jimmy. As he shouted, he realized that across the room his cry of had been echoed.

  Echoed by Letta.

  “My Jennifer,” wailed Letta.

  “Allow me to reintroduce you to your granddaughter,” said Brumeux. “How long has it been for you, Letta? About five years perhaps?”

  30

  Today - May 29, 2011

  “My sweet Jenny! You’re alive!” she cried. She looked sternly towards Malvado. “Lower your weapon,” she barked. “That’s my granddaughter.”

  The old woman’s mouth hung agape and tiny tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Just seconds earlier, she had held both of her most reviled enemies in the palm of her hand – Brumeux and Schwarz. But in an instant, it was Brumeux who held all the cards. The tables had been turned; all her power, fortune, and nobility rendered futile by the gun pressed to her granddaughter’s head.

  Jenny was her favorite grandchild; eldest daughter to her only child. Jenny had been spared of inheriting her mother’s ungrateful gene; and that was reason enough for Letta’s affection. Letta’s daughter had never been a driven person, to put it mildly. She wasn’t born with whatever wiring in the brain that drove the rest of the Wicker family towards the cause of accomplishment. That fact had always driven Letta mad - and Lars as well for that matter. Lars didn’t possess the patience to stomach much interaction with his niece; someone he identified at a young age as “hopelessly pathetic.” However, when Jenny came into the world, those disappointments all but disappeared. She was so smart, driven, charismatic. Jenny was so unlike her mother and younger siblings. She was a Wicker, through and through.

  During their last conversation five years ago, Letta had learned from Jenny that she had decided to take a leap towards independence, and was intent on freeing herself from her mother’s gravitational pull towards mediocrity. Not surprising, really. Jenny’s parents wer
e freeloading deadbeats, Letta knew. So, when news came that there had been a falling out between Jenny and her parents over her attendance at a public university in the States, it came as no shock. What was shocking was that the lines of communication between Letta and Jenny came to be severed as well. They had always held such a strong bond, the pair of them. At least that’s what Letta had always believed. When Jenny’s ritualistic phonecalls to her “Mimi” had come to a sudden stop, Letta became quite concerned. It was as if Jenny had vanished into thin air. One day she was there; the next she was gone.

  Letta and Lars had used the full resources of the Alicante to find her, but to no avail. It was eerily reminiscent of their search for the Schwarz family decades before – not a shred of evidence had been found in either case. To call it suspicious that the Alicante failed to locate her would be an understatement. It had tied Letta’s stomach up in knots, contributed to the rapid deterioration of her health, which ultimately landed her in the damned wheelchair. Though she did not concede it, Letta couldn’t help but recognize the unspeakable possibility that Jenny was dead. Besides the Schwarz family, Letta and Lars couldn’t think of one other instance in which the Alicante had failed to locate their person of interest. And because of that fact, Letta couldn’t help but wonder in the dark recesses of her mind if somehow both cases were connected.

  And now she knew.

  As Letta sat in helpless wonder, she realized how truly cunning Brumeux was. Just as he had hidden his identity, Brumeux had somehow been able to hide the fact he’d taken her favorite grandchild. From the moment he had walked through the door, he had been giving a performance; playing the part of the demoralized, defeated, pathetic old man. Now, as he stood confidently in front of her, an arrogant sneer on his lips, she comprehended. Brumeux had crafted this moment, and they had played right into his hand. A chill shot up her spine.