Echoes of Silence

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  The second man she’d killed lay face up, his features barely recognizable. The metal rod extended from the man’s belly. Veidtner forced her to sit on the cold concrete so close to the body she could smell the blood that had pooled around it. He removed his hat as he squatted to examine the corpse. A thick scar gave one eye a downward tug, and a recent welt shone red behind his left ear. When he looked up she knew he wasn’t buying her story. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He smiled and his raspy voice assumed a falsetto sing-song: “Time to pay the piper, Fräulein.” He stood up and tossed his hat aside. “Now lose the clothes or I’ll do it for you!” He snapped open a switchblade. “I get clumsy with sharp objects, so might just cut you a bit in the process.”

  Her whole body trembling, she slipped off the shoes and began to disrobe. “You can’t do this to me—I’m an American citizen and a reporter. You must set me free, and now!”

  He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re Hoover himself! Now show me all you’ve got.” He slit the suspenders and yanked down her trousers. She shuddered as a low whistle escaped his lips. His knife made short work of her panties and he forced his free hand between her thighs. “You’d better wet up soon or I’ll hump you dry, and that won’t be fun for either of us.” He reeked of beer and cigarettes. “Ah, but of course, we do keep something for that around here.” He pulled his hand free and reached for a jar on the cluttered tabletop. “This isn’t the first time I’ve serviced a bitch here.”

  In that moment of distraction she tried to back away but the trousers at her ankles slowed her. He viciously grabbed her crotch again and jerked her to him, causing her to cry out in pain. She fought the tremor in her voice. “I’m just a journalist trying to share your Nazi story with the world!”

  “You think we don’t know what crap you write about us?” He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. “Your big mistake was siding with the Bolshies last week, missy. I was all set to put down that pretty boy of yours when some asshole planted one on me.” The welt behind his ear shone livid. “As Dr. Goebbels said tonight, we will exterminate all you vermin and remake Europe in our image.” He bit into her earlobe, then spat out the blood. She flinched at the pain. “What would your readers think of us if you printed such a thing?”

  “If that’s what you want written, I’ll do it—I’ll write anything you say!”

  “No, Liebchen, no more pretty words. The only thing coming out of you will be blood and whatever else I stick in there. And you’ll beg for it all to end and happily join your sister in the Spree.”

  She gritted her teeth in silence, trying to remain on her feet as her knees threatened to buckle.

  “And don’t think I won’t make mincemeat of that boyfriend of yours either, because you weaklings always underestimate us. I promise your pretty boy won’t get off as easy as that slut out there in the field.” He glanced toward the door and laughed again. “You’ll hardly recognize what’s left of that pretty face when my guy gets back. Your little bitch was totally expendable—not enough meat on the bone to make me hard—but as for you, I like your looks.” He squeezed until she cried out, then pulled his hand away and licked his fingers. “Now, off with it all! Every stitch!”

  Isabel inhaled deeply. She had nothing more to say, no new plea to make. She shrugged the coat to the floor. “Now we’re getting somewhere, so lose the fucking vest and shirt!” He laughed at the sight of cloth binding her chest. “Get moving—I’m beginning to really feel it.” When she fumbled with the pin, he ran the blade between her breasts and jerked upward. The cloth fell away, leaving an angry cut. “Prize winners,” he said.

  She would soon join the nameless bodies in a Berlin morgue. Veidtner tossed aside the knife and grabbed her ass, hefting her onto the cold metal of the table. “Now open ‘em wide. First comes my fun, then your pain.” He unbuttoned his fly and smeared his erection with petroleum jelly. She stared over his shoulder, her mind seeking escape. Poor Ryan. He wouldn’t know they were coming till too late. Veidtner’s man appeared in the shadows of the threshold, the burden in his arms so tiny in death. Isabel was grateful for the darkness as he lowered Doro’s limp body to the concrete.

  Despite herself, she glanced down. His cock was fully engorged as he spread her thighs. She pinched her eyes shut, tears streaming, and held her breath.

  Abruptly, Veidtner jerked back, releasing her legs. His muffled gasp forced her eyes to open and see him slumping before her. A man clenched a choking hand at her attacker’s throat while bearing the man’s weight against his own body. A switchblade was buried in the brute’s ribcage and the stranger now worked it upward, twisting the knife with a vengeance. Dark blood flowed from the wound. She recognized the young man she believed she’d killed with the brick. His ear was massively swollen, his scalp caked with blood, but he still managed a smile. And his eyes were remarkably kind as he released Veidtner’s convulsing body to the floor.

  He saw she was trembling and reached for the fallen jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “Get dressed—time’s wasting.” He gathered up her other clothing and handed it to her. “We have to run, and now!

  Stunned and hurting, she dressed quickly with no concern for modesty. “I’ve no shoes for running.”

  “Take his.” He pointed to the feet of the fallen Storm Leader. “He won’t need them.”

  She couldn’t look at Doro as they passed her body at the threshold.

  The Ford again refused to start. Instead, her unexpected savior guided Veidtner’s black Mercedes through the gate and onto the road toward the city. They sat in silence for what seemed ages. Light snow whipped at the windshield as they crept along, the rhythmic snick-snick of the wipers doing nothing to distract from the turmoil in her mind. She tried to grasp all that had happened, stunned to the core by Doro’s brutal death and her own ability to kill, reliving every moment of the past hours. So senseless, and for nothing, yet her first step off that curb had set it all in motion, committing them to that cursed meeting and all the horrors it had brought.

  Could she have handled it differently and somehow saved Doro? What if the damned Ford hadn’t failed her? Or should she really be cursing her own incompetence with the clutch? She tried to concentrate on what would come next, anything to avoid confronting the brutality she had found within: bashing her savior in the head and thinking him dead, then thrashing and stabbing the trooper in a white rage. She surrounded herself in a self-induced fog, turning her back on the grisly and painful details. Yes, better to focus now on what was yet to come.

  “And just who the devil are you?” Her question no more than a whisper.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “But you were dead. I killed you!”

  He chuckled softly. “Obviously not. But I will say this—you gave it a solid try and have my thanks for backing off when you did.”

  His glibness was infuriating, but the man had just saved her from Veidtner’s rape and torture, so she tempered her response. Somewhat. “Damn you, Mr. You-Don’t-Need-To-Know, you weren’t breathing! I checked!”

  “I couldn’t let you hit me again, so I held my breath to avoid your coup de grace. Rule number one—if you fall in battle, play dead.” He downshifted into a turn and she thought of her failure with the clutch. They were now approaching the center of the city. Her mind drifted back to that horrid moment of lifting that brick, that first realization of her desire to kill. She was grateful when he picked up the thread: “I thought you’d never leave. And next time, check for a pulse. Far more conclusive.” He slowly worked his jaw and flinched. “Damn but that hurts! His light-heartedness was ill-suited to the moment and disconcerting.

  “They’ll know you helped me escape, so what’s in it for you?”

  His hint of a smile turned to a frown and she heard the bitterness of past experience in his words: “Torture is despicable, and no one deserves what these assholes dish out!” He stared ahead for long moments,
his thoughts clearly elsewhere. How much had this man witnessed before in that chamber of horror? Had he participated in such grievous crimes? She watched him in the dim light of the dashboard, trying to grasp the incongruity of his coming to her aid. “I’ll be leaving the city first thing,” he said at last. “My Nazi comrades don’t take kindly to betrayal.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  “Seems you’d run out of ways to save yourself, though you did give us—give them—quite a run for the money.” He accelerated past a car stuck in the slush, wheels spinning.

  “Where’s the one Veidtner sent for Doro’s body?”

  He peered beyond the scrape of the wipers. “In hell, I hope, swapping stories with Veidtner.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. When she spoke, her trembling voice was almost lost to the rumble of the engine. “Why couldn’t we have saved her?”

  “That’s on both of us—I was still groggy and carried only a penknife to go up against Veidtner’s pistol, and you might’ve handled the clutch better and beaten them to the gate.”

  That hit home, and his casual attitude to the horrors of the night stretched her to the breaking point. “God, how I hate you! So flippant and unfeeling when Doro’s dead!”

  He nodded, accepting her anger. “We’ll all die, but for a better cause than theirs, let’s hope.”

  She swallowed her anger, still wary despite what he’d done for her. He might just as quickly revert to Nazi ways. Finally she begrudgingly gave credit where due: “But you did save my life, so I owe you a debt I can’t repay.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” His eyes still on the slick road ahead, he reached over and gently touched her forearm. “I was going to stop them before they harmed the two of you anyway, but you messed with my plan. Taking risks comes with the job.”

  “My words of a few hours ago, but now…I really don’t know. What the hell is your job, other than saving my skin?”

  “From what I’ve seen—and felt—” he gingerly touched his swollen ear before returning his hand to the wheel, “you were doing a decent job of saving yourself.” They came to a stop, the traffic light glowing pink under falling snow. “You were simply outnumbered, and I was there to help…no thanks to you and that brick!” He looked increasingly trustworthy despite the bloodied SA uniform, but he still hadn’t answered her question. Instead he posed one of his own: “So where can I drop you?”

  Suddenly, she didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t go back to her place—they would be watching it by morning—and the last thing she needed was to lead them to Ryan, so his place was also off limits. “Where will you go?”

  “Far from Berlin, that’s for certain—they’ll be on my tail the minute they find us and this car missing. I’ll lay low till morning, then contact a friend and plan an exit.”

  “Do you have a hide-out?”

  “Only someplace temporary, like a hotel somewhere while I arrange new papers. What about you? You’ve been marked.”

  She thought a moment before giving in. If this man had risked all to save her, she would have to put her trust in him. She would rely on her gut: “I know where we both can hide, at least till tomorrow.”

  “And that is…?” He pulled to the curb, awaiting instructions.

  “Can you get us to Nollendorfstrasse? I know the way from there.”

  They crept along in silence, her head filled with questions and self-blame as they searched for familiar landmarks. She needed rest and her tongue felt thick, her mouth dry. The snowfall had eased for the moment but the roads remained treacherous. Hoarfrost made reading the signs difficult. Here and there streetwalkers sheltering in doorways defied the weather. One hooker saw them slow for a turn and blew a kiss through the flurries. They eased to the curb and Isabel cranked down her window. The woman tottered over on high heels, likely hoping for a quick transaction in a heated sedan. Her face fell when she learned they sought directions to Greifingerstrasse, but she accepted his fifty-Pfennig coin and described the route before teetering back toward her shelter.

  Toni wouldn’t be home for many hours, but a key to the flat lay hidden near the top of the stairs. Gaining entry to the apartment house shouldn’t be a problem either, since the front lock hadn’t worked in years. Worst case, she would wake the concierge, an old acquaintance. They circled round and parked in an alleyway outside a low-end hotel several blocks away. A police patrol would surely chance upon the car by morning and trace it back to the Party.

  He grabbed a flashlight from the glove box. They set off on foot, staying close to buildings and watching for ice on the sidewalks. The snow was picking up again, swiftly obscuring their tracks. Neither had outerwear and their clothing was splattered with dried blood. She shuffled along in Veidtner’s vastly oversized shoes, laced to the limit. One nightclub was still in full swing, bouncer at the door, music and laughter spilling out into the dark night. They hurried past to reach the entrance to the apartment house.

  Luck was with them. The street door opened without a problem and they climbed to Toni’s third-floor flat. The radiator felt barely warm to the touch, the basement boiler long damped down for the night. The apartment was chilly, but nothing compared to the brutal cold of the abandoned factory. They were just happy to be out of the weather. “Let’s ditch these filthy clothes,” Isabel suggested as she headed to Toni’s closet. She emerged with an armload of men’s clothing. “Bound to be something here that fits.”

  He started to pick through the pile. “What about you?”

  “My things are over here.” She gathered her sweater, skirt and bra. Doro’s abandoned clothing caused an ache in her heart, but she shoved the thought aside. Time enough later to face all that.

  He was already changing trousers and shirt without a glance in her direction. He pulled on a knit sweater, carefully avoiding contact with his swollen ear. Adjusting the collar, he pointed to the telephone on the credenza. “Any problem ringing up a friend?”

  “Help yourself.”

  “Time to get things rolling.”

  She found panties in Toni’s dresser and retreated to the lavatory to wash and change, automatically closing the door behind her. How absurd, she thought, the man’s seen me naked. She examined her torn earlobe in the mirror and tentatively touched the cut between her breasts, painful but crusting over. Once tepid water filled the basin she scrubbed the blood and filth from her face and washed between her legs to rid herself of the disgusting assault. Shampoo removed most of the hair oil and she made a turban of a thin towel before dressing. After checking herself in the mirror, she emerged shivering but energized. Her overcoat made her feel warmer and stronger already.

  The refrigerator held beer and little else. Something with a kick would be more welcome on this shittiest of nights. She opened a bottle and filled two glasses, then remembered a flask of brandy Toni kept bedside and grabbed that, as well. Almost as an afterthought, she fired up the gas ring and put on the tea kettle. Unscrewing the cap, she took a swig of brandy and enjoyed its heat going down.

  He was still standing beside the telephone, pensive, the receiver back in its cradle. She handed him a glass of beer and the uncapped brandy. “What does your guy say?” He took a swallow of the cognac, then downed half the beer. “He’ll get back to me. I gave the number on the dial. I hope your friend won’t mind, but I need to act fast with my cover blown. Once Hallinger finds the bodies he’ll turn the city upside-down, and he has friends with the police who’ll make the job easier.” He lit a cigarette from the lacquered box on the side table and offered her one. “How safe is this place?”

  “Safe enough for now. Toni won’t be home till around three or so.” She inhaled deeply, grateful for the warmth in her lungs. He returned the flask and she took another nip as they sat down side-by-side on the sofa.

  “And this Tony…is he trustworthy? I mean really trustworthy? Our lives depend on it.”

  Isabel smiled. “Toni’s a girl. Antoinette. We’re close.” The memories were nice:
the briefest of flings, a few weeks, and afterwards just good friends. What pleasure to bed someone who knew a woman’s body as well as her own. Their affair had been short but very entertaining, and Toni had understood when Isabel decided to move on. No regrets. Toni also liked men. Isabel recalled her sweetness just hours earlier, encouraging Doro to go along with that asinine plan. “I’d trust her with my life.”

  “We’re about to do just that.” He stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette. “I’m told there’s a man called Lemmon, another American?”

  Suddenly she was again on edge. “How do you know about him?”

  “Veidtner. He told us he didn’t get a fair shake at the brawl, thanks to the two of you, so he had you in his sights. Then word came your friend is also a foreign correspondent.” He gave her a quick glance. “So this Lemmon fellow is your current guy?”

  “He’s the one.” She pictured Ryan, better off now for his lack of courage. Or rather—as she had to concede—for reasonable caution.

  “Why not hide out at his place? Might be safer to lay low with another foreigner.” His fingers drummed a beat on the sofa arm, marking his rapid thoughts.

  “Not sure he’d be up for it, plus he rooms with a wealthy family out in Grunewald when in Berlin. It would draw too much attention…and besides, he took quite a beating and still isn’t on top of his game. We need someone fearless, someone like Toni.” Suddenly she bolted upright. “Oh my God, I do have to let Ryan know—the bastards were already on to us!”

  “No, not yet—not a word! Stay out of contact for twenty-four hours. At least till I’m long gone, then you’re on your own.”

  She let it ride for the moment, still trying to figure out this man and too exhausted to think clearly.