The Darkest Hour(58)

What was in that serum she gave me?

At that moment, Dr. Nacht steps into the room, clipboard at the ready, humming the same cheerful tune as the last time we talked. He notes the spoon in the nurse’s hand, and he smiles.

“Ah, Fr?ulein! Eating you breakfast?”

“She’s fighting me, Herr Doktor. I had to administer another serum injection.”

“Small steps, Nurse Keser, small steps. This is all expected. These American patients are most strong-willed, but my serum should win out in the end.” He nods at her and says, “Take her to the restroom, then you’re dismissed.”

After Nurse Keser helps me to the bathroom and chains me to my cot again, Dr. Nacht clasps his hands behind his back. “It will take some time for the serum to take full effect. A few weeks at the soonest. A few months at the latest. If all goes well, you’ll think of me quite differently once the regimen is finished. You’ll come to see me as your ally. Your friend, even.”

I fight through the thought-fog, punching a hole straight through it. His friend? “I’d rather die than let that happen,” I spit out before the haze sets back in.

His smile reaches his eyes. “You might feel differently soon. That’s the power of the serum. It harnesses the mind. It molds it. It sculpts it.”

Is that why I can’t think straight? Is he molding me as we speak? The very thought makes me jerk my wrists against the straps, but it isn’t long before Dr. Nacht shushes me.

“Eventually you will become the clay on my potter’s wheel: soft, pliable, and easily manipulated,” he continues, “and once the treatment is complete, it shall be a remarkable transformation—the first of the sort in the history of humankind. A true masterpiece of science.”

A puppet at his bidding. He tries to pat my hair like I’m a prized doll, but I knit together all of the willpower I can muster and lurch my head away.

“So stubborn! But as I said, we’ll take everything one day at a time. I call this first phase of injections ‘the softening.’ You might experience fatigue. Some of my former patients described a cloud or a fog in their thoughts. This is the serum suppressing—or softening—your will so that it will become moldable for scientific purposes.

“When the softening is well underway, we’ll continue on to your reeducation. I’ll show you photos and tell you stories that will help build your allegiance to the Third Reich. Many of my former patients found this phase to be fun.”

Somehow I doubt that his photos or stories will be any fun. And I wonder why he keeps referring to his former patients. Are they all now dead?

“Finally we’ll enter the third phase. Reintroduction. Granted, this is a far-off goal for now, but eventually I hope that the reeducation will hold and that you’ll be ready to travel home.”

“Home?” I whisper.

“To America.” He hums a snippet of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “I thought you would like that.”

Is he tricking me? The confusion multiplies inside of me, and no matter how hard I shake my head it won’t dissipate. Dr. Nacht touches my hair.

“Try not to fight the serum, Lucie. It’ll be useless in the end.”



My treatments begin like clockwork. I start with two injections a day, along with constant monitoring by Dr. Nacht and his henchwomen nurses. Every couple of hours, the nurses swoop into my room to check my pulse and breathing rate and then to stick me with a needle for a sample of blood. In spite of Dr. Nacht’s warning, I fight them each time. I won’t make this easy for them. I thrash against the leather straps; I make them drop their needles. Once I manage to bite a nurse’s finger.

In the end, though, they always win. They muzzle me. They sedate me. They remove small bits of me—my blood, my skin, and slowly, my mind.

I lose count of the days. Maybe a week has passed since we left headquarters in flames, or is it two? A month even? The fog has stretched its fingers into every corner of my mind.

Dr. Nacht eagerly scribbles notes on my progress, and we’ve started playing a little game to see how far I’ve come. He’ll hold up a photograph of Adolf Hitler and spout a string of sentences: This is the Führer. Do you support him, Lucie? Yes, you do. Do you agree with the tenets of the Third Reich? Yes, very much so. Over and over he repeats these words, and over and over he waits for me to recite them back to him. I’ve been able to say nothing each time, but there are days now when the fog gets too dense and I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say. Whenever that happens Dr. Nacht gets this little smile on his face, like it’s nearly Christmas.

But I’ve concocted a strategy of my own to keep that smile from spreading.

Theo.

I keep my brother at the forefront of my mind every time Dr. Nacht approaches me. I focus on Theo, and I use him as my anchor each time my tongue tries to betray me.

Do you support the Führer, Fr?ulein?

I grit my teeth and say no.

Do you support the Third Reich?

I remember what Theo died for and refuse to answer.

Eventually Dr. Nacht’s smile grows flat and he greets me at every session with a sigh instead of a grin.

“I’d hoped we would’ve made more progress by now. How disappointing,” he tells me. “You’ve left me with no choice but to increase your dosage. To the highest possible levels.”