The Darkest Hour(55)

I feel real awful for not telling you sooner, but I’ll make it up to you somehow. How about I take you to a fancy restaurant in California? Or what if I bought you every Nancy Drew book ever published? Whatever you want. Just don’t be mad. Please, Luce.

Miss you.

Theo





When I wake up, I taste blood. I cough but the taste lingers, so I try to roll over to get a sip of water. I usually keep a glass on my nightstand, but my arm refuses to move. If Tilly is playing a joke on me, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into …

“Tilly?”

No answer. I attempt to sit up, but my arm still won’t budge and neither will my legs. My eyes jerk open to near darkness. Dim light filters in from the gap underneath the door, and there’s just enough of it for me to see the leather straps wrapped around my wrists and ankles. The straps are fastened to the metal cot that I’m lying on and tightened over the gray hospital gown that I’m wearing. A ceiling fan blows stale air against my forehead.

Where in the world am I?

The memories come back to me in photographic bursts: our attack on the laboratory, the soldiers all around me, the terrible words I saw scrawled on the chalkboard before everything went numb and black.

Panic pounds at my chest, but panicking won’t get me out of these straps or out of this room. I breathe in and breathe out until I can gather enough wits to take in my surroundings. I see four plain walls around me, and across from me, there’s a cabinet tucked against the wall. There’s also a chair next to my cot, but that’s it. A simple room. Knowing the Nazis, though, their plans for me will be far more complicated. If they’ve kept me alive this long, then they’ve done it for a very specific reason—a reason I’m not too keen on discovering.

Wherever they’ve taken me, whatever they’ve put in me, I need to find a way out. I heave my body against the restraints, but the straps don’t even groan. Searching for another option, I look for something to cut me free—a scalpel or scissors—but the Germans aren’t stupid enough to leave those things lying around.

The doorknob turns slowly, and my heart spins. I wait for the soldiers to pour inside, but none come. Instead, an old man shuffles in, and he doesn’t bother turning on the light.

I shut my eyes and feign sleep. The man’s footsteps near the bed, and he hums as if he’s strolling through a candy shop. He ventures so close that I could reach up and crush his throat—if it weren’t for these restraints. While he continues his humming, I hear the scritch and scratch of a pen moving across a clipboard.

“I have an inkling that you’re awake, Fr?ulein,” he says suddenly.

I don’t move a muscle.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he continues in French. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about me and why you’re here?”

His words tug like a lure at all of my questions. I don’t want to open my eyes for him, but at the same time I know that it’s useless for me to keep pretending that I’m asleep. At some point I’ll have to face him, and I might as well get it over with.

I open my eyes a sliver and take him in. The dark room cloaks him in shadow, but I see the sharp edges of his clipboard and the crisp lines of his doctor’s coat. Exactly what sort of doctor he may be, I don’t know.

“How was your rest?” he asks. When I don’t answer, he switches languages with ease. “Do you prefer that we speak in English? Forgive me if mine is rusted. Is that what you Americans say?”

A shiver tickles over my skin. How does he know that I’m American? Had I been talking in my sleep?

He chuckles. “Where are my manners? Let me make the proper introductions.” He flips on the light switch and I finally get a good look at him—and an alarm screeches inside of me.

“You,” I whisper.

“It seems that you recognize me.”

I jerk my arms against the straps again. Suddenly the room feels far too hot. I need to get away from this man. I know him—and I know what he’s capable of.

“Calm down, Fr?ulein.” He scoots his chair next to me, and I scramble as far away as I can.

“Get away from me, Reinhard!”

He smiles, showing a bright gold tooth shining from the corner of his mouth. “You believe that I’m Elias Reinhard?”

I don’t know why he’s playing dumb. I’m absolutely sure that he’s Reinhard. He looks just like the photograph that Dorner showed to me, despite the fact that his beard has turned snow-white since the photo was taken. I hadn’t expected his smile, though. It’s friendly and warm, in spite of the yellowed teeth—the sort of grin that makes you want to trust him. For that reason alone, I know that I can’t.

“What have you done with my friends?” I ask.

“They’re both well, just as you are.”

I tug at my shackles. “I wouldn’t describe this as ‘well.’ ”

“Those bindings are for your safety, Fr?ulein Blaise. We wouldn’t want you rolling off your cot in your sleep, now, would we?”

“How do you know my name?”

“You’ll quickly come to see that I know a good bit about you, Lucienne. Or Lucie, as you prefer. Perhaps you can think of me as an admirer of yours.”

Nausea slinks into my stomach and settles there. “Where are we?”