Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,85

said.

He cried out in his sleep. I hugged him tight. “Kurt, are you all right?”

He muttered a name under his breath, “Fritz…” and fell quiet again. His eyes moved rapidly below the lids, in a deep dream state, his mind unguarded. I pulled the sheet back from his throat and ran my fingers down his carotid artery. It was too tempting not to take advantage of this, and peek inside at his secrets, not out of malice but concern. I bent my head down and touched my lips to his ear. “Kurt,” I whispered. “I want to share with you.”

He mumbled, but didn’t wake. I licked the artery to find the pulse. I knew it wasn’t right, but I did it any way. I nicked him in the throat, and sucked on the small wound. Sweetness. Light washed into me for a moment. I climaxed, clinging to him, but suddenly cold mist swirled in around us. As it cleared, I saw a younger version of Kurt huddled on the ground, wet and covered in mud. Through the shadows emerged a tall figure, wearing a uniform with a long coat and cap emblazoned with a skull. The SS officer lit a cigarette and for a moment cold, gray eyes illuminated in the blaze. He dragged on the cigarette, regarding Kurt’s wretched state, walking around him in a circle. From his coat pocket he drew a photograph. I didn’t need to see it to know what it was. He held it out to Kurt with one hand and beckoned with the other. Kurt’s apparition rose as if in a trance and disappeared in the man’s embrace.

Suddenly, Kurt cried out. I drew back as he sprang up. “Fritz!”

“Are you all right?”

“A nightmare,” he muttered, falling back to the bed. He rubbed his head, wincing. “What time?”

“One.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Must call Brovik.”

“It’s daylight there.”

“He hardly sleeps.” He tried to sit up, grimacing in pain. “Scheisse! Bring the phone.” He rubbed at his neck and felt the mark. He took his fingers away and stared at the drops of blood on them in disbelief. He looked up at me, horrified. “What have you done?”

“You were having nightmares.”

“How could you? You knew I was unguarded!”

“I just wanted to understand.”

He grabbed me roughly. “What did you see?”

“A man, in an SS uniform.”

“How can I ever trust you again?”

Kurt got out of bed. I tried to stop him. “You’re still not well— his blood made you sick.”

“Don’t touch me! “ He looked frantically around. “What have you done with my clothes?”

“Don’t you remember anything? You vomited blood everywhere. I had to throw them away. There’s your jacket. I was able to save that.”

Kurt sank down onto the futon, and picked up his wallet. “Brovik warned me about you, but I didn’t believe him.” He noticed something was missing. He picked up his jacket and rifled through the pockets, panicking. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”

I picked the picture up off the table and handed it to him. “This? It’s your family, isn’t it?”

Kurt stared at the old photograph, the present melted away and he looked back to a time and place he didn’t want to go. He sighed heavily. “I was out when they came for us… I’d just turned fifteen. I had some flowers in my hand I’d picked for Luka, my little sister, weeds really, no one bothered to plant anything that spring. I missed them by minutes. One final goodbye I was spared… or robbed of. The SS were still outside of the building, loading people into trucks. I ran.

It started to rain. I’d hidden in a storm drain. The SS found me, crouching like a drowned rat, covered in filth. The officer recognized me from my concerts, and said I was to be taken to his quarters for special treatment. You know what that usually meant? It would have been better than what he did to me. They took me to Dauchau, and took everything away, my clothes, my hair and gave me this.” He held out his arm. “I had a wallet on me— this picture and my identity card were all that were in it. They took that too, then led me to him. He said if I cooperated, I’d be shown preferential treatment. I’d work for him as a servant instead of slaving in a factory. He handed the photograph to me, smiling. His smile was… obscene. Not even Brovik knows what I did to stay alive.