The Book of Lost Names(99)

“You’re a fool to believe they’ll keep that promise, Joseph. They’ll kill you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know anything about it. So what’ll it be? Trust me, it will be easier if you give the information to me.”

“Why would I tell you a thing, you treacherous bastard?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll bring you to the Germans, and they’ll beat it out of you. They’ll torture you until you’re pleading for mercy, until you’re begging for a bullet to your brain. I’m an old friend, Eva. I would rather see you go in peace. Help me, and I’ll help you.”

“Like you helped Geneviève?”

Something flickered across Joseph’s face for an instant, something that looked almost like regret. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. “I told you, she could have saved herself. I could have taken her with me. But she didn’t love me enough. She’s to blame.”

“She’s to blame?” Anger bubbled up within Eva, and before she could reconsider, she pulled the heavy Bible from the shelf behind her and flung it at him with all her might. He raised his hand to ward off the blow, but his surprise made him fire his weapon. The bullet tore through the air above Eva’s right shoulder, close enough that she could feel it pass. When Joseph straightened again, there was a small ribbon of blood above his right brow, and he was sneering. At least she had succeeded in wounding him, even if it was the last thing she’d do.

“Oh, Eva, you will regret that,” he growled.

She squared her shoulders and thought of her mother, of her father, of Rémy, of all that she had lost because of this war. “I have more regrets than you will ever know. But hurting you will never be one of them.”

He raised his gun again. “Tell me about the forgeries, Eva, or I’ll torture you myself. I’d relish the opportunity, you pathetic cow. You’ll give up your precious Rémy and everyone else.”

“I’d sooner die, Joseph.”

“Oh, you will die, Eva. It’s just a matter of how much it will hurt. If you don’t start talking, I’ll put a bullet here, in your leg. You’ll bleed to death slowly, and it will be excruciating. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’ll pay for this, for everything you’ve done.” She spat at him.

His face darkened, fury burning in the eyes she had once thought were beautiful. “I don’t want to do this, Eva, but you’ve left me no choice. You have ten seconds to make up your mind—and I’m only giving you that time because of our long-standing friendship, you see—but if you’re still being this obstinate by the time I finish, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to pull the trigger. Understand? Ten, nine, eight…”

“Go to hell, Joseph.” As he counted down the seconds, she closed her eyes and began to pray—not to survive, for she knew there was no longer a chance of that.

“… seven, six, five…”

Instead, Eva prayed that she would have the strength and fortitude to breathe her last before she betrayed anyone. No one else could die because of her; she couldn’t bear it.

“… four, three, two…” As Joseph reached the end of his countdown, Eva braced herself for the horrific pain she knew would come, the agony that would be only the beginning.

When the shot went off, it sounded like an explosion. It reverberated in the room, and her ears rang with the force of it. It took her a split second to realize, though, that she felt nothing. Had he missed? Her eyes flew open, and her jaw fell.

There on the ground before her lay Joseph on his belly, his head twisted to the side, his eyes open and unseeing, his mouth agape, an oozing bullet wound in the back of his head.

Above him, smoke still drifting from the pistol in his hand, stood Erich, in full Nazi uniform, his eyes on Eva. “You must go, Eva,” he said. “Go now. They’re coming for you.”

She began to tremble as she stared at him in shock and disbelief. “How…?”

“Joseph betrayed me, too. My superiors know I was helping the underground. A friend told me, and I slipped away before they could arrest me. I came here to warn Père Clément. I couldn’t find him, but I heard Joseph’s voice, and then a moment ago, the gunshot.”

“You saved me.”

He smiled sadly. “At least I have done one thing I can feel good about when I meet my maker.”

“What do you mean, Erich? Come with me, quickly. We can run together.”

“It’s too late for me. Not for you. Go, Eva. Run for your life. Don’t worry, I’ll distract them for a few minutes, at least. It’s the only chance you’ll have.”

“Erich—”

“Before I came to Père Clément to confess, there were things I did, Eva, things that can never be forgiven. I have come to terms with what eternity will hold for me. Knowing my last act was to save you, though, would give me some peace in the end. Please, let my life be worth at least that.”

Suddenly, she understood what he was saying. “Erich, no!” She reached for him, but he backed away, shaking his head.

There were voices outside the church then, raised voices, barking orders in German. “Live a good life, Eva,” Erich whispered, and then, without hesitation, he closed his eyes, put the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.