Journey to the Gates of Hell - Kanimina (2024)

Chapter 1: I - Prague

Chapter Text

The fifteenth of October 1943 was when Heni’s Bund Deutscher Mädel uniform turned from her source of pride and joy to one of shame and dread.

It was an unusually warm day, with a rare burst of sunshine peeking out through the clouds and casting down over Prague in the afternoon. Heni was coming back from the League meeting, still sweaty and out of breath — it was gymnastics day, which meant a lot of running and jumping. She’d have to wash her uniform straight away.

Every evening, Heni made sure her white blouse, black tie, and navy calf-length skirt were pressed to perfection and carefully laid out for the next morning. At age fourteen, she had only just joined the League proper, but her leadership skills had already earned her an Untergauführerin badge, which she’d sewn proudly to her blouses and jackets. Greta had whispered to Himmel that Heni wasn’t that strong of a leader, that she’d only made Untergauführerin because of her father. But Greta was stupid, Heni had decided a while ago.

And her boots. God, she loved these boots. Marching through Prague with her gymnastics uniform slung over her shoulder, everyone giving her clearance on the sidewalks — what could be better? Heni held her head high as she strode home to her villa. She still missed Vienna with all of her heart, but on days like this, Prague wasn’t so bad.

She left the Old Town Square and turned down a street a few before hers. Halfway up the much-quieter street, there was a sudden scuffling behind her before her gymnastics uniform was yanked off her shoulder.

“What the…?” She whipped around to see two girls around her age standing in front of her with smirks on their faces.

Her first thought, Heni was later ashamed to admit, was that they were beautiful. Both taller than her, with colorful albeit ragged dresses and pinned-back hair. The left one was even blonde and blue-eyed, a victory that Austrian-German Heni couldn’t claim.

The other one, a pointy-nosed brunette, said in broken German, “Here, you drop this.”

She threw the uniform onto the ground before stomping on the pristine white with dusty loafers.

Indignant, Heni drew herself up to full height. “Who do you think you are? Pick that up at once!”

“Who do you think you are?” the blonde one parroted, cackling. “We see you waltzing around here like you own the place. Stupid German bitch!”

“Do you idiots not see this?” Heni snapped, tugging on her sleeve to show off the League badge. “I do own this place. Now pick that up at once and clear off, or I’ll have my father and his colleagues find you and send you away!”

“Precious baby will run crying to her daddy,” the brunette mocked, grinding her heel into the uniform. “We give you something to cry about, you ugly little kraut.”

Losing patience, Heni shoved her backwards as hard as she could. The girl stumbled, snarling, while her friend tackled Heni to the ground.

“Get off me, you savages!” Heni howled, aiming for her face and missing. Much to her dismay and utter disbelief, all those gymnastics meetings were useless against this wiry Czech girl, who pinned her to the ground and spat in her face.

“Dirty kraut!” she taunted, baring her teeth, resembling a wolf. “Little breeding cow!”

A swift and painful kick came to Heni’s side, causing her to wail and twist to the side in the girl’s grasp. Just as she got her bearings, another came down lower, catching her hip.

“Ow, get off me!” she bawled. Then, after two more kicks and a harsh slap across her face by her captor, a word she never planned on speaking to a Czech: “Please!”

“Bitte, bitte!” they mocked, cackling with glee. The blonde raised her arm again, and Heni seized her chance, knocking her arm away and rolling out from underneath her.

She felt hands grabbing at her braids and the back of her blouse, but she swung an arm back, feeling the satisfactory slap of her palm against a nose and mouth, and bolted down the street.

“Get back here, kraut bitch!” they yelled, following that with something in Czech. Heni kept running. She mustered all of her strength — already worn out after the gymnastics — and channeled it into her legs as she ran down the street.

The voices were fading, a good sign. She turned a corner around a church and then another, running until she heard nothing but her boots hitting the pavement and her heaving breath. Only then did she slow down…down…and finally came to a stop in front of a shop window, gripping her knees and doubling over.

It didn’t take long to catch her breath. The real problem was that she’d abandoned her gymnastics uniform. There wasn’t a chance in hell the Czech girls had left it there, and she wasn’t all that keen on finding out. That was if she could even find her way back there.

She straightened up and looked around. This part of town was completely unfamiliar. No white and red flags, not a swastika in sight. In fact, in a subtle display of defiance, someone on the upper floor of the building across the street had hung up a small Czechoslovak flag in the window.

Trying not to panic, Heni turned to the shop. The sunlight was too bright to see anything in the window except her pathetic reflection under white painted letters spelling out POKORNY OPRAVNA.

The tears came before she could hold them back. She was lost, beaten, and her gymnastics uniform was gone. Her father was going to kill her. She sank her head in her hands and let out a weak sob.

“Ahoy! Fräulein!”

Heni jumped as if someone poured scalding water on her. A boy — an older boy — was standing in the doorway of the shop.

“Are you alright?” he asked in near-perfect German. He stepped closer, and Heni stepped backwards, hastily wiping her eyes.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said coldly, trying to conjure up nonexistent scraps of dignity.

“Are you sure?” He was in front of her now, reaching for her. “Come inside, I’ll help you…”

“No!” Heni hissed. “Don’t touch me!”

“But Fräulein, look, you’re bleeding.” He pointed to her arm, which she saw was covered in blood. In the scuffle, she’d scraped off the first or second layer of the skin of her elbow on the pavement. It looked disgusting, oozing blood and some other weeping fluid. And, now that she was still, it hurt.

Reluctantly, she took a step closer to the boy. She still didn’t trust him, but it wasn’t like she could wander around Prague in this state.

Inside was warm and full of things that Heni couldn’t identify at first glance. But as the boy led her through with a gentle hand on her back, she got a clear look at some of them: radios, gramophones, wood-burning stoves, even car parts.

“Come, through here.”

He guided her into a small back room. Across the entire back wall, save for a door, was a workbench with various tools. Crates of glue and foam were stacked beside it. Against the adjacent wall was a desk with only a small clearing amidst stacks of paperwork.

“Sit here.” He gestured to a metal chair with a ripped leather seat. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared, turning on a tap somewhere, and Heni looked around again. This place smelled of something metallic, almost exactly like her father’s workbench in the basem*nt. Except her father would fly into a fit of rage if he saw this mess.

“Alright, hold still.” The boy was back, sitting on a crate and gently taking her arm. He wiped away the blood on her arm with a wet handkerchief before blotting the raw skin.

Heni winced before she could stop herself, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. “I know it hurts,” the boy murmured, squeezing salve from a tube onto the handkerchief. “I’m sorry about it, Fräulein.”

“No, it’s alright,” she assured him, chastising herself. She was becoming a woman of the Reich, for God’s sake, not some whiny little child.

The salve stung even more, but Heni managed to grit her teeth and keep quiet. To distract herself, she kept her eyes on the boy’s rather handsome face, on his brow furrowed in concentration. His blue-green eyes stayed on her arm even as he let go to reach for a plaster.

She turned her gaze to his hands, marveling how adept they were as they unwrapped the plaster and carefully pressed it against her glistening raw skin. She knew the Czechs were inferior, as she’d been told many times, but she had to admit they were a handsome bunch. “That may be so,” said Greta when Himmel had voiced this same opinion once, “but they’re dumber than apes.”

The boy raised his eyes to her. Looking into them, Heni could see there were many thoughts in his head, even if she couldn’t figure out any of them. He was curious, she was able to glean, so maybe this particular Czech was an exception to the rule.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Heni,” she told him. “And yours?”

“Jiří.”

“Jiří,” she repeated, trying it out. Despite such a short name, there was a sound she couldn’t make somewhere in there.

“Ji-ří,” he said slowly, unhelpfully.

“I hope your last name isn’t so difficult,” she said, making him laugh.

“It’s Pokorny,” he told her. “Like the name in the window. This is my father’s shop, but I’m taking it over until…he gets back.”

She wanted to ask where he was, but by the way he said it, the answer would probably darken the mood. “My last name’s Rahm,” she offered.

“Heni Rahm,” he said, and her name in his accented voice started a tingle somewhere deep in her belly.

Heni gave him a grin and teased, “See? That’s easy. Much easier than Jiří Pokorny.”

She must’ve said it wrong, because he let out a laugh that made his blue-green eyes narrow into twinkling slits. Like polished turquoise. Slightly embarrassed, she giggled and looked away.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

The sound of running water again, and he returned with a new handkerchief. Heni glanced down at her bandaged arm, confused.

“Your face has streaks of dirt on it,” Jiří explained. “I think from when you wiped your tears away.”

“Oh.” Just as Heni thought to reach for it, one gentle hand took her chin and tilted up her face while the other wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief. Now her face was his focus, his eyes studying her like a painting. She liked them on her, his hands on her. The area between her legs was alive and humming.

He let go, taking his warmth with him. She let out a breath and stood up. “Well, I’d best get going.” An understatement: She was over an hour late, which surely meant trouble for her at home. But she didn’t want to leave.

And he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her — perhaps he didn’t want her to leave either. Enough, she scolded herself. She was behaving inappropriately. With finality, she smoothed down her skirt and turned away.

“Thank you for your help,” she said as they walked through the shop. “I’ll have to repay you one day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jiří said, holding open the door for her. The bell above it rang as it was hit, and that was it, no more excuses. “Goodbye, Heni.”

“Goodbye, Jiří.” She glanced back at him with a grin. “Did I say it right?”

“It’s getting better,” he replied, grinning back.

Heni liked that answer: It invited a possibility of it getting better still by talking to him again. She waved before heading down the street. When she glanced back, he was gone.

Now there was the problem of her still being lost. Fortunately, the clock tower chimed from somewhere up ahead, so she was at least going in the right direction of the Old Town. Unfortunately, the bell chimed six times, which meant her father would be home any minute. She had to beat him there.

Hurrying her pace, she nearly jogged home, finding enough sense to rip the plaster off and throw it in someone’s bin before climbing up the steps to her house. The wound welled with blood, but that was easier to explain than where she’d gotten a plaster from.

“Good evening, Fräulein Rahm,” said the family’s maid, Maria, as Heni burst into the foyer. “I will take your uniform.”

“I, um…” With a stab of horror, she remembered that uniform was gone with no way to explain that, either. “That will not be necessary, Maria. I will just change and — "

The sound of angry heels preceded the appearance of her mother, Iolanthe, her delicate features twisted in rage. “Where on Earth have you been? And why do you look like a gypsy child? Tell me at once!”

“I was attacked by two Czech girls,” Heni burst out, unable to think of a lie — she could never lie to her parents anyway; they always found out one way or another. “They tackled me to the ground and stole my gymnastics uniform!”

“Liar,” Iolanthe snarled. “I’ll bet you lost it while gallivanting around like a wayward fool. You’re so unbelievably irresponsible, Henioche.”

“I’m not lying,” Heni protested, raising her bloodied arm. “Look! They pushed me onto the pavement and — "

A door swung open from upstairs, turning her stomach into icy steel. Iolanthe turned to her daughter in triumph. “Let’s see you explain this one to him,” she said quietly before marching back down the hall to the parlor. “A gang of Czech girls — unbelievable!” The door closed swiftly behind her.

Heni glanced around helplessly, but of course Maria was gone, too. There was no one and nothing to save her from the footsteps coming down the stairs.

“What is all this commotion?” her father, Karl, snapped. “I can’t get a goddamn minute of peace around here without you dumb — "

His cold, clear-blue eyes landed on Heni and narrowed. “You’re late. And you look like a filthy mess.”

“I, um,” Heni stammered. “I was walking home and — "

“Shut up.” He snatched her arm and pulled her forward. “Upstairs for inspection.”

Heni’s heart sank. She hated inspection. Her body was aching all over; probably those wretched girls had left bruises. How humiliating for her father to see she’d gotten a thorough beating. By a bunch of Czechs, no less. Perhaps she could lie and say they were German. But why would German girls beat her?

And anyway, she remembered miserably as Karl opened the door to his study and shoved her in, she’d just told Iolanthe the girls were Czech.

The study was scented with a mixture of cigar smoke and old books. In any other context it would be a pleasant smell, but Heni was only ever in here for inspections and punishments, or when she was particularly unlucky, like now, both.

“Go on then,” her father said, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Can I have a bath first, Father?” she blurted, knowing before the words even left her mouth that she could add this question to the list of utter stupidity she’d committed today.

Karl confirmed this by giving her such a hard smack across the face, her head whipped to the side. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up, little bitch? Stop speaking out of turn and start undressing now.”

He cleared off the papers from his desk as she peeled off her dirty uniform. She’d gone through this many times before and yet her hands shook every time. Despite this, she finished before her father packed everything into the top drawer of his desk. Trying not to fidget, she stood awkwardly in nothing but socks and panties, arms crossed over her chest.

By the time he sat in one of the leather armchairs, the cool air from the open window had soaked into her skin. Her fingers grazed her ribs and she winced; she didn’t want to see what the girl had left there.

“Hands at your sides,” her father commanded. “If you cross your arms in this room again, you’ll spend the night standing just like that with your hands tied behind your back. Is that clear, Henioche?”

“Yes, Father,” she mumbled, feeling her face grow hot. Her eyes lowered to her feet, but her breasts were in the way — in that moment, they seemed obscenely large. Underneath was an ugly, deep purple blotch. She turned her head so that she was looking at the legs of his desk instead.

Meanwhile, Karl was looking her up and down. She didn’t dare glance at him more than once. She didn’t have to — his contempt was thick enough to taste.

“How pathetic you are,” he sneered, “letting some savage, inferior girls leave you dirty and sniveling. What an embarrassment. Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Heni had no choice but to meet his narrowed blue eyes. Her own were watering again, but she managed to keep the tears back. His lip curled in disgust. “Stupid girl.”

He stood up and she flinched, expecting another slap. Instead, even worse: He was unbuckling his belt. Heni started to tremble.

“Bend over the desk.”

As soon as she was in position, his rough hands were yanking her panties down to her knees. She hated this part; it was so humiliating laying so bare in front of him. However, this was swiftly replaced with horror by the zzzip of his belt leaving his trousers.

“I hope you were not lying to your mother.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, whipping the belt against the smooth skin of her rear.

Heni sucked in the quietest gasp she could as white-hot pain shot up her spine. She knew crying and heaving and gasping would only draw it out further.

“I hope this isn’t a cover-up for you doing something you weren’t supposed to.”

Whip! She was less successful at keeping quiet, crying out and letting loose a spray of spit onto the desk.

“Of course it’s nonetheless disgraceful, but when haven’t you been a disgrace, Henioche?”

The next blow made her fists curl up and draw inward, into the crook of her neck. The raw skin of her elbow stuck to the desk. The welts were numb by now but everything else was on fire. Tears dripped out of her eyes, mixing with the saliva soaking into her cheek.

Two more, and she couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, Daddy, please!” she bawled, remembering her same pleas to the Czech girls and hating herself more. “Please, I’m sorry!”

Karl was chuckling. “What a pathetic, sniveling little bitch. This is what you deserve. In fact, I’m being too easy on you.”

A rustling sound amidst her ragged breaths — he was putting the belt back on, Heni realized with relief. She melted into the desk, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain.

Then his hands were back on her, pressing into her swollen rear. She sucked in a breath, trying not to squirm. What on Earth…?

The hands moved lower, to the slight groove where her bum met her thighs and spread them. Heni was too stunned to do anything. As soon as her mind processed what was happening, it was over. He was retreating, sitting down in the chair.

“Dress up and get out,” he told her.

It took a moment for Heni to peel herself off the desk and round up her clothes. She felt Karl’s eyes burning into her, wishing her hair wasn’t plaited so it would fall over her flushed face. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing, bouncing from thought to thought. At last, she managed to get her clothes on and hurry out of the study.

She bolted straight into her room, closing the door behind her — taking care not to slam it and face Karl’s punishment all over again. This short distance was enough to start the pain all over again, buckling her knees.

Whimpering, Heni hobbled into bed and collapsed upon it. Her hands were still trembling as she reached for her stuffed bunny. Holding it close, she curled herself up in a ball, trying to fall asleep as fast as possible, to end this wretched day.

But of course that didn’t happen. Maria knocked on the door, calling her for supper, but Heni pretended to sleep. Images of the day were assaulting her: the unfamiliar streets of Prague, the girls’ sneers, Karl’s narrowed blue eyes…

That last image turned into Jiří’s blue-green eyes, studying her carefully. She tried to recall his hands on her skin, but all she could feel were Karl’s, inspecting an area nobody had ever paid attention to before.

Heni’s stomach was twisting into knots. The skin of her bum swelled and stung. Yet the same humming between her legs she felt at Jiří’s shop was starting again. And her hand, without her realizing, had slid into her panties.

Chapter 2: II - Prague

Chapter Text

By the time Heni and her League colleagues left the Prague Castle, she was already exhausted and she had to return there in a matter of hours, all dressed up and on her best behavior. She wished her mother would’ve sent a car to pick her up and take her over the bridge, like Greta’s and Himmel’s parents, but of course Iolanthe didn’t bother with such things.

She’s probably sitting in the parlor, Heni thought bitterly as she stomped across the endless bridge, with her tea and company of some aspiring Reich wife with a lower-ranked husband willing to listen to her constant rambling.

The upside was at least the sun was setting, leaving golden, rippling streaks in the center of the river. She glanced behind her, at the austere castle with the Reich flags billowing in the slight breeze coming off the water. For a moment, the bustle of the city and her general anxiety faded away, and Heni felt almost the same peace as back in Vienna when everything was normal. Then, still looking backward, she stepped off the curb and was nearly clobbered by a horse pulling a wagon.

When she arrived home, she found Iolanthe in the parlor in the exact scenario she’d predicted. Jutta Baltrusch, the wife of some SS-man or other, was sitting across from her, nervously fiddling with her handkerchief.

Iolanthe wrinkled her nose, looking Heni up and down. Self-consciously, she smoothed her skirt down even though she’d checked herself many times since the near-collision with the horse. “Go have a bath and get ready. Maria has laid out your uniform — it was quite generous of the Gauführerin to provide you a new one.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Frau Baltrusch stood up and smoothed down her own dress. “I’d best be going to get ready as well. It was wonderful to see you again, Iolanthe…”

Heni went upstairs to see that her uniform had been ironed and laid over her bed. The shirt was crisp and new, since her only other one, apart from the one for work she wore now, had blood on it from her scraped elbow. What Heni omitted telling Iolanthe was that Beate, the dour-faced sixteen-year-old Gauführerin, had berated her in front of the whole League of Prague for “ripping” her blouse.

After her bath, she put on the uniform and called Maria to weave her thick chestnut-brown hair into two braids complete with white ribbons. Heni was looking forward to the day where she could style her hair in shining, sculpted waves like Iolanthe and Beate, but she was too young .

She scowled in the mirror. She looked like the ideal German girl, a prize for the Reich like she always wanted to be, yet she could only think of those Czech girls’ taunts. Ugly little kraut.

But Jiří didn’t think she was ugly, did he? The girl in the mirror’s cheeks turned pink as she recalled blue-green eyes, gentle hands on her face. For the past two days, he’d been in the forefront of her mind when she wasn’t occupied with League duties. She would see him again, she decided, somehow. Just to thank him — the least she could do.

“Henioche, are you ready yet?” Iolanthe snapped impatiently from the foot of the stairs. “The car is here!”

Heni gave herself one last glance, this time a more approving one, before turning away from the mirror and heading downstairs.

Back to the castle, where the long red flags billowed in the breeze and the now-moonlight glinted off the river. This time, the entrance to the dining hall was flanked with cars, black ones with small red flags like theirs. Their driver parked between two of them and opened the door to let Iolanthe and Heni out.

Heni was glad she went first, for it took Iolanthe ages to get out of the car gracefully with her velvet gown. She beckoned her daughter with a silk-gloved hand to follow her inside, where the fruits of the League’s labor was on display in the form of crisp white tablecloths, polished silver utensils and porcelain plates, and freshly picked flowers in vases on each table.

“Hello, Frau Rahm,” said Himmel, appearing next to them in her own uniform and signature long, thick blonde braids. Like Heni’s, they were tied with white ribbons — the Gauführerin forbade any differences in their uniforms, no matter how slight. “Is it alright if I borrow Henioche for a bit?”

“Of course, dear,” replied Iolanthe, who’d apparently just spotted someone she wanted to socialize with. She took a flute of champagne from the fountain next to the entrance and headed toward one of the tables near the stage, where a suited man played piano.

“What’s going on?” Heni asked Himmel as the older girl led her to a quiet corner on the other side of the stage.

“Nothing, just bored of my parents,” Himmel assured her. “Did you see Lehrmann? He’s looking good tonight. I hope he asks me to dance!”

Heni glanced at Hans Lehrmann, who in her opinion was nothing special. “I wonder if anyone will ask me to dance.”

Himmel opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again, mashing her lips into her freckled cheek. “What?” Heni prompted.

“Well…do you think your father will allow that?”

It was a valid question: During one of their recent rows, Iolanthe told Karl he was “unrealistically strict” with their daughter. That was the end of it, since Karl had hit her and told her to shut up, but the words had planted themselves in Heni’s head, sprouting roots with every punishment.

“Well, he has to,” she told Himmel stubbornly. “We’ve got to become women eventually, don’t we?”

“We do,” Himmel agreed, and Heni was glad that, for a moment, it was just the pair of them without overbearing Greta.

As the pair parted ways and returned to their mothers, more women and children showed up, greeted each other, sipped champagne, and took seats at their assigned tables. Heni was dismayed to find that Himmel was not at their table, but Greta’s family was. Fortunately, before Greta could lean over and talk to her, the side doors opened and the men in their uniforms marched in.

“Let’s go,” Beate, with her blonde hair done in an enviable French knot, hissed on her way past the table. “On stage now.”

The League joined her on stage and took formation. The men found their families, greeted them, and sat down. Heni’s stomach flipped watching this — the black uniforms and death’s head insignia had always made her feel strange, not in a good way and not in a bad way, and she didn’t know why.

Beate raised her hand to her heart, the girls followed suit, the men took off their caps, and the singing began:

“Deutschland, Deutschland über alles…”

When they’d finished, they were sent back to their tables. The beginning of these events, when the men sat with their families and ate their meals, was the quietest.

“It looks so lovely in here,” Greta’s mother said to Iolanthe, glancing around and beaming. “The girls did a wonderful job. And Henioche, you’ve just been promoted, haven’t you? To Untergauführerin, yes?”

Greta stabbed at her schnitzel as the attention of the entire table was shifted to Heni, who couldn’t help herself from blushing hard. “Yes, Frau Weinmann.”

“Wonderful!” Greta’s mother gave her a smile of perfectly straight teeth. “Karl, you must be so proud.”

“Of course,” said Karl, glancing at his daughter for the first time this evening. Like you care, Heni thought, remembering his cold indifference when she’d told him she’d been promoted. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn there hadn’t been a single time he was proud of his daughter.

“Greta will follow soon enough,” Frau Weinmann added, as if this was the natural course of events. For all of Greta’s whining that Heni’s promotion was due to her father, Greta’s own father was higher-ranked and her badge was still black and white. Heni brought her glass of water to her lips to hide her grin of triumph.

After dinner, the atmosphere loosened: The men and women convened separately with their chosen alcohol, and the children were left to their own devices. It took only an hour for the alcohol to start kicking in, bringing couples to the center of the room to dance.

Heni, Greta, and Himmel stood together on the periphery. The other League girls stood nearby, tugging on their braids and smoothing down their skirts. On the other side, near the stage, the HJ boys in their own ties and white shirts were glancing over at them. Beate had already been picked by an older one whose dancing skills did not match his confidence.

Heni was conflicted: On the one hand, she didn’t want anyone to ask her to dance. Not anyone who wasn’t Jiří, and not anyone in the presence of Karl. On the other, she wanted to be a desirable part of the Reich, and despite her new black and gold badge, she wasn’t sure she could compete against Erwin Weinmann’s daughter and a girl with golden blonde hair, thick and long like a horse’s tail, and blue eyes as round and adorable as walnuts.

However, it was not Aryan poster-girl Himmel or high-class Greta who was approached first but regular Heni, by a boy who’d been eyeing the trio all evening.

“Hello,” he said, giving her a playful smile. “I’m Franz Bayer. What’s your name?”

“Hello, I’m Heni Rahm,” she said, straightening up. “It’s a pleasure — "

“She’s Karl Rahm’s daughter,” Greta cut in, swooping down on the opportunity like a vulture who’d just spotted fresh roadkill.

“Oh…” The boy was hesitant now, a look of unease crossing his face. He glanced toward the table Karl was sitting at to find him staring back with a furrow between his brows, eyes narrowed. The boy took a step back from Heni.

“I’m Greta Weinmann,” Greta continued, bumping Himmel out of the way. “Standartenführer Erwin Weinmann’s daughter. And don’t worry, he’s not that strict.”

To confirm, the boy looked back at the girls’ fathers’ table, but of course Herr Weinmann was in animated conversation with the Protectorate Police Leader. Karl was roped in a second later, finally turning away.

“A pleasure to meet you, Greta,” said the boy, holding his hand out to her. “Would you like to dance?”

Heni tried to keep the indignance off her face as the pair strode away, arm in arm. To add insult to injury, Himmel was approached by her beloved Lehrmann not a minute later, leaving her alone.

Forget this, she thought grumpily. Just as she was about to slink back to the table with Iolanthe and the other SS wives, a uniformed figure stepped in front of her.

“Good evening, Fräulein Rahm,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “You look lovely tonight. Would you like to dance?”

A new song started up; new couples joined the floor. Heni glanced back at Karl, but the man was blocking the view of the table. “Don’t worry about your father,” he said, winking. “He and I are old friends.”

Reluctantly, Heni let him lead her to the dance floor and grasp her waist and hand. She peered up at him — he was quite tall — every so often, trying to figure out who on Earth he was. He was about twenty-five, too young to be mates with her father and too old to have any real romantic interest in her. Rather handsome, she had to admit, with dark hair and blue eyes, but they spent most of their dance sweeping the room. As they danced, she avoided looking at that table and tried to relax.

“The next time I dance with you,” he said when the song ended, “I hope you’ll not be so shy. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the dance. Goodnight, Fräulein.”

He kissed her hand again and released her, giving her one last grin as he went back to an unfamiliar table. Heni stood dumb, feeling like something important had just gone over her head. Her eyes, against her will, went to her father’s table and saw that he was chatting with his colleagues. Her shoulders sagged; perhaps he was finally loosening the reins.

However, in the car ride home through the empty streets of Prague, Heni quickly learned that she’d been naive. Neither of her parents spoke, but the air of the car was thick with tension. This was nothing new: Somehow at the end of each family gathering, Karl ended up cross with at least one of them.

Well, at least I got to dance, Heni thought as they walked into the house. She didn’t feel one way or another about the uniformed young man, but in the future if she happened to see Jiří —

“You.” Her father pointed at her. “To the study now. You” — he nodded to Iolanthe — “Go on to bed. I’ll be right there.”

“Of course, darling.” Iolanthe didn’t bother hiding her relief, trotting up the stairs, weightless, like she was gallivanting through a field.

Contrarily, the pretzel bread and schnitzel Heni had eaten earlier formed a brick in her stomach. Karl didn’t even bother taking off his boots or hat before gripping her arm and matching her up the stairs.

Behind the closed study door, he ordered, “Bend over the desk.”

So punishment, then. While Heni was relieved there was no inspection component, annoyance mixed in with the fear as she flattened her cheek against his desk: Karl Rahm didn’t give his daughter the time of day except to hit her, but no one else was allowed to pay the least bit of attention to her, either. How was that fair?

With cold, rough hands, he lifted her skirt and yanked down her panties. Then, nothing. She knew he was surveying the welts on her bum, now streaks of blue surrounded by blotches of pinks and yellows as they healed.

“A work of art,” he remarked. “And yet this little bitch still steps out of place.”

The dreaded succession of sounds: the unclasping of his uniform belt, the whoosh of it whipping through the air, and the slap as it made contact with Heni’s skin. Although she’d been expecting it, a short wail burst out of her mouth.

“Shut up and take it,” he said, whipping her again.

Even through the shrill ringing of her ears, she heard him snickering. Not for the first time, she wondered if he enjoyed punishing her, making her hurt and cry.

A clink against the floor reached her ears. Did he drop the belt? Is the punishment…over already? No, that’s absurd, she scolded herself. He must’ve dropped it by mistake…

Not a mistake. A second later, both of his hands were on her, squeezing the swollen cheeks of her rear. Heni hissed in pain, biting her knuckle. Squeezing turned to spreading and then again she felt cool air and even colder eyes on her exposed lower lips.

She couldn’t think or even breathe. His thumbs slid dangerously close to her vulva and spread her cheeks even further. From his angle, what could he even see? Hopefully not much. And then again, like last time, he took his hands off her and pulled down her skirt like it was an ordinary punishment.

“On your knees in front of me.”

Heni’s brain and body were both still frozen. Losing patience, Karl yanked her off the desk by the collar of her blouse, choking her, and threw her to the floor. She collided painfully with the wood beneath his boots, letting out a squeak.

“I said on your knees, Henioche,” he snapped. “Not only disobedient but dumb as well. What a lucky man I am to have such a useless little bitch for a daughter.”

Tears poured down her cheeks as she propped herself up on her knees. Karl knew how to leave marks on her skin with his hands, but his words sliced into places beneath her skin and never healed. When she reached up to wipe her eyes, he slapped her hand away.

“Hands behind your back. Look at me, girl.”

The pins on his uniform caught the dim light of the study. With his head bent, looking down at her, she could the barest hint of the death’s head on his cap. She wondered if the “rats” he dealt with at work were made to kneel in front of him like this.

“Tell me, Henioche, did you enjoy dancing with him?” he asked quietly. “Did he make you feel special?”

“N-no, Father,” she choked out. She swallowed hard before adding, “I didn’t — I didn’t want to dance with him. I thought — I didn’t want to be rude — "

He cut her off with the back of his hand hard against her cheek, jerking her head to the side. “Liar. I know you bitches all too well. Stupid, pathetic little girl. I don’t ever want to see you dancing with another man again, especially not that piece of sh*t Aschenbrenner. Do you understand me?”

Heni must’ve taken too long to unstick her tongue from her dry cheek, for he slapped her again.

“Do you know why?”

Her father knelt down so that his contempt-filled blue eyes were drilling into hers. “Because you are mine. I made you, and I decide what you do. Is that clear?”

She tried to swallow, but her throat stayed closed. Karl grew furious, grabbing her by the neck with both hands and shaking her. “Answer me, whor*.”

“Yes.” It came out as a pitiful, ugly squeak. Fortunately, it was accepted and he let her go.

She pressed her palm against the floor and pushed herself to her feet with all her might, nearly tripping over her own foot. Also fortunate was Karl’s grip on her upper arm, keeping her upright.

“Good. Now go on to bed.” He opened the door and pushed her out into the dark hallway. It closed behind her, leaving her in pitch blackness.

Heni could not get to her room fast enough. She knew she should shed her uniform and find her nightdress, but that all seemed like so much energy. No more moving, no more thinking. Only burying her face into her stuffed bunny and weeping.

The sound of a door creaking open stilled her. It closed quietly again, followed by her father’s footsteps. They paused by her room, causing Heni’s heart to start up again. Was he coming back to her? Was her punishment not over?

But then they were continuing, passing… Heni let out a heavy sigh. He was going into his and Iolanthe’s bedroom now.

Such a useless bitch of a daughter, he hissed in her head before she fell asleep. Stupid, pathetic little girl.

Chapter 3: III - Prague

Chapter Text

A small but important change since the last SS party: Karl and his family were seated next to Erwin Weinmann and Karl Hermann Frank. Not only was it an indication that he was moving up in the SS hierarchy, it was also a clear delineation from the next table over where Walther Aschenbrenner and the rest of the lower-ranked employees of the Central Bureau were placed.

The dinner was passed in relative silence, but soon the women and children were gone. Finally, something to burn the back of the throat and take the edge off. Karl waited patiently until Weinmann and Frank had taken some before filling his own.

“To the Thousand-Year Reich,” said Frank, raising his glass. “Prost!”

Everyone at the table toasted, despite everyone at the table knowing the Thousand-Year Reich would last maybe another year or two. It took much of Karl’s reserve not to throw his entire drink down his throat.

“It’s a shame that neither Günther nor Burger could make it,” said Weinmann, lighting up a cigar and leaning back in his seat. “I would’ve liked to hear an update on Theresienstadt.”

“The last update I received,” said Frank, “was that it was business as usual. They’re still trying with that project, though, and it’s not working.”

“Which project?” Karl was glad it was Ernst Möhs, his direct superior at the Central Bureau, who asked and not him.

“The film,” said Frank. “I saw it — it’s garbage. It looks like it was shot in a concentration camp.”

The table went silent. “Herr Obergruppenführer…” Möhs said slowly, clearly choosing his words wisely. “What is Theresienstadt if not a camp? Even if we call it a ghetto, it will be far from what we’d want them to see.”

“Yes, dear Ernst,” Frank replied somewhat condescendingly. “It is both a camp and a ghetto. But on film, it has to be something else. What was the word Günther used? A resettlement area.”

“A resettlement area,” Möhs repeated. “I like that. We should tell Burger he needs to start making it look like a resettlement area. Not sure if it will work, though. So far he has resisted every idea of mine and Günther’s. This project was supposed to be complete already.”

“Perhaps he’s not up to the job,” Weinmann said.

“Herr Hauptsturmführer,” Karl spoke up after clearing his throat. “Perhaps I will accompany you on your next visit to the camp and see if I have any suggestions. Obersturmführer Burger has always listened to them in the past.”

This wasn’t entirely true — Anton Burger, who Karl reported to before the former was given Theresienstadt, only took Karl’s suggestions after all of his own ideas failed, which was every time he ran into a problem. But Karl didn’t plan on suggesting anything to Burger this time.

Möhs shrugged and refilled his glass. “As you wish, Karl.”

“Daluege has given me permission to form another unit to stamp out those partisans,” Frank said, speaking only to Weinmann. Karl meant to listen in, but just then he spotted a Hitlerjugend boy approaching three teenage girls, one of which was his daughter.

Weinmann’s daughter was also there; surely he’d go for her first. But no, the little punk went straight to Henioche, introducing himself. Feeling his fists curl in his lap, Karl watched his daughter blush and grin — from where did she learn to flirt like that? She was fourteen years old, for God’s sake.

Next to her, Weinmann’s plainer and much more outspoken daughter leaned in and said something to him. She must’ve mentioned Karl himself, because the boy turned to him and, much to his satisfaction, deflated like a overpumped balloon. Good, get away from her, Karl told him silently with his eyes. Smug little bastard —

“…wouldn’t you say, Rahm?”

He snapped to attention. Frank had asked him something. “What was that, Herr Obergruppenführer?”

Möhs and Weinmann were both smirking. The former’s held his usual contempt and the latter’s was more genial. Frank seemed unbothered by having to repeat himself. “These partisans. They’re like vermin. You stamp on a cluster of them, but there’s always more lurking. We’ve been letting Malloth at the Small Fortress in Theresienstadt deal with them, but I believe their interrogation techniques are too soft. Perhaps you’ll have suggestions for him, too?”

“Of course, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Karl said despite having interacted with Anton Malloth twice in his life. “I’ll see what I can — "

He was interrupted by Josef Weiszl, who he and Burger in their time at the Central Bureau together had referred to as the Ass-Kisser, appearing at the other end of the table. “Herr Obergruppenführer, I haven’t seen you since before your promotion and would like to extend to you my congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Frank replied. His expression indicated he had no idea who he was speaking to. His eyes strayed to Wieszl’s left, to the busy dancing area. “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, setting his glass down and standing up. “My wife is staring daggers at me from across the room — I’m afraid I must give her a dance.”

He left along with Wieszl, giving Karl a clear view of the dancing area. Fortunately, his own wife was seated at the table with the other SS wives, not expecting him to dance. He scanned the room for Henioche, but he couldn’t find her — and then there she was, dancing with another f*cking guy. But this wasn’t just any stupid HJ kid…

He could only stare in disbelief at his nemesis, that asshole Aschenbrenner with his hand on his daughter’s waist, leading her. How did this happen? Karl tightened his lips, fighting hard to keep the disgust off his face. He must not have been successful, for a nudge came to his shoulder.

“Daughters, right?” Weinmann said, winking and grinning. “They always keep you on your toes. They’re growing up so fast.”

“Are they?” Karl bit out.

Weinmann patted him on the arm like he was a little boy. “Easy, Karl. I know she’s beautiful. You can’t keep her forever, though. She’ll make a wonderful wife and mother soon enough.”

That was the problem: Henioche was too beautiful. She attracted too much attention. And she was his, his creation and his property. But obviously Weinmann, who hadn’t shown the least bit of concern that his daughter was on her second dance with as many men, wouldn’t understand that.

Karl tore his eyes away from her and gave Weinmann a half-hearted grin. “You’re right, Herr Standartenführer.” He reached for the bottle of brandy, wishing he could lift the whole thing to his lips and empty it. “Let’s toast to both mine and yours.”

He decided that he wasn’t going to look at his daughter for the rest of the evening. It was difficult for the first few minutes after the dance, until the asshole crossed his view to go sit at the inferior table, which meant his slimy hands were off her. For the rest of the evening, Karl managed to ignore them both, which was easier when Weinmann and the others kept his attention.

However, on the ride home, the sour mood returned. How dare Aschenbrenner approach his daughter, let alone touch her? Though Karl had to admit he understood why the slime would go after a fourteen-year-old since he was about that age mentally.

The girls must’ve picked up on his mood because they stayed silent, hands clasped in their laps, for the whole ride. If only he wasn’t so angry, he’d enjoy the sight of them sitting docile, at their most beautiful. Too bad they never listened to him.

Iolanthe was all too happy to wait for him in the room while he took Henioche upstairs. Over and over, the image of her dancing with Aschenbrenner played in his head.

“Bend over the desk.”

The only thing more beautiful than her sitting docile was her bending over, docile, presenting herself to him. Deep red and purple streaks across plump white skin, the perfect canvas. He was only supposed to add to it, not pull it apart for another peek at her little pink c*nt.

And yet he couldn’t stop himself. Just a glimpse, and then he moved onto the punishment, relishing her cries. Serves her right for giving into that Aschenbrenner. The beginnings of a whor* — and it was his job to whip it out of her.

After that, Karl was able to fall asleep right away, but sometime in the middle of the night, he woke up to only darkness and silence. Beside him, Iolanthe slept soundly, buried in blankets.

He left the room, intending to go to the washroom. Except somehow, in just a blink, he found himself in front of Henioche’s room. His hand, without his permission, reached out and pushed open the door.

She, of course, was sound asleep. Still in her uniform, the silly girl. By the way she held her stuffed animal close to her chest and her puffy cheeks, he could tell she’d cried herself to sleep. Good.

His co*ck was stiffening in his drawers. Here on the bed, she looked like a little girl, but he was replaying her punishment in the study, the whips across her ass, the glimpse of her c*nt, her anguished cries. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to peel back the blanket and slide up her skirt.

He had enough sense to turn away before his traitorous hands could go that far. Instead they went straight to his drawers to grip his co*ck as soon as he was behind the locked washroom door. Now he could let the images flood him: her bent over the desk again, of course but now joined by her on her knees, her tear-streaked cheeks, the pure fear and helplessness in her wide hazel eyes.

Harder he pumped, imagining her on her knees with her bouncy little tit* out, her eyes wide like that, pleading. How much he wanted to break her, to feel the inside of her and claim her. His creation, his toy. Biting back a grunt, he squeezed his eyes shut and shot out a load into the bathtub.

That is enough, he told himself as he cleaned up and returned to bed. What the hell was he thinking, looking at his own daughter this way? This madness had to end. He would not touch her. He would not look at her. He would not think of her. And that bitch better stay out of trouble so he wouldn’t have to punish her.

With this grim resolve, Karl climbed back into bed next to his wife. Much to his annoyance, he was wide awake again before dawn, so he went up to the attic and took up his paintbrush.

Chapter 4: IV - Prague

Chapter Text

December brought grey skies and cold, dry air. At night, Heni could see her breath, but during the day, she was warm enough in her khaki League jacket, to which her Untergauführerin badge was also sewn and carefully brushed of lint.On this particular day, the jacket was buttoned up and tucked in the right pocket was a square of German chocolate. Milka, her favorite kind, with hazelnuts, a true delicacy for even the families of the SS in 1943. But Heni was not going to eat it.

Her plan was to wander around a bit until she found the shop, but of course she got hopelessly lost for over twenty minutes. She had the stupid idea to ask someone for directions, but fortunately that died quickly when she passed a group of Czech women. They averted their eyes and gave her a wide berth. In the past, before Jiří, this would’ve made her swell with German pride. Now she felt a prickling in her stomach — what if she was attacked again?

Finally she managed to stumble upon a street with a familiar church. She still didn’t know where the shop’s street was, but she was close… Not left, that was unfamiliar, so she tried turning right… A few more turns and there it was, complete with Czechoslovak flag in the window opposite the shop.

She opened the door with ease, but when the bell tinkled, the gravity of what she was doing hit her, freezing in place. A German girl in a store looking for a Czech boy to give him something that surely wasn’t on his ration card. Was this really a good — ?

A voice floated out through the back, calling something in Czech. Jiří’s voice. Before she could think, her feet were carrying her through the shop.

Jiří was seated at the bench, taking apart a watch. About fifty little pieces were surrounding the empty watch face, and in his hand was the tiniest screwdriver Heni had ever seen. He was so absorbed in the task, he didn’t look up until she cleared her throat after standing in the doorway for over a minute.

He looked up and blinked hard, surprised. Then he pushed back a lock of his dark blonde hair and grinned. “Hello again, Heni. What brings you here? You’re not lost, are you?”

Her heart lifted and her face broke out in her own wide grin. He’d remembered her. And her name. “Hello, Jiří,” she said, hoping her pronunciation practice was paying off. “No, I’m not lost. I came to give you something.”

“Oh?”

She extended him the chocolate. He took it and his eyes went wide before he caught himself. “Wow, thank you. I love chocolate — but I’m not about to take your ration, am I?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got my sources,” Heni said, omitting that she’d stolen it from Greta’s rucksack. “I’ve been holding onto it for you.”

“Well, alright then.” He set down the screwdriver and stood up. “Come, let’s go out to the terrace. I could use a break from this.”

She glanced at the workbench while he opened the back door. “Aren’t you worried you’ll lose one of those pieces? They’re so tiny.”

“I’ve got plenty more,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal before beckoning her over. “Come, let’s sit on this bench here.”

They sat side by side, their legs barely touching. Heni grew shy, unsure what to do. “Um, aren’t you cold?” she asked, since he was wearing a short-sleeve shirt.

He shook his head. “No…are you?” His eyebrows slanted up in concern. “I could get you a jacket from…”

She put a hand on his leg, then quickly took it away, blushing. “No, I’m not. It’s just…your arms are bare, so I thought you might be cold.”

“You know, I’ve been to Munich once,” he said after an awkward second. “Did you live around there?”

“Oh no,” Heni told him. “I’m Austrian, from Vienna. My mother is from Nuremberg, but I’ve only been there once to visit family.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked. “Vienna?”

“Sometimes.” She noticed he was fiddling with the edge of the chocolate’s foil wrapper. Perhaps he was nervous, too. “But not really. Here we’ve got money. In Vienna we were poor until…” Until the war started, she didn’t want to say. Not when Jiří and his family probably grew poorer from the war.

“What’s that mean?” He pointed to the badge on the arm of her jacket. “Are you some kind of leader?”

“Sort of. I’m one of the leaders of Prague’s League of German Girls,” she explained, hoping her pride wasn’t audible. “I have to help organize ways we can help the Reich in the war effort. For example, today I received a shipment of donated socks and underclothes. We will mend them on Saturday and send them in care packages to the Wehrmacht.”

Jiří didn’t have a response. On the fence separating the terrace from the rest of the courtyard, a bird sat, watching the scene.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Heni blurted, afraid she’d bored him.

He looked taken aback, which made her blush again. Clearly that was too forward of a question. “I mean,” she added hastily. “If you feel comfortable saying…”

“I don’t have one.” Jiří was smirking with amusem*nt, a good sign. Even better, he tucked the chocolate into the front pocket of his shirt, stretched his arms, and let one fall on the back of the bench right behind her. So close that she could feel the heat of his arm against her neck.

“Are you with anyone?” he asked. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m fourteen,” she said. “And no, I’m not.”

“Well, I would think not!” he said, once again taken aback. “You’re quite young — rather mature for fourteen, though, I have to say.”

“I’ll be fifteen in March,” she offered, wondering if she should touch his leg again like she really wanted to. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Heni glanced at him, not surprised in the least. That’s what she’d been guessing — and hoping. “You know, I wouldn’t mind having a mate,” she said recklessly, raising her eyebrows in her best imitation of coy. “I’ve got one in mind already, actually.”

She lost her nerve, looking toward the fence for the bird, but it was long gone. There was nothing interesting to focus on besides Jiří and the utter awkwardness of this moment. After a second of silence, she couldn’t take it anymore, glancing back at him.

“Heni…” Now it was his turn to look away. Her heart sank, knowing what was coming. “That isn’t a good idea. Not because I don’t like you. You’re sweet and pretty...”

“But not sweet and pretty enough.” She faced forward, not wanting him to see the tears welling in her eyes. She was never good enough for anyone.

“No, that’s not true.” He placed a gentle hand on her chin and turned her head so that she was looking into his blue-green eyes. “Trust me, you’re beautiful, Heni. And so sweet. It’s not you, it’s this…” He took his hand away and his gaze lowered to their knees. “This situation. You’re German, I’m Czech. It’s not a good idea. Your parents would probably murder you.”

“Well…” she began and then stopped, deciding it was best not to say that her father would murder her for her interest in any man, since that wouldn’t help her case at all.

She took a hard swallow. “I don’t care if it’s a good idea and I don’t care that you’re Czech. I like you, Jiří, and you’re also really sweet. And good-looking, and good with your hands. And your German is nearly perfect.”

He grinned; she could tell he was pleased. Power and something else, something like need, coursed through her. “My father is from Hodonín,” he told her. “Everyone speaks German there. We came here to take over this shop from my uncle. But sometimes I think we should’ve stayed in Hodonín.”

Heni threw all caution to the wind and placed a firm hand on his leg, spreading her fingers over his thigh. “But then we wouldn’t have met if you stayed in Hodonín.”

“This is true,” he agreed. “So I can’t say it was the worst idea.”

He was teasing her, smirking at her again. She giggled shyly into her hand. Then the moment was gone, back to solemn. Jiří looked away, biting his lip and thinking hard. Just as Heni decided she’d embarrassed both of them enough, about to withdraw her hand, he turned back to her.

“I know I’ll regret this.”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but his arm wrapped around her shoulders, bringing her closer until his lips were against hers.

Her eyes fluttered closed. Just this soft contact was starting the pulsing between her legs. At first they just pressed their lips together, but after a second or two, his parted and pulled her bottom one between them.

Heni could’ve stayed in that moment forever. She placed a hand on his shoulder, he cupped her cheek, and for a few minutes there was no cold, no stress, and no war. Then her nerves came back and she broke away — but she was glad it was her and not him.

He held her face for a minute longer, swallowing her in blue-green. The kiss had brought the pulsing heat between her legs but being so close to him warmed her everywhere else, like a blanket.

“You really are beautiful,” he said quietly. “And” — a shadow of the smirk was back — “Not a bad kisser.”

“It was my first time,” Heni admitted, grinning shyly. “I liked it.” Her heart was jumping over the moon: No one had ever called her beautiful twice.

They sat side by side for another minute, not talking. His warm hand held hers. Then he was tugging on it for her to stand. “I must go back to work,” he said. “I told this guy I’d have his watch ready by this evening.”

She was quiet as they walked through the store. As soon as he went to open the front door, she touched his arm and gave him a playful grin. “I hope to return soon. Maybe I’ll get lost again.”

“Or you might need something fixed,” he chuckled before kissing her cheek. “Goodbye, Heni. I’ll be thinking of you.”

His warmth stayed soaked in her skin all the way home, even when she stepped into the foyer of her house. Karl wasn’t home yet, which probably helped, but Iolanthe swooped down on her from the parlor.

“Where have you been, Henioche? It is almost five o’clock!”

“The shipment of clothing was an hour late,” Heni lied easily, “and then I had to stay to sort it so we’ll be ready to get started right away on Saturday.”

Iolanthe narrowed her amber eyes, staring at Heni, trying to catch the lie. Apparently she couldn’t, so she turned away in a huff. “Change for supper before your father gets home.”

Heni locked herself in her room and shed her uniform. But instead of opening her wardrobe for a dress, she climbed under her covers, slipped her hand between her legs, and gave into the yearning.

Her delicate flesh was hot and pulsing under her fingertips. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so she settled on stroking her soft labia. Inside, just below them, was clenching hard, prompting to open her legs wider. Tingles of pleasure ran down her legs to her toes. Yes, she was on track.

She closed her eyes and recalled Jiří’s hands and lips on hers. Trust me, you’re beautiful, Heni. Her chest warmed, but it wasn’t doing much between her legs.

Heni flattened her fingertips against her damp labia and began to rub. Slowly, she slid them back and forth — for a moment, it struck her how absurd and unladylike this all was. Then, she grazed a spot that flooded her with pleasure so strong, she let out a whimper.

This was the spot. She conjured Jiří, his face and voice and hands as she rubbed. However, as her hips tilted up and her rubbing grew more impatient, slicking up the entire area between her legs, Jiří’s voice, to her complete bewilderment, was replaced by another familiar man’s.

I made you, and I decide what you do. Karl was wrong; he couldn’t decide what Heni could do when he wasn’t around. And the thought of kissing a Czech boy behind his back turned her on more than the kissing itself. Harder and harder she rubbed, scrunching up her face, picturing not Jiří’s kind blue-green eyes but Karl’s ice-blue ones.

Stupid, pathetic little girl. Heni was too close to the edge to feel anything about the situation other than desperation. She jammed a fist in her mouth to stifle the cries bursting from her throat. A moment of clarity: Why Karl? Answer me, whor*, he hissed in her head, and she tumbled over the edge.

Rolling on her side, she clamped her legs together and rutted against her hand, gushing fluid into her palms. Through the chiming in her ears, she was vaguely aware that she was gasping, letting out heavy cries, and of her stiff nipples in the cool air.

Eventually, she floated back down to Earth and pulled her hand from her still-clamped legs. Her hand was soaked in glossy fluid. Hastily, she pulled a handkerchief out of her nightstand and cleaned herself up, breathing heavily.

“My God,” she whispered, trying to understand what she’d just done. Never before had she —

A noise outside her door made her freeze with terror: Footsteps, clear at first and then fading down the hall toward the stairs.

Heni nearly doubled over, clutching her chest. Please, please let that have been Maria, she prayed. Please, God. The horror of what she’d just done, combined with the footsteps, was sinking in at last. What sort of proper German woman touched herself like that? And thinking about her own —

No, no, no. She would not think of it. This was an ugly mistake, never to be made again. With a determined slap against her bed with both hands, she stood up and went straight to her wardrobe for her dress.

As soon as she pulled it over her head, a knock came to her door as if on cue. “Fräulein Rahm?” Maria called through the door. “Supper is ready.”

“I’m coming!” Heni called back, letting a wave of relief wash over her. Of course the footsteps had been Maria’s, coming to fetch her for supper. Whose else would come that close to Heni’s door? She probably wouldn’t be able to look Maria in the face for a bit, but this really was the best case scenario.

“Lesson learned,” she muttered to herself as she scrubbed away the damning evidence from her hands. Her thighs were still sort of sticky and she wished she could wipe them with a washcloth, but she had no time. Iolanthe was probably screeching over her lateness.

Sure enough, as soon as Heni entered the dining room, her mother gave her a pointed glare. “Late to everything today, aren’t you? You need to nip this ugly habit in the bud, Henioche. German women are never late.”

“Yes, Mother,” Heni replied, taking her seat next to her. When Iolanthe turned toward the kitchen to call for Maria, she rolled her eyes.

“Maria, would you bring the red bottle out? I’m feeling — "

She fell short when Karl walked around the table and took a seat across from Heni. His eyes were on his daughter, surveying her like she was a specimen pinned to an exam table.

“Oh, Karl,” said Iolanthe, breaking the tension. “You’re eating with us today?” Her voice was high with confusion.

He looked over at Iolanthe and narrowed his eyes. “I can’t eat supper with my wife and daughter?”

“Of course you can, darling,” she said quickly. “I was only surprised.”

Maria appeared with a bottle and a glass, into which she poured deep red wine. “I’ll be right back with your plate, Herr Rahm,” she said cheerfully on her way back to the kitchen. Out of all of them, she seemed the least surprised, but out of all of them, she was best at keeping her feelings to herself.

Heni tried to channel Maria’s skill as supper began. For the first half, she was successful, since everyone was focused on their food. Then Karl set his fork down and lifted his glass of brandy to his mouth, keeping his eyes on Heni.

She felt them before she saw them. Her cheeks flushed and her hands slightly shook as she cut her schnitzel into tiny pieces. Relatedly, her stomach was always tied up in knots when her father was at the table. Now, after what she’d just done, it was all she could do to keep from melting into her chair.

“Herr Rahm.” Maria appeared at his side, holding a bottle of whiskey. “Would you like your next glass here or in the study?”

Still looking at Heni, he held up his glass for Maria to fill. “Here.”

Heni caught herself before widening her eyes, hoping the surprise wasn’t etched on her face. He hardly ever stuck around after eating. Her heart jumped her throat and settled in: Was she in trouble?

She glanced up and met his eyes, and that’s when she knew. They were his footsteps. He’d heard everything.

Breathe, she instructed herself. Her heart was beating too loud to focus; surely her parents heard it. “May I, um,” she stuttered before swallowing hard. “May I be excused? I, um, I’ve got homework…”

She trailed off when Karl shook his head, pointing at her plate. “You’re not finished. I know you live inside your own head, Henioche, but there is a war going on and food is rationed, so perhaps you’d like to stop being a spoiled little brat and eat what’s on your plate.”

“Yes, Father.” Heni managed to get a piece of schnitzel into her mouth and chew despite her throat closing. Normally, she liked schnitzel, but now she couldn’t taste anything.

Iolanthe finished her plate and rose at the first opportunity. “Maria, please take the wine to the parlor,” she called before turning to Karl. “It was lovely eating with you, darling. I’ll be in the parlor if you need me.”

Ignoring Heni, she nearly trotted to her beloved parlor, where she could revel in being an SS-man’s wife without dealing with the SS-man himself.

This evening, that was her daughter’s job: Karl watched her nibble on her food, which seemed to take all night. When she was done, she forced herself to look up again.

He was smirking now, clearly amused by her discomfort. She couldn’t help but think of him by the door, listening, and her cheeks were glowing red. And yet the pulsing between her legs was starting up again, right here, where surely he could sense it because nothing she did ever escaped her father.

Oh God, was all her brain could come up with. Oh God, oh God…

“Looks like you’re finished,” he said, as if she could agree or disagree.

Without another word, Karl stood up, took his glass of whiskey, and left the dining room. Only when the study door closed and the house fell silent did the knot in Heni’s stomach loosen the tiniest bit.

The pulsing of her most delicate, slightly swollen flesh, however, didn’t stop until she fell asleep much later.

Chapter 5: V - Prague

Chapter Text

When the war started, The Central Bureau for Jewish Emigration had been aptly named. Those who’d been patient enough to go through the process — and part with their money and property — were given passports to leave the Reich without much hassle. These days, it was a ploy to get as much out of them as possible before they were sent to Theresienstadt. It was always easier if they went willingly, but the rumors made them less pliable. For one thing, Murmelstein was gone, whereas in years past he would be present, ready to reassure them. Other prominent figures were gone, too, held in the camp.

“You’re telling me that if I give you this deed,” a man with a black wool hat pulled nearly to his eyes argued. “We can leave, and none of you Germans will seize us at the border?”

“That’s what I’ve just told you,” Anton Zita snapped, extending his hand. “Now give it here.”

The man looked at the paper clutched in his hand, furrowing his heavy brow. “We know it’s not a spa,” he said. “Your camp. We know you’ll put us there, even after we sign away everything. Isn’t that right?”

Beside him, his wife mashed her lips together, refraining from hushing him up.

“I’m asking the questions, you filthy, stinking Jew,” Zita snarled. “Now give me the paper.”

When the man didn’t comply, Zita banged his fist on the table, causing the man’s wife to jump and clutch her heart.

“Hand it over now, you dirty rat! Or you and your lady rat will rot in…”

He fell silent as his direct superior approached the counter. Dressed in the all-black SS uniform with his hat secured atop his dark blonde head, he wasn’t as tall and formidable-looking as some of his colleagues, but his presence made them all snap to attention.

“What’s going on here?” Karl Rahm asked.

“Herr Untersturmführer,” said Zita, who spoke confidently to disguise that he was hardly on the radar of anyone important. “This stinking Jew is non-compliant. We were in agreement, and now he’s gone back on his word.”

“Let’s give him one more chance,” Karl said, looking not at the nuisance but his wife, watching her eyes widen with hope. “Take him into the interrogation room and talk to him a different way.”

“Good idea, Herr Untersturmführer.” Zita was on the other side of the counter in an instant, gripping the arm of the Jew and pulling him through the crowd.

“Why are you taking me to a room?” the man demanded, clutching the paper tightly in his fist.

“Shut up,” was the brisk reply.

His wife turned to Karl with those wide eyes again, the hope replaced with apprehension. “He will come back, won’t he?” she asked meekly in thickly-accented German.

“Please stand over there and wait for his return,” he said, pointing to the waiting area, which was already crammed with people.

He stood with his back against the wall and watched the Jews scrambling around the room, huddled together. Men, women, children — all still allowed to walk the streets with Germans. They had no idea how lucky they were, he thought wryly, and here they stood sniveling in their fur coats.

Anton Zita returned and beckoned the lady from the waiting area back over to the counter. A second later, her husband joined, his head hung and his hands empty. “Sign here,” Zita ordered, thrusting a clipboard under his nose. With shaking hands, the Jew picked up a pen and signed his name. Silent and compliant.

Karl was tired of this place; it couldn’t entertain him anymore. He walked through the crowd, which parted for him like the Red Sea. Even this didn’t bring him triumph like it used to.

Outside, he leaned against the wall of the courtyard and lit a cigarette he’d sold Zita and then stolen back. The air here wasn’t as fresh as in Vienna. This city was crowded, stifling, hot, and dirty. He blew out a cloud of smoke, took his hat off, and brushed his hair back.

The door swung open, tensing him up: Was it too much to ask for a single minute alone? “Ah, there you are, Karl,” said Hans Günther. “Venturing out of the vermin’s nest, yeah?”

Karl hummed in agreement, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. “For only a minute, Herr Sturmbannführer.”

“Yes, of course,” Günther replied, clapping Karl on the shoulder. “The stink rubs off on you after a while, doesn’t it? Let the boys take over and come with us to the palace — Oberführer Eichmann has dropped something off he wants you to see.”

“Oh?” said Karl, trying not to appear too interested. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” Günther shot him a look with his eyebrows raised before opening the door and disappearing inside.

Naturally, Karl’s first thought was that he was in trouble, despite having done nothing to warrant it. He didn’t put it past his underlings to come up with something, especially that asshole Aschenbrenner, who somehow found out about Franz and broadcasted it to the Central Bureau.

He picked up the cigarette and went back inside, trying to push away thoughts of Aschenbrenner to no avail. Eichmann had known Karl had a suspected-communist brother and he didn’t care. He knew Karl had tried to sway Franz out of it — he couldn’t control his whole family, for God’s sake.

Inside waiting for him by the door along with Günther was Ernst Möhs, grinning in civilian clothes in contrast to Karl scowling in uniform. “Ah, there you are, Karl,” he said. “Come, let’s get going.”

No one spoke until they reached the steps of the palace, when Möhs said to Günther, “Did you hear about another Red Cross visit to the ghetto? Eichmann said it might come later this year.”

“I’m sure it’ll go about as well as the last one,” Günther said sardonically.

“Yes, well, supposedly Eichmann has a plan for this, too…”

Karl followed them into a large room with rows of chairs facing a screen that took up the entire far wall. He’d been to this room once before, in a meeting with Eichmann with the other employees of the Central Bureau. The same projector Eichmann used to give a presentation on the Jews of Prague was still set up.

“Gentlemen,” Karl said, unable to take this mysterious absurdity anymore. “What’s this all about?”

“At the last SS dinner, you expressed interest in the film project at Theresienstadt, yes?” Möhs asked. “Or were you lying to suck up to the Police Leader?”

“Who do I look like?” Karl didn’t try to hide the bite in his voice. “Weiszl?” Or you, he wanted to add. “I do have an interest, although I’m not sure how I can be of help from here in Prague.”

“We’re not sure, either,” said Günther. “But Frank has apparently mentioned this to Eichmann, and so Eichmann has asked you to view this.”

He gestured to a large, bulging envelope on the table next to the projector. Under his and Möhs’ watch, Karl carefully opened it and took out a roll of film.

“It’s the previous propaganda film,” Möhs explained. “It’s not suitable — even Murmelstein said it was sh*t. Eichmann wants you to look at it, take notes, and write up a report on what’s wrong with it.”

Karl hooked up the film to the projector, still under their watch. He thought they were going to watch the film with him, but once the projector whirred to life, the pair turned to leave the room. He let out a huff of relief as he sat in the nearest chair.

The screen was black for a minute, and then a single-word title: Theresienstadt. Well, there’s a problem, he thought: Who really knew what they were about to watch, even if they’d heard of Theresienstadt?

The rest of the film, which spanned about twenty disjointed minutes, had similar problems. Little wonder no one liked it. First of all, the SS were all over the place, complete with whips and dogs when they were trying to pass off Theresienstadt as a peaceful community. Even if they were gone, the Jews’ solemn faces and their shuffling around the grey, barren hellscape would give it away. No, this was all wrong.

He watched it over and over, scribbling down detailed notes in the notepad. Only when he was sure he’d seen every detail did he shut off the projector and leave the film in the envelope where he’d found it.

“Herr Sturmbannführer,” he said to Günther back in the Central Bureau. “Should I submit the report also to Obersturmführer Burger since he’s the commandant of Theresienstadt?”

“No, only to Oberführer Eichmann,” Günther replied with no elaboration.

Karl could’ve asked the little secretary to type up the report, but he didn’t trust her. This was clearly between him and Eichmann. He folded up the notes and tucked them into his breast pocket before leaving the Central Bureau.

On the way home, it sank in: Eichmann wanted his input for something valuable, something greater than processing documents that would end up in some warehouse in a small fortress town. Not Günther’s, not Möhs.’ It was not the first time that he, Karl, had been selected personally.

His house was quiet as usual when he walked in. The smell of schnitzel and potatoes from the kitchen reached his nose. Before Iolanthe could leave her own vacant little head and realize her husband was home, he went straight upstairs to his study and slipped the notes in the top drawer of his desk. Later he would unearth the typewriter and assemble them into a report. Now, however, it was time for a drink.

He headed straight back to the kitchen, but on the way there, his daughter’s closed door stopped him short. One of his rules in the house was to leave the door open unless she was changing, which she should have done already.

He let out a harsh breath as he strode over — why did this little bitch insist on making him punish her? Then, just as he raised a fist to knock, a sound he wasn’t expecting traveled through the wood to his ears.

A mix between a cry and a gasp. Frowning, Karl let his hand fall to his side and pressed his ear against the door. There it was again: most certainly a cry. But a soft, muffled one. He’d know that type of cry anywhere. Not of pain, but of pleasure.

Much to his annoyance, his co*ck was stiffening up again. His young daughter was just through that door, touching herself like a whor*. Briefly, he considered bursting into the room and catching her in the act — the bulge in his trousers pulsed at the thought — but he wouldn’t put it past her to lock the door.

Letting a smirk cross his face, he turned back toward the study. That didn’t mean he didn’t have more opportunities to humiliate her.

The pair of them were already seated at the table when he entered the dining room. Of course they were surprised to see that he voluntarily subjected himself to their presence, but the clear humiliation on Henioche’s flushed, pretty face was worth every extra second.

He watched her as she cut her schnitzel into tiny pieces and took baby bites of her sauerkraut. Nearly the whole Reich was rationed to hunger, and the little princess was acting like eating supper was inconveniencing her. Not for the first time, Karl marveled how he could’ve produced such a spoiled brat.

“Thank you for eating with us, darling,” Iolanthe said, rising before the last bite of her food was fully down her throat. Perhaps one day he’d be indignant that his wife couldn’t bear to be in the same room as him, but he was too busy with Henioche to care.

When they were alone, she looked up at him with her wide hazel eyes, understanding at once why he was so amused. He had to admit she was clever, and it was more fun toying with the clever ones even when they were harder to control.

What were you thinking about, little slu*t, he asked her silently, holding her eyes, while you rubbed your wet, pink c*nt?

His fists curled under the table, not in rage but desire — no, rage, too. Here she was, getting the best of him again. Seducing him with her flushed cheeks and round eyes and slightly parted lips. His little doll, her hands still sticky with her juice. What a whor*.

He stood up — enough of this sh*t already — and left the table, effectively dismissing her. Back to the study, where the maid had a bottle and glass waiting for him. While he typed the report, he paced himself, but once it was sealed in a manila envelope, safe in his desk, Karl poured his fourth glass and knocked it back in one gulp, letting the edges blur at last.

What he should’ve done was stop there, or perhaps sip the fifth one while he painted. Instead, he threw that one back, too, and took the bottle up to the attic. He didn’t plan on finishing the whole thing. After all, he wasn’t twenty-five anymore; his head would remind him of that in the morning.

And yet, he didn’t stop sipping as he painted, squinting at his new, re-created Prague Old Town. Not a Jew or Czech in sight. Just Reich flags and handsome Germans. Admittedly, it wasn’t his best work and wouldn’t ever hang in a museum unless someone years later decided to seek revenge upon the Germans —

How ridiculous, he scolded himself, dipping his paintbrush into the newly-mixed terracotta puddle before lifting it back to the painting. Even if they lost the war, no one on Earth was great enough to stamp out the Germans. Perhaps lock them all up, but not —

Enough. He took a large swallow before washing the paintbrush. He really needed to change out the water. And stop thinking about what would happen when they lost the war. If they lost, he corrected himself. When, another, ugly voice corrected him.

He’d had entirely too much: The bottle was empty, and the watercolor streets melted together before his eyes. If he continued, he risked messing it up entirely. At least he knew when to stop with this.

It took all of his effort to not tumble down the attic stairs. It didn’t help that they were much narrower and steeper than the main stairwell. He gripped the bannister and managed to guide himself down into the hallway without any trouble.

Every door was closed; if not for the window, it would be pitch black. Thank God for this window, because Karl could barely walk straight as it was. His destination was his own bedroom, of course it was, but when he pushed open the door, he found not Iolanthe and his own bed, but another familiar one.

The glow of the streetlight fell over his sleeping daughter’s face. Why the f*ck was he in here again? He had to leave her alone. Go on, he urged himself, get out of here. Let’s go, turn around…

The girl shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back.This time, she was in her nightdress. Karl did turn toward the door but to close it and turn the lock. It wasn’t his fault he’d unwittingly created a siren. Perhaps it was Iolanthe’s doing. Either way, he sat upon the bed and pulled the blanket down until it was bunched around her knees.

She shifted again, a hand nestling itself against her eye and rubbing. The other one peeked open, blinking once, and then widening when she realized what she was looking at.

With a sharp inhale, she made to sit up, but he pushed upon her chest. “Lie down.”

She was so warm under his hand. Through her hot skin and the flimsy fabric of the nightdress, he felt her heart beating into his palm. He let it travel over her heaving chest, down her soft belly. Warmer and warmer, but he veered off to her thigh, gathered the hem of her dress, and pushed it up.

“Daddy — "

“Hush,” he whispered, lifting a finger to his lips. “Be a good girl for Daddy, won’t you?”

As if she had a choice. He’d seen her pale, naked figure plenty of times before during his inspections, and still the sight of it caught his breath in his throat. A little underdeveloped, to be expected given her age, but nonetheless beautiful. His greedy hands went straight to her breasts, cupping them, as he leaned forward and buried his face into their softness.

Her hands were on his shoulders, not even half-heartedly pushing. When he pulled her pale pink nipple into his mouth, they clasped his shoulders and she arched her back. The heat from her bare skin seeped deeper through his clothes. Of course she wanted it, the little whor*.

He pulled away to take in the view of her bouncy little tit* and stiff nipples, reddened by his teeth and glistening with his spit. He pinched one, making her wince and scrunch up her pretty face.

“This little whor* loves playing with herself, hmm?” He let his hand travel down her belly and tuck his fingers under the waistband of her panties. “I heard you in here, rubbing your eager little c*nt. Let me show you how it’s done.”

“Daddy!” Her hand clamped around his wrist. “Wait, I don’t think — "

“Hush.” Annoyed, Karl slapped her hand away and yanked down her panties. They dug into the soft skin of her thigh and tore. “When have I ever cared what you think? You’re a little toy, Henioche. Now it’s my turn to play.”

He pushed up her leg, releasing her scent into the air. It was dizzying, blanking out his head better than any drink. Only her wide eyes existed, and her soft, plump c*nt against his fingertips as he stroked it.

Her arms rested at her sides and her hips tilted up. Now, of course, she was docile. “You like that, baby whor*, don’t you?” he taunted. “You like getting your little c*nt rubbed, hmm?”

Her heavy breaths were enough of a response. The soft flesh was damp and throbbing, but it needed some extra. He plunged his two fingers into her hot little mouth. Not as tight as her c*nt but at least inside of her.

He held her chin in place and pumped into her mouth, gathering the spit at the back of her tongue into his fingers. She squirmed and gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks — just the way he liked. When he withdrew his hands, a string of spit clung to his fingers from her bottom lip.

“Now you look more like the messy whor* you are,” he said, lowering himself over her and capturing her mouth while his spit-soaked fingers returned to her c*nt. Slowly he rubbed at first, relishing her little cries and the rocking of her hips.

“Look at this little slu*t,” he hissed in her ear. “Letting Daddy play with her like a little toy. Because you know you’re mine, yes? Say it.”

“I’m — I’m yours,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head to the side.

“Ah-uh.” Karl sat up and pinned her down by the throat, rubbing harder. “Look at me when you come, Henioche.”

He took in the sight, her tit* bouncing, her scrunched-up face, and of course the pink, wet, pulsing mess that he was making of her c*nt. “That’s it, baby girl, come for Daddy.”

She seized her blanket with one hand and his trousers with the other as she bared her teeth and twisted away from him. Her legs clamped around his hand, holding it in place. A strangled cry, a single convulsion, and then she was gushing into his hand, going limp.

He pulled it away to find it soaked with her juices. The scent went straight to his head — he had to get out of here now, before he’d do something more he’d regret. Without a word, he pulled the blanket up over her chest and left the room.

Back to the washroom. The juice was starting to dry up on his hand. Before he even locked the door, his painfully-stiff co*ck was out, his sticky hand wrapped around it. Closing his eyes and leaning against the wall, he pumped viciously, replaying the scene. His own little slu*t, moaning and smearing her wet c*nt against his hand. He wanted to taste it, to break into it and stretch it…

He didn’t bother biting back his groan as he emptied himself into the bathtub, his most powerful climax in a long time. It took him a minute to catch his breath and quell the shaking in his legs, leaning against the sink.

What a waste, he thought, watching the milky white seed swirl around the drain, mixing with the water as he washed it away. It could’ve been in some whor*’s womb. But not his daughter’s because again, what the f*ck had he been thinking?

Rage coursed through his veins. He stuffed his limp co*ck back into his trousers and marched back to her room. The faint scent of c*nt juice lingered in the air, but he was clear-headed now.

She was still awake. Good. Karl lifted his finger and pointed it straight between her wide eyes. “Everything that happened here tonight,” he told her, “is your fault. Do you know why, Henioche? Because you’re a nasty little whor*. You made me do this. Do you understand?”

No answer, except fear in her eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. In a different case, this would’ve turned him right back on, but now all he wanted was to backhand her across her face until her sheets were splattered with blood.

“Answer me, you little f*cking bitch.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her voice was cracked and weak. She was huddled in her bed, on the verge of tears.

“Good.”

Karl turned and walked out. No more of this. He was staying away from her for good this time.

Chapter 6: VI - Prague

Chapter Text

Heni was going mad. Something was wrong with her. The area between her legs throbbed at random, awkward times. And right before the holidays, she’d had this utterly bizarre dream involving Karl, of all people. What on Earth was happening?

Whatever it was, it ended now, she decided. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Another Thursday, another League meeting. Gymnastics, and then setting up another shipment of items to mend on Saturday, most of which were winter coats and blankets, the hardest to mend. Worse yet, two of the sewing machines were broken.

She dressed and went downstairs to the dining room. As usual, Iolanthe was there, nibbling on a pancake and sipping tea. As soon as Heni sat down, Maria was at her side, setting down a cup of tea. “Your toast will be out in just a moment, Fräulein.”

Heni lifted the cup, took a sip, and scalded her tongue in the same second her father walked in, newspaper in hand.

“Oh, Karl…” Iolanthe said tentatively, checking her watch. “Going into work later today, darling?”

Maria set down another cup of tea and the plate Heni suspected was originally meant for her in front of Karl. He set his newspaper on the table and sent a derisive glance sideways at Iolanthe. “As I’ve told you before, I’m leaving the city for work today. I’m leaving later and coming back later, so tell Maria to save my plate of supper.”

“She will save all of ours,” Iolanthe said. “I’m going to a gathering at Gudrun Brunner’s house this evening.”

Karl was about to open his newspaper, but he set it down and turned to his wife. “Until when? Your place is here, to make sure she” — he nodded to Heni — “arrives home on time.”

“I have a League meeting today,” Heni offered. “So I will be home around —

“Was I speaking to you, Henioche?” her father snapped. “Mind your manners. Iolanthe, answer my question.”

Heni’s mind was racing too fast to catch Iolanthe’s response. If her parents were out late, perhaps she could take a detour on her way home…

“As long as you’re home before her,” Karl said, opening his newspaper. “I don’t want to hear that she was by herself.”

“Karl…” Iolanthe kept her eyes on her teacup as she spoke. “Don’t you think Henioche is old enough to stay by herself for an hour or two? The Weinmanns let their daughter — "

The newspaper lowered, revealing Karl’s glare. “Since you’re so f*cking dumb that I have to say everything twice: I don’t want to hear that she was by herself. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Iolanthe slammed her teaspoon onto the table, stood up, and stalked out of the room. A second later, Karl threw down his newspaper and followed.

While Heni finished up her breakfast, she heard her parents arguing in the parlor, but she tuned them out, deep in thought. Iolanthe really wanted to impress Gudrun Brunner; it would not look good for her to leave early to babysit her fourteen-year-old daughter. Therefore, she was likely to attend the party regardless…

The front door slammed, signaling Karl’s departure. Heni let out a breath. Her appetite returned at once, so she ate her cold pancake and drank her cold tea, hatching a plan for the afternoon.

The plan was refined during lessons, only interrupted when Frau Lindler called her up to the front of the class and berated her for not turning in her Mein Kampf essay.

“Do you think The Führer would be happy to hear that you’ve disregarded his work so carelessly?” the hawkish woman demanded. She only came up to Heni’s chin, but her shrill voice and sharp pinches to the girls’ upper arms made her one of the most formidable teachers in the school.

Privately, Heni doubted The Führer cared if some random Austrian girl hadn’t done her schoolwork — the truth was, she found Mein Kampf terribly boring. Just because The Führer had artistic ability didn’t mean he could write.

Of course she didn’t voice this. “No, Frau Lindler,” she said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Girls, don’t be so lazy and disrespectful like Fräulein Rahm.” Frau Lindler sank her claws into Heni’s upper arm for emphasis, causing the girl to wince and the class to giggle behind their hands. “Now let’s have an example of a good student — Fräulein Weinmann, come up and read your essay to class.”

Grinning with triumph, Greta slid out of her seat and trotted breezily down the aisle. Heni coughed as she passed her, choking on the waves of smugness rolling off her so-called friend.

Because of this, she was in a bad mood for the rest of the school day. The last thing she wanted to do was throw a discus. “Could I possibly run around the track instead?” she asked Beate. “I’m not feeling too well.”

Beate shook her head, folding her arms against the cold. “If I let you, I’ll have to let everyone or else Weinmann will throw a hissy fit.”

Heni was sure Greta could see the hatred in her eyes as she joined her and Himmel, but she didn’t care. Of course Greta had near-perfect throws while Heni floundered, but at least this time the latter was not alone: Himmel’s discus pelted the ground only meters in front of her.

“Not a good look, Himmel,” said Greta, not bothering to hide the condescension from her voice. “German girls have to be fit and strong for childbearing.”

“Oh, who gives a damn,” Himmel snapped, stomping toward her discus, kicking up puffs of dust that clung to her uniform. “We’re losing the war anyway! Soon none of this is going to mean sh*t!”

The look on Greta’s face was comical: Her mouth dropped open and her head swiveled around, looking at Heni for backup. Heni, with the humiliating lesson still fresh in her mind, had none to give.

“For God’s sake, Himmel!” Greta hissed. “Don’t say such things! I ought to tell Beate.”

“Go ahead,” Himmel replied, half-heartedly brushing off her uniform. “She’s so besotted with that Rolf, she won’t care anyway.”

Greta fell silent, having no argument. Ever since the last SS party, where Rolf von Trapp had asked Beate to dance, Beate paid attention to little else but him.

It was this Heni was able to use to her advantage after gymnastics as she helped Beate wheel the sports cart back into the gymnasium’s storage closet. “Beate, I’m really not feeling well,” she said, clutching her stomach for effect. “Could I possibly set up the shipment tomorrow? It’s not like the clothing is going anywhere.”

“Fine,” Beate sighed. “But you’re coming up with an excuse for Frau Hasselhaer. I’ve had enough of her complaining about those damn boxes.”

“Of course,” Heni replied, trying to keep the excitement off her face. It took every bit of self-control she had not to run out of the gymnasium and through the streets of Prague. Still remembering the scuffle with the Czech girls, she held her uniform close to her chest.

The shop window was a comforting square of gold among the grey. Heni pushed open the door, smiling when the bell rang. This time, she was greeted by silence. Her heart sank — was Jiří not here? But the light was on…

Then he poked his head out of the back room, his brow furrowed. It slid back into place as his eyes fell upon Heni. He grinned, sending her to the moon. “Heni! I was hoping I’d see you soon.”

Abandoning pretense, Heni trotted up to him and threw her arms around him, inhaling his scent. “I missed you,” she mumbled into his chest, relishing the feeling of his arms wrapping her into a hug.

He pulled away a second later. “Come…” His warm, firm hand flattened against her lower back as he guided her into the workshop.

She hung her uniform on the hook next to the back door. Only one chair stood by the bench, which he pointed at and said, “Sit.”

“But where will you sit?” she asked, smoothing her skirt over her bum before taking a seat.

Jiří shook his head, leaning on the bench across from her. “I don’t need to. I’ve been sitting all day.”

“I’ve just finished gymnastics,” Heni told him, for lack of anything better to say.

He didn’t respond, but he was gazing at her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. For a moment, Heni was anxious — why was he just looking? — but when his blue-green eyes swept over her form, down to her knees and back up to her face, she realized he liked what he was seeing.

She blushed and grinned down at her folded hands upon her lap. After all this daydreaming, she had no idea what to do with him in front of her. Get ahold of yourself, she scolded.

“You are so much more shy than the last time you were here,” Jiří pointed out, taking her hand. “But nevertheless I’m glad you’re back.”

He pulled her to her feet, took her by the waist, and pulled her closer. Before Heni could register what was happening, his soft lips were on hers.

Her eyes sank closed while her mouth opened, her hands finding his shoulders and gripping them. At first the kiss was soft and tender, his hands resting in place. But as it went on, the hands tightened, sinking its fingertips into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her closer to him. Chest to chest, their mouths grew hungrier, their bodies heating up and humming with desire.

Heni’s lower lips clenched and her breasts pressed against his warm, solid chest. She was melting into him, dying to be swallowed up —

“Wait, hold on,” Jiří said, abruptly breaking the kiss and pushing her away. “My leg,” he explained, gesturing to the workbench. “This was digging into it. Here, let’s try this.”

He sat on the chair and tugged on her hand. “Come onto my lap.”

Heni eagerly climbed onto his legs, hiking up her skirt and slipping out of her jacket. It fell to the floor, abandoned. His crotch was so warm, the bulge radiating heat straight through the layers of stockings and panties and soaking into her labia. She arched her back as he grabbed her waist and buried his face into her chest.

“Damn, you’re so hot,” he whispered, gazing up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “You like when I touch you, I see.”

“I do,” she told him, reaching up and toying with the first button of her blouse. In her head played the dream she had with Karl, where he’d bared her breasts and suckled on them. It should’ve turned her off, this perverse dream, but yearning was overtaking her by the second. “Do you…do you want to see…?” She glanced down at her chest, too shy to finish the question.

“Of course.” His husky voice and stiff bulge nudging her between her legs was all the encouragement she needed. Slowly, grinning coyly, she unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it apart, let it slide off her shoulders, and lost her nerve.

“Now you’re shy,” he teased, cupping her breasts over her bra before slipping his hands underneath. Heni helped him by pulling down her bra straps, freeing her round, pale breasts. He stared at them, entranced, before squeezing them and rubbing his thumb over her pale pink nipples.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into her neck, kneading the soft hills and pinching their hard nubs. No longer concerned with propriety, Heni let her head fall back and thrust against the bulge between his legs while his mouth met her neck.

Their heavy breaths filled the room. She was sure she was leaking through her panties and stockings, but she didn’t care; it felt too good. He didn’t seem to mind, letting go of her breasts to grip her bum and help her rub his crotch with hers.

Baring her teeth, Heni gripped the thick hair at the back of his head and smothered his face with her breasts, slicking them up with his saliva. The bulge was rock hard now, desperate to break through the layers of cloth and into her, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more —

A loud bong-bong-bong filled the shop, causing Heni to startle and nearly slide off Jiří’s lap. Covering her breasts, she glanced around, feeling her heart in her throat. On the contrary, he didn’t seem fazed at all, which calmed her down enough for her to realize that the noise was the chiming of a grandfather clock.

“My goodness,” she breathed, standing up and tucking her breasts back into her bra. “That gave me quite a fright. I don’t remember that being there last time.”

“It was,” Jiří told her, seeming to come out of a trance. “But it was broken. I’ve just fixed it…I’m not sure when the owner will be returning.”

“You know a lot of people who’ve disappeared,” Heni remarked absentmindedly as she buttoned up her blouse. After smoothing down her jacket and fixing the bow on one of her braids, she glanced at Jiří to see him gazing out the window. The look on his face was so glum, she couldn’t help but reach out and take his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, feeling foolish. “That was a careless thing to say.”

He stood up and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Only then did she catch a glimpse of the window and saw that the sky was already a royal blue. “Oh, my God,” she murmured, looking at her watch — how many times had that clock chimed? Six, she saw, as her heart once again leapt into her throat.

“I’ve got to get going,” she said, much shriller than intended.

“Do you?” Jiří said, back to his usual playful self. His hands held her face and he kissed her softly again. “I hope I’ll see you again sooner this time.”

“You will,” Heni promised, smiling and stroking his cheek. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll be back before you start missing me.”

“I will miss you the second you leave,” he said as he guided her through the shop. “Just don’t get in trouble.”

“I won’t.” She grasped the knob of the front door, trying to muster the will to push it open. But then she glanced back at Jiří, still standing there.

“My friend says the war will be over soon,” she said. “When it ends, we can see each other more often. And maybe…maybe they’ll return.”

“Maybe,” he echoed, not convinced. But he gave her a small wave and a grin. “Goodbye, Heni.”

Once she was outside, away from the warmth and comfort of Jiří and his shop, the cold seeped through her clothing and reminded her that she was in a lot of trouble if she didn’t get home fast.

She trotted down the street, hoping she didn’t stand out. No such luck: A group of teenage boys across the street whistled at her and shouted in Czech. She ducked her head and hurried along, but they seemed to outpace her. “Ahoy, little Fräulein!” one called in heavily-accented German. “Won’t you walk with us?”

They fell silent at once as a black car slowed down alongside Heni. With horror, she saw the little red-white-black flags above the headlights. The tinted window rolled down and an SS man called out, “Are you lost, Fräulein? Do you need a ride?”

“No, thank you!” Heni called back, keeping her eyes on the ground as she marched ahead. Please go away, she willed silently, but the car continued to roll alongside her.

Finally, she got to the corner and turned away from the street. God, please let that SS man not have recognized me, she prayed. There was no good reason why a German girl would be in this neighborhood. If word got back to her parents…

No, don’t think of it, she scolded, trying desperately to calm her heart as she slowed her pace. He most likely couldn’t make out her face in the dim light of dusk. She wasn’t as easily distinguishable as, say, Himmel — he probably didn’t discern anything other than the BDM uniform and dark braids.

By the time her villa was in view, she had calmed down enough to slow her breathing. Yes, it would be alright; he didn’t see her; no one would find out —

All of her efforts went to hell the instant she noticed another black Mercedes, one that made her heart plummet through her stomach: Karl’s. And, to top it off, she realized her gymnastics uniform was still hanging on the hook in the workshop of Pokorny Opravna.

Chapter 7: VII - Prague

Chapter Text

Heni’s legs had turned to gelatin. It took her a few minutes to scrape up the courage to climb the stairs. Each one seemed to grow taller, pushing her legs to their limit. Then the door — her hand gripped the handle, but her arm refused to pull.

Come on, she told herself, let’s get it over with. Her bum smarted with phantom pain, knowing the belt was coming.

The house was quiet. No radio, no one speaking. The smell of Spätzle filled her nose from down the hall. Her stomach would’ve growled if it wasn’t twisted into knots. Perhaps if she could pretend the family within these neat walls was normal, she would get through the evening. The front door closed behind her, and the daydream died at once.

Her mother’s heeled footsteps came from the parlor before she appeared between the French doors, ready to pounce.

“Where the hell were you this time?” She didn’t give Heni time to answer, pulling back her hand and slapping her daughter hard across the face.

Caught off guard, Heni yelped and tumbled backwards. This wasn’t the first time her mother had ever raised a hand to her, but she couldn’t even recall when the last time was. “I was at gymnastics!” she said hastily, rubbing her cheek. “Then I had to set up the shipment for Saturday.”

Iolanthe crossed her arms and tightened her lips. It was then Heni was able to see the dark purple crescent under her eye. Karl was indeed home, she deduced from this with an icy swallow. Why wasn’t he coming down the stairs?

“He is not happy with you,” Iolanthe hissed, following Heni’s glance up the stairs. “And I don’t blame him — I can’t trust you worth a damn, can I? Where the hell is your uniform?”

“I-I left it at Frau Hasselhaer’s,” Heni lied, hoping her mother wouldn’t call Frau Hasselhaer to confirm. “I will retrieve it tomorrow.”

“You’d better,” Iolanthe snapped. “Or I’ll — "

“Frau Rahm, supper is ready on the table,” Maria said, seemingly oblivious to the tension she’d just walked in on. “Would you like me to open the new bottle of Chardonnay?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” Iolanthe said, turning her back on Heni and following the maid down the hall.

In the dining hall, she and Heni picked at their plates. Heni’s throat was rejecting the schnitzel, closing painfully around the chewed bits when she swallowed. Iolanthe’s eyes were glued to the door — she, too, was waiting for the heavy footsteps upon the stairs.

“Maria,” said Iolanthe as the maid poured fresh wine into her glass. “Do you know if my husband will be joining us this evening?”

“I think not, Frau Rahm,” Maria replied. “He’s asked me to take his plate to the study.”

Iolanthe frowned at her back as she retreated to the kitchen. Heni knew she was asking herself the same question: If Karl was not joining them, was he not going to punish his daughter for coming home late? The idea was laughable. And yet…

However, when Maria returned to clear their plates, she bore bad news: “Herr Rahm has requested both of you in the study now.”

“Both of us?” Iolanthe frowned again, glancing at Heni before turning back to Maria. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, Frau Rahm,” said Maria, swooping up their glasses in one swift motion. “He said he wants to see both his wife and his daughter.”

With a heavy sigh, Iolanthe stood up and stalked out of the room. Clutching her stomach, hoping it wouldn’t purge her dinner, Heni followed her upstairs to the study.

“Karl, it’s us,” Iolanthe said after knocking on the door.

“Enter.”

The study, Heni noticed right away, was freezing cold. The winter wind pushed aside the curtain to fill the air of the room. Karl was still in uniform, boots and all; little wonder he couldn’t feel it.

He set down his glass of whiskey, stood, and pointed at the chair he’d just been sitting in. “Sit.”

It was unclear who he was talking to, but Iolanthe assumed it was her and went to sit down. Heni took the other chair, leaving Karl standing in front of them. Like Iolanthe, his mouth was tight, his arms crossed.

“I have news, which I’d planned to give earlier this evening, but then I found out you have yet again lost control of our daughter.” He was unmistakably speaking to Iolanthe now, narrowing his eyes at her. “Anyway, I’ve been promoted — I am being sent to run a labor camp about eighty kilometers outside of the city.”

“Congratulations, darling,” Iolanthe said, plastering a smile on her face. “That’s wonderful news. For how long?”

“Until the war ends, I suppose.”

Iolanthe visibly deflated. “That might be years from now, no?”

“Perhaps,” Karl replied dismissively.

“Karl…” Iolanthe was speaking slowly, choosing her next words carefully. “You said once all the Jews were gone from Prague, we’d be returning to Vienna.”

“Well, that’s what I thought, but clearly we’re not now.” His boot began to tap against the floor, a telltale sign of impatience. “Now, as for what I expect for when I’m gone — Henioche’s constant lateness is unacceptable. Between that and her poor boundaries with men, she is shaping up to be quite an embarrassment not only for me but to the Reich.”

He turned to glare at his daughter. “Don’t think because I’m not here, I won’t be keeping an eye on you. And if your mother doesn’t start doing her one job in this house, I will ask my mother to come show you how to behave properly.”

Heni stifled the urge to wince. On Christmas 1933, Oma Willa had gifted her a wooden paddle with Heni’s name burned around three holes drilled into the center. Karl preferred to use his hands and therefore, the paddle was fortunately left behind in Vienna. Heni suspected that it would make a swift and harsh return if Karl brought Oma here.

In the other chair, Iolanthe was scowling. Karl caught sight of this and grew furious. “What?” he snapped. “The truth hurts, Iolanthe. I suggest you get her under control.”

Usually she’d be clamoring to agree, especially when the air was this tense, but she pursed her lips together and glanced at her folded hands before speaking.

“I will get Henioche under control…but I admit it’s much easier in Vienna. I was really hoping to go back.”

Surprisingly, Karl kept his temper. “I know, but it won’t be long now until the war ends.”

“And when…when it does?”

Heni was wondering the same thing. What would happen when the war ended? Despite her daydreams, she knew she couldn’t run off with Jiří right away and live happily ever after.

“Let me figure that out, Iolanthe,” Karl said, lighting up his cigar. “Now please get out of my study.”

He exhaled a large cloud of smoke as Iolanthe rose and headed to the door. Heni stood, about to do the same, but a sharp tsk made her freeze in place.

“You stay.”

When the door closed behind Iolanthe, he gestured to it, the cigar perched between his two fingers. “Lock the door and undress for inspection.”

Heni’s heart, which hadn’t quite slowed down since leaving Jiří’s shop, skipped in her chest. What if Jiří’s hands and mouth had left marks on the pale skin of her breasts? There was no way to check before removing her uniform under Karl’s watch.

Luckily, she was able to catch a glimpse as she unbuttoned her blouse — clear. Meanwhile, he was refilling his glass as if he was bored of her already. Perhaps this would be quick. Once her clothes were in a pile at her feet, he fixed his cold blue gaze to her bare form, and her silly hope flew out the open window.

“Over there.” He pointed in front of the desk and stood up.

Her brow lifted in confusion before she could stop it. While she was glad the inspection part wasn’t happening, it wasn’t like him to skip the cat-and-mouse right to punishment. But again, she should’ve known better: When she stood in front of the open window, shivering in the winter breeze, Karl turned the chair to face her and sat back down.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

Heni thought that it would be warmer down here, where at least the chill wasn’t seeping into every bit of her. She was wrong. The floor was cold and harsh against her knees. She spread her hands over the tops of her thighs in a vain attempt to keep warm.

Meanwhile, her father only stared, puffing on his cigar and sipping on his whiskey. Ever so softly, the toe of his boot tapped against the floor.

As the seconds stretched on, she acclimated to the cold and wondered if he could somehow detect Jiří’s dried spit on her gooseflesh-riddled breasts and stiffened nipples. Instead of more horror, her thighs tightened around her pulsing lower lips at the thought.

“Why were you late again?” he demanded.

Her voice clogged her throat before she pushed it out. “I had to set up a shipment for the League meeting on Saturday.”

“And that takes two hours?”

“Not normally, no.” Her eyes lowered to his boots. “I, um, I lost track of time talking with Himmel Voyner.”

“Do I need to hire a tutor to teach you how to read the watch on your wrist?” he snapped, stamping out his cigar and letting out a smoke-filled puff of indignation. “Stupid girl, do you think it’s for decoration?”

“No, Father.”

She glanced up at him just as his eyes strayed to the window. The golden light from the desk reflected in the blue of his eyes, warm against cold.

“Turn around. Stay on your knees.”

Now facing the desk, Heni let her shoulders drop. If Karl was just going to stare at her again, she could ignore the burning of his eyes on her flesh and pretend he wasn’t there. Until he added, “Bend over with your cheek against the floor and your hands behind your back.”

This was new. The floor was cold against her cheek, but that wasn’t the worst part. That was a tie between the dirty bottoms of her kneesocks and her bare bum in the air with pink lips peeking out just below. She didn’t even have to look at her father to know he was sneering at her.

“Now you are presented to me properly.” The condescension from his voice stung her more than the blow that was inevitably coming.

Sure enough, some shuffling and then the dreaded sound of the belt sliding through the loops. He sure took his time folding it up, undoubtedly watching her bristle in anticipation. Then, when she couldn’t hold her breath anymore, the whip across her bum.

She yelped, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Another tsk-tsk reached her ears through her ragged breathing. “We’ve been through this so many times, haven’t we, Henioche?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, whipping her again. The edge of the belt grazed her labia, making her cry out in anguish.

“And yet you continue to misbehave,” he continued as if he was musing about something he didn’t care about one way or another. “Knowing that this is the consequence. Perhaps you really are too hopelessly dumb to learn from your mistakes.”

Another whip, catching Heni off guard. She managed to reduce the cry to a squeak at the cost of releasing a glob of spit into the floor. Her bum was burning, swelling, ripping through the first layer of skin.

Karl waited until her breathing slowed before speaking again. “But you know…I watch you, and I hear what others say about you, and it is difficult for me to believe you are that dumb. In fact, you’re quite clever, aren’t you? Which makes me think perhaps you do know what the punishment will be.”

Something grazed the stinging welt on the right, making her jump. Her eyes squeezed shut, adding tears to the spit-puddle on the floor, as she braced herself. But the thing — his fingertip, she realized — continued to trace her puffy skin. It hurt, but it also sent tingles down her legs.

“And if you know what the punishment will be,” he said quietly, “and you continue to misbehave, that must mean you want this.”

“No!” she blurted.

The next blow was not across both of her cheeks like the last two but down between them, hitting her labia full-on.

“Ow, please!” Heni bawled, for Karl to stop but also for someone else in the house to come and save her, but of course they wouldn’t.

“Did I tell you to speak out of turn?” he hissed. “Answer me.”

“No, Father, I’m sorry,” Heni said hurriedly. It took every bit of self-control she had not to uncross her arms and cup her stinging labia. It pulsed out in the open. It’s alright, alright, it’s over, she assured herself in a panic, except it wasn’t.

His hands were on her striped bum, his thumbs sliding into the crooks of her thighs and pulling. From this, her puffy lower lips were slightly parted, sending shooting pain up her spine. At first, as he held them like that, the seconds seemed to crawl past. Then, absurdly, the pain was fading, replaced by the familiar tingling of need. No, no no — why now, in front of him?

“I see that this is true,” he chuckled softly. “You want this. You like it. Say it, Henioche.”

No was of course her first response in this vulnerable, humiliating position. But of course her glistening, clenching pink flesh on display told the real truth.

“I-I like it, Daddy,” she mumbled to the floor, overcome with shame.

“I know you do, whor*.”

He let go and the cold rushed in to take his hands’ place, leaving her trembling and aching on the floor. The scraping of the chair filled the cold air, followed by the flowing of whiskey from the bottle, followed by, “Dress up and get out.”

The spit and tears had dried, so Heni had to peel her cheek from the floor before propping herself up on her sore knees. The pile of her clothes was awfully far away, across the whole room. Feeling her father watching her, she crawled over, keeping her head down.

Heni’s teeth sank into her lip, biting back the whimpers, as she re-dressed. All the while she kept her eyes on the floor, taking her time — if she hurried, she would do something clumsy and humiliate herself even more. Karl’s relentless watching was suffocating her, burning her cheeks, while his voice played a loop in her head: I know you do, whor*, I know you do…

At last she was out of there, hurtling down the hall and bursting into her bedroom. She didn’t care if her parents scolded her for her ungraceful steps later.

Once the door was closed behind her, she flopped onto the bed, reached up her skirt, and yanked her panties back down. The cotton had glued itself to her sticky labia, causing her to gasp in pain as it tore away.

Her velvet-soft skin hummed under her fingertips. She was vaguely aware that this was unnatural, this sequence of events, but she was done thinking. Only rubbing despite the pain, grimacing and biting back whimpers. When it became too much, she mounted her pillow and thrust against it.

It took her a few minutes to get the right spot; the stinging was soon overtaken by pleasure. First she conjured Jiří, his lips and hands on her. She’d been adequately turned on in the moment with him, but now it was the recollection of sitting in front of Karl, chest bared, that shut her mind off and let her body take over.

No, no, this is wrong, Heni tried to scold herself. Yes, but you want it anyway, answered a voice deeper in her head. I know you do, whor*, her father echoed.

She tightened up, her legs clamped around the pillow, and soaked it with her juices as she climaxed. For a blissful moment, nothing, just soft, weightless nothing. Then shame took its opportunity to pounce, reminding her that the man sitting in that chair was her father, and not even the type of father who loved his daughter. No wonder he was so disgusted by her.

Tears dripped down Heni’s cheeks as she cleaned herself up. What was wrong with her?

“I belong to Jiří,” she said out loud. “I want only Jiří.” Her voice came out whiny and pathetic.

Much later, after she was tucked into bed, a thought so jarring popped into her mind, her eyes flew open. They landed on the square of moonlight on her bed flooding through her window.

He had started this mess.

Not Jiří. Karl.

Chapter 8: VIII - Prague

Chapter Text

“When I first told my mother about him,” Iolanthe said, pausing for dramatic effect, lifting the wine glass to her lips to take the tiniest sip, “she just about disowned me right then and there. ‘An Austrian!’ she cried. ‘Ah, but from Vienna,’ I said. ‘A toolmaker!’ she cried. ‘But a painter, too,’ I told her.”

She paused again. The women, most of whom were also from working-class Austrian families, leaned in eagerly, nursing their own wine glasses.

“But last year, I invited her here, and she stuck her nose in every single corner of this villa,” Iolanthe continued. “She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw how Henioche had grown, the shoes on her feet. And you know what she said to me, ladies, about the state of my home, family, and figure?”

“What was it?” asked Frau Voyner, her wide blue eyes lit up with mirth.

“Nothing!” Iolanthe cried, beaming at them. “Not a damn thing!”

The women let out gales of laughter, clapping exuberantly. The German mother’s highest praise of her daughters was the absence of criticism.

“Did your father try to get into the Vienna Academy of Art like The Führer?” Himmel muttered to Heni as an excuse to lean over and grab the bottle of wine.

“No, he only finished primary,” Heni replied. Under their mothers’ noses, Himmel refilled her and Heni’s glass with deep red.

“But what about your mother-in-law?” Frau Brunner asked, her face flushed from both wine and copious amounts of rouge. “Surely she’s got something to say?” She lowered her voice before adding, “It doesn’t matter if I have five maids — Alois’s mother would still come up with a list.”

The rest of the women tittered while Iolanthe shook her head, smirking with triumph. “Oh, no — Karl’s mother knows better. She is aware of my…privileged upbringing.”

Frau Brunner’s mouth twisted in distaste before she caught herself. Women of the Reich did not brag about privilege — but Iolanthe’s family’s wealth far preceded the Reich.

“Himmel!” Frau Voyner barked suddenly, causing everyone to start. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s just a little bit, Mother,” Himmel mumbled into her wine glass, cowing her shoulders and flushing.

“Put that down at once! Honestly, you’re so embarrassing. I thought you could handle sitting at the ladies’ table but I see now you can’t.”

“Henioche,” said Iolanthe, her eyes falling upon Heni’s empty wine glass and narrowing, “why don’t you take Himmel upstairs to your bedroom? We need to be moving onto more adult discussions as it is, right, ladies?”

Of course they hummed in agreement, so Heni took Himmel’s hand and led her out of the parlor.

“God, I hate her,” Himmel fumed as they went up the stairs. “She’s such a controlling, rude, mean old shrew.”

They reached the second-floor landing, which was dark except for the yellow strip of light from the study door. Muffled men’s laughter floated through.

“I don’t know what my father saw in her,” Himmel continued to rant once they were behind Heni’s own closed door. “I mean, I’m glad he chose her, since I wouldn’t be here, but I can’t imagine why. Nagging, selfish, and ugly — what’s to like?”

Heni had no response, as it was the other way around with her parents: No one seemed to understand why beautiful, docile Iolanthe from one of the richest families in Nuremberg eloped with a choleric, chronically-unemployed Austrian. But now Karl was doing more for the Reich than Iolanthe’s family, so the tables had turned…

Himmel seized the hairbrush on Heni’s desk and held it up. “Won’t you brush my hair? That always calms me down.”

“The curls will come out,” Heni protested. At the scowl on her friend’s face, she took the hairbrush and picked up a section of Himmel’s long blonde hair.

“What’s the story with you and old what’s-his-name?” she asked, pulling the brush through the waves.

“He’s an ass,” sighed Himmel, who apparently hated everyone this evening. “I don’t know where the strong German men are, but they’re not here in Prague.”

Heni made a hum of commiseration, but then Himmel met her eyes in the mirror, probing her. “What about yours? And don’t try to tell me you don’t have one. I heard you skipping off the League shipment.”

Even if Heni wanted to deny it, her sudden flaming red cheeks didn’t give her a choice. She tore her eyes away and stared hard at a bottle of old perfume Iolanthe had given her next to the mirror. “Yes, I’ve got one.”

Himmel’s eyes widened even more. “Ooh, who is he? Is he still in HJ? Come on, Heni, tell me!” she cried when Heni shook her head.

“Fine, but you mustn’t tell anyone.” Heni set her hairbrush on the vanity and tugged on Himmel’s hair not-so-gently, causing her to wince. “I mean it, Himmel. No one.”

“Ouch, my goodness, fine…” Himmel rubbed her scalp, frowning at Heni in the mirror. For a moment, Heni paused, debating whether she should actually tell her about Jiří or try to make something up. But it was too late; Himmel was staring, waiting.

“He isn’t German.”

Himmel’s expression didn’t change. “Oh, so Austrian? Not a big deal, Heni. You Austrians are part of the Reich now — "

“He’s not Austrian either,” Heni cut her off, feeling her heart speed up. “He’s Czech.”

For a tense second, Himmel only stared. Then her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows raised. Heni gently set her hair back upon her shoulder, holding her gaze. Why, oh, why wasn’t she saying anything?

“Oh, my God,” Himmel finally burst out. “A Czech!”

“Shh!” Heni hissed, mashing a finger to her mouth and glancing at the closed door. “You cannot tell anyone, Himmel. I’m serious.”

“Relax, I won’t,” said Himmel, turning in her seat. “I’m just shocked you would even risk it when your father would probably stab you through the heart. Anyway, what’s he like? Is he handsome? How did you meet?”

Slightly overwhelmed, Heni decided to answer the last question first, omitting the embarrassing run-in with the Czech girls. “I, um, got lost coming back from the gymnastics meet and wound up in front of his shop.”

Himmel, like her mother in the parlor, leaned in eagerly. “How old is he? Did you guys kiss?”

Heni flushed deeper, her hand involuntarily reaching up to touch her lips as she recalled the last time she’d seen Jiří. She’d rushed to his shop from Frau Hasselhaer’s to retrieve her gymnastics uniform. The visit had lasted not ten minutes, but they managed to spend most of it mouth-to-mouth.

“He’s seventeen,” Heni told Himmel. “And yes.”

“Wow,” Himmel breathed, still wide-eyed. She looked up, and Heni saw jealousy reflected back at her in bright blue. “I’ve not been kissed yet.”

“Your time will come,” Heni said, hoping to change the subject. “Come, let’s see if Maria left out a bottle of wine in the kitchen.”

“Oh, but my mother will have a fit if we’re caught…”

They weren’t caught, but they found only a quarter of a bottle in the dining room. From the kitchen, the clattering of dishes filled their ears as Maria worked overtime to cater to the guests.

“What does he look like?” Himmel asked before taking a swig from the bottle — the glasses had been cleared away and it was too risky to sneak some from the kitchen.

“He’s tall and handsome,” Heni told her, taking the bottle. “Dark blonde hair and blue-green eyes.”

“Sounds dreamy.” Himmel’s cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her eyelids sinking lower. “You know, I once saw a Czech guy staring at me on the tram, and he was so attractive. A bit on the older side, but I wouldn’t have minded him teaching me a thing or two.”

She winked, making Heni giggle. The sink shut off, followed by footsteps approaching the entryway from the kitchen to the dining room. Himmel quickly set the bottle on the table, but Maria didn’t appear. Now with her usual wide eyes, she turned to Heni and whispered, “Come, let’s get out of here before she catches us.”

Their mothers were still chatting in the parlor, so Heni and Himmel had no choice but to return to Heni’s room. At least, that’s where Heni assumed they were going until Himmel started walking toward the study door, which had been left ajar, flooding the hallway with light.

“Where are you going?” Heni hissed, snatching her hand.

Men’s boisterous laughter drowned out Himmel’s response. Clutching Heni’s hand tightly, she stepped into the study. Heni tried to wrench out of her grasp, but it was two late: The two girls stood side-by-side as a hushed silence fell over the room. The men, all with glasses of whiskey and cigars in hand, peered through the smoke at them.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful girl!” said Herr Voyner, smiling. At once, Himmel bounced over to her father and sat upon his lap like she wasn’t interrupting men’s talk, one of the worst domestic sins a woman could commit.

Frozen in bewilderment, Heni looked at Karl, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do — call Himmel away? But Himmel’s father was holding her around the waist, clearly unbothered.

Karl’s expression was blank. A painful second passed, and then he waved a careless hand, beckoning her over. Heni awkwardly shuffled across the room and perched herself upon his lap, expecting to be pushed off. But her father simply pulled her legs over his, resting a hand over her thigh. With the other, he brought the glass of whiskey to his mouth and took a large swallow.

“My goodness, such perfect Aryan beauties we’ve got,” said a colleague Heni had only seen at SS parties. He was looking at Himmel, grinning drunkenly. The look in his red-rimmed eyes was somewhere between admiration and lust.

Heni met Himmel’s eyes and swallowed hard. Himmel was watching her, her expression unreadable. A stab of regret pierced Heni’s chest from telling her about Jiří. Could she really trust her? What if one day Himmel turned her back on Heni and told Greta? Heni’s life would be over in a flash…

Then Heni remembered the time when the Prague League had gone to a lake somewhere East for swimming. She’d not been allowed to wear a bathing suit, thanks to Karl, and so she’d had to wear a dress to the beach. Everyone teased her except Himmel, who’d worn her nightdress in solidarity until Beate had made her change. Heni grinned across the card table at Himmel, and Himmel grinned in return.

“You’ve got a task ahead of you, don’t you, Herr Obersturmführer?” a familiar young man asked Karl. “While you’re away running the camp?”

“Of course,” said Hans Günther, one of Karl’s superiors. “The Oberführer wouldn’t have given it to Karl if he thought he couldn’t handle it, no?”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, Herr Sturmbannführer,” said the man, who Heni now recognized as the one who’d asked her to dance at the SS party. The “piece of sh*t” that had earned her a beating. He was looking at her, his lips lifted in a smirk. “I’m sure Herr Obersturmführer can run the camp — but there’s the task of keeping his daughter out of trouble.”

“Tell me, Walther,” Karl said coldly as Heni felt one hand on her lower back and the other tightening around her thigh as he held her the tiniest bit closer. “Why do you think I would not be able to handle this task?”

“Well, for one thing, she’s a looker,” said Aschenbrenner, undaunted by the fresh chill in the air. “Pretty girls cause some trouble, don’t they? And another, she marches to the beat of her own drum, from what I hear.”

Heni stared down at her hands, cursing him. Why did he have to draw attention to her? Himmel was supposed to get all the attention, not her. From Karl’s clamped hand around her leg, she could tell he was annoyed — probably at her.

“Well, that’s what the League is for, no?” said Hans Günther, shuffling the stack of cards. “To keep our girls in line and turn them into proper wives, which I’m sure our little Rahm will be. Now, gentlemen, are we playing poker or something else?”

“Run along, Schatzi,” Himmel’s father said quietly to her, nudging her off his lap. Heni took her chance, breaking out of Karl’s grasp and standing up. He let her, glancing up at her only once before pulling his chair closer to the table. When she turned back to close the door behind her, she saw his blue eyes on her through the smoke itching her eyes.

“My goodness, what were you playing at?” Heni demanded once they were back in her bedroom. “Waltzing in there like that?”

“In where?” Himmel asked, back at the vanity, brushing her precious hair.

“The study!”

Her friend glanced back at her, frowning. “Why not? It’s not like they’re working in there.”

From this, Heni deduced belatedly that Herr Voyner’s study, or wherever in the house he passed his time, was not off-limits to his daughter. Now it was Heni’s turn to be jealous. Karl’s study and painting studio were both forbidden, whereas Himmel had just as much freedom, if not more, inside her house as she did outside. And Greta had even more than that.

“That guy really likes you, doesn’t he?” Himmel asked, eying Heni in the mirror. “He danced with you at the party…and now he’s worried you’ll get into trouble. He’s kind of weird — I mean, he’s like, what, twenty-five?”

Heni shrugged, having no idea herself. From his words and behavior — and Karl’s hatred of him — she could agree with Himmel. And yet, like their last encounter, Heni didn’t get a sense of Aschenbrenner being all that interested in her.

Later, after the promotion party had concluded and everyone had gone home, Heni soaked in the bathtub and replayed the evening in her head. What a strange one it had been, between telling Himmel about Jiří, sitting on Karl’s lap, and whatever game Aschenbrenner was playing. And the lingering jealousy of Himmel and her father. Karl would never call his daughter Schatzi or show her affection if not to perform for his colleagues.

At least I have Jiří, she thought as she settled herself into bed, smiling at the memory of him. She considered touching herself, since her lower lips were humming, but that was too much work. So she closed her eyes, rolled over, and nestled her cheek into her pillow.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring into blackness. Something had woken her up, but she couldn’t see or hear anything. Blinking hard, she stared straight ahead until her eyes adjusted and the window came into focus, the faintest strip of light glinting on the ledge.

Footsteps — a shadowed figure was approaching. It passed the corner of the bed and stopped. Heni rubbed her eyes, unsure if she was dreaming. When she took her hands away, it had stepped even closer. She still couldn’t see much, but somehow she knew it was her father.

“Daddy?” she muttered, now completely sure she was dreaming.

He didn’t respond, sitting on the bed and pulling the blanket off of her. She squirmed in the sudden cold, about to reach up and hug herself, but then he was on top of her, overtaking her mouth with his.

Like in her last dream, his mouth was relentless, sliding his tongue against hers and pulling on her lips. Meanwhile, his hands had somehow made their way under her nightdress. Her legs fell open on their own accord, letting cool air soak through her panties to her labia.

“Such a good girl,” Karl said quietly, sitting up and pushing the dress up to her neck. Her breasts sprung free, bouncing slightly under his hungry gaze. “Such nice tit* and hips on Daddy’s little doll.”

His palms were gliding up her hips, holding her waist, cupping her breasts… Heni was aware of her rapid breathing, her heart pounding in her chest, but also the pulsing between her legs. This blocked out everything when he pinched her stiff nipples.

She whimpered, turning her head to the side. In the same second, he grabbed her chin and pulled until she was facing him again.

“Look at me.”

Heni didn’t have to for long: He lowered himself over her and latched onto a nipple, pulling it between his teeth. She couldn’t help but compare Karl to Jiří, who had been much gentler with his mouth over all. That was not to say she wasn’t enjoying the rough suckling and nibbling now. Just as she sank into her bed, ready to shut her mind off, his hand slid into her panties and cupped her hot, throbbing flesh.

His teeth sank deeper into her breast, making her squeak in pain. When he sat up again, he was chuckling. “Too rough for you, Princess?”

He pulled his hand out of her panties to slap her breast, watching it wobble. Somehow, between his arrival and now, the room had brightened up to where she could not only see his outline but his whole face, his eyes on hers.

“Take these off,” he ordered, tugging at the waistband of her panties.

Heni hooked her thumbs under it, ready to obey, and then lost her nerve. “I, um…”

“Let’s go, Henioche.” Karl’s voice was hardened with impatience. “Take them off.”

She sat up, very aware of her breasts moving along with her, the tuft of dark hair between her legs when she pushed down her panties. Her knees automatically folded and drew in, both helping her slide them over her feet and shielding her from her father’s eyes. Until he nudged her onto her back again, pulling the nightdress up over her sore nipples.

“That’s better,” he said, grabbing a thigh. “Open your legs, my baby whor*, and show me what’s mine.”

Heni’s face was burning despite the cool air. It seemed to take forever to part her knees, and that wasn’t even good enough, as indicated by Karl tightening his mouth.

“Like this, dumb girl,” he said, pushing up on her knees until they folded and her feet were high in the air. “Hold them up and keep them spread.”

For almost a minute, all he did was look her up and down. It was surreal, having her father’s undivided attention when he wasn’t hitting or scolding her. Heni was too overwhelmed to figure out how she felt about it. But then his fingertips stroked her lower lips, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

“That’s a good girl, in another proper position for me.” His voice was much softer than the last time he’d spoken. “Ready to serve her c*nt to me. Do you like when I play with it, baby whor*?”

Heni nodded without thinking — though if she’d had the chance to think, the answer would still be yes before the shame hit. He ducked his head, spreading her labia with his other hand. More stroking, causing her to clench and leak and flush. She wished she could turn her head away; looking into his eyes was too intense, too close —

“Ow!” she yelped before she could stop herself, clamping her knees shut.

“What did I say?” Karl snapped, holding his hand in place. “Keep them open.”

“But Daddy, it hurts,” she whimpered.

“Hush.”

Slowly, he broke further into her. He was only a breath away from her soft skin now, watching it stretch around his two fingers. “Good girl,” he coaxed, sliding them in deeper. “On your back for Daddy, letting me play with your sweet c*nt.”

His fingers were knuckle-deep now, all the way in; she felt the cool metal of his wedding ring against her bum. Alright, this isn’t so bad, she thought, feeling her muscles relax again. Then he pulled them almost all the way out, and then plunged them back in again.

She mashed her fist against her mouth and whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her hand, without her noticing, had reached down to clamp around Karl’s wrist. “Relax and let me loosen you up,” he said, back to commanding, prying her hand off. “The more you relax, the better it will feel.”

Heni had no choice but to mash her lips together and dutifully hold her legs up. Until now, she’d no idea that things, especially those as wide as a man’s two fingers, could go inside of her. She knew things came out of there, like her monthly and the musky fluid when she played with herself. Her father’s fingers felt like they were stuffing her full.

After a couple of painful pumps, she started to relax and realized he was right: It did feel good. The button within her folds she’d been pawing at had a twin somewhere on her inner walls. The pads of his fingertips were rubbing it, seizing her with pleasure all over.

“Oh,” she cried, driving the back of her head into the pillow. “Oh, my God…”

“That’s it, little baby slu*t,” Karl was hissing close to her ear, covering her mouth even though she could tell he liked her noises. “Can’t get enough of Daddy’s attention, can you? Well, when you’re so obedient and ready for me, how can I resist? Look at me when you come for me, whor*.”

Heni rocked her hips in rhythm and tightened around his fingers, wanting them inside of her forever. One last hard rub of the inner patch of nerves, and she was thrashing, dissolving into pleasure so intense, everything went white.

When the cloud first dissipated, she felt only three things: the bed shaking, heavy breaths pumping through her chest, and wet everywhere between her legs, on her inner thighs, and soaking into the bed sheet beneath her bum.

Karl was no longer touching her, but he still had her pinned to the bed by her chin. He was the one shaking the bed, she realized, thrusting his arm back and forth not into her but gripping himself.

He caught her looking, took her hand, and wrapped it around hot, hard skin. “Like this,” he instructed, moving her hand down his shaft, “but grip it, yes, that’s it.”

With his hand over hers, he helped her pump his large, pulsing co*ck. She was too shy to catch a glimpse of it, so she watched his face in fascination. Never before had she seen him so un-stoic, so animalistic. It was like seeing a different version of him.

“Open your legs, little bitch, show off your messy c*nt.” Tighter he gripped her hand, baring his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, until he grabbed her thigh and let out a low growl. His grip loosened just as hot liquid splashed onto her belly.

Now he was the one breathing heavily, but that didn’t stop him from tucking himself away and scooping up the warm liquid with his fingers.

“Clean up your mess,” he said, pushing his soaked hand against her mouth. “Lick it up, slu*t.”

The fluid was thick and sort of salty. For Heni it didn’t taste the best, but she obediently slurped it from his fingers as he dipped them in her mouth.

“What a nasty, filthy whor* you are, Henioche.” Karl’s voice was laced with contempt, his upper lip stiffened in disgust.

At these words, the soothing haze lifted and tears of shame welled in her eyes. Fortunately, he turned away before they dripped out. Without looking back at her, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Heni wrapped herself up in the blanket and turned her face into the pillow, soaking it with tears. What on Earth had just happened and how could she have enjoyed it? What kind of game was Karl playing with her? She lay there for what felt like hours, sniffling, until she finally fell asleep.

Morning came, blasting cold, blaring sunshine through her window. Heni creaked open her swollen eyes, blinking in the painfully bright light. Her cheeks were sticky and she had a strange taste in her mouth.

“It was a dream,” she assured herself when the previous night came flooding back to her. “It was another crazy dream and it’s not going to happen anymore.”

Feeling slightly better, she sat up and climbed out of bed, ignoring the pinch of pain between her legs and the nightdress glued to her belly and thighs by dried fluid. She’d played with herself, yes, that was it, and her half-drunken mind had superimposed the previous dream with Karl onto it.

Then she peeled off her nightdress and saw the purple-red blotches around her nipples. And she couldn’t deny it any longer. Karl had visited her in the middle of the night, last night and the one so long ago.

The only question her whirring mind could form was why?

Chapter 9: IX - Prague

Chapter Text

With Karl gone most of the week and even some weekends, a stifling weight had been lifted from the Rahm household. Iolanthe was less concerned with her daughter’s whereabouts as long as she arrived home for supper on time.

This made it far easier for Heni to sneak over to Jiří’s shop every so often. Since that day when she’d been late and subsequently punished, they hadn’t had much of a chance to do anything besides kiss. But today, Heni was going to change that.

“Ladies,” Frau Lindler barked in the courtyard right after they’d finished their lunch. “In the gymnasium now! Time for grooming inspection.”

The girls stifled their sighs, but the souring of the air was unmistakable. “Ugh, why does she have to inspect us right after we’ve been outside?” Himmel grumbled as she, Heni, and Greta trudged into the gymnasium. “The wind doesn’t care how much time we’ve spent on our hair.”

“That’s why you should braid it before pinning it up, Himmel,” Greta said snarkily. “Or you could cut it to an easier length for a hairstyle that actually belongs in 1944. I don’t know how you haven’t failed the grooming inspections yet.”

“You know, Greta, you could do with a little less nagging,” Himmel snapped. “No man wants to marry his mother.”

“He does if you ask Sigmund Freud,” said Ellie Huber from behind them.

“Who’s Sigmund Freud?” Himmel whispered to Heni when Ellie moved away.

The whistle blew, and the girls lined up across the gymnasium, stepping out of their shoes and arranging them neatly behind them. They had to order themselves by height, so Himmel was first, Greta was third to last, and Heni was somewhere in the middle.

Heni was not worried about the grooming inspection. In fact, it couldn’t have fallen on a better day, since she’d spent extra time on her appearance this morning in preparation for later. Newly fifteen, she stood tall in her crisply-ironed uniform. The front of her dark hair was carefully rolled and pinned back away from her face — her best asset, she overheard Iolanthe telling Tante Hermine.

The inspection began. Frau Lindler wasted no time in indicating that this would be a thorough one. “Fräulein Voyner,” she said to Himmel. “Your blouse under your arms is grey — either get a new one or use a bit of bleach and water there. And what are you trying to achieve with your hair other than looking like a Bohemian farm girl?”

Heni was glad for Himmel’s sake that Greta was on the other end of the line, so neither of them could see her triumphant smirk.

Every once in a while, a girl or two was pulled out of the line, told to face the others, and used as a shining example of what an appropriately-groomed girl should be. For the first time in her eight years of schooling, Heni was one such example.

“These ladies have perfect posture,” Frau Lindler said. “Their blouses and socks are bright white, and they have clear skin and meticulously-styled hair. Not a crease, stain, or blemish in sight. Well done, ladies. Expect a letter of approval home to your parents.”

“Well, at least one of us isn’t a troll,” Himmel joked as they filed out of the gymnasium.

“Please, Himmel,” said Heni, “like you’re not the prettiest girl in this place.”

“You know, you are rather done up,” Greta said slowly, eyeing Heni. “More so than usual. Do you have somewhere to be after school?”

“Yes, Frau Hasselhaer has invited me to tea,” Heni lied. “As you might remember, I skipped out on the last one, so today I must attend.”

Lying to Greta was worse than Iolanthe and far better than Karl. Iolanthe accepted anything that sounded alright and wouldn’t get herself in trouble. Karl was itching to hit. Heni was quite sure Greta wouldn’t hit her, but she had all the suspicion one would expect of the Police Leader’s daughter.

“Why weren’t we invited to this one?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at Heni. “I haven’t heard a single thing about it until now.”

“I’m certainly not crying,” Himmel piped up.

Heni puffed out her chest, trying to match Greta’s usual haughtiness. “Well, perhaps it’s just for the Untergauführerin who’s been setting up shipment after shipment to the Wehrmacht.”

Greta pouted all the way back to the classroom, where she took the seat furthest away from Heni and Himmel.

The lesson dragged on and on. Heni knew she should pay attention, considering math was her worst subject and they had an exam next week, but her mind was already in Pokorny Opravna. A tingle between her legs spread to her thighs, clenching them together. It was fortunate that Frau Lindler was scrawling formulas on the blackboard and Greta was across the room — no one else paid Heni enough attention to notice her burning cheeks.

After an eternity, the lesson was over and Heni was freed into the streets of Prague. She pulled her nondescript wool coat up to her ears and ducked her head as she hurried across the Old Town.

The dim light of the shop window lifted her spirits even more. She pulled open the door and looked around. All was quiet in the front, as usual. But the back was silent too, which was unusual.

“Jiří?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

No answer. Feeling her heart kick up in her chest, she trotted through the shop. The light was on, the workbench scattered with parts and tools, good signs. But no Jiří.

She glanced around, fearing the worst: Had he been taken away somewhere? His father and many of his clients had disappeared — perhaps the Gestapo wanted him too for some reason. Then she noticed the back door slightly ajar.

A blast of cold air hit her freshly-thawed cheeks as she pushed it open. To her immense relief, she recognized the figure standing in front of the bench. Jiří’s back was to her, his dark blonde hair lifting in the harsh breeze.

“Jiří?” Heni repeated tentatively, suddenly unsure if she wanted him to turn around.

When he did, she saw that his face was very pale, his blue-green eyes vivid atop deep, dark circles. But he broke out into a grin, holding his hands out. “Oh, Heni, what a pleasant surprise.”

She hugged him tightly and planted a kiss on his cold cheek. “I was able to get away for a bit longer this time, told my parents I’ve got a tea with one of the League directors…what’s wrong?”

At the drawn, glum look on his face, she couldn’t help but take his hand. “Jiří, is everything alright?”

“Come, let’s go inside,” he said, placing the familiar hand on her back and guiding her through the door. Once it was closed behind her, he waved to the chair. “Sit.”

She did as told, looking up at him expectantly. More than a few seconds passed before he spoke. “Today I got a visit from my uncle… He told me my father was taken to a labor camp. No one knows if he is still there or if he’s even alive…”

“A labor camp?” Heni echoed. “Here in the Pro — in Czechoslovakia?”

“Yes, I think so.” His eyes strayed out the window. “The problem is, my father is older, so I’m not sure how long he’ll survive if the camps are as brutal as the rumors say they are.”

Heni was thinking hard. “If the labor camp is here in Czechoslovakia, then maybe my father knows something about it.”

“I’m sure he does,” Jiří replied, still looking away. “But of course I don’t expect him to share things like that with his young daughter.”

“Of course he won’t,” said Heni, trying not to laugh at the idea of Karl telling her anything about…well, anything. Aside from how naughty and dumb she was. “But I don’t need him to.”

Jiří turned to her, wrinkling a brow.

“He always locks his study,” she explained. “No one but him is allowed in there. Think about it — it’s probably because he has important documents in there! He had a briefcase when he worked at the Central Bureau. I’ll bet he knows something about it.”

What she wasn’t telling Jiří was that she was beyond sure that Karl knew something about the camp, since he was the one running it. Perhaps he kept everything at the camp, but maybe he still had something at home…

“But Heni,” Jiří said skeptically, “if you’re not allowed in the office, that means you’ll have to go in behind his back, won’t you? What if you’re caught?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be,” Heni said with much more confidence than she felt. In fact, now that she was thinking about it, how on Earth was she even going to get into Karl's study in the first place? That was something she’d have to figure out later. “It’s more important that I help you.”

A grin, the first one it seemed like he’d had in days, stretched across his pale cheeks. “You are such a sweet girl, Heni.” He took both of her hands in his. “Please don’t do it if you will get in trouble. I don’t think I could bear it if you’re taken from me, too.”

“That won’t happen,” Heni assured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I will always find you and return to you.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, locking eyes with her as he kissed it. “I know, sweetheart. Now…you said you can be away for a little longer? How much longer?”

The playful grin was back, lifting Heni’s heart. “Perhaps an hour or two?”

“Wow, your father will be home late, then,” he remarked, pulling her to her feet.

“Hmm,” Heni said, mashing her lips together. She hated omitting all this information from him, but she knew he’d hate her if he knew how high-ranked her father was, what he’d done to the “inferiors” of Prague with his power.

Still holding her hand, he led her into the main shop. “Hold on,” he said, walking toward the door. Two clicks, and they were locked in with the lights off.

“Through here.” He opened a door she’d never noticed before behind the register and shepherded her through. She took a step inside and immediately kicked something solid.

“Up the stairs,” Jiří said softly in her ear.

She wasn’t sure she’d make it without injuring herself, but his hands holding her around the waist were working wonders in both assurance and desire. By the time they got to the second floor, she was ready to tear both of their clothes off. Then the light flicked on, distracting her.

They were in a small flat she didn’t know existed, although she’d known something was on top of the shop since the building had three floors. The main area consisted of a small kitchen, a table and chairs, and an armchair next to an old, dusty radio. Beyond that, on the far wall, were two doors.

“Do you live here?” Heni asked and kicked herself in the next second. Of course he lived here; who else would? His father once, too, she thought as her eyes landed on the armchair again.

Jiří nodded. “It was my uncle’s building. Would you like something? Tea, water? I don’t have much to eat, but I could make you a sandwich with cucumber — "

“No, it’s fine,” Heni said, beaming at him. “I don’t want to waste time eating. Do you, um…would you like to show me your bedroom?”

He smirked; he knew her well enough to figure out what she wanted. Just this fact alone made her body hum with anticipation. The door next to the kitchen led to a small room with a bed jammed against the wall under the window, a wardrobe, and a small nightstand. It was tidy and undecorated except for a calendar pinned above the nightstand, still on December of 1944.

“Well, here it is,” said Jiří, still smirking. “Would you like to stay in here or go back into the other room?”

He was standing very close to her, his hand touching hers. She stepped away and glanced up at him, grinning coyly. “We can stay here.”

That was all the encouragement Jiří needed to grab her waist and kiss her in his firm but gentle way she loved so much. Soon they were on the bed, his shirt off and his hands unbuttoning hers.

“Won’t you take it off?” he asked as he pulled it down over her shoulders.

“You’re doing a good enough job of it yourself,” she teased, sitting up to make it easier.

He chuckled and playfully bit her neck, making her giggle and squirm. “I meant this.” His finger hooked under her bra and tugged.

In this small room that smelled of him, sealed from the outside world, she would’ve done anything for him. Not only did she take off the bra, she wiggled out of her skirt, stopping herself from pulling down her panties before lying on her back on the bed. Too fast, she scolded herself.

“My God, you are beautiful,” Jiří told her, cupping her breasts. “You are more like a woman every time I see you.”

In response, she took his hand and pushed it lower, until it rested between her legs. He was hesitant, even as she smiled up at him.

“It’s alright,” she said, placing a hand on his bare, toned chest. “I want you to.”

He leaned over, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hand slid under her panties. Their lips touched briefly again before he pulled away to tug her panties down her hips to her thighs. This was probably for the best, since Heni was too shy to open her legs.

“Damn,” he mumbled as his hand slid between her thighs and pressed up against her hot flesh. Her back arched as he rubbed, slicking up her labia.

“You can…” she breathed, pushing the words out before she could think better of them. “You can feel from inside…”

“Oh, is that what you want?” Jiří was speaking in that low, husky voice that filled her with need even when he wasn’t touching her. “No longer shy, I see. Good, keep telling me what you like, baby.”

It was the perfect scenario: the one Heni loved more than anyone having her on his bed and exploring her most delicate spot with his gentle but adept hands. Yet when he parted her labia with one hand, nudging the hole with a fingertip of the other, her hand snatched his wrist and pushed it away.

Deja vu from Karl’s promotion party: She looked up and saw her father’s face, his glare of disapproval. But she blinked, and it was back to Jiří, who only had knitted brows.

“Alright, so you’re not ready for that,” he stated, sitting up and taking his hands away.

He didn’t seem angry, but his tone was so final, so different from the soft one he’d used before, that Heni immediately burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, covering her face and turning away. She wanted to yank her panties up and run away. Such a wonderful evening, a rare chance, and she’d ruined it.

“No,” Jiří said firmly, taking her hands away. “There is no need to be sorry, Heni.”

He leaned down and kissed her wet cheek before wiping away the tears. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. We can stop now.”

“Are — are you sure?” Heni hated how weak and childish her voice came out.

His expression softened into concern as he cupped her cheeks. “Of course. Listen to me, Heni. If you don’t like it, we don’t do it. Alright?”

She nodded, but when he sat up, she felt cold all over, like she was about to be dismissed. “Wait,” she said, placing a hand on his arm and mustering up her coy grin. “I can still make you feel good, though, can’t I?”

Jiří paused, seemingly about to protest, but then his eyes swept over her bare breasts. He returned her grin and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Too shy to say it out loud, she sat up and placed her hand between his legs, on the soft bulge in his trousers. It instantly hardened and grew while she gently squeezed.

“Can I take it out?” she whispered in his ear, back in control again.

“I’ll help you,” he said eagerly, unbuckling his belt. He ended up doing most of it, since she was afraid to hurt him. Once it was out, she leaned in to inspect it, wrapping her hand around it like Karl had shown her. It wasn’t as thick as Karl’s but it twitched and throbbed the same way.

“Like this,” Jiří said, taking her hand, and she had to pretend she’d never done this before. But once she started pumping, he let go, snaking a hand around her waist and pulling her closer.

The hardest part was the grip, since she still worried about hurting him. This seemed to be the right one, judging by the quiet moans he was making against her cheek.

“Yes, baby, like that,” he growled. “Such a good girl, that feels so good…”

She felt him tense up, his arm tightening around her, before he broke away. Grabbing his shirt, he stood up, letting out something in Czech — some kind of swear by the sound of it — and threw his head back. He pumped into the shirt, furiously at first and then slowing down.

Heni watched, pleased. At least she’d been able to help. He caught his breath and tossed the shirt aside. Her eyes fell to his crotch, but he’d tucked himself away already. A blur, followed by his arms around her, bringing her flat on her back. Smiling, she pulled up her panties and snuggled into him, relishing the feeling of his warm, bare skin all around her.

“When the war is over,” she murmured into his chest, “I hope we’ll be together all the time.”

“I hope so, too.”

She looked up at him, though all she could see was his chin. “Really?” It was the first time he’d ever reciprocated her interest with this topic.

“Of course.” He tilted her head up to kiss her softly. They stayed entwined like that, in each other’s warmth, until the faint noise of the grandfather clock came through the floorboards from downstairs — the owner still hadn’t returned for it.

Reluctantly, Heni rolled onto her back and sat up. “I have to get going.”

“Are you sure?” Jiří teased as usual, rubbing her back. “You could just stay here forever, you know.”

“I wish.”

After they were both dressed and tidied up, they could prolong it no more. On the way down, Heni couldn’t help but reflect on the afternoon, going straight back to her inviting Jiří in, then pushing him away. How embarrassing — why had she reacted like that? Because Karl had been there first, she realized. Like almost everything else that went wrong in her life, it was Karl’s fault.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” she said as they walked through the shop. “I won’t do it again — "

“No, Heni.” Jiří held her face with his hands and her eyes with his own. “I told you before, you have nothing to be sorry about. It’s fine, I will be patient.”

He smoothed back her hair, grazing her scalp with her fingertips. Her eyes fluttered closed as she was overtaken by pleasure. Not sexual but the comforting kind, the one that made it nearly impossible to turn away.

She held his hand until the last possible second. As they approached the door, she spotted the grandfather clock against the wall between the window and the door to his flat. Silent and abandoned.

Karl’s fault. Her backward reaction to Jiří’s touch, the abandoned grandfather clock, the dusty armchair upstairs — all of it Karl’s fault. Heni couldn’t fix it, but she could at least do her part even if it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

“I will try to find out where your father is,” she told Jiří. “And when I visit again, you can…you can have all the fun you want with me.”

“You really are such a sweet girl,” he said, making her blush and grin. “I only want you to visit again. I’ll be happy with just seeing your pretty face soon.”

One more quick kiss and then Heni was back in the cold and the dark, pulling her coat around her ears. She still hadn’t a single idea how she was going to get into Karl’s study, since it was usually locked when he wasn’t home, and now he was hardly ever home.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. Even Karl couldn’t control everything all the time. He held gatherings in his study with other SS men. Maria cleaned there at least once a week. Karl sometimes spent whole days in his painting studio. In these events, there would be a slip-up, and Heni was determined to find it.

When she arrived home, the house was silent except for the radio playing softly in the parlor. Maria had left a plate of supper on the stove for her. Heni went straight upstairs to try the study door, but as usual, it was locked.

No matter. She’d promised Jiří. Even if it took months. Even — although her stomach flipped every time she imagined this — if she was caught. She was getting in there, one way or another.

Chapter 10: X - Prague

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since Karl left the ghetto. The residents of Prague, even in the dead of winter, looked downright cheerful in comparison. The only cars he passed were black with Reich flags like his own. Half the stores were boarded shut. Restless, hungry children peered from behind their mothers when they saw the car.

The sun was about to set, casting shadows over the city streets. Karl had found a way to capture that in his newest painting, but the angles didn’t look quite right. Once he returned home, he could finally try and fix it. In Theresienstadt, he’d started a new one of the ghetto, but the entire thing was in shadow at dusk from the higher view of the headquarters’ window.

“Are you sure you can give me a ride home?” his wife asked from beside him. “I can always have Gudrun’s son drive me, since he lives right across the — "

“How many times,” Karl said, feeling his temper flare, “do I have to tell you that yes, I will drive you? I will be here at ten o’clock sharp, just like I’ve told you.”

“Alright, then,” she said. “I don’t want to prevent you from drinking and having fun is all.”

He didn’t answer, backing the car into a space in front of the Brunner house. Alois Brunner was not there — he’d also been invited to the gathering at the Czernín Palace. Brunner’s wife was hosting her own gathering for the wives, distracting them from fretting over their husbands.

Iolanthe waited patiently for Karl to open the door for her and extend a hand. She placed her own delicate one in his as she climbed out of the car. He went to pull his away, but she held tight.

“I’m glad you’re home, Karl,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I’ve missed you.”

She didn’t want him annoyed with her, he knew. She didn’t want to hear later how she shouldn’t be gossiping or drinking too much or leaving Henioche home alone. He raised her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and released it. “Ten o’clock. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He didn't plan on telling her not to gossip or drink — it didn’t matter anymore — or not to leave Henioche alone. Henioche wouldn’t be home alone because Karl was going back home, not to the Czernín Palace.

Perhaps he should’ve gone. It probably would’ve looked better if he did. But that didn’t matter anymore, either. Eichmann and the Günther brothers wouldn’t be present, and the rest weren’t nearly as important. And so the next house Karl parked in front of was his own.

Inside the house, all was quiet. No one was expecting him. Good, now he could finally paint. He went upstairs to change out of his uniform, caught sight of his daughter’s open door, and paused.

The light was off. He peered in, expecting to see her bundled up on the bed. But it was still made, the room empty.

Karl let out a sigh. The less he was around Henioche, the better. He’d f*cked up completely before he left for Theresienstadt, but since then he’d done well pushing her out of his mind and keeping his distance from her on the weekends he returned home. But if she’d snuck out…

His fists tightened as he marched back downstairs. This little girl was giving him nothing but problems lately. How many times was he going to have to set her straight?

He burst into the kitchen, where Maria was picking at a plate on her little table by the window and reading the newspaper. When she saw Karl, her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet.

“Good evening, Herr Rahm,” she said, plastering on a smile. “Would you like something to eat? I’ve given your daughter her supper already but I might have some — "

Karl held up a hand and shook his head. “Where is she?”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “She is not in her bedroom? Perhaps she’s in the bath? I can assure you she’s still in the house, mein Herr. I heard her go upstairs.”

“She must be up there, then.” He’d checked her bedroom, washroom, and anywhere else she could’ve been upstairs. The only places he didn’t check were the ones she was forbidden to enter — his study and his painting studio. He could see no reason why she would go in either of them…except maybe because they were forbidden to her and, as he was quickly learning the hard way, nothing seemed to give the little bitch more joy than breaking rules.

Sure enough, the knob of his study door turned in his hand without the key. He threw open the door, stepped in, and slammed the door behind him, scanning the room for her. She was hiding under the desk, the stupid little thing, like he wouldn’t catch her.

“Get up,” he ordered.

She didn’t move. His temper, which had been teetering on the edge continuously lately, flew out from beneath him. He stomped over to the desk, grabbed a fistful of soft hair, and yanked her out from underneath. She was whimpering, which satisfied and incensed him all the same.

“Get up, I said,” he snapped in her face. “What are you doing in here?”

“I - I, I’m, I was, um — "

He cut off her stammering with a hard slap across her face. Her yelp gave him power, more urge to rip her apart. “Over here.”

She knew what was coming. He sat down on the armchair and patted his knee. While she draped herself over his lap, he realized he’d forgotten today’s newspaper in the car. He’d only read half of it this morning, and now he had to punish his daughter. No newspaper, no painting. He yanked up her skirt and tore off her panties.

“Ow,” she mumbled into his hand.

“You think this hurts,” Karl chuckled, “You’re in for a hard time again, silly little girl. Now, tell me what you were doing in here. Looking through my desk, yes?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. He felt her tense up, expecting a spank, but he continued resting his hand on her thigh, enjoying the feel of her warm, plump skin.

“And why were you doing this when you know you’re not allowed in here?”

No response. He raised his hand and brought it swiftly against her ass. Everything about it brought him pleasure: her little yelp, the skin against his palm, the bright red marks it left. Iolanthe had questioned him once if a teenager was too old for this type of discipline, but in Karl’s opinion, no woman was too old for a good, old-fashioned spanking when she stepped out of place.

“Answer me, Henioche.”

Again, no response. He clicked his tongue, about to raise his hand again, but then she blurted in one mess of words, “I heard the end of the war was coming and I wanted to see for myself if it was true.”

Karl scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Dumb girl, could you possibly find in here that the news wouldn’t tell you?”

“Greta Weinmann says the SS knows what will happen before the newspaper prints it.”

He couldn’t argue that. “So you decided to take it upon yourself to search my office to see if you could find classified documents not meant for the public to know about yet? What makes you think you’re so important that you should know this information, Henioche?”

Of course she didn’t have an answer for that one. He gave her another swift spank, just for the hell of it since he’d changed his mind. “On your knees in front of me.”

She crashed to the floor in her haste to obey. He nudged her with his boot to get her going, watching her struggle to prop herself on her knees.

He waved a hand, beckoning her closer. “Right here between my knees, that’s it.” His co*ck was straining against his trousers, very obvious and close to her face, but he didn’t care. She was under his complete control, right where she belonged.

Curling a hand under her chin, he lifted her head to look into her wide hazel eyes. Filled with fear and apprehension, the way he liked them best. Well, almost — the tears were missing, but they would come soon.

“You are lying to me,” he said quietly. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her chest moving just a bit faster, confirming his statement. No one could successfully lie in an interrogation from Karl, not even his wily little bitch of a daughter. “Tell me what you were looking for.”

Her eyes lowered to the floor. He let go of her chin and folded his hands between his legs. She swallowed hard before speaking. “I was, um, I wanted — I still want to. I want to know about the camp. Your camp.”

“My camp,” he stated.

“The one you run now,” she added, glancing up at him.

“It is a labor camp, as I’ve told you and your mother,” he said. “What else do you need to know about it?”

“Well, nothing, I guess,” she admitted. “But I wonder what happens to the people who are sent to it?” Another glance up, her eyes still filled with fear, but now something else was there, too. She kept looking down before he could decipher it. “Not the SS, I mean. The prisoners.”

“I’m sure you have been told this already,” Karl said, humoring her, “but since you apparently want to hear it from me, these prisoners are used for strengthening the Reich. If they can’t do that, they are sent to the East and taken care of there.”

“But…how?” Her cheeks flushed; she knew she was pushing him too far. If it was anyone else, he’d admire the audacity, but his daughter had to learn her place.

“Look at me, Henioche.”

When she raised her eyes to his, he continued, “Listen to me very carefully. I know that you are a curious girl. But what you need to understand is that these are not the things to be curious about. You should be worrying about how best to serve your superiors. Do you know who your superiors are, Henioche?”

“You and Mother,” she said quietly, breaking eye contact for half a second. “And my instructors.”

“That is partially correct,” he told her. “Above all, you serve and obey me. That is clear, yes?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. And so I expect you to obey me when I tell you to stay the hell out of my study, and to keep your little nose out of my affairs and those of the Reich. Do you know how to best serve the Reich?”

“By being good at school and in the League?” she asked.

“That is partially correct,” he repeated, enjoying the slight disappointment on her face when she said something wrong. “In the bigger picture, the women serve the men of the Reich. And how you can do that is sitting quietly and giving him what he needs. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good, and do you know what I need from you, Henioche?”

“I, um…” Her eyes strayed to the side and her hands clutched her skirt. “I need to keep my nose out of your affairs and stay out of the study.”

“Good girl,” he said, watching her visibly relax. She thought it was over, stupid thing. “Now — take off your clothes and stand in front of the desk.”

He couldn’t help but smirk as her eyes widened again. She should’ve known better. Slowly, she stripped down to just her knee socks and stood where he’d told her to. Right in front of the open window, so her pale skin was covered in goosebumps. At least she knew not to hug herself against the cold.

Karl turned in his chair to inspect her. She’d grown a bit, not taller and not wider but curvier, more like a woman. Her hips and thighs were full, her breasts round, her face narrower. How was it possible that she’d gotten even more beautiful in only a few weeks or so after turning fifteen?

“On your knees,” he told her, ignoring his co*ck stiffening again. “Back straight with your hands behind your head.”

It took effort not to reach down and tug on her stiff nipples and watch her tit* bounce and hear her little whimpers. Instead, he stood up and pointed down at her face. “I am going to pick up your mother. You will stay right here, just like that, until I say you can move. Is that clear, Henioche?”

“Yes, Father.”

There was a reason he installed the lock on the outside: of course to keep everyone out when he wasn’t in there, since no one dared bother him when he was. But also to keep things in — his things, like papers from the Central Bureau, which were now in a warehouse in the ghetto. Or notes about propaganda films. Or his disobedient daughter when she was due to learn a lesson.

At ten o’clock sharp, he was parked in front of Brunner’s house, waiting for Iolanthe. Of course she wasn’t there, not that he was expecting her. She was another one who apparently wore her watch only for decoration. Five minutes passed, then ten… Karl tapped on the steering wheel, impatient.

Eighteen minutes later, he saw her dark-haired head under the streetlight, accompanied by another woman. He got out of the car and held the passenger side door open before she even approached.

“Well, there’s Karl,” he heard her say. “It was lovely to see you again, Trudi! Wishing you all the best with your girls…”

When she was close enough, Karl gripped her arm and all but shoved her in the car. “For God’s sake, Iolanthe, it’s twenty minutes past,” he said as he pulled back onto the street. “Why do neither of you listen to me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late,” she said, placing a hand on his. “I was caught up talking to Gertrude Huber.”

A few minutes of silence, during which Karl was planning what to do with Henioche, and then Iolanthe asked, “How was your party?”

“I didn’t attend. A good thing, because when I came back home, I found our dear daughter snooping through my study.”

“Oh, my,” said Iolanthe, and he could tell she was pretending to care a lot more than she did. “Was the door not locked?”

“That’s not the point,” Karl snapped. “She knows — or she should know — not to go in there and yet she did anyway. She is deliberately disobeying, and thanks to your subpar parenting, I have to spend my weekend off getting her under control.”

Chagrined, Iolanthe stared at the window with her hands folded in her lap. He assumed she would stay like that — she, too, knew better — but when he parked in front of their house, she spoke again.

“Gertrude Huber is sending her daughter to a maternity home in Munich.”

Karl didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. It sounded like women’s gossip to him, but he had the feeling she was leading up to something. Sure enough, she continued, “I thought the girl was pregnant already, but she will go there to get pregnant. They’ll teach her how to be a mother. Some of them even find husbands, good German men.”

“Iolanthe,” he said, turning to look at her. She glanced at him, and even in the streetlight, he could see her eyes lit up. “What is it you’re really trying to tell me?”

“Well…Henioche has been acting up lately, hasn’t she? And she’s a bit young, yes, but it’s only a matter of a couple of years before she becomes a wife and mother. Perhaps we can — "

“Absolutely not.” Karl’s fists were tightening up again. He yanked the key out of the ignition and left the car before this ridiculous conversation could continue. But when he helped her out of the car, she wouldn’t stop prattling on about it.

“I’m just asking you to consider it, Karl. It would solve almost all of our problems. She needs something to occupy herself, she’s too privileged and idle…”

“You’re one to talk,” he said, which shut her right up. “It’s not happening, Iolanthe. The discussion is over and I don’t want to hear about this stupid sh*t again, understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He unlocked the door and guided her — but it came out more like a push — into the foyer. “She will be in the study for the weekend,” he told her, “so best leave us alone.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he went upstairs and unlocked his study to find Henioche in the same position he’d left her in. Only her eyes moved to glance out the side at him before snapping forward.

Based on her slightly wobbly arms, chances were high that she did, in fact, do what she was told for once. No, there had to be a caveat. Sure enough, when he glanced around the room, he spotted it: the closed window.

Despite the rage running through him, he managed to walk slowly over and stand in front of her. “Why is the window closed?” he demanded.

Her expression didn’t change — she knew he’d notice and did it anyway. That something-else was back in her eyes, which he now recognized as determination. This made him even more furious than the closed window. “Answer me, Henioche.”

“I was cold,” she said to her knees.

“You were supposed to be cold, stupid girl. Can you go a single hour without disobeying me, bitch?”

This was supposed to be where she hurriedly said no, I’m sorry like she’d seen her mother do countless times. But perhaps Karl was the idiot for assuming she had anything in her pretty head besides empty space.

“Answer me.” He swung his foot out and caught her rib with the toe of his boot like he’d done to many a rat in the ghetto. When she yelped and doubled over, he slapped her, sending her to the floor.

“No!” she bawled. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again!”

He didn’t bother to respond; she’d proven herself a liar anyway. Leaving her crumpled on the floor, he poked his head out of the study and surveyed the second floor. Iolanthe had listened, shutting herself up in the bedroom, out of his way.

“Maria,” he called down the stairs. “I’ll have that drink now.”

“Of course, Herr Rahm,” Maria called back from what sounded like the parlor.

Back inside the study, he snapped his fingers at Henioche and pointed next to his chair. “You sit right here.”

“Yes, Father.”

He watched her hoist herself upon her hands and knees and crawl over, her bare ass in the air. As he opened the window, a knock came to the door. “Your drink, Herr Rahm,” came Maria’s muffled voice through the door.

She was apparently expecting him to have her come in and set it upon the table like usual, for she recoiled when he opened the door, catching herself in the next second.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the bottle of whiskey and glass from her. “That will be all tonight.”

Now, with whiskey, the newspaper, and his daughter appropriately disciplined, Karl could finally relax. Not that the news was relaxing these days, constantly talking about the end of the war and the losses of the Reich. Really, he should’ve been painting, turning his mind off, but of course his daughter had to ruin it for him.

Her stomach growled — served her right for running to here to stick her face where it didn’t belong rather than eat her supper. Against his leg, he felt her shift slightly on her knees.

“Not very comfortable, is it?” he asked when he’d finished reading. By now, the growls were continuous, long and mournful like a dying tiger. “Lessons learned the hard way rarely are. Let’s see how far we are. Where is your place, Henioche?”

“Under you,” she said robotically.

“Yes, but do you know why?”

She took a deep breath and swallowed before answering. “Because I’m a girl and you’re a man.”

Karl set down the newspaper. “Not quite. Look at me.”

No determination in her eyes now. She kept them on his stomach, clutching her thighs. Around her right eye, the reddish-purple of a bruise from his slap was starting to form. This pleased him, along with her stiff nipples and goosebumps all over.

“It is because,” he said, “as I’ve told you before, I own you, Henioche. And when you’re owned by a man, you sit at his side, quiet and docile like you are now. You see, women aren’t useful for much else. They think they are…” He was thinking about the bitch secretary at the SS headquarters in the ghetto. “But they are really not. Only to serve us.”

He leaned over to tug her plump bottom lip, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. “You’re lucky, you know, that I’m keeping you rather than sending you off to be selected by another SS man. And you’re also lucky that tonight, I’m only having you serve me by staying at my side. Easy, right?”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered.

“Good girl.” He smoothed her hair back from her temple, watching her eyelids sink closed. It was only temporary: He stood, refilled his glass of whiskey, and walked over to the door. She made to also get on her feet, but he held up a hand.

“You wanted to be in here so badly, Henioche, so now you will stay in here. If I find you in the morning with clothes on or that window closed, your punishment will be far worse than a few slaps and kneeling on the floor. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

She seemed to understand it, but with her, he realized he couldn’t always tell. An endless source of frustration she was, too much of a nuisance for a teenage girl. But now Karl had better things to do, so he locked her in and, whiskey in hand, climbed up the stairs to his painting studio.

Many times, he thought about painting her. Portrait artists would enjoy the process, making her the next Mona Lisa. His daughter had Renaissance features: smooth, pale skin, large eyes, full lips. He could paint her, perhaps easily, but his true strengths were in landscapes.

In the ghetto, he’d started painting a house next to sprawling plains, with sloping mountains on the horizon. It was created from a memory in the Salzkammergut, where his great aunt had lived and so his family had occasionally visited during the summers.

Here, he had a blank canvas and no more serene memories. There was the ghetto, which he’d obviously saved for painting in the ghetto. The last two paintings were of Prague and he didn't want to work on either of them now. The only other city Karl had been to was Amsterdam, but that was a brief stay and, in his opinion, not noteworthy.

Fine, he could try a portrait. He let out a breath, selected a pencil, and slid it ever so softly against the canvas.

Chapter 11: XI - Prague

Chapter Text

The next morning, after a good sleep, breakfast, and shower, Karl returned to the study to find his daughter curled up on the armchair he normally sat in, with her wool skirt draped over herself. It was freezing in the room from the still-open window.

He closed it and she jolted awake, nearly sliding off the chair. Something inside creaked as she sat upright, wincing. By her puffy, red eyes and pale cheeks, he could tell she hadn’t gotten the night’s sleep everyone else in the house had.

Feeling a smirk lift the corner of his mouth, he sat in the other chair and snapped his fingers. “Over here, at my side.”

As she crawled over — much slower than yesterday — he saw her glance hopefully at the table. Looking for food or water, no doubt. Maria had fried ham this morning, and the smell still lingered throughout the house, even in here where it was filled mostly with cold, fresh air.

She didn’t move while he read the newspaper. Her stomach didn’t growl. Her breathing was soft. Because of this, and the window open all night, he decided to reward her.

“You stay here,” he said, cupping her chin as he stood up. “Just like that, like a good girl.”

“Yes, Father.” Again she was whispering, but he suspected it was because her throat was dry.

Out in the hall, Karl had a quick, furious debate: Should he bother locking her in? She was weak from hunger and scared of him…but she wasn’t broken yet. He turned the key in the lock and headed downstairs.

He came back with a glass of lukewarm water and handed it to her. The pure joy on her face was both surprising and endearing; he’d thought she’d be disappointed it wasn’t food. She grasped the glass like it was a rope pulling her out of a cave and swallowed all of the water at once.

“Thirsty, I see,” he remarked, taking it from her and setting it on the table.

She wiped her mouth and nodded, looking up at him. Expecting something, apparently, but he turned away and left the room for his painting studio.

While he was up there, Maria was baking bread, whose smell soon replaced the ham and wafted as far as the studio. Henioche must be drooling, he thought as he went down to the dining room, smirking at the mental image.

He took a bit of the bread to the study, holding it loosely in his hand as he walked in. He kept his eyes on her, watching as her own lowered to his hand and lit up with undisguised need.

“Is my little toy hungry?” he asked, sitting back in the chair. She kept her head faced forward — perhaps she was learning discipline after all — but he could feel her self-restraint wearing thin.

“Yes, Daddy.” Her voice was raspy and weak.

“Turn around.”

She was cute when she was this pathetic, her eyes wide and begging. Her bottom lip trembled as he broke off a small piece of bread and held it out. She reached up, flinched at his tsk, and quickly dropped her hand.

“That’s it, good girl, you are learning,” Karl coaxed while she leaned in and closed her lips around the piece of bread. He’d purposefully ripped off a piece too small to take in her mouth without getting some of his fingers with it. As soon as he felt her soft lips against them, his co*ck stiffened in his trousers.

Her cheeks turned bright red at the contact; her eyes lowered to her knees. She was embarrassed, being so close.

“Don’t you want more?” he asked, breaking off another small piece.

He knew she wouldn’t say no. Sure enough, she leaned in again. It was hard not to imagine those soft lips around his hard co*ck, the feel of her hair in his fist as he bobbed her head and f*cked her throat. He managed to keep his fist at his side. This was a lesson, after all, for both of them. A lesson in obedience for her and restraint for him.

But he had to admit it was quite difficult when his desperate little toy was dragging her lips over his thumb, pulling the bread into her mouth. She glanced up, blushed even harder, and leaned back.

“All done?” he asked.

He knew she wanted more, that she was too shy and embarrassed to keep eating. Perhaps if Karl had more than a weekend to starve her properly, she wouldn’t be so shy. Unfortunately, he had to return to the ghetto before nightfall.

Tilting her chin up, he looked into her reddened hazel eyes. She sat perfectly still, on edge, waiting for his next move. His pretty little doll, pliant and ready for him. And Iolanthe wanted to send her away to get knocked up by another man. The thought of anyone else playing with his toy made his blood boil.

He set the bread down on the table. She looked from him to the bread back to him. “Daddy…could you let me use the washroom?”

Karl shook his head. “Your punishment is not yet over.”

“But I’ve really got to go,” she said, her voice lifting in a whine at the end. She no longer bothered to hide how pathetic she was, tired and hungry and weak. Soon she would break.

“That’s unfortunate,” he replied, walking over to the window and pushing it open. “Perhaps you will learn that actions have consequences, hmm?”

“I’ve learned, Daddy,” she protested unwisely. “Please, I swear I won’t come in here anymore ever again. I know it was bad to look through your things. I just wanted to know about the camp…”

“You know what I think you’ve learned?” He sat upon the chair, gripped his knees, and leaned in, his face close to hers. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “You’ve learned how to be a spoiled, manipulative little bitch, even worse than your mother. You think you can blink your pretty eyes up at me and I’ll give you whatever you want?”

“No, I know you won’t — "

“Shut up,” he hissed, giving her mouth a cross between a tap and a smack. “I know what you really are, Henioche. You can’t tell me otherwise. Now keep your mouth shut and go kneel by the window with your hands on your head.”

When she was in position, he took up his newspaper and managed to read for a few minutes, until a knock came to the door.

“What is it?”

“Time for supper, Herr Rahm,” Maria called through the door.

“Yes, coming.” He set his newspaper down on the table, reached for the bread, and thought better of it. Here was the girl’s chance to prove she was disciplined or not. Without a word, he left the study, locking the door behind him.

“Karl,” Iolanthe said at the dining table once Maria had retreated to the kitchen. By her tone and shifting eyes, he knew already he was not going to like what came out of her mouth. “Do you…do you think Henioche’s had enough? Perhaps she should at least eat something?”

“Iolanthe, I don’t want to spend my last couple of hours at home fighting,” he said before taking a sip of whiskey. “As I’ve said before, you’ve had your chance. You’ve failed, now it’s my job to fix your mistakes. So I suggest you let me handle it, is that clear?”

“Yes, darling,” she said, keeping her eyes on her plate.

No one spoke for the rest of the meal. Karl knew what Iolanthe’s problem was: She wanted everyone to sit and eat together so she could pretend to have the perfect family. Without Henioche, it was harder to convince herself, although Iolanthe was fantastic at playing dumb and delusional.

He left her there and returned to the study. Maybe he could let her out to eat, he thought as he unlocked the door. Inside, she was in position for him, kneeling in the cold air.

Just as he was about to beckon her over and tell her to dress up, he noticed the table, clear except for the newspaper and a smattering of crumbs. He closed the door and stormed over to her. She glanced up, guilt written all over her face.

“You ate it, didn’t you?”

Her only redemption was that she didn’t deny it. Her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip wobbled. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You couldn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You knew you were not supposed to do it, and yet you did. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Instead of the I’m sorry like he was expecting, she spoke one single word, in a strong, clear voice: “Nothing.”

Karl raised his eyebrows, staring down at her. She stared back with a glint of defiance in her eyes. “Are you sure about that, Henioche?”

“Yes.” She was looking at his knees now, still with that defiant tone. His temper, what little he had of it, left the building again as his foot swung out and kicked her in the stomach.

She cried out, doubling over. “Sit upright,” he snapped, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head up. Another kick, another cry, but yet she was merely breathing heavily.

He took her face in his hands and bent down to look into it — he wanted her to hear these words, to etch them in her mind and believe them forever. “It’s funny you say nothing,” he said quietly, mashing her lips together with her cheeks. “When that’s exactly what you are. Nothing but a worthless, stupid little toy to be used and thrown aside. That’s all you’ll ever be, Henioche. Nothing else.”

His palms were slick with her tears. Her tit* bounced as her chest heaved with sobs. And, something else, something unexpected: the scent of piss in the air, the puddle between her thighs.

Karl was no stranger to this, having seen it during a few interrogations. If grown men pissed themselves, surely it wasn’t hard for a fifteen-year-old girl. And yet it was a surprise so unexpectedly satisfying, seeing her sitting in her own filth.

He stood up and looked down at her, wrinkling his nose. “What a mess you’ve made, pathetic little thing. I should make you lap it up like the filthy pig you are.”

“No, please!” she bawled, sinking her face into her hands and letting loose the sobs. “Please, Daddy, it was an accident, I swear!”

“Look at me, Henioche, and tell me what you are.”

It took her a few minutes to get a hold of herself. What a pretty sight, smeared with tears and spit, with a stricken look in her reddened eyes.

“Worthless — "

“I am a…” he prompted.

“I am a - a worthless, dumb toy.” She hugged herself and leaned over as if trying to protect herself from him.

“And what else are you?”

Blank, stupid staring until she worked it out. “Nothing else.”

“Well, not entirely useless.” He bent down to stroke her hair, melting her in a puddle at his feet. “Good girl. Get your clothes on and come back with a bucket and rag to clean up.”

She stood, trying her best to keep her knees together. Even more amusing was her wobbly walking to the pile of clothes. With trembling hands, she pulled them on as fast as possible. As she buttoned her blouse, she eyed the puddle on the floor, her nose turned up in disdain.

“It’s your mess,” Karl told her from the armchair. “What, did you think I’d have Maria come here to clean up after you? Spoiled little princess is too good to be on her hands and knees? Perhaps I should make you clean the whole floor.”

She nearly ran out of the study, closing the door behind her, and he briefly wondered if she’d come back. She wasn’t that stupid, was she? The real problem was that Karl had to get going — the sun was starting to sink behind the buildings.

But no, she returned a few minutes later, still dressed in her piss-soaked clothes, bucket with soapy water in hand. Kneeling back on the floor near the puddle, she reached into the bucket for a rag, wrung it out, and started to wipe the floor.

Karl watched her, amused. He always enjoyed the sight of Henioche on her hands and knees, sniffling with messy hair and puffy eyes and lips, but the cleaning added something extra. Another way of serving him. The only things missing to make this moment better were whiskey and a cigar, but he couldn’t relax yet.

When she’d wiped up the puddle, she sat back on her feet and looked over at him. “Do you, um, would you like me to clean the whole floor, Father?”

“Ah, you are learning,” he said, granting her a brief grin. “And no, you are finished. Take that out of here, have a bath, and go eat.”

“Yes, Father, thank you.” Clearly relieved, she took the bucket and walked, less wobbly now, as fast as her legs could carry her without splashing water out.

No time to work on the painting, but at least it was worth it teaching Henioche to behave. One day she would be at his side, his docile doll. Now he had the ghetto to worry about. Iolanthe stayed in the parlor, out of the way while he gathered his things and packed them in the car.

“I’m leaving,” he called to Iolanthe, adjusting the jacket of his uniform in the mirror in the foyer.

“I’m coming, darling,” she said. Her footsteps from the parlor were light and cheery, the smile on her face the first genuine one he’d seen this weekend. Once upon a time, he would’ve cared, but now he was more concerned with the one sitting in the kitchen.

Iolanthe followed his gaze down the hall. “Henioche! Come say goodbye to your father.”

She appeared a second later, still pale-faced and puffy-eyed. Under her brow and above her cheek, the blue-purple of a bruise was blooming from when he’d struck her. A beautiful, damaged doll.

Iolanthe gave Karl a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, darling. I hope you’ll come back soon?”

“We’ll see,” he said. “I’ve got a big project starting.” All this weekend, he’d managed not to think about the beautification. It was scary — albeit pleasant at the same time — how easy Theresienstadt faded away when he was home.

“Goodbye, Father,” Henioche said quietly.

“Behave, won’t you?” He gave her the briefest glance before opening the front door and stepping out. Holding it open with his foot, he patted all of his pockets for the car keys. He remembered taking them from his desk, so they had to be…in the back pocket for some reason.

He looked back to see that Iolanthe was gone, no doubt back in the parlor, but Henioche was still standing in the foyer, watching him. Her wide, bright eyes were the last thing he saw before the door swung closed.

On the road, away from Prague, Karl couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her, remembering her sitting quietly at his feet. He almost wished she were here by his side, quietly looking out the window with her hands folded like she always did in the car. But that was an idealized version of his daughter, one who knew her place.

Chapter 12: XII - Prague

Chapter Text

“It’s called Theresienstadt,” Heni said, swinging her legs back and forth. This was shaking the table, but Jiří didn’t seem to mind.

“What is?” he asked, frowning down at the innards of an alarm clock.

“The camp,” Heni said. “The one where they take the enemies of the Reich from Prague.”

Jiří glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You found this in your father’s desk?”

She shook her head. “This girl in my class — I guess you could call her my friend, but she’s not terribly nice and she surely doesn’t care for me. Her father is the Police Leader. She overheard him talk about it.”

This was likely the truth, but Heni was omitting the part of the story that she actually knew: Greta had accosted her in gymnastics, interrupting her and Himmel’s conversation.

“My father says the Red Cross is coming to Theresienstadt,” she said with no preamble.

“Rather rude of you to interrupt,” said Himmel, whose patience with Greta was waning by the day. “Considering neither of us know what Theresienstadt even is.”

“It’s the camp her father runs.” Greta nodded to Heni. “He’s got to show it to the Red Cross, my dad says, to give them a tour of it.”

They both looked at Heni expectantly, waiting for her to add something, but she didn’t have a damn thing. Theresienstadt. Not for the first time, pure jealousy toward Greta bloomed within her. She knew everything important, while Heni never got an inkling from her own father about anything.

Now, sitting on top of Jiří’s workbench, she swallowed down this same bitter feeling.

“And so what happens in Theresienstadt?” he asked. “Interrogations?”

“Hmm, I guess,” she said, thinking hard. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least to learn that Karl was interrogating people in the camp. It was certainly his strong suit. “My friend mentioned something about the Red Cross visiting. So he — they’ve got to give them a tour.”

It was a long time before Jiří spoke, worrying her. “I could probably find out more,” she said. “From this girl.”

She doubted it, since Greta suspected the tidbits of information were like gems to Heni, but she wanted Jiří to say something. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t have to sneak into your father’s study,” he said at last.

“Hmm,” was all Heni could say, looking away. Every time she thought about the weekend in Karl’s study, her hands shook and her eyes welled up with tears. She didn’t know why; it was certainly not the worst beating she’d gotten. But now — along with every other time it randomly popped up in her mind — was not the time to figure it out.

Now it was Jiří who was watching her concernedly, waiting for her to speak. She took a deep breath, grinned, and pointed to the alarm clock. “How will its owner wake up in the morning?”

He grinned back, instantly calming her down. “He says his mother has to wake him. But she normally doesn’t rise by that time, so he’s been plenty late these past few days.”

“Oh, you’d better hurry up and fix it,” Heni giggled.

“That was the plan,” Jiří replied, smirking. “And then you came along.”

“Well, don’t let me distract you…”

She was about to sink into her own thoughts when Jiří set down his tiny screwdriver and stood up. “There is no way you’re not distracting me,” he teased, poking her in the waist and making her squeal with delight. “But I don’t care, I’d rather have you around distracting me than be without you at all.”

He tugged on her hands until they were standing face-to-face. She closed her eyes just as his lips touched hers and his hand snaked around her waist.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her hair, wrapping her arms around her. Instantly, she buried her face into his chest, inhaling deeply. She didn’t respond, but she hoped her tight hold on him told him how much she missed him, too.

When they broke apart, Heni swallowed hard before speaking. “I, um…I was thinking about the last time we saw each other, and how much I enjoyed it. All of it.”

He took her hand, and she continued recklessly, “And I’d like to try it again. I mean, if you want to, of course.”

She had to admit, it was satisfying to see his blue-green eyes light up, even when they filled with apprehension a moment later. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” As if to prove it, she tugged on his hand, taking a step toward the front of the shop.

He took one too, but then he took her arm and spun her back around to face him. “Alright, but remember, Heni, we’re not doing anything you don’t want to do. We can stop whenever you want and I won’t be mad. Got it?”

“Got it.” Her chest welled with fondness so strong, she wondered if she was experiencing love for the first time. What was love anyway, she wondered as she watched Jiří lock up the shop. She knew she loved everything about him: The way his eyes held hers. The dark blonde lock of hair over his forehead. The brow he furrowed in concentration. The way she felt safe and warm near him. What was love, aside from that? It couldn’t be much more…

Once they were upstairs in his warm, dark flat, he seized her from behind, pinned her against the door, and kissed her hard. Heni found this unexpected roughness a turn-on, pressing her aching pelvis into his.

His hands ran up her hips and torso, landing on her breasts. She helped him unbutton her blouse, but when he reached behind her to unclasp her bra, she gently pushed him away.

“Wait…can we go in there?” She gestured to his bedroom. The main room, with its unnatural emptiness and dusty furniture, wasn’t quite the place she had in mind.

“Of course.” With his warm hand on her bare back, he guided her into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. As a silent reward, Heni let her bra fall from her shoulders.

He pounced, grabbing her breasts and forcing her backward onto the bed. She let him mouth her soft skin, wrapping her legs around his waist. However, when she felt his hand traveling up her thigh, she stopped him.

“I want you to keep going,” she said when he withdrew. “But first I have to tell you something. I don’t know why it has to be now, but it does.”

He stood up and narrowed his eyes, reminding her the tiniest bit of Karl. This was not remotely encouraging, but Heni continued anyway. “I, um, I love you, Jiří.”

He blinked, simply dumbfounded, and then he burst out laughing. As much as she liked how his eyes crinkled at the corners, she was hurt: She’d just given him her heart and this was his reaction?

She crossed her arms over her bare chest, pouting. Jiří pulled himself together, caught sight of the look on her face, and reached for her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, catching his breath. “I just…I thought you were going to say you were a spy or something! I’m more relieved than anything else.”

He pulled her arms away from her chest and kissed her forehead. Heni felt herself deflating, giving him a grin. It was funny, now that he explained it. “Definitely not a spy,” she assured him.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

Though she was still grinning, she was a little sore about him not saying it back. She’d already been expecting him to say it first. Clearly he didn’t feel the same way…

But when they were lying down, with him leaning over her, he brushed her hair behind her ear and whispered, “I love you too, Heni.”

“Really?” Her heart soared into the darkening sky. “Does that mean we’ll be together after the war?”

“I would love to,” he replied, idly twisting a strand of her hair between the pads of his forefinger and thumb. “But I have the feeling your parents still wouldn’t approve.”

“I don’t care, we’ll run away,” Heni declared, pulling him down to kiss him. She was done talking about her parents or about anything at all. Her lower lips were throbbing, ready for them to act upon their love for each other.

She expected him to reach under her skirt again, but instead he toyed with her nipples, lightly tugging them like he’d done with her hair. All the while, his hot breath tickled her cheek, warming her all over. “Moja láska, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed into her ear before gripping her by the waist and overtaking her mouth with his.

Then the hand was back up her skirt, slipping into the crotch of her panties and sinking into soft, pulsing skin. She opened her legs wider, allowing him to rub her labia with his knuckles.

“Let’s take this off,” Jiří said as if giving a suggestion even though her panties were around her knees before he even finished speaking. Next was her skirt, until Heni stopped him yet again.

“Can I leave it on?”

She hated stopping him, denying him again. But the thought of being completely naked in front of him hardened her stomach with dread. Somehow, it would take her back to the study with Karl and ruin it all over again.

Fortunately, Jiří kept going without speaking, flipping up her skirt and kneeling down in front of her. Her legs closed the tiniest bit; shyness was starting to creep in. And then he was pushing them back open, wider and up like last time, his breath against her hot flesh…

Then something else against it, more solid than his breath but still soft — his mouth and then his tongue sliding against her lower lips.

“Oh,” she cried, consumed by the sudden pleasure. Tingles reached down to her toes, curling them in and her hands around the blanket. Over and over he licked, making her shake and whimper and drive the side of her cheek into the bed.

“Do you like that, baby?” His breath soaked into her wet folds, clenching her inner walls. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, please.” She slipped her hands under her thighs to hold her legs out of the way, giving him clear access.

He took this as a sign to continue, this time pulling her whole labia into his mouth, then releasing. Pulling, then releasing, nibbling on the inner lips every so often. Heni was aware of his hair against her palm bearing down on his head, her other hand clasping his.

“Oh, it feels so good,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, Jiří, I love it, please don’t stop — oh!”

Her eyes flew open and she let out an ungraceful squeak. Something was filling her, the same something as the time on her bed when Karl had visited her room after his promotion party. Jiří’s fingers, not Karl’s, sliding into her while his mouth continued to rove over her folds.

Heni was gasping now, rocking her hips. He was hitting that spot nestled deep within her, building the pleasure until she felt she would burst. Her cries grew louder, her inner walls tightened, her fists clenched —

A loud CRASH from somewhere below cut through the chimes in her ears. Cold air, the absence of his mouth on her, more crashing, the floor shaking.

She sat up, exchanging looks of horror with Jiří as she registered what was happening. Someone had broken into the shop — multiple someones from their loud, harried voices. German-speaking someones.

Her knees hit the floor as she groped for her clothing. They stumbled about, redressing as fast as possible as the horrible sound of footsteps thundered up the stairs. Heni managed to get her blouse halfway buttoned before the door to the bedroom was thrown open and a black-uniformed man burst in.

“Hands up!” he barked, pointing his gun at Jiří, who immediately complied.

Stupidly, Heni raised her hands, too. Her mind was racing with nonsensical half-thoughts: They’re taking him — he’ll really think I’m a spy — perhaps I could convince them —

“Czech fool,” he sneered. “I hope she was a good lay because that’s the last one you’ll probably ever have.”

Keeping the gun aimed at Jiří, the SS man’s head swung toward Heni. “And you, fair Henioche, debasing yourself for an enemy of the Reich. So young and so stupid.”

Bewilderment joined the torrent of fear and dread churning in her stomach. He knew who she was, which meant he knew her father, which meant he would most certainly tell her father —

“She’s in here, Herr Hauptscharführer!” he called through the door. “Doing exactly what we predicted with the untermensch.”

New footsteps, which for an absurd moment Heni thought belonged to Karl, even though Karl’s new rank was Obersturmführer, and he didn’t clomp around like his boots were made of lead like this person. Another SS man appeared in the doorway.

“Well, well, well,” he said snidely, grinning as he took in the scene. “If it isn’t Fräulein Rahm. I must say, I did expect better of you.”

He was awfully familiar, but Heni couldn’t recall where she’d seen that face before — it had not been under an SS cap. He was looking at Jiří now, wrinkling his nose. “This is Pokorny? This is just a boy.”

“Well, his father just went into the noose, remember?” the other SS man told him.

Jiří’s mouth dropped open before he caught himself.

“Take him out of here,” said the familiar one.

The first SS man grabbed Jiří by the collar of his haphazardly-buttoned shirt and dragged him out of the room. He gave one wide-eyed glance back at Heni before he was shoved out of the flat.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she found herself saying. She realized her eyes were wet with tears.

“You’re worried about him?” the SS scoffed. “How disappointing you are, Fräulein Rahm. I must say, I expected better of you after our pleasant dance.”

Heni felt her own mouth drop open as she finally recognized him. Aschenbrenner, Karl’s colleague. She was beyond doomed.

“P-please, Herr Aschenbrenner,” she stammered. “Please don’t tell my father about this, please. He’ll kill me.”

“As he should,” Aschenbrenner snapped viciously. “You have disgraced even that communist head-trip.” Without warning, he grabbed Heni by the upper arm and yanked her out of the room. By the time she got her footing, they reached the stairs and she lost it again. His gloved fingertips dug into her upper arm.

“You know,” he sneered just as he was about to march her through the shattered glass, “I was going to give you time to fix your blouse, but then I decided you should look like the whor* you behave like.”

The outside air immediately seeped through her bare skin and cotton blouse. She tried to button it with one hand, failed, and held it closed over her chest. Her coat hung in the back of the workshop, damning evidence — as if the two SS men storming in when she was half-naked with Jiří wasn’t damning enough.

The other one must have gone, since only one empty car was double-parked in front of the shop. Aschenbrenner held open the passenger-side door and waved her in with his pistol. “Don’t try anything funny, little girl.”

“Please, Herr Aschenbrenner,” Heni tried again when the car pulled away from the curb. “Please, I’ll do anything, please don’t tell my father.” Her stomach lurched with every slam of the brakes and sharp turn. The lights of Prague whizzed past the car windows, dizzying her.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Are you offering yourself up to me, Fräulein? Sorry to say, you’re too young for me. Although I’m a great improvement from that Czech mongrel.”

Despite the fear, anger surged through her at the insult of Jiří, followed by sorrow. Wherever they would take him, they would hurt him, and it was all her fault. More tears sprang to her eyes, uncontrollable ones. She sank her face into her hands and wept, ignoring Aschenbrenner’s snorts of disgust.

Too quickly, the car stopped moving and he was pulling her out. She wiped her eyes, figuring it would best to be dignified in facing whatever dire consequence she was about to receive. The Gestapo headquarters loomed in front of them like a dark tower; she half-expected to see lightning and bats in the surrounding dark-purple skies.

By the time they walked in the building, numbness was starting to set in. She was still trembling, her teeth chattering, from cold and terror, but her mind was starting to quiet down. Perhaps it was protecting her, deluding her into a false sense of security. Either way, she wasn’t complaining.

“Is that Rahm’s daughter?” one of the Gestapo asked.

“Yes, can you imagine?” Aschenbrenner snickered, pushing Heni forward. “He just got promoted, too. Has he been notified?”

The Gestapo made a face as if someone had placed a plate of manure square upon the desk. “Yes, he’s on his way. Cell eight is free. Keep her in there while I try to get Weinmann on the phone.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse. Heni had no idea why, but the thought of Greta finding out what was happening was almost as bad as Karl. The Gestapo and the SS passing by all narrowed their eyes or glared openly at her in contempt, a stark difference from being held up high as a proper German girl her entire life prior.

Heni couldn’t ponder that too hard, preoccupied with the reaction of one SS, who was on his way to Prague from Theresienstadt. About an hour’s drive, she’d once heard him say, so she braced herself for the longest hour of her life.

The cell bench was cold and metal, like the bars surrounding her. There was a puddle of what looked and smelled like urine next to a metal toilet. It took all of her self-control not to curl into a ball and continue weeping. Where was Jiří? All the other cells seemed to be empty.

All was quiet except for the thump-thump-thump of her heart in her ears, something dripping in one of the cells, and Aschenbrenner talking quietly to someone just out of view.

“…always knew that family was no good,” he was saying. “First the communist brother and now the untermensch-loving daughter.”

Heni frowned, grateful to have something to latch onto that wasn’t her impending doom. Was he talking about the Rahm family? He must have, referencing her, but who was the communist brother?

“It’s not a vendetta,” he was saying. “I just think Herr Oberführer has passed on many who were more worthy of a promotion.”

The Gestapo must’ve told him to get lost, because his harsh sigh floated into the cell, followed by fading footsteps. Heni checked her watch — ten minutes had passed. Selfishly, she wished for something outlandish to happen that would prevent her father getting to her. An air-raid, a fire, a sinkhole, an uprising. This was a world war, after all.

But no, the Gestapo office enjoyed an evening of peace and quiet as the minutes ticked on. And Karl Rahm’s daughter could do nothing but feel those ticks of her watch, much slower than her heartbeat, and wait for his arrival.

Chapter 13: XIII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

All this work for the beautification and to Karl the ghetto looked the same. Yes, some buildings had fresh paint and there was a cafe now that no one had time to sit in. Still so much grey, so much misery.

“Don’t worry so much about it,” Möhs had told him. “The Red Cross is not going to look too hard here. And everything looks better on film with the right equipment.”

“It’s only early Spring, Herr Kommandant,” Murmelstein had told him. “Everything is still frozen. The sun will come out, the trees will grow leaves, and everything will look a little brighter.”

But all the sunshine in the world couldn’t disguise the old men sitting in the streets and the overflowing infirmary, the rotting stench of death everywhere. An ugly place to be made beautiful…but supposedly this ghetto was where it was even possible. The other camps had living skeletons and gas chambers — a cafe and some paint wouldn’t hide that. And so, Karl told himself, it could’ve been worse.

For example, he could’ve had to beautify the Small Fortress. The prisoners’ lifespans there were much shorter than in the ghetto. There were no cafes, no ration cards, no plays, no celebrations. Only prisoners in cells, waiting for death, or worse.

As Karl and his deputy, Baltrusch, were returning to the headquarters from the usual walkthrough of the ghetto, supervising the cleaning, painting, and building, an SS car pulled up next to them.

“Herr Kommandant,” called Wöstrel from the driver’s side window. “The last partisans are about to meet their end at the Small Fortress, if you know what I mean. Would you like to come along to watch?”

Karl glanced at Baltrusch, who shrugged and offered, “I’ll take the dog back if you want to go, Herr Kommandant.”

“What the hell,” said Karl, passing him the leash and adjusting his cap. “I spent enough time interrogating them, might as well see it through.”

They didn’t speak again until the black and white entrance of the Small Fortress came into view. “There were three of them, weren’t there?”

He was trying to recall their names and faces. Malloth, the commandant’s deputy, had invited Karl and his particularly sad*stic underlings, Haindl, for several interrogations since Karl had come to the ghetto. Haindl went almost every time, but Karl was too preoccupied with the ghetto. Thus, these three had been his only ones so far.

“Yes, three,” said Wöstrel, lifting a hand to the guard as he passed by. “I don’t remember their names, either, but one of them was the leader of the Prague section. The older one, remember? And he wasn’t even from Prague, and he had all these connections. Well, you know. Rats travel in packs.”

He parked the car on the side of the SS building, pulling a pair of leather gloves from the pocket of the door. “It’s cold as all hell out there.”

Karl, who’d been walking around outside all morning, was inclined to agree, although he didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like talking; fortunately, Wöstrel talked enough for the both of them on their way down to the gallows. Easy enough to tune out.

In the ghetto, the thin layer of snow was mostly gone, but here it still coated the ground, even the path they were on except for a winding sliver. Wöstrel’s boots were appropriate for the snow, but Karl’s weren’t, so he had to stick to this narrow path.

There was one hanging post, already with a small crowd around it. Beyond that, a small wooden wagon sat near the other side of the platform. Among the SS men, a sprinkling of bored or curious prisoners that were allowed out every so often. Malloth wasn’t present, which was surprising. The gallows were a favorite of his.

Their breaths clouded in front of them as they milled about, waiting. Karl was forced to talk with the other SS: “No, Haindl’s supervising the workshops today…yes, the Red Cross are coming…sometime in June, Günther said…preparing it, you know, fixing the buildings and the parks and all that…no, no time for women at all, let alone new ones…”

After over twenty minutes of this, the three prisoners were pushed through the gate, led by two SS by ropes tied around their waists. Behind them was Malloth, idly slapping a clipboard against his palm while he walked.

The prisoners were made to line up in front of the platform. The spectators gave them a wide berth, eyeing them with either a mixture of apprehension and curiosity or open contempt. They kept their heads inclined, shivering in their flimsy garments.

“Zdenek Dressler,” Malloth said, pointing to the first in line, a tall but willowy young man. Karl remembered how he pissed himself and cried for his mother during the interrogation, and that was after he gave the names of other partisans. Little wonder the weakling was up first.

One of the SS men cut him free while the other shepherded him onto the platform. The noose tightened around his neck, cutting off his prayer or whatever he was muttering in Czech. He was hoisted up, choking even more, and then the bench he stood on was kicked away. His neck snapped, dropping his head over his shoulder.

When he’d stopped thrashing, he was cut loose, his body crumpling to the floor. Two other prisoners, ones who’d been among the crowd, retrieved the body, hauled it off the platform, and dumped it in the wagon.

“Ondřej Vogel,” Malloth said.

This one, Karl remembered, had put up a fight. Only when he’d been covered in blood and weals from the hot poker did he give up a name — and it was a name the SS already had but a location they didn’t. Vogel closed his eyes and stood very still as the rope was looped around his neck. No prayers, no expression. Even in death, his body folded neatly in half on the platform.

“Antonín Pokorny.”

“This was the leader,” Wöstrel muttered in Karl’s ear. He didn’t have to: Karl remembered this prisoner vividly. He’d given up not a single name or location. They’d beaten, burned, mocked, and threw him out in the cold, and still nothing. This Pokorny never verbally confirmed that he was the ringleader of the Prague partisans, but he didn’t need to — his silence said enough.

And in the end, to no one’s surprise, the SS stamped out the rebellion anyway. Karl looked into Pokorny’s eyes and found blank blue-green staring back at him. Then the bench was kicked away and his eyes flicked up at the sky before he convulsed.

“Good riddance, eh?” Wöstrel nudged Karl, grinning.

The SS ordered the surrounding prisoners to haul the wagon to the center of the fortress. Karl gave a noncommittal hum and turned away from the scene. “Let’s go back to the ghetto.”

On their way back up to the truck, Malloth saddled up to them. “We’re starting an interrogation on that smuggler you sent to us, Buchler,” he said to Karl. “We could use you and Haindl to find out who he was consorting with outside. So far we know they’re in Litoměřice, but of course those Czechs aren’t saying sh*t.”

“When’s it happening?” Karl asked as they reached the truck. He definitely wanted to participate in this one, having interrogated Buchler in the basem*nt of his office and coming up with nothing.

“Tonight, maybe around eight — "

“Make it tomorrow night. I’ve got something to do tonight.”

Malloth and Wöstrel glanced at each other before staring at him. He could tell they wanted to ask what was so important, but they didn’t dare. But then Malloth gave him a sly grin and nudged him. “Got a girlfriend over there, eh? Haindl says some of the ones in your headquarters are dishes.”

Karl only returned his grin and shook his head before getting in the car. “His new secretary has it for him bad,” he heard Wöstrel tell Malloth.

“It’s the Kommandant title,” Malloth chuckled. “With power comes women who love power, and there are a great many of them. Just took at the Führer.”

“I heard he gets hundreds of love letters a day,” Wöstrel said. “He can get any lay he wants.”

“Johann,” Karl said impatiently, opening the car door. “Can we get moving? I’ve got things to do in the ghetto.”

As they drove past the center square, it was empty except for the three dead bodies. No one had bothered to cut the rope from their necks. A sign, probably made in advance but wasn’t there on the way in, was wedged in the ground next to Pokorny: THE DESTINY OF ALL PARTISANS OF THE PROTECTORATE.

With that taken care of, and the Buchler interrogation scheduled for tomorrow, Karl had to get a hold of his own affairs in the ghetto. Right now it looked like a rat hole. He himself had to do some wide-scale cleaning up. Keeping those Dutch Jews separate from the rest was taking up a lot more space and resources than the ghetto currently had.

Later that afternoon, when Murmelstein and Eppstein showed up in his office to hand in the daily reports, he told them, “We have too many sick people here. The Red Cross is going to ask why there are so many sick.”

Murmelstein, who was Deputy Elder of the Jewish Counsel, exchanged a look with Eppstein, who was the actual Elder, but Karl hated him so he directed his commands to the former.

“Herr Kommandant…” Murmelstein said slowly, choosing his words wisely. “There are so many sick people because the conditions of this camp don’t exactly…promote health.”

“Yes, well,” Karl said impatiently, “getting rid of the sick will improve the conditions of the camp. I will tell Prague to set up a transport — you two need to compile a list of the worst ones. Unless they’re prominents, then let them stay. The rest I want out of here by May.”

“How many?” Murmelstein asked.

“Depends on the size of the transport. I’m aiming for the biggest they can receive, so at least a couple thousand.”

At their apprehensive looks, he let out a sigh and shook his head. “You have at least a month to compile the list. Is it so hard?”

“No, Herr Kommandant,” said Murmelstein. He placed the daily report on Karl’s desk and walked out, Eppstein trailing mutely behind.

Karl glanced down at the paper, then out the window to the darkening sky. He had to call Möhs, and the considerate thing to do would be to place the call now, not too late in the evening. But he could have the secretary do it tomorrow morning.

Glancing over the daily report, he saw that not much had changed since yesterday. More dead, more sick, more put to work. Murmelstein had increased the workday to ten hours without Karl telling him to. He didn’t dispute it.

Next was the list of spies, almost all of them women. Some names were of actual collaborators, but some were simply by-products of drama, written by scornful and jealous hands. Murmelstein, in order to clear his name with the Jews, submitted his own name occasionally. Today was one such day. Karl crumpled up the paper and threw it in the fireplace.

Long after the sun had set, he locked up the office and headed to his suite on the top floor of the headquarters. Finally he could take off his cap and, when he got to the washroom, his whole uniform, and have a soak. He brushed his hair back as he turned the corner to the stairs and slammed into someone.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Herr Kommandant!” said his secretary, clutching her heart. It was the end of the day, and yet her lipstick was freshly applied, her dress crisp and new. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

“Not to worry, Fräulein,” Karl said, stepping around her. If he was in a worse mood, he might have pointed out that she shouldn’t be wandering around the building nowhere near her own bedroom. He knew she had purposely orchestrated this run-in, hoping to be invited up to his room. “Goodnight.”

“Oh, retiring early, Herr Kommandant?” The painted red lips formed a pout.

“Yes,” he said over his shoulder, already walking away. “And I suggest you do the same, as I’ll need you to place a call to Hauptsturmführer Möhs first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, Herr Kommandant,” came her dejected voice from behind him.

Karl let out a breath as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Who else was going to bother him now? The question was answered in the form of Haindl, appearing out of nowhere as Karl dug into his pocket for his keys.

“Herr Kommandant,” he said, clapping Karl on the back as if they were old pals. “Come join us in the lounge. We’ve got whiskey and a poker game going. And that cute thing is on to serve us tonight — I’ll bet I could make her dance.”

He gave an exaggerated wink, and Karl couldn’t help but grin even as he shook his head. “I’m staying by myself tonight, Rudi. Win a hand for once, won’t you?”

“Ha-ha,” Haindl replied sarcastically.

Finally, Karl found his keys and jammed them in the lock. Another flight of stairs, another locked door, and then he was inside his suite at last.

The bottle of whiskey from last night was still on the table in the seating area. The soak could wait. He poured himself a tall glass, sat upon the chair, and closed his eyes. The cap slid off his head onto his lap; the back of his skull sank into the leather. As the whiskey circulated through him, warming him, he began to relax. Finally, peace.

Knock knock knock.

Well, not true peace. He was still in Theresienstadt after all. He let out a breath and opened the door, expecting to see Haindl or Baltrusch. What he got was Möhs, in full uniform and a glum expression on his face.

“Interesting you are here, Herr Hauptsturmführer,” Karl said, placing his own cap back on. “I was going to call you tomorrow about setting up a transport. This camp is overcrowded.”

“Karl,” said Möhs, and by his tone, Karl knew something was terribly wrong. His first thoughts were war-related but absurd, such as the Soviets were approaching Theresienstadt, or that Prague had been bombed, or Hitler had been overthrown, or —

“Your daughter,” said Möhs. For the first time, he was looking at Karl with something akin to pity.

“What happened?” Karl demanded at once. “Is she alright?”

“She’s alright…” Möhs held his hands up as if Karl was gearing to throw a punch. “She’s at the Gestapo headquarters. I’ll take care of things here for tonight, you’d better go to her…”

Grabbing only his keys, Karl stormed down the stairs, Möhs on his heels. The lounge door opened and someone called to them, but Möhs’ last words were echoing in his head, drowning it out.

The Gestapo headquarters... Why the hell would his daughter be there? Absurdly still, he was picturing her caught in the store with her palm curled around a square of chocolate, her large eyes glistening with fear and guilt. And yet he already knew it was much more serious than that.

“Thank goodness my girl isn’t old enough to get herself into trouble,” he heard Möhs say to whomever had come out of the lounge. “Especially in these times.”

Chapter 14: XIV - Prague

Chapter Text

The cell was cold. A few Gestapo had passed by, glanced in to see Heni hugging herself against the chill, and continued walking. Though she was in the worst trouble of her life, she couldn’t help feeling stung by their dismissal. Never before had she been so ostracized.

Forty-three minutes after her arrival, an officer came and unlocked her cell. “Your father is here to take you home.”

She stepped out into the hall and was immediately seized by the officer. He must’ve sensed her abject dread, because he nearly dragged her down the hall. “Here you are, Herr Obersturmführer, safe and sound.”

The officer let go of her arm. She couldn’t make herself look at Karl, though she could feel his eyes burning holes into her. She stared at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her whole.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for any inconvenience this has caused. I will ensure this won’t happen again.”

Someone started to reply, but just then a blast of cold air filled the office as a familiar man rushed in. “Sorry, Karl, I meant to get here earlier, but I was at a family event and you know how they get when we’re called to action… ”

With a jolt of icy horror, Heni realized he was Greta’s father, dressed in plain clothes. “Rest assured,” he said, “I’ve notified Frank and that punk is being dealt with as we speak. You will have your opportunity as well.”

“That’s excellent, Herr Standartenführer,” said Karl in that same quiet voice. “Thank you for your assistance. I will take care of it from here. Please consider the matter resolved.”

“Of course.” Weinmann looked from Karl to Heni, shaking his head and grinning. “No greater battle than raising a teenage girl, am I right? I’m in the thick of it as well. But I have no doubt you’ll handle it accordingly, Karl — or should I now address you as Herr Kommandant?”

Karl didn’t return the grin. “Whatever you wish, Herr Standartenführer. Please excuse me, I must be going.”

He abruptly snatched Heni’s wrist, making her flinch, and marched her out of the headquarters. She braced herself for the blow, but he led her to the car, opened the door, and waited for her to climb in like he was picking her up from a League meeting.

On the way home, he still didn’t speak. The tension in the car coated her throat, preventing her from swallowing fully, and yet that’s all she could seem to do. She wondered what exactly Karl knew: the whole relationship, that they’d been caught in bed? If so, why was he being so calm?

The same situation when they arrived home: Her father opened the car door, helped her out, and led her inside without a word. When he did speak in the foyer, it was not to her but to her mother.

“Iolanthe,” he called, pushing open the door to the parlor. “Come take a look at your darling daughter now.”

The sound of the chair scraping against the wood came immediately after, but at least a minute passed before she appeared. The reason for the delay was instantly apparent; Heni couldn’t help but recoil when she saw her. Iolanthe hobbled rather than walked, and her smooth, delicate face was more purple and red than porcelain.

She stared at Heni through red-rimmed, slitted eyes, causing Heni’s own to fill with tears. She’d seen her mother beaten, had seen Karl beat her in front of her, but this vitriol was new.

“How could you,” she spat, half-answering Heni’s earlier question — they at least knew the extent of her relationship with Jiří.

Heni had nothing to say. Iolanthe didn’t expect her to speak anyway, turning her face away as if she couldn’t bear to look at her daughter. As she hobbled back to the parlor, Karl took her wrist again and pulled her in the direction of the stairs.

She knew he’d summoned Iolanthe to show her what was coming, except worse. But he’d simply hit Iolanthe and moved on. Once Himmel complained that her father had hit her, and Heni expressed the appropriate amount of sympathy even though she felt not a drop of it. In fact, she was jealous that Himmel had only gotten one hit, well-deserved in Heni’s opinion, and that was all.

Karl unlocked the study and pushed her inside. The lights went on, the SS cap came off. Heni was too frozen to do anything other than stand in front of the door until he snapped his fingers at her.

“Undress for inspection.”

A regular punishment, Heni told herself as she pulled her clothes off with trembling hands, a regular circ*mstance. Perhaps Karl didn’t know anything other than she was at the shop with Jiří…which was still an egregious offense in the Rahm household…

At least the window was closed. Karl had her stand in front of his chair, hands at her sides as usual, while he scanned her body from head to toe. She couldn’t look down to see if Jiří left any marks. He hadn’t spent a lot of time anywhere other than her lower lips, which did feel a bit swollen. As slowly as possible, she turned her knees inward, clenching her thighs together.

“Tell me his name.”

Heni couldn’t unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth fast enough. “Tell me,” he barked.

He already knew it; he wanted her to say it. This was why she envied Iolanthe and Himmel: Their punishments were painful, yes, but also quick and easy.

“Jiří,” she said, and immediately began to cry.

“Full name.”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Jiří Pokorny.” Even now, when it damned her even more, she tried to pronounce it correctly, pushing it through her wobbly, traitorous lips.

“How many times have you seen him?”

Heni lowered her eyes to his boots. “Um…maybe around five?”

“You don’t even remember.” The words were laced with disgust. “You don’t even remember how many times you’ve disgraced your family and the Reich…for a Czech. Who’s next, a Jew?”

“No,” she whispered.

“No, why not?” he snapped, raising his voice. “A filthy whor* with no standards says no? Why didn’t you f*cking tell him no, Henioche?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, the tears returning. She lifted her hand to wipe them away again and quickly dropped it at his tsk.

“Hands at your sides,” he snapped. “Stop your pathetic sniveling and look at me. Do you think I care if you’re sorry? Hmm?”

She could only shake her head. The clear-blue of his eyes reminded her of glaciers, yet the fury beaming out of them and into her skull was searing hot.

“I wonder if you even are,” he mused. “Properly sorry. Tell me the truth, Henioche. Are you sorry you went to him, or are you sorry you were caught?”

She looked away, unable to speak. Tears dropped off her chin onto the floor and her feet, seeping into her socks.

“Look at me and answer me,” he hissed. “If you lie to me, you will sleep in the cellar tonight, exactly as you are, on the cement floor.”

“I…I’m sorry because I got caught.” Her first inclination was to tear her eyes away, but she held fast and found that it was somewhat relieving to bring it out into the open. Lying to Karl never worked well, and she meant the words. Her back straightened, and her next words, despite their recklessness, came out stronger.

“I love him, Father. We can’t help who we love, can we?”

Karl scoffed and shook his head. “You are fifteen years old. Young, stupid, and desperate for men’s attention. That’s what you love. Not this idiot boy but his attention. I’ll bet you felt so special, hmm? Like maybe you’re worth something. But let me tell you something, my dear Henioche. You’re not worth anything, even with your clothes off. Even he knows that.”

He smirked, looking at her like she was a cute little animal he was about to stomp on with his boot. “He doesn’t love you. No one ever will. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Father.” Her heart was breaking, the tears flowing, because she wasn’t sure what to believe. Jiří said he loved her — he had to really love her, not what Karl was talking about. He had to.

“I will be right back,” her father said, rising from the chair. “When I return, you’d better be in that exact position. Or see what happens if you’re not.”

Heni didn’t even think to move, wracked with sobs. From a very early age, she understood that her father didn’t love her, but he’d never said it so forthcoming like this. No one ever will. But Jiří does, a soothing voice inside of her tried to argue before it was overridden by Karl’s. No one ever will, no one ever will…

He returned with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, setting it on the table. She assumed he would sip from the glass and continue to needle her, but he tilted his head back and poured it all down his throat. He repeated this twice and slammed the glass down on the table, making her flinch.

“Did he touch you?”

No, she couldn’t tell him, even though he likely already suspected. Come on, nod your head, she told herself but her body wouldn’t comply.

“Answer me, Henioche. Did he touch you or not?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

A second of nothing passed before he abruptly stood up. She clenched up and ducked her head, anticipating a blow, but again he just took her arm and pushed her toward the desk. “Lie down on your back with your legs spread.”

Heni didn’t know what was worse, this scrutinizing gaze or the violent chill from the sudden cold air on delicate flesh that was previously warm and protected. Karl gave it a once over, turned away, and drank down another glass of whiskey.

She stared at the ceiling as he stared at her. The last time she was in this position in front of him was in her bed in the dark. The floor lamp was dim, but she felt as exposed as a cadaver on an autopsy table.

“Where did he touch you?”

Her hands flew to her chest, all too happy to cover her breasts.

He prodded her labia with cold fingers, making her squirm. “And here?”

Heni squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could transport somewhere, anywhere else. She yelped as he slapped her soft flesh. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

At once his fingers were on her again, pulling apart her folds. It hurt, and she scrunched up her face and turned her head to the side. He was rough, spreading them and stretching and digging his knuckles into her thighs.

“Ow,” she couldn’t help but whimper.

In response, he shoved his two fingers into her, laughing when she cried out. “It hurts, doesn’t it, slu*t? It’s supposed to. This is what you deserve. Say it.”

“This is — what I deserve,” she gasped.

“That’s right.”

She clutched desperately at the desk as his fingers thrust deeper into her. Fortunately, only once before pulling them out to inspect them.

“Was he inside of you?”

“No!” she cried. “No, we didn’t go all the way, I promise!”

“But he touched you like I’ve just done.” He knew somehow. “His fingers were inside, yes?”

Heni was too busy heaving to give an answer. How could he know? Did men just know these things about women, or did her behavior give it away? If she denied it, she would sleep in the cold, awful basem*nt. If she admitted it…

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Answer me, Henioche.”

“Yes,” she blurted between breaths.

Her chin was released; he moved away. Foolishly, she felt her body relaxing the tiniest bit. Then a harsh smack across her face, throwing her head to the side. The next one was even worse: Not from the side like a usual slap but from above, crashing into her temple and cheek and slamming the other side against the desk.

Pain shot through Heni’s entire skull, knocking the wind out of her. Just as she sucked in a breath, he smacked her like this again, and then again, pausing only to pull his hand back.

“Ow, Daddy, please!” she wailed, drawing up her knees and rolling to the side. “Please, I can’t!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, pinning her back in place. “Stupid f*cking whor*, how could you? How many times have I told you that you’re mine and no one else’s?”

He cupped her sore labia, pinching it hard. She wailed again, trying to twist away, but he didn’t let go. “This is mine. How many times do I have to tell his dumb whor* that she belongs to me only? How many?”

“None, I’m sorry, I swear!” She covered her throbbing face, wet with tears. Everything hurt, and it was so bright, and loud —

He’d let go of her. For a minute, nothing at all happened except for her fighting to catch her breath. Her knees lowered and her hands fell to her sides against her will. Don’t start, it’s not over, a voice warned in her head. Yet again, her body wasn’t listening.

Until she heard the sound of a belt unbuckling. Oh no, no, no — why wasn’t Karl going to the chair and ordering her into position, ass up? It could only mean he was about to whip her somewhere else.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she moaned out loud, overcome with a chill that went deeper than the cold. “Daddy, please don’t…”

She clenched her teeth hard, bracing herself for the sting of leather against her delicate flesh. What prodded her was not leather but something blunter, bigger, warmer. To her horror, it pushed through her folds and into her, dragging against her inner walls so roughly, she was sure they would tear.

“Ow, no!” she howled, earning her another slap, this time on her mouth.

“Shut up and take it, little bitch.” He was breathing heavily, his pelvis with the unbuckled belt pressing into her backside. Belatedly, she realized what was happening.

“No, please, Daddy, no!”

“Oh, you don’t like it?” he mocked, pumping deeper. “You don’t like this type of attention, hmm? Well that’s too bad, bitch, because this is the only thing you’re good for, having your tight little c*nt around my co*ck. And I know you’re lying because I feel how wet you are.”

He wasn’t wrong: With each thrust, the pain subsided and her inner walls loosened ever so slightly, allowing his tip to reach that deep bundle of nerves.

No, this is wrong and disgusting, her inner voice was shouting, you’re not supposed to enjoy it! It was silenced in the next second by his hand on her throat and his narrowed blue eyes appearing in front of her, blocking out all else.

“That’s it, little baby whor*, take it like a good girl.” Her inner walls tightened around him in tandem with his grip around her throat. The pleasure had pushed out all the pain and wiped her mind. Further driving her to the edge was his voice, both condescending and coaxing.

“Such a nasty little slu*t, taking Daddy’s co*ck deep just like she was made to do. You do like this attention, don’t you? You can’t fool me, baby girl. I know you’re dying to be f*cked and bred over and over. Ready to have your womb filled, whor*?”

Heni thrashed underneath him, hurtling over the edge in the same second he gave one hard pump. His head tilted back and he grunted, leaning up and pinning her to the desk. Meanwhile, Heni was deflating, oozing hot, sticky fluid from puffy lower lips and gasping for air.

He let go and she slid off the desk, landing in a crumpled, messy heap on the floor. The cold seeped into her skin, but she barely felt it, woozy from climax.

Perhaps because of the cold, or the circ*mstance, or the fear of what was to come next, she came back down to Earth rather quickly. At some point, she’d bitten her tongue, flooding her mouth with blood. Curling up against the sudden onslaught of shame, she tucked her knees under her chin, hugged them, and wept.

Heavy black boots in front of her face turned and left her line of sight. Without a word to his battered, broken daughter, Karl left the study, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 15: XV - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

Heni spent the whole ride with her head turned uncomfortably so she could see out the window. Among all the misfortune that was last night, Karl had repeatedly slapped the right side of her face, swelling her eye nearly shut. When she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that morning, she’d cried out in horror. She looked far worse than Iolanthe.

And she had pain Iolanthe didn’t have, at least not this time. The area between her legs was a swollen, angry red that stung with every move involving her lower half. Pearly white fluid continually dripped out, keeping her panties damp and uncomfortable, especially when she walked.

Out the window was only farmland blanketed in old snow melting fast in the warm sunlight. Today was the first day it felt like spring was actually coming to stay, not just popping up and leaving.

Her father stared out the windshield as he drove. He hadn’t looked or spoken to her once. In the morning, Iolanthe had awakened her and told her to eat and pack for the foreseeable future. Those were her mother’s only words; she didn’t even say goodbye. Heni still didn’t know where they were going, but she had an idea by the sinking of her stomach.

They made the first turn to the right, going over a river and passing a few nondescript buildings. No one seemed to occupy them. Up ahead, a brick wall with a tunnel came into view. Surrounding the tunnel were harsh lines of black and white, ready to swallow them up. It reminded her of a…

Fortress. Guards stood at the wrought iron gate of the tunnel. As the car slowed down, one of them peered inside the car, saw Karl’s SS uniform, and signaled to the other one. Slowly, the gate creaked open.

Inside, guards everywhere with batons, guns, whips, dogs. They circled about, peering into barred windows and talking amongst themselves. Karl parked the car in front of another gate with the words ARBEIT MACHT FREI over the archway.

Heni’s mouth was very dry. Naively, she’d thought last night was the extent of her punishment — it had been brutal enough — with closer monitoring thereafter. But now, seeing the guards and the barred windows and the stark black words above the gate, it sank in that she was in serious trouble.

Her father got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw him pull his pistol out of a bag from under the seat and slide it into his holster.

“Ah, nice to see you again, Herr Kommandant!” someone called to him just as he closed the car door again. The next words were quieter and slightly muffled, but Heni made out “interrogation” with a slightly raised intonation, a question.

“…meeting him around seven this evening,” came Karl’s response from her side of the car before he opened the door. “Right now I’ve got another matter to take care of.”

“Never a dull moment in Theresienstadt,” the mystery person laughed.

Hugging her coat tightly to her chest, Hebi climbed out of the car and took Karl’s extended gloved hand. He didn’t give her time to put it in, pulling her through the archway and into a small room on the left.

“I need the head women’s guard, what’s-her-name,” he said to the guard sitting behind the desk. “Schwann, yes? Tell her to take this one to one of the cells in Block C and make sure she’s housed alone.”

“Yes, Herr Kommandant,” said the guard, eyeing Heni at his side with mild confusion. “What criminal code should I assign her?”

“None.” Karl motioned for Heni to sit on the wooden bench against the wall across from the desk. “No numbers. Just tell Schwann to remember which cell she’s in. I will discuss it with her and Kommandant Jöckel later. Now I’ve got to tend to the ghetto.”

“Of course, Herr Kommandant,” the guard replied, although it was obvious he wanted to know more. Heni took the opportunity to put her coat on, cinching it tightly around her waist as if it could protect her from what was to come.

Karl left and a minute later, another guard poked his head in. “For Schwann, yes? I’ll get her.”

The guard behind the desk looked Heni up and down. She couldn’t help but wonder what he must be thinking; clearly this was an unusual situation. But he said nothing until a tall, buxom woman in a plain grey uniform appeared in the doorway.

“Ah, Frau Schwann. She” — he waved a hand at Heni — “is to be single-housed in Block C, Kommandant Rahm’s orders.”

Now it was the woman’s turn to look Heni up and down. “Looks like he gave her quite the lashing already — not surprised. What’s she done?”

“No idea,” said the other one. “He just showed up with her, told me to tell you to house her alone in Block C. And don’t assign her a number. Strange, hmm?”

“Not really for Rahm, no. He plays by his own rules.” She abruptly turned to Heni and pointed at her. “You, stand up and follow me.”

Heni stood up at once, but the woman narrowed her beady blue eyes in dissatisfaction. “You answer me with ‘yes, Frau Führerin’ when I give you a command.”

“Yes, Frau Führerin,” Heni said quickly.

“Better.” She motioned for Heni to follow her out of the room. They went back through the gate to the main area, through another gate, and down a path with nothing but grass reaching to the tall brick walls. After the next gate, Heni stopped keeping track of where she was; this place was a grim maze.

The guard slowed down at a wall with doors, each with a tiny barred window next to them. She unlocked the one all the way at the end, next to sprawling hills and the fortress walls beyond.

“Come on, in!” she barked at Heni, who scurried into the cell. No later than her feet crossing the threshold was the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her, propelling her forward. The clinking of metal as the door was locked and chained shut, and then the guard’s heavy footsteps faded away.

It was much colder and darker than outside. Trying not to panic, Heni took in her surroundings. A wooden bunk bed with no linens, a closet with a chamber pot, a small stove and…that was it. All concrete and wood and metal, hard and cold. In a fit of terror, Heni’s mind raced off to the darkest depths: Would she be kept here until the end of the war? Beyond that? What if they forgot about her?

Don’t panic, she instructed herself, breathe. But her breaths were coming out too quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes and despite shivering all over, her face burned hot.

She’d sat down without her awareness, just now feeling the cold seeping through her coat. Gasping and clutching her chest, she put her head between her knees and took one long, slow breath in. Then out, long and slow, then in again. Eventually, she was calm enough to lift her head again.

Her view out the window was another row of wooden doors and small barred windows. She squinted, trying to see into the cell across, but the tiny square was black.

The sun sank lower in the sky. Heni tried to sleep to no avail, so most of this time was spent pacing and looking out the window. Her crotch protested in pain from the walking, but it was her only way to stop the shivering. Her stomach rumbled. Beneath the hunger, an undercurrent of nausea.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before the voices came, at least a few hours judging by the dimming sunlight. Her head snapped up and her feet hurried to her window, where she saw nothing but a grey shoulder.

“…don’t want you to take any time from your responsibilities, Frau Schwann. Kommandant Jöckel and I know how important your work is here, so I only ask that you check on her each morning and bring her fresh water. If she looks ill or tries to escape, please inform me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course, Herr Kommandant.” Frau Schwann’s tone was much warmer than anything she’d used with Heni and even the guard by the front gate. “Whatever you need me to do, I will do it.”

The jangling of keys, the sliding of the chain across wood, and then the door was opening, letting in a burst of light around a dark silhouette. He reached behind him, took a key from Frau Schwann, and stepped into the cell.

He didn’t speak, walking up to her and lifting her chin to inspect her face, forcing her head back. The golden sun shone through the window into her eyes. Then he let go and stepped back.

“Undress and stand with your hands at your sides.”

Reluctantly, Heni pulled off her coat and draped it over the bed. Already she started to shiver — how could she bear to stand naked in this room?

“Let’s go,” Karl snapped impatiently. “I’m on a schedule. Do as you’re told.”

Off came the dress, then the tights, then the bra, then the panties. Cursing herself for choosing tights rather than socks, she stood on the cement floor in her bare feet. He took off his cap, and only then did she notice the bundle of rope in his other hand.

Her heart was hammering again as she tried to think of a reason why he’d need rope. To whip her, was her first thought, but he had his leather belt for that.

“Lie on your back with your legs spread like last night.”

The position was far more painful today. Her sore folds peeled away from each other; the wooden bunk was hard against her spine.

He barely looked at her, getting straight to work wrapping the rope around her wrist, tying it to her thigh, looping it once around her neck, and then the same to her other wrist. The outcome was her tied up in the position he wanted her in, unable to move, especially since he hadn’t left quite enough give in the rope around her neck.

She whimpered, scrunching up her face, as she tried in vain to swallow against the constraints.

“So beautiful you are like this,” Karl said quietly, pressing his gloved fingertips into her folds. Slowly, he rubbed, adding pleasure to the cold and discomfort. “A pretty little docile doll, put in her place. If only you would stay there.”

His hand curled around her labia, squeezing them hard. Heni cried out and flinched, nearly strangling herself with the rope.

“But no matter,” he continued, smirking, still gripping her soft flesh. “Half the fun is teaching you.”

He let go and stepped back, looking at her like he was about to devour her. Heni’s mind was reeling, latching onto his words. So beautiful… He’d never called his daughter beautiful in her fifteen years of life.

The clinking of his belt buckle, and again Heni braced herself for either a whipping or a repeat of last night. The latter, she realized when he grabbed her hips and mounted her.

A squeak of pain left her throat when he entered her, stretching her raw inner walls. “That’s it, baby slu*t, loosen up that tight c*nt for me,” he coaxed, tilting his head back and burying himself up to the hilt. “Doesn’t it feel good, giving yourself up to me, hmm? So natural… I made you just for me, little whor*…”

Heni wanted to turn her head to the side, but the rope was already too tight around her neck. She settled on closing her eyes, until she felt a sharp tap to her cheek.

“Look at me, Henioche.”

At first his eyes were too overwhelming, looking straight through her own, into her. But as he pumped, holding the back of her head, she let the cool blue swallow her up.

Just as she started to clamp around him, he gave one hard slam. For one strange second he simply held her, breathing heavily into her hair. The next, he was off of her and she felt the now-familiar sensation of hot fluid leaking out of her.

The ropes around her wrists were cut, freeing her. She let out a sigh of relief, reaching up to pull the rope away from her neck, but her hands were slapped away.

“Don’t touch that.” Unsurprisingly, Karl was back to his put-together self, tucked away and buttoned up. “Stand up.”

Fluid poured down her thighs. She clenched them together, blushing with shame. Fortunately, Karl was too busy with the rope, entwining the two parts at the center of her ribcage, her back, over her belly, behind her again. Then he joined them together and pulled them over her labia and up the crack of her bottom, tying the whole thing together between her shoulder blades.

“Ow,” Heni mumbled, trying in vain to adjust it so it wasn’t digging into her puffy labia. “It’s tight, Daddy.”

“It’s supposed to be tight. And when I return, I’d better see you exactly like this.” He gave her leaky lower lips a slap, laughing when she cried out.

He only lingered for the five seconds it took him to swipe back his dark blonde hair and settle his cap over it. Then the heavy door was slamming, metal clinking, and he was gone.

There was nothing to do but dress up and wait. Dressing up itself took at least double the time, since the ropes didn’t allow certain positions, such as bending over. Her father’s seed soaked her labia and inner thighs. The ropes weren’t so tight that it hurt or cut off circulation, but she was constantly aware of them, feeling them against her skin.

Night fell. Heni lay on the bench, trying to sleep, when she heard footsteps approaching. Before she could figure out how to roll off the bunk without landing flat on her face, the door was unlocked and pushed open.

She craned her neck to see the guard woman from before, with a blanket slung over her shoulder and carrying a glass of water.

Without a word, she set the glass of water on the table and dumped the blanket on the bunk at Heni’s feet. Heni managed to creak out a “Thank you, Frau Führerin” before the guard left the call. Only the door slammed shut in response.

It took a few minutes for her to get upright, feeling the ropes digging particularly in her lower region. But once she was standing, she barely felt it, preoccupied with the glass of water. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d been until she saw the glistening clear liquid.

It was just as delicious as it looked, even though it was cold and chilled her whole body when she swallowed it down. Heni debated on drinking the whole thing now like she really wanted to or saving some for later. After a few sips, her churning stomach made the decision for her.

She set the glass back on the windowsill and picked up the blanket. It was wool, musty-smelling and scratched her skin, but she wasn’t going to complain about anything that wrapped around her and kept her warm. Hugging it tightly around her shoulders, she lay on her side and closed her eyes. She could almost forget about the ropes.

Now without cold and thirst, her mind wandered to Jiří — where was he? Aschenbrenner had hinted that his destination was here, too. For a silly second, her heart lifted: Perhaps she could find him. But then she remembered Aschenbrenner’s earlier announcement about his father. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of Jiří hanging from a noose…

Stop it, she scolded herself. Stop thinking about that. He will stay alive and so will you…

Heni’s eyes opened. It was still so dark and quiet — she had no idea what time it was, or how long she’d been asleep. What she did know is that she was very uncomfortable and she had to pee.

Wincing, she managed to get herself upright and slide off the bed. The idea of shedding her coat and blanket to sit on the chamber pot was unbearable. Just get it over with, she told herself, pulling off the blanket.

Down to her dress with her stockings down, there was another problem: The ropes were in the way. She reached down and tried to pry them out of the way, squatting in the hopes it would help. Not only was she unsuccessful, it hurt to even try.

“Alright, tomorrow, then,” she muttered to herself, hobbling to her bed. She could hold it, as long as Karl came back and cut the ropes. Perhaps it was foolish to believe that would happen, but she had to try.

Her resolve didn’t last the night. Her bladder woke her up again, threatening to burst. She couldn’t fight it anymore; she had to go, ropes or no ropes.

The idea of Karl seeing her so dirty filled her with dread. But the ropes were already sticky and dirty, she surmised as she made her way to the chamber pot, so it wouldn’t be too much more.

“Alright,” she coached herself. “Just pee and get back under the blanket.”

It did not go to plan. For one thing, she couldn’t sit or squat low enough to aim into the pot. Second, the ropes blocked the flow, spraying urine all over the floor, the pot, and her legs. The ropes were soaked, along with her tights and even the hem of her skirt.

Heni burst into tears. The cold was already seeping into her legs. Now she would be even colder. The blanket was warm around her, but she was still wet, and wet ropes were even worse against dry ones.

“Please help me,” she whimpered to no one, huddling on the bunk. “Please…Jiří…”

Dawn took its time to show up, letting pale blue light into the room. Still, all was quiet. Heni was starting to suspect she was the only one in this whole block. All the sobbing had made her thirsty again. With great effort, she managed to reach the windowsill and drink down the rest of the water.

When the door opened again, the sun was fully shining. She lifted her head, expecting the guard again, but it was her father in his freshly-pressed uniform.

“Not having much fun now, are you?” he taunted.

She didn’t respond, angering him. “I expect a response when I speak to you, Henioche.”

“Yes, Father,” she said in a raspy, cracked voice. Despite the water, her throat was dry. She looked hopefully at his hands for food or water, but they were empty, moving toward her blanket, pulling.

Heni curled her fists around it, but he yanked it swiftly out of her grasp. He went for her coat, ready to strip her of her warmth and dignity — she would not let that happen.

“Enough!” she burst out, relishing the rage igniting within her chest. “Leave me alone if you’re going to just hurt me! Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

For a moment, Karl stood still, his mouth tightened in fury. Go on, she told him silently, hit me.

He didn’t, grabbing her ankles and yanking her off the bed like she was a rag doll. The crown of her head hit the edge of the bunk on the way down, moments before her body collided with the cold floor.

“I am not sure who you think you are.” His voice was low, unexpectedly calm in contrast with his rough hands propping her on her knees and ripping off her coat. “But you’ll surely regret — "

He stopped when he gripped the damp hem of her dress. It was yanked up, her panties yanked down, and the smell of old urine filled the air.

“So this is why you’re so humiliated,” he sneered. “Little baby pissed herself again, hmm?”

“I tried to go in the chamber pot,” she said indignantly, flushing and looking away. “But the ropes were in the way.”

“Shut up,” he said, pulling the dress over her head. “Bratty little spoiled bitch can’t handle a little cold and piss? You really are pathetic.”

The rage was disappearing, replaced by fear. She wanted it back, trying to conjure it. The best she could do was tighten her mouth like he did his and stare up at him.

“Insolent little bitch you are today,” he said, gripping her chin. “Do you really think your anger means anything to me?”

“I don’t care,” Heni bit out.

The hard smack against her cheek came to no surprise; in fact, she’d been expecting it much earlier. “I’m getting f*cking tired of you answering back,” he snapped. “Your mouth is not for talking, bitch. Take it out.”

Heni glanced up at him, bewildered. Take what out? He stepped closer, so close that his belt buckle was only centimeters away, answering the question. Blushing hard, she unbuckled his belt, and took out his co*ck. It was hard and pulsing in her hands. To calm herself down, she tried to focus on the warmth in her palm, but Karl gave her no time.

“Let’s put your mouth to better use.” He hooked his thumb between her lips and pried them apart. As soon as that was out, his co*ck was in, forcing her mouth open wider.

Her first instinct was to pull back, but the hair at the back of her head was clenched in his fist, holding her in place. “Close your mouth,” he instructed, “and use just those pretty lips and that tight throat, that’s it.”

At first, while he bobbed her head, she was aware of many sensations, the obvious being the massive thing breaking into her mouth but also some of her hair pulling at the root from his hand and the cold cement on her knees. Then his co*ck went deeper in, hitting the back of her throat.

She gagged, flooding her chin and chest with spit, and struggled. He held fast, thrusting and occasionally grunting. “That’s it, little slu*t, take it all in that hot little mouth. This is how you please me, by being such a good co*cksucking slu*t…”

The paltry supply of water was creeping dangerously up her throat. Her face was a mess of spit and tears. She pushed against his legs, but he didn’t release her until warm fluid filled her throat.

“Swallow it all,” he said as he re-did his trousers and swung his coat back over his front.

She couldn’t; most of it dribbled down her chin. Chuckling, he smeared it over her face and pointed at the drop on the toe of his boot. “Clean that up.”

He slapped her hand when she reached to wipe it away. “With your mouth.”

She was already having trouble swallowing the thick fluid in her mouth. It coated her tongue and throat and roiled in her belly. The boot with the spot was tapping impatiently.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the floor, placing her palms against the concrete. The ropes didn’t allow her to tuck her knees underneath her, so she had to bend with her bum up. Closing her eyes, she extended her tongue and hurriedly licked up the drop of seed.

Fortunately, he’d clearly just gotten his boots polished, for it was mostly that she tasted. Then it was the thick salty gob of seed, then dirt he’d kicked up on the way here. She grimaced as she swallowed, making him scoff.

“Little princess thinks she’s anything other than a bootlicking whor*.” The flash of a blade, then the ropes were finally falling to the floor. Not caring if Karl was watching, Heni clenched her legs together, pushing her sore, raw skin back into place.

He turned her back on her. Before he opened the door, he paused, glancing down at her. “Daddy,” she said, hugging herself and curling up, “please can I have more water?”

For a moment he seemed to consider it, but his clipped response was, “Maybe later.” Blinding sunlight, then the door slammed shut behind him.

Abandoning her filthy tights, she pulled on her dress and panties and burrowed under the wool blanket. Nothing to do but sleep and try to keep the seed from coming back up her throat.

And of course, weep — plenty of time for that and plenty to weep about. Except she was dehydrated and had no idea when the next water was coming, so she only let a few tears snake out to soak her hair and drop off her nose.

Chapter 16: XVI - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

Heni opened her eyes and found herself wrapped in soft, warm blankets. The air itself was warm from the ticking of a radiator and morning sunlight streaming through the window. A dream, she thought, but when she blinked hard, she was still there.

She sat up, disoriented, and the previous day came trickling back to her. The cold cell, the scratchy wool blankets, her sticky face, her sore labia. Shadows had begun to form things, bats in the corners of the ceiling and rats in the corners of the floor. I’m sorry, she’d whimpered over and over to the arms hoisting her off the bunk. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

A bath and some warm chicken soup. A gruff lady speaking Czech-accented German going through her freshly-washed hair with a metal comb. The soft cotton of a new nightdress, which she still wore. Everything hurt, especially her crotch and her throat, and she was still weak. But fed and warm.

There was no indication whose room this was. No one’s, she suspected by the blank walls and sparse furnishings. The only touch of life was a patchwork quilt draped over a rocking chair.

She climbed out of bed and headed to the wardrobe. Perhaps she could dress in normal clothing and do some exploring, figure out what was going on. But the wardrobe was empty. Sighing, she moved onto the window and peered out.

Still in the camp, she deduced from the blocks of cells just beyond a tall wooden fence. SS guards strolled the dirt paths, dogs walking faithfully beside them. This building was not like the others, not part of the prison. Was she no longer a prisoner?

The question was answered not ten minutes later by the arrival of the female SS guard who had taken her to the cell.

“Fräulein, here is your uniform,” she said, draping a pile of neatly-folded grey over the rocking chair.

“My uniform?” Heni echoed, confused.

The guard mashed her thin lips together before saying, “I guess neither of the commandants have spoken to you yet, but it has been decided you will be part of the aufseherinnen of the Small Fortress. We don’t have many female prisoners, but unlike in the ghetto, the ones we’ve got are dangerous criminals who’ve gone out of the way to sabotage us, so they need a closer eye.”

She looked around the room. “This is quite nice, almost as nice as mine. You’d do best to appreciate it. Now dress up — I’m about to tell one of the other guards to fetch you and start training.”

Heni nodded, causing the woman to scowl. “Guard or prisoner, I am still Frau Führerin and I expect an appropriate response.”

“Yes, Frau Führerin,” Heni said at once.

Still scowling, the guard left the room. Heni hurried over to the uniform and laid it out on the bed: grey wool skirt with matching jacket, plain white blouse, and a black cap. On the lapel was stitched SS-Helferin. On the inside, the initials BA.

With it on and her hair pinned in a knot under the cap, she surveyed herself in the small mirror above the bureau. She looked very matronly, which she supposed was the point.

A knock on her door kick-started her heart. She wasn’t ready to deal with Karl…but she pulled open the door to see a woman in an identical uniform to hers. The training guard, of course.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Rahm, yeah?” the woman said impatiently. “Come on, then.”

Heni followed her down a maze of hallways. They were clean with rugs beneath their feet and various paintings on the wall. She wanted to get a good look at the guard, but her strides were a lot longer, so all Heni could see was the woman’s bouncy blonde curls under her cap.

“So the first thing you’ll need,” she said in what looked like the secretary’s office, “is your clipboard. Marta” — Heni couldn’t help noticing her voice was much kinder — “have you typed up the extra list?”

“Yes, Frau Oberaufseherin,” said the secretary, passing the guard a clipboard. The guard thrust it into Heni’s hands, assuming her brisk tone.

“That is your bread. Take that everywhere you walk in this place when you’re on duty, even the washroom, because you never know who you have to mark down. The women are savages here.”

Before Heni could answer, she stalked out of the office. Clutching the clipboard to her chest, she hurried after her as she left the building.

This building was clearly the nicest in this place. Within the fence was a front garden with a wide path surrounded by flowering shrubs. The building in front of them was also nice, Heni saw as they entered the camp, but a paler imitation of theirs.

“Come,” said the guard.

Heni followed her down grassy paths and through archways until she began to recognize where they were headed. Her stomach sank; how could she face the horrible place so soon? Fortunately, just as they arrived at Block C, they turned in the other direction.

“Usually they’re kept in Block D, the families on Block E. If they misbehave, they go to Block C.” She pointed to the building Heni had been in. Her cell wasn’t visible from where they stood.

As they walked around the fortress, various SS men with dogs waved at them, or more specifically at Heni’s companion. One must’ve been her lover or something because when they saw each other, they ran toward each other and theatrically embraced while Heni stood awkwardly to the side.

She didn’t meet another aufseherin until dinner, when she was taken back into the building to eat in the dining hall, where five more in their uniforms sat around a table.

Heni wasn’t very hungry, but after walking around all morning, she was grateful to sit down, still a bit weak from her time in the cell. On the plate in front of her was thick, steaming goulash.

“So, Lissl, are you going to tell us who’s the new one?” one of the women asked, nodding to Heni. She was young like her colleagues, with dark, rather fluffy hair and a pointed nose. Heni had seen her in one of the workshops, scrutinizing each prisoner’s work.

“Well, her name’s Rahm,” said Lissl disinterestedly. “And she’s just arrived.”

“From where?” asked the dark-haired one just as another, blonde like Lissl but nowhere near as formidable, said, “Wait,” holding up a finger as she chewed.

“My God, Ellie, don’t choke,” snapped another one, who couldn’t have been much older than Heni. “I hate it when you don’t take your time to chew. It’s so unladylike.”

“Keep your hose on,” said Ellie once she’d taken a large swallow and washed it down with water. She turned back to Heni, probing her with light hazel eyes. “Rahm as in…Kommandant Rahm?”

“That’s the one,” Heni replied, hoping her voice sounded authoritative; Karl had power in the camp, after all.

To her great surprise, Ellie made a disgusted face, her eyes bulging. “Good heavens, he likes them young. Are you even eighteen?”

“Ellie!” Lissl hissed. “That’s the commandant you’re talking about. Even if she’s young, his preferences are not up for debate.”

It dawned on Heni that they were under the wrong assumption about her relation to Karl. “Um, I’m his daughter,” she clarified, unsure if she should tell them her age. They’ll find out anyway, she supposed, adding, “I’m fifteen.”

“So young,” Ellie said softly.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful how enthusiastic you are about serving the Reich,” said the younger one, giving her a brief smile. “How do you like it here so far?”

“It’s alright,” Heni said, deciding not to correct her and also omit that, to her, it didn’t seem like the aufseherinnen didn’t actually do much besides walk around the fortress and bring prisoners their meager meals. “It’s…quiet.”

Lissl let out a loud hah as if Heni was a small child who had just said something funny. “Wait until tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“You’ll see.” Lissl waved her hand before pointing at Heni with her fork, narrowing her blue eyes. “And don’t forget: I’m Frau Oberaufseherin to you. Ellie, Rosel, and Lilly are on my level, but you and Erika are our subordinates and you’d do best to remember that. Isn’t that right, Erika?”

“Right, Frau Oberaufseherin,” said a woman next to the young one, Rosel, who hadn’t spoken a word until now. She was a bit older than the rest, with large, solemn eyes, reddish-brown hair, and a downturned mouth. No sooner had the words left her lips, she turned back to her goulash as if she couldn’t stand another second with the rest of them.

Lissl either didn’t pick up on this or didn’t care. “See? That’s how you respond, Rahm — what is your given name, anyway?”

“Heni, Frau Oberaufseherin.”

“Hmm…unusual.” She shrugged and stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “I need all of you on the path between Blocks C and D this evening at seven o’clock. Heni, use this time to go over the list of names on your clipboard and learn who’s who. Ask Marta for a list of criminal codes, but honestly, they should be easy enough for you to figure out.”

After dinner, with a pleasantly full stomach and the warm afternoon sun shining upon her, Heni made her rounds in Block D, matching the names to the empty cells. The prisoners themselves, she saw earlier, were working on the outskirts of the fortress, farming the land. Almost all of the names were Czech, with the exception of two Germans and one Russian. These names had the criminal code P for partisan, according to Marta’s list.

Block E was simultaneously more cheerful and more depressing: The cells here were larger, with quilted-covered straw in the bunks, trunks full of clothing, and even old, ratty cushions around the stoves. There was a fence around the back side of the building, where the prisoners were allowed outside to convene and eat when a guard was present. The reason for all of this was that this was where families were held, either Czech partisans or Jews from the ghetto.

In every case, the husband or father was the perpetrator, so he was sent to work and the wives stayed in to mind the children. Giggles and cries and shouts from the children floated out of the windows. Near the fence, Rosel stood by, flirting with one of the SS-guards by the looks of it. Heni left her alone.

At seven o’clock sharp, the aufseherinnen gathered next to Block D, where Lissl gave them the instructions to round up all the prisoners and lead them to the gallows.

“The gallows?” Heni repeated, feeling the sinking of her stomach. “We’re not going to execute them all, are we?”

Ellie overheard this and laughed. “Unfortunately not. Come on, Heni, start with Block E. No one’ll act up from there. If they do, call me, and I’ll give one of their brats’ heads a good knock.” She held up her baton, grinning.

Heni didn’t have a baton, which she was grateful for, since she couldn’t imagine hitting anyone with it, let alone a kid. “Everyone out!” she called into the cells, parroting the other guards. “Everyone out at once!”

The prisoners dutifully shuffled behind them as they walked down the dusty paths and grassy hills. They were joined by SS-guards with dogs.

“Is it roll call already?” the prisoners were asking each other in hushed, apprehensive tones. “We aren’t headed to the gallows again? Who do you think it is this time?”

“Shut up!” Lissl shouted at them, waving her baton threateningly. “No talking, you filthy pigs, or it’ll be your neck in the noose next!”

An older woman, who Heni knew from the clipboard worked in the textile shop and had the criminal code JW — Jehovah’s Witness — was trailing behind the crowd. Her back was hunched, her spindly legs wobbling with each step.

“Let’s move, old bitch!” Ellie yelled at her, giving her a push so hard, the woman tripped over her feet and nearly rolled down the hill. Ellie scoffed, gave her a swift kick in the ribs, making the woman cry out, and continued walking. “Ten seconds to catch up or my boot kicks harder!” she called over her shoulder.

Behind her back, Heni was relieved to see another prisoner help the old woman to her feet and hurry her back into the crowd.

The gallows came into view. More SS, more prisoners, dogs, yelling to shut up and stand at attention. By now, Heni’s stomach was twisting up. She’d never seen anyone die before, and this was not the place to have a reaction.

They stopped at the edge of the crowd. On the platform, there were two hooks side-by-side on a wide hanging post with step stools underneath them. “There used to be only one,” Ellie said from beside her. “But if there are many to be hung at once, it took nearly all day, so they added another to speed it up.”

“How…efficient,” Heni managed, trying her best not to double over. The SS-guard, Ellie’s husband Wachholz, looked her up and down.

“Is that Rahm’s daughter?” he muttered to Ellie. “Jöckel told us she was here to…”

He trailed off as four figures appeared in the doorway next to the gallows. A hush fell over the crowd. Three SS and one in a dirty grey-green uniform, a dyed-black burlap sack over his head.

One of the SS, a senior officer as opposed to the two guards on either side of the prisoner, stepped onto the platform and addressed the crowd as if it were a stage.

“We have here a Czech gendarme who has sworn loyalty to the SS when he joined the gendarmerie. However, he was not loyal to the SS but to the Jews, smuggling contraband out of the ghetto in exchange for various favors.”

He motioned for the SS to bring the bagged man forward and continued, letting a look of disgust cross his somewhat handsome face. “We all know Jews are by blood, traitors to the Reich, but we could argue that a non-Jew who chooses to betray the Reich is even worse. And this louse didn’t do it out of sympathy for the Jew, like even some Germans fall victims to, no. But for money and favors. Time for this scum to take his last breath.”

“Amen,” Wachholz muttered.

Whistles and cheers filled the air from the SS as the noose was tightened around the gendarme’s neck. Heni managed to clap, even though she’d never wanted to clap less in her life. For the Reich, she told herself, he’s a traitor to the Reich. The words were meaningless in her head.

From their blank faces, she could tell this was not the first time the prisoners had been witness to an execution of one of their own. Even the children were quiet and solemn, leaning into their mothers but showing no sign of distress otherwise. Get it together, Heni scolded herself, swallowing down bile.

The man was guided onto the step-stool closest to the crowd. Two men, not SS, were given the rope to hold fast. They pulled just as the handsome officer kicked the step-stool away and a snap cut through the cooling air.

Cheers and hoots filled Heni’s ears as the gendarme kicked out his legs and reached for his neck. To her surprise and great relief, he didn’t make a sound. After a few seconds, he hung limply, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. The rope was let go, and he crumpled to the floor.

The din was too much; Heni couldn’t breathe. Stars were forming in front of her eyes and a loud ringing pierced through her skull. She reached out to catch her balance, feeling the wool of a sleeve against her fingers. Cold shot through her knees as they met the snow-covered ground, sound faded out, and blackness swallowed her whole.

When she opened her eyes, she was in the bed she’d woken up in this morning. A cool cloth rested over her burning cheeks.

“Feeling better?” a gruff voice asked from beside her.

She sat up and turned to see the Führerin, Frau Schwann, seated upon the rocking chair. It creaked under her weight as she stood up and approached the bed.

“Yes, Frau Führerin,” Heni said, setting the cloth neatly on the nightstand.

“Good.” Frau Schwann said, snatching it and walking toward the door. “Supper will be served any minute now, so go on down to the dining hall and be sure to check in with Oberaufseherin Schmidt about your assignment tomorrow.”

“Yes, Frau Führerin,” Heni repeated, but she was already gone.

Something was draped over the arm of the rocking chair — a dress that was a bit snug around Heni’s bust and hips, but she wasn’t going to complain. She repinned her hair in another knot, slipped on her loafers, and headed to the dining hall.

It took her a bit to find it; she kept going down the wrong hallway. Embarrassingly, one of the maids steered her in the right direction before turning back around in a huff. Finally things were looking a bit familiar. As she walked down this hall, the sound of utensils clanking against dishes and chatting floated from up ahead.

“…weak and stupid. Pretty face with nothing but air in her head. Why did Frau Führerin allow this? Surely the ghetto commandant has enough status to marry his daughter off when she comes of age without sending her here.”

Heni stopped just before she was about to turn and enter the room. Lissl’s voice, from the sound of it. Talking about her.

“Oh, Rahm’s little girl?” said one of the SS men. “Hah, it’s not to find her a husband. It’s because she had a Czech lover in Prague and Rahm wants to keep her away from him.”

“You’re kidding.” Ellie now. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded cagily.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” said one of the women, maybe Rosel. “Why didn’t Kommandant Rahm just get rid of the Czech?”

Heni strained to hear, clenching her fists.

“Not sure what happened with the Czech,” the SS man replied. “But that wouldn’t have solved the problem, would it? Plenty of Czechs around, and who knows what filth she’d go after next.”

“How’d they find out about it?” the same woman asked. “Are we sure someone didn’t make it up out of jealousy?”

“Jealous of her?” Lissl scoffed. “She’s just a kid.”

“Well, the person who told me is friendly with a guy in Prague who’s been after her father for years,” the SS explained. “I don’t know why, don’t ask me. But this guy in Prague had been watching Rahm’s family and caught her in bed with the Czech.”

“Good heavens, girls these days.” Lissl’s voice dripped with disgust. “Without scruples at all. If I was Kommandant Rahm, I’d disown her and send her away. He deserves a much better daughter.”

“Me too,” Ellie chimed in. “What a disgrace.”

Heni turned and ran back down the hall. Tears slipped out of her eyes. She managed to wipe them away and stave them off as she hurried back to her room. Again, she made a couple of wrong turns, but she didn’t care as long as she was away from the dining hall. At last, she managed to find number fourteen on the second floor.

Kicking the door closed behind her, she flopped onto her bed and burst into tears. He deserves a much better daughter. All this time, especially with Jiří’s help, she’d thought she and Karl were both at fault. She because she was rebellious and flighty and he because of his temperament. Although she didn’t regret her time with Jiří, perhaps maybe she could’ve been a better daughter.

Too late now, she thought miserably. Her father hated her and the guards hated her. Not even thinking of Jiří could soothe the sting.

Chapter 17: XVII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

The air warmed, prisoners came and left, and Heni adjusted to her new role in the Small Fortress. Equipped with new uniforms and a baton she planned on never using, she brought meager meals to prisoners in the cells and oversaw them in the workshops. When a new one came, she escorted her around the fortress until the prisoner could be trusted to get around by herself without trouble.

By now, Heni had honed her commanding voice and stern expression, though she could tell that some of the prisoners didn’t take her seriously by their eyerolls and slow gaits. Unlike Lissl and the others, she didn’t call them Hündin and Schlampen or tell them they were better off dead.

The only other one who didn’t hurl insults at or beat them with her baton was Erika, although she did slam the baton against the bars when the prisoners weren’t moving fast enough. Erika also was the only one who didn’t turn her nose up in disgust or whisper behind Heni’s back about her. Heni wondered if she’d even been present that day when Lissl’s husband, Schmidt, had told them about Jiří.

Regardless, Heni found herself drawn to Erika, sitting next to her at meals and wondering what her deal was, since Erika didn’t seem all too thrilled to be here, either.

One day in early spring, Heni and Erika were assigned to escort a family to the entrance of the Small Fortress, from where the SS would take them back to the ghetto. No one spoke as the two aufseherinnen led the family, parents and two adolescent boys, to the front gate.

Heni was hoping the SS car from the ghetto would be driven by Karl, who she hadn’t seen since her own imprisonment, but it was the usual driver, Wöstrel, alone. The prisoners were shepherded not into the car but down the path by two men with yellow stars sewn onto their jackets.

“Come on, faster, you lazy Jewish swine!” Wöstrel shouted out the window as they practically ran down the bridge over the river.

Erika sucked in a breath and turned away from the closing gate. Unsure what to do, Heni fell into step beside her, crossing the family’s name off her list. “At least…at least they’re going back to the ghetto,” she ventured.

The other woman turned to her in surprise; no one spoke to either of them except to assign them somewhere or ask for the headcount. “I mean,” Heni clarified, feeling foolish. “At least it’s better for them there than here, isn't it?”

A group of SS men passed by, so Erika waited until they were out of the main area before answering. “It is and it isn’t.”

Heni kept quiet, hoping she would elaborate. When she didn’t, she asked, “How so?”

“Well…” Erika glanced around. “They’re slightly better fed over there, from what I hear, but that family will certainly be on the next transport East.”

“East?” Heni echoed. “What’s there?” All she knew about the East was that the Reich would take it over if they won the war. “Other camps?” she guessed.

“Yes.” Erika glanced down at her clipboard, even though they were nowhere near the women’s blocks yet.

“What’s so bad about that?” Heni prompted, sensing that Erika was withholding something from her. “They’ve got to work there, I assume, so it’s the same as the ghetto, no? Or is the work harder?”

Erika glanced sideways at her. She stopped walking, holding her clipboard to her chest, and let out a sigh. “The work is harder, yes. And also some of the camps aren’t for work. They’re for killing Jews.”

Heni was picturing rows with gallows, each with a swinging body. “My goodness,” she gasped. “They hang every Jew that’s sent to the camp?”

“Not hanging,” Erika whispered, glancing around again. She leaned in, and despite the horrible subject matter, Heni couldn’t help but feel grateful to have something resembling comradery for the first time since her arrival.

“The guards tell them they’re going to shower, so they strip and enter this huge gas chamber where they suffocate to death. Thousands and thousands of them. Whole families.”

Heni clutched her stomach, suddenly ill and lightheaded. “Do…do the SS here know that’s where they’re sending them?”

“Of course.”

If it was true — and somewhere deep down, Heni knew it was — and the SS knew, Karl surely knew. She looked into Erika’s amber-colored eyes, expecting to see judgment. But they were only solemn as usual.

The sun shone down on their heads. Two girls who, from the outside, could’ve been friends talking about the weather or the war as if it was some inconvenience like it had been in Prague. Heni felt much older than she had at the start of 1944.

Later on, Heni was supervising the textile workshop when she was pulled away by Wachholz informing her that someone was here to see her in the commandant’s house. She went to ask who, but he’d already left the building.

When she arrived, Marta directed her to the dining hall, where Karl sat, waiting for her. The maid set a kettle, small plates, and a plate of biscuits between them and poured them each a cup of tea. “Would you like anything else, Herr Kommandant?” she asked Karl in her wispy voice.

He shook his head and the maid left without looking at Heni. For the first several minutes, they sipped tea in silence. His eyes on her were making her palms sweat but also her legs clench as her lower lips pulsed. She kept her eyes on the biscuits, feeling her face grow warm.

“Perhaps you should take a biscuit,” he said, “since you’re staring at them.”

Heni raised her eyes to his and flushed deeper. “I, um…my stomach is a bit delicate these days.”

“The guards told me you’ve been behaving so far.” He set down his teacup and folded his hands on the table.

“Yes, Father.” Her shoulders sagged the tiniest bit — so far it seemed as if he was just checking in.

“Good. Keep it up. Although Frau Schwann has told me you had some sort of spell during an execution?”

She stared into her teacup, wishing she could disappear into the warm amber liquid. “I, um, yes, I fainted. I think perhaps I wasn’t feeling my best that day and the crowd was too much.”

“And yet.” Karl’s voice was much colder, his eyes drilling into her now. “You’ve never had that type of reaction at a rally, have you? So tell me the truth, Henioche, and look at me when you speak.”

Heni let out a quiet breath before lifting her head and looking into the icy blue. “I’ve never seen anyone die before,” she said in one jumbled sentence. “I know he was an enemy of the Reich. I guess I was just overwhelmed.”

“You were overwhelmed.” She hated when he repeated her own words back at her, mocking her. But his voice was absent of the usual contempt. “That is understandable for a teenage girl who, so far, has grown up privileged and insulated from the effects of the war. I wonder if exposing you to this was the right choice.”

He leaned back in his chair and let his eyes stray to the table. “But you’ve been curious enough about it, yes? The worst of the worst in the Protectorate is here in the Small Fortress. Most of them deserve death, so do not expect that will be your last execution. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

He didn’t say anything else for another minute, still staring at the table. Heni didn’t want to intrude upon his thinking, but she also didn’t want to miss her chance to ask, “But what about the ghetto?”

Karl’s eyes shifted back to her. “What about it?” His voice was in the same casual tone as his last words, but he was sitting straighter, his mouth just the slightest bit tighter.

“The prisoners in the ghetto,” Heni said, clutching her knees with her sweaty hands under the table. “They’re not criminals like the ones here, are they?”

“They’re Jews.” He took a sip of his tea, even though it had probably long gone cold by now. “They are also enemies of the Reich, as you know.”

“Then…then why…” Spit it out, she told herself, but she couldn’t make herself look into her father’s eyes. “Why are they sent to the East to be killed when they can work for the Reich?”

“Who told you that?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Um, I overheard it from one of the guards,” she improvised.

She knew he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press it. “Well, they are sent East to work for the Reich in other camps. I don’t run those, I only know what’s going on in Theresienstadt. And here they get treated very well, so don’t worry your pretty little head about them.”

Heni, remembering Erika’s words, couldn’t help but wonder what Karl’s definition of “very well” meant, considering everyone thought he treated his daughter “very well,” too. The skepticism must’ve shown on her face, for he chuckled and shook his head.

“I know you won’t take my advice,” he said. “You always were a nosy little thing.” Before she could pour over that, he abruptly stood, causing Heni to flinch. “Come, let’s go for a ride.”

Bewildered, she followed him out of the building, through the gardens, and to the SS car parked in front. Though she was anxious about what he had in store for her, she sat tall in the passenger’s seat, proud to be seen with the commandant.

When they drove through the main gate, her eyes stuck to the window, taking it all in. It had been months since she’d left the Small Fortress; she realized she still felt rather like a prisoner herself.

Another large gate, this time leading to buildings. This fortress was completely different — not a prison, but a town, complete with cobblestone streets and parks. They passed a children’s playground, a cafe, a boys’ school. Some of the buildings were run-down, but many of them were clean and bright. The sun was starting to sink down, casting yellow-gold light upon them.

The prisoners here looked a bit withdrawn, but they wore normal clothing and carried out normal tasks, such as sweeping, gardening, and pushing wagons full of supplies. There was not a single SS in sight. In the center was a large garden with a town square surrounded by blooming flowers and thick shrubbery. Heni had never seen a fortress town before, but this is what she would picture one as — not a ghetto.

“Where do you stay, Father?” she asked.

“In that building,” Karl replied, pointing ahead to a large building in front of the square with a green-roofed tower. “That is the headquarters.”

He drove slowly around the whole square, letting Heni take in the surroundings, before heading back to the main gate. “Do you see now, Henioche? They live nicely here. They put on shows, they pray in the synagogues and give lessons to the schoolchildren. Not much different than how they lived in Prague or Vienna.”

“But they work, right?” Heni asked, her eyes on a pair of women, one around thirty with an apron and colorful headscarf, the other older, wobbling with a cane.

“Yes, in the workshops on the outskirts of the ghetto,” Karl explained. “They are useful in that way…and others.”

Heni wanted to ask what other ways, but her father had already shared so much with her. For the first time in a long time, maybe her whole life, they’d had a conversation that didn’t involve him belittling her for her behavior or existence. Further compounding this warm feeling was his hand on her leg as they passed through the ghetto gate.

At first, Heni was frozen — what was the appropriate response to this? No one had ever touched her like this except for Jiří. But if it was Jiří, she would’ve held his hand, and she doubted Karl would go for that. She settled on loosely resting her hand on his, hoping he wouldn’t feel how clammy it was.

Back in the Small Fortress, the car pulled up in front of her building. The hand withdrew from her thigh, leaving it slightly colder. He helped her out and walked her up to the door. She assumed that was where he’d leave her, but with a hand on her lower back, he guided her up to her room.

Oddly, he seemed to know which one it was, despite never having been to her room — while she occupied it, anyway. The idea of Karl coming to her room to see the previous occupant, some woman, gave her a funny, unpleasant feeling.

Inside, he took off his hat while she slipped her feet out of her shoes, unsure what else to do. Then he turned to her and scoffed. “Why are you still dressed? Haven’t you figured out why we’ve come in here?”

“Yes, Father.” She unbuttoned her blouse and wiggled out of her skirt fine enough, but when it came time to take off her bra, she was overcome with shyness. Though she’d stood naked in front of him many times before, it was different, knowing he would touch her.

“Come on, I don’t have all day,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Bra and panties off, let’s go.”

As soon as she managed to take her bra off, her arms flew to her chest, crossing over her breasts. Annoyed, Karl wrenched her arms away and shoved her down on the bed. “Do not be shy with me, Henioche. I want to see all of my little toy.”

He pinned her arms down and kissed her hard, pressing his chest into hers. The cold metal of the pins on his uniform sank into her soft skin, dragging rather painfully as he moved lower to mouth her neck and reach between her legs.

Heni extended her neck, mewling, and let her legs fall open. His tongue and teeth on her neck felt good on its own, let alone when he rubbed her folds over her panties. “Not shy anymore now, are you, slu*t?” he growled in her ear. “I bet I’ll find your little c*nt wet and aching for me to rub it, hmm?”

He pulled the crotch of her panties to find he was right, that her folds were hot and ready. Rather than rub them, however, he stuffed his two fingers into her and began to pump.

“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned, unable to help herself. Her hands had snaked under her legs to hold them up; her hips tilted up, trying to get him as deep into her as possible. “It feels so good.”

“Of course it does,” he taunted, slowing down. “Such a slu*t, begging to have her c*nt filled. So cute how you pretend to be shy and innocent until your clothes are off. Nasty little whor*.”

She seized up, ready for climax, but then he wasn’t touching her at all anymore. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Face down, ass up, with your hands between your feet.”

As soon as she was in this position, her panties were yanked down, which made her shy again, and her wrists held together, which turned her on so much, the shyness was overridden.

She yelped, feeling a sharp spank to her wet lower lips, a loud clap echoing around the room. Over and over he slapped her there, so she had to turn her face into the bed to muffle the cries. The slaps hurt, and so did his tight grip on her wrists, but she had to admit that she loved having his hands on her.

He let go, leaving her cold again. “Stay like that.”

Heni snuck a peek behind her and saw him taking off his coat and unbuckling his belt. He caught her watching, smirked, and waved her over. “Eager, impatient little thing. Take it out.”

Hoping he meant the bulge in his trousers and not the belt itself, she unbuttoned them and pulled down the zipper. On a whim, she paused, cupped the bulge, and glanced up at him, trying not to grin.

She expected the tightening of his mouth, a slap to her face, but surprisingly he was still smirking, his eyebrows raised. “A little brat I have on my hands today, I see.” He tilted her chin up. “I suggest you take it out on your own because if I have to, it’s going straight down your throat to gag that disobedience out of you. Your choice, baby girl.”

Karl had used this condescending tone with her many times when she acted up as a little girl in public and he couldn’t slap her across the face like he wanted. Now, in this position, it was doing things to her, filling her with even more need. She wanted to push him further, but she lost her nerve, pulled down his drawers, and took out his stiff co*ck.

“Good girl,” he said, pushing her away. “Now get back on the bed with your ass up like you belong. And spread those fat c*nt lips for me.”

He mounted her, wasting no time breaking into her stinging folds. Slow and deep at first, grabbing her hips, and then faster. It was too deep for her this way, from behind, and so she tried to crawl forward.

“Ah-uh.” His fist curled around the hair at the back of her head, pulling it back. “You’re going to take the whole thing, slu*t, because this is the only way you’re useful so you might as well enjoy it…”

Enjoy it she did, once she’d gotten used to the deep thrusts and his heavy balls slapping the nub nestled in the wet, pulsing flesh just below her mound.

“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned quietly, trying to stifle her cries, though surely the whole building could hear the bed rocking and the slap slap slap of their wet skin against each other.

“That’s it, baby whor*.” He pulled her hair harder, digging his fingertips into her hip hard. “You love it from behind, I see, with your ass up like a little bitch. Yes, milk Daddy’s co*ck with that tight little c*nt.”

Heni bit back her cry as she came, gripping the blanket and backing herself up against him. He continued to thrust, even when she went limp and ached to collapse on the bed. A minute later, he gave one hard ram and let go.

Her face met the bed and she fell to the side, trying to catch her breath. She felt the familiar sensation of his hot come dripping out over her swollen labia and onto her inner thighs. Her panties were still around her knees, so she pulled them up. Fluid immediately soaked into them.

By the time she’d sat up, Karl was re-buckling his belt. He pointed between her legs and said, “You will not clean yourself or change your clothes until your bath tonight. I want you to feel my come dripping out and remember who owns you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said.

“What a mess you’ve made,” he said, gesturing to the wet spots on the bottom of his shirt and near his belt. He seemed more amused than anything. “I will smell you for the rest of the day.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to want one, brushing his hair back before putting on his coat and hat. “Come along and fix yourself up. I’ve got to go back to the ghetto.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her brush her hair and pin her cap back on. She turned to him, ready to leave, but he pressed his thumb into her bottom lip. When he pulled it away, she saw it was smudged with blood. “I think you bit your lip.”

Heni glanced back at the mirror, licking her lips and wondering how she’d missed that. “Yes, I was trying to be quiet.”

He only smirked at that, opening the door and nudging her through. Side by side, they walked down the path to the car in the dimming sunlight. Heni wished she’d brought a sweater and that Karl would hold her hand. But it was too late for both; they were already through the gate.

“Oh, Heni,” someone called from behind her.

She turned to see Lissl walking with her clipboard, smiling broadly. “Good evening, Herr Kommandant! Heni, at your earliest convenience, please join us in Courtyard One.”

Heni fought the urge to laugh. Lissl never said please when giving commands, certainly not in that tone of voice. She was so obviously faking it for Karl, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him. Heni stood taller, happy that Lissl saw her by his side.

Especially when he placed his hand on the small of her back. “Go on, then. I must get going.”

With no choice but to join Lissl, she glanced back at Karl getting back into the car. “Frau Oberaufseherin, I haven’t got my clipboard.”

“You won’t need it,” Lissl said over her shoulder. “None of these names will be on it. Oh, good, Erika and Lilly are already there.”

“Lissl!” Lilly called, waving to them. “Hurry, it’s about to start!” Next to her, Erika looked less enthused.

Heni wanted to ask what was about to happen, but the prickling of dread in her stomach told her she wouldn’t like the answer.

Schmidt and Rojko — Lissl’s and Lilly’s respective husbands — stood at the heads of two lines facing each other. SS men, each with their own whips, stood at arm’s length. The path between the lines was from the entrance of the square to the stone wall, beyond which was the northern point of the fortress. It was this stone wall the aufseherinnen stood against, waiting for something to happen.

Heni’s hands started to shake. She’d never witnessed this, but she’d heard that some executions were carried out by making the prisoner stand in front of the narrow brick wall at the very point of the fortress to be shot. But none of the SS had rifles; their pistols were tucked into their holsters.

“All march!” Schmidt yelled toward the entrance. “You will run down this path to the stone wall and then you will turn back the way you came, one by one. A126, let’s go!”

A man with ragged clothes appeared in the entryway. It was difficult to tell his age — he was hunched, with watery eyes and sagging jowls, but the hair atop his head was a thick, bright blonde. He tightened his fists, set his mouth in a grim line, and ran into the path of the SS.

The sounds of men shouting, whips cracking, dogs barking, and pained yelps filled the air. Despite the clenching of her teeth and the churning of her stomach, Heni forced herself to watch the scene. To her great relief, the man made it through his entire turn, though his clothes were bloody and he could barely walk.

“A354, let’s go!”

This one wasn’t so tough, collapsing halfway on the run back. Over and over the men whipped his back, until Schmidt called them off. “Throw him to the side,” he ordered the last two on the line.

“A506, let’s go!”

A younger one with limp, dark blonde hair entered the square. Like the first one, his fists were clenched, but his handsome, bruised face betrayed him. Blue-green eyes shone from two purple-black sockets.

Heni felt her knees colliding with the ground before she’d even registered who she was looking at. Someone grabbed her arm and helped her up, but she was still entranced by those blue-green eyes… Familiar eyes, ones she’d looked into many times…

She breathed his name quietly, though she didn’t care at that moment if anyone heard her.

“Jiří.”

Chapter 18: XVIII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

A month and a couple weeks after the International Red Cross visit and there was still so much to do. The facades mostly held up, but the ghetto was getting unruly again. The propaganda film not only had to continue, but most of it had to be redone entirely. If everything stayed as it was, perhaps it would be finished by the fall deadline, but Theresienstadt, Karl was convinced, bred chaos. If every hour wasn’t controlled, entire days went to sh*t.

Then there were the things he couldn’t control, like the delays in the supply chain. The shortages everywhere. Last month, a transport to Theresienstadt brought a bunch of children who convinced the ghetto children that the showers were gas chambers, and now no one could seem to behave. The Dresden Barracks were overrun with actual rats. The columbary was overflowing with ashes. Always a problem that Karl had to solve.

And, on top of it all, the f*cking transports. To clear out the ghetto, Möhs wanted the next one at the beginning of September and every week thereafter. Murmelstein and the Council had started another list. Möhs and Günther were at war about the transports interfering with filming. Each of them gave Karl conflicting orders and then lashed out on him when he questioned them.

Eleven o’clock in the evening and now there was Gerron’s daily report of the filming to go over. Karl’s head was pounding, but he forced himself to read it, since every time he skipped it led to a last-minute revision later.

Fortunately, one of the maids had brought him a bottle of whiskey. He poured his first glass and knocked it back. The next, he decided, would be in the painting studio. Even if he had to forgo some much-needed sleep, he needed to paint. It had been months.

But of course, a knock on the door threw that plan off track. “Enter,” he sighed, lowering the whiskey bottle from the desk to the floor next to his feet.

The door opened and the young and annoying Franz Czerba, one of the drivers between here and the Small Fortress, waltzed in. “Good evening, Herr Kommandant. She has requested I bring her to you, but she won’t tell me why.”

He gestured to the woman in the doorway, the Führerin of the Small Fortress. “That’s because it’s not your business, Czerba,” she told him flatly.

“You see?” Czerba snapped. “These women are so insolent, speaking to an SS man this way.”

“Alright, Herr Czerba,” Karl said tiredly. “Please excuse us. You don’t have to wait around. Herr Wöstrel or myself will bring her back.”

“She should walk back.” The driver spat this suggestion at Frau Schwann as he passed. “Maybe she’ll remember her manners on the way.”

The door shut behind him and Karl pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat, Frau Schwann, and tell me why you’re here.”

“Herr Kommandant, I’m sorry to bother you at this late hour,” she said, sitting upon the edge of the chair as if preparing to bolt out of the office at any moment. “But there is something going on at the Small Fortress that I think should be brought to your attention.”

“Not that I doubt your judgment,” Karl said, “but surely this was something Obersturmführer Malloth could’ve decided and saved you a trip?”

“Well, I…” A look of discomfort passed over her plain face, her eyes drifting to the side. “I decided that perhaps it’d be best to bypass Obersturmführer Malloth at this time and come straight to you…since it directly concerns you.”

Karl felt his shoulders tensing back up, undoing the calming of the whiskey. “It’s about my daughter, isn’t it?”

“She’s not in trouble,” Frau Schwann assured him, giving him a nervous smile. “She’s learning well enough, but Elisabeth, our Oberaufseherin, has informed me that she believes Henioche is pregnant.”

“Pregnant,” he stated, refusing to let the word sink in while he had to maintain composure. It didn’t quite work, for his next words came out with a bite. “Despite you being specifically told by your superiors not to allow this to happen?”

“Herr Kommandant, please listen,” she said, clasping her hands together. “There is next to no chance that this happened during her time at the Small Fortress. She is already showing. The aufseherinnen and I have kept a very close watch on her, although I admit we relaxed it a bit recently due to her behavior…but as I’ve stated, it can’t have happened during this time.”

“She is already showing,” Karl repeated. “You have children, yes, Frau Schwann? How far along would you guess she is?”

“This is a common scenario, Herr Kommandant. Elisabeth herself got pregnant in Ravensbrück. She estimates Henioche to be about five months along.”

She leaned in, the tense look back on her face, and spoke in a lower voice. “There are safe places she can go to give birth — no one has to know the child is fathered by a Czech.”

Karl let out a harsh breath, causing her to recoil. “Thank you for telling me this, Frau Schwann. I will take care of it from here. Please continue to keep a close watch on her.”

“Of course.” She made to leave, the muscles in Karl’s neck loosened, and then she turned back just as her hand touched the knob.

“Herr Kommandant, if I may…” she said, like he had any choice but to listen. “Your daughter is very beautiful and still so young. After this whole ordeal is over, she still will have no trouble at all finding a husband. Schmidt says a couple of our guards have mentioned an interest in her — but of course they’ve been deterred by your orders.”

“Thank you, Frau Schwann.” Karl pointedly turned back to his clipboard, silently dismissing her. She left in a hurry with a soft “goodnight, Herr Kommandant,” hopefully knowing she’d overstepped.

Abandoning the whiskey and the daily report, Karl sat at his desk, processing what he’d just learned. It came backward: Frau Schwann’s suggestion that he let Henioche be taken by a SS-guard. That was out of the question; no one was taking his girl from him. Although he did understand that many of the girls had been sent to Theresienstadt by their own fathers with the goal of them finding a man. His orders didn’t make sense, from an outsider’s point of view.

“Well, so be it,” he muttered to himself, reaching down for the whiskey. Who was going to question the commandant out loud? They could find it strange all they wanted; he was the one who had her.

Henioche was pregnant. Karl filled the glass with whiskey and dumped it straight down his throat. Had it been five months, or had Schwann and her crew lied to cover their own asses? He thought back to the last time he saw her — she had been a little rounder, her breasts fuller. And she hadn’t wanted to eat.

So if she was that far along, there were two contenders: Karl himself, and Pokorny. She’d told him she hadn’t gone that far with Pokorny. But he was beyond giving that bitch the benefit of the doubt.

Pokorny was due for his own interrogation, Karl decided, rising from his desk and tucking the bottle of whiskey under his arm. Tomorrow first thing, he’d call upon Malloth to arrange it.

The night was long. Even with the whole bottle of whiskey in him, he couldn’t paint or even sleep. He kept picturing her with that stupid mongrel Czech, blinking her wide, pretty eyes at him, touching him, pressing her soft lips against his, opening her legs for him, his hand on her c*nt… The one upside to this was when Karl stood up the next morning, bleary-eyed and pissed at the world, he was well ready for a proper interrogation.

Of course, the ghetto wouldn’t allow it until nightfall. Even though Czerba brought news that they’d send Pokorny right away, there was filming to supervise and transports to organize. Finally, around the same time as yesterday, Karl arrived at his office to find the door to the basem*nt locked from the outside. Below his feet, a Czech boy was strapped to a chair, ready for him.

Karl’s intention was to catch up on the reports, but his boots carried him to the door, his hands pulling the keys out of his pocket. The reports could wait a little longer.

He opened the door and a blast of cool, dank air filled his nose. The harsh glow of the ceiling lamp in the basem*nt flooded the bottom of the stairs. Karl made sure to slam the door closed, announcing his presence.

Thump. Thump. Thump. He took his time descending the stairs, drawing out the anticipation. His fist tightened around the baton.

Waiting for him was the boy, strapped by the arms and the legs just as Karl predicted. They — likely Haindl and Bergel — had shoved cloth in his mouth. Karl yanked it out and tossed it on the floor, looking down his nose at the boy swallowing and breathing heavily.

He stepped back, taking him in. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Greasy dark blonde hair, pale skin with rings around his blue-green eyes. Slashes marked his cheek and arms, likely from the whip. If he was stripped, Karl knew he’d see many more across his body.

Good, he thought. This little f*cking inferior boy had put his filthy hands and mouth on the wrong girl. “What is your name?” Karl asked.

“Jiří Pokorny,” he said after a large swallow.

Karl couldn’t help but recall Henioche in his study, saying this Czech name in her best Czech imitation. The baton at his side beckoned to him, but he still needed his restraint.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Do you know my name?”

Pokorny shook his head. “One of — one of the commandants.”

“That’s right,” Karl said, smirking and patting his cheek like he would a child, except it was more like a hard tap. “Kommandant Rahm. Gold star for you.”

He watched in satisfaction as the boy’s eyes widened at the name, the connection clicking into place in his mind. “You may have heard of me from the other prisoners or the guards…or from my daughter.”

Pokorny was visibly shaking now, his chest heaving. Karl gave him a minute to collect himself before speaking again.

“You have been, I’m told, interrogated plenty about your father’s connection to the partisan group in Prague. But that group has been eliminated by the Reich and your father’s ashes are floating in the Ohře. So, Jiří, my new young friend, what do you think your interrogation will be about this time?”

“Your daughter,” Pokorny said.

“That’s right.” This time Karl didn’t even bother lightening the sharp tap to his cheek. “Say her name.”

“Heni,” the boy said, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Heni Rahm.”

“So brave of you,” Karl said, slowly pacing in front of him, letting his boots crunch the dirt into the cement floor, “to go after a German girl. Very brave. There is a line, though, isn’t there, Jiří? A fine line between bravery and stupidity. Going after a superior is brave, I’ll give you that. But the commandant of the camp in which we stamp out partisan scum like you… his daughter? It’s a wonder you can talk and breathe at the same time.”

“Herr Kommandant,” Pokorny blurted, looking up at Karl with pleading eyes. “I didn’t know she was your daughter. She didn’t tell me anything — I mean, I’d assumed you were part of the SS. But not the commandant of this camp.”

Karl chuckled, shaking his head. “This comes as no surprise, honestly. If she told you, you would take your affections elsewhere, yes? She knew that. She’s a manipulative little c*nt.”

Pokorny’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, grating at Karl’s temper. “What, you haven’t figured that out yet? Boy, are you dumb, played by a fifteen-year-old girl like a violin. Maybe if you survive, you’ll carry this as a lesson for the next one.

“Now.” He raised his baton and gave it a solid thwack against his palm, laughing when the boy flinched. “Let’s move on. As you should know but I’ll tell you anyway because you’re clearly an idiot, it is illegal in the Protectorate for a Czech to have relations with a German. And so I want to know how this came about. From the beginning. Where did you find her?”

“She was in front of my father’s shop.” He was looking up and to the side, digging through his memory. Many men knew how to fake that, but not a stupid boy. “She was crying.”

“She was crying?” Karl was not expecting this answer. “Why?”

“I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me,” Pokorny said. “But she was hurt — her arm was scraped up and bleeding, so I took her inside and helped her bandage it up.”

“You took her inside.” Karl stepped closer, keeping the baton level with Pokorny’s face. “She just…went inside with a random Czech.” He was remembering this day when she came home late, scraped up after getting chased down the street by Czech girls.

“Well…” Pokorny lowered his eyes again. “First she told me to go away, but she was bleeding and so I offered to help her.”

“You should have just f*cking gone away,” Karl spat. He was unsure why, but he hated the idea of this boy helping his hurt daughter almost as much as him touching her. “And then what, after the bandage was on? You took advantage of a vulnerable, hurt young girl?”

“No, I promise it wasn’t like that, Herr Kommandant.” The boy’s voice was high-pitched and breathy with fear. “I never pushed her to do anything. She asked me to be together, she told me — "

He stopped short, mashing his lips together.

“She told you what?” Karl prompted, smacking him hard across the face when he didn’t reply. “Answer me, you dumb little sh*t.”

Pokorny straightened up, keeping his eyes on Karl’s boots. “She told me she loves me.”

Karl laughed out loud, despite the rage coursing through his veins. “Do you really think she loves you?”

No response. He swung the baton like a baseball bat, catching both of Pokorny’s shins. The boy hissed in pain but kept his composure.

“Answer me.”

A pause and then, “Yes, I think so. She kept coming back.”

Karl tightened his shaking hands around the baton. This wasn’t working; he kept getting off track. Get it together, he scolded himself. “How did the pair of you spend your time together when she came to see you?”

Even in his restraints, Pokorny was bristling with discomfort. “Well, um, we mostly talked.”

“Is that so? And when you weren’t talking? Come on, Jiří, we’re both men, or almost a man in your case. You’ll sure be one when we’re finished here. A pretty girl seeks you out and what do you do? Obviously you didn’t turn her away. Did she make the first move?”

Pokorny shook his head. “I did — I kissed her. She enjoyed it,” he added hurriedly. “She’d just told me she wanted to be my girlfriend. I told her it was a bad idea. But I kissed her anyway.”

“And then?”

“Then she went home.” He glanced up; the idiot genuinely thought that was the answer Karl was looking for.

Karl sighed, feeling his eyelid starting to twitch. “Listen to me, Pokorny. You are wasting my time and I am a very busy man. You are going to tell me every single way you have put your filthy, grubby hands on my daughter. All of the ways you’ve touched her. Now.”

“We kissed.” Pokorny was concentrating hard on his knee, his greasy hair falling over his forehead. “I touched her breasts. And, um, between her legs.”

He yelped as Karl brought down the baton upon his knees. “Enough with this vague sh*t. Touched her breasts how? Between her legs how?”

“I squeezed them,” he said. “And, um, I sort of, put my mouth on them. Like sucked on them, you know.”

His face was flushing. How young and stupid, Karl thought, to be embarrassed by talking about a woman in such a circ*mstance. “And between her legs?”

“I, um, I rubbed her there. And, um, I put my mouth there, too.”

He was bright red now, avoiding Karl’s stare. “Adventurous one, are you?” Karl sneered, giving him another not-so-gentle tap. “Let me tell you something, Jiří, since you’re blushing like a little schoolgirl. You are not going to sit there and convince me you didn’t f*ck my daughter. So you might as well come out with it.”

When Pokorny raised his eyes, they were wide with terror. “No, I swear, Herr Kommandant, it didn’t go that far! I wouldn’t — she’s so young. I want — wanted to wait until she’s older.”

“You’re lying.” Karl slammed the baton against his knees again. “You’re telling me that your pretty little girlfriend, who came to your hovel of a shop just for your affection and even told you she loves you, practically gave herself up to you from what it f*cking sounds like, and you…didn’t do anything.”

“I touched her, like I told you.” Pokorny was grimacing with pain, but his voice was steady. “I didn’t… I wasn’t inside of her.”

The baton obviously wasn’t working, so Karl let it clang to the floor and whipped the back of his hand across the boy’s face. His knuckles dragged across the cut in his cheek, re-tearing it. Blood trickled down the side of his face and dripped onto his ragged trousers.

“I suggest you stop lying to me, Jiří,” Karl said in his best pseudo-kind voice. “You’re used to the baton, I see, but I’ve also got a gun and a knife, both of which I’m skilled at using.”

He slipped his knife out of his pocket and flicked it open. Holding it against his upper thigh, he smirked into Pokorny’s fear-stricken face. “Now, I’ve never castrated a man before, but one who f*cked my daughter is a good test subject, wouldn’t you say?”

The boy’s chest was heaving, his teeth chattering. “I didn’t — Herr Kommandant, I swear — I didn’t — just my fingers — "

“Oh?” Karl raised the knife to Pokorny’s throat. “Before it was you weren’t inside of her and now it’s your fingers? Are your fingers not a part of you, Jiří?”

“No, I meant I didn’t f*ck her!” Pokorny bawled. “I swear, Herr Kommandant…”

He trailed off as Karl walked behind him and cut through the rope tying his hands to the chair. Before Pokorny could swing his arms forward, he grabbed the right one. “These two fingers, yes?” He tapped them with the knife.

Pokorny nodded, apparently too scared to speak. Karl held his fingers and pressed the blade into one. Blood surrounded it, running down his arm. “I’m going to ask you one more time, and if I suspect you’re lying, I will cut both of these worthless, filthy fingers off. Did you f*ck my daughter?”

He pressed the knife in deeper as Pokorny howled in fear, trying to wrench his hand out of Karl’s grasp. Under the knife’s edge, he felt the slicing of meat until it hit bone.

“No, oh God, no!” Pokorny sobbed. “No, please, I didn’t, I swear! I wanted to but I didn’t, God, please!”

“Hmm, to you I am God right now, aren’t I?” Karl mused, holding the knife in place and watching the blood and tears pour out. Slowly, he pulled it out of the flesh and dropped the hand. Immediately, Pokorny gripped it tightly with his other one, still crying.

Karl watched him, mulling it over. He’d inspected Henioche’s naked body each time she’d come back late. Of course there could’ve been a time he didn’t know about while he was in Theresienstadt, but Maria would’ve informed him if she’d come back late, even if Iolanthe wouldn’t.

“I’m tired of you, so I’ve got only one last question,” he said, dropping the knife back into his coat pocket. “Do you love her back?”

He let Pokorny snivel a bit before taking a step closer. The boy tensed up, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. “Yes,” he whispered to his lap.

“Well, isn’t that a crying shame.” Karl grabbed the boy’s chin and jerked his head up. “Since you will never touch her again. You will never see her again. Do you know why? Because you’re a dumb, filthy piece of sh*t who thinks he can have what he doesn’t deserve.”

He released him and turned his back, about to head upstairs and leave this sniveling, pathetic boy down here all night. But as his boot landed on the first stair, Pokorny’s voice reached his ears.

“You don’t deserve her, either.”

Karl slowly turned around, frowning in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

Pokorny’s half-bloody face was held high, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know whether she loves me or not, but I know she doesn’t love you. She asked me to be with her after the war, against your wishes. To run away with her.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Karl was in front of him, closing his fist. Over and over he punched the boy’s face, hearing the crack of his tooth and feeling his knuckles wet with blood. Pokorny’s head lolled back, his eyes closed and mouth half-open. Feeling the rage drain out of him, Karl pressed his fingers against the slippery neck. Alive.

Back upstairs, Karl washed his hands and adjusted his hat in the washroom before heading to the lounge. Unsurprisingly, Wöstrel and Haindl were still there, three bottles of Cognac deep into a card game.

“There is a prisoner in the basem*nt,” Karl told Wöstrel. “I need you to rouse him with cold water and take him back to the Small Fortress.”

“But Herr Kommandant,” Wöstrel protested, “I’m drunk as all hell.”

“Then throw some of that cold water on yourself, too,” Karl said as he turned and left the lounge. Maybe Wöstrel would drive the car with Pokorny off the road and into the river. Karl knew he couldn’t be so lucky.

Again another sleepless night. The interrogation hadn’t done much to calm his nerves. At least he knew the baby in Henioche’s womb was undoubtedly his, that he was the first to claim her — and last, for at least the rest of his time on Earth.

His knuckles were swollen. I know she doesn’t love you. The nerve of that f*cking little boy. He knows nothing, Karl assured himself. Yet the rage wouldn’t subside, not letting him sleep, working hard to cover something deeper in his chest.

Chapter 19: XIX - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

“Tell me about him,” Erika said. “Who is he?”

Heni looked up from her sewing pattern, trying and failing to keep her face neutral. “Who?”

They were seated on a blanket behind the empty Block C, sharing a basket of small green apples. Most of them had large, mushy brown spots, but they ate around them. The other aufseherinnen were by the pool — Kommandant Jöckel had invited everyone for bratwurst, beer, wine, and lounging by the large swimming pool in the rear yard of the commandant’s building. But of course a handful of them had to stay behind to keep an eye on the prisoners, so the lower-ranked guards were left out.

“The prisoner housed around Courtyard One,” said Erika. “A506, right? The younger one with the nice-colored eyes. You know him somehow, don’t you? You go over there a lot.”

Heni let out a slow breath, studying the apple core in her sticky hand. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard about this, but I was sent here because I had an affair with a Czech.”

“I’ve heard, yes.” Erika nodded, giving no indication what she was thinking. “So that’s him, then? The prisoner — that’s the Czech?”

Heni hesitated. Erika had told her a secret, although it wasn’t personal to her and couldn’t get her into major trouble like this one. But, one could argue, Reich secrets were personal, too, or they would be one day if they lost the war. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Is he responsible for that?” Erika pointed at Heni’s emerging belly. “Everyone’s wondering how it happened.”

“Let them wonder,” Heni said dismissively, throwing the apple core down the hill.

“But you still care for him,” Erika stated. “Otherwise you wouldn’t seek him out.”

“Perhaps,” said Heni, growing annoyed at Erika’s probing. “Doesn’t matter much, does it? I’ll probably never have another chance with him again.”

Her chest filled with the familiar sorrow. The only other man that could compete with Karl, so close but locked away from her. And it wasn’t like Karl was acting like she existed, either.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Erika said quietly.

Heni looked up, furrowing a brow. Erika was gazing off to the side, to the sun patch on the grass next to the building. “In an event like this, perhaps we could get by. They’ve only got two guards over there and one’s a total dolt.”

“And the other one?” Heni asked, not sharing Erika’s optimism. If it was something she wanted, something would block her.

“Well…we’d only have to bribe one, wouldn’t we?”

By the next week, a plan was set into motion: Each day, Heni and Erika would carry out their reconnaissance, picking up on the patterns of their fellow guards in Courtyard One. The “dolt” disappeared for hours at a time, doing who-knew-what. The one they were to bribe, Mende, was very fond of his baton, which Heni suspected was why the prisoners were scarcely seen outside of traveling to and from the workshops.

There was one snag in the plan: There was nothing to bribe Mende with. Neither Heni nor Erika had enough money between them to make it worth it. The only other option made Heni want to throw up: She’d seen Mende eyeing her up in interest, belly and all, the few times they’d been in close proximity to each other. But the idea was too loathsome to bear…

In the end, the entire plan was discarded when, purely by accident, Erika discovered something better they could use in their favor. Rosel had asked her to cover her overseeing the textile workshop with no explanation. Annoyed, Erika had followed her to find her on the outskirts of the fortress, lying with Lilly’s husband, Untersturmführer Rojko.

“Here is what we’ll do,” Heni said upon hearing this good fortune. “We confront them separately — you take Rosel and I’ll take Rojko. It’ll catch them off guard, and we need different things from each of them, yes? They’re more likely to agree if they think one of us is the only one who knows their secret.”

Erika, seated upon the rocking chair in Heni’s room, nodded in agreement. “I fear that Rojko might not care as much,” she said. “He’s a brute, and he runs to Malloth over the slightest thing.”

“He will care when Lilly finds out and drags him to the gallows by his ear,” Heni told her. “I doubt even he doesn’t want to be the receiver of her wrath.”

She wished this confidence carried over to the next day, when she found Rojko seated on a picnic bench by himself after dinner, smoking a cigarette. She’d overheard at breakfast from Lilly that they’d had a row the night before and weren’t speaking to each other. So far so good.

“Good evening, Herr Untersturmführer,” she said, standing a few feet away, clutching her clipboard with sweaty hands. “I was hoping to discuss something with you if you have the time.”

His thick eyebrows were knitted together as he simply stared at her for a few seconds. She couldn’t blame him, having said no more than two words to him until now.

“What is it?” he asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

“As you’ve probably heard by now, I’ve had previous relations with a Czech prisoner in Courtyard One and I need to discuss something with him…without our superiors knowing. I was wondering, um, if you could help me with that?”

“I am your superior,” he told her, lighting up another cigarette and taking a long inhale before continuing. “And I’m sure curious about what you’d like to ‘discuss’ with this prisoner.” His small blue eyes roved over her as a smirk crossed his face.

“The same ‘discussion’ you’re having with Rosel Knopf, I suspect,” she said pointedly.

He blinked, the smirk vanishing. But in the same second it was back. He let out a smoke-filled huff through his nose and shook his head. “If you insist on sacrificing yourself for a filthy partisan, by all means, I won’t stop you.”

“I’ve worked that part out, actually,” she told him before the words would make a second round through her head. “The help I need from you involves keeping Mende and what’s-his-name out of the courtyard during my visit and also not having Malloth find out about any of this.”

“Rather demanding, are we?” Rojko stood up, took a pull of his cigarette, and blew the smoke in her face. “Why would I do all that?”

“So your wife doesn’t find out about Rosel…” she said slowly, already knowing this blackmail wouldn’t work.

“What is she going to do?” he sneered. “She’s here and not out on the street because of me. She’s lucky I even gave her a chance.”

Heni had nothing to say to that. Without anything to hold over his head, she couldn’t risk it. That was the best case scenario where he wasn’t about to run off and tell Malloth.

“Tell you what,” he said, pinching out his cigarette and sliding it back into a metal case he produced from his front pocket. “You and I have the same ‘discussion’ you’re planning on having with him, and the courtyard will be mysteriously absent of SS this Friday.”

Here we go again, Heni thought miserably. She had no way out of it, but maybe she could at least buy time to think of one. “Alright,” she said. “But it’ll have to be after I meet with the prisoner.”

“Why?” Rojko demanded.

“I don’t trust you,” she said simply, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you think I trust a sneaky little bitch knocked up by a Czech partisan?” he snapped. “I don’t, if you were wondering.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Heni said in a tone she hoped passed as dismissive.

For at least half a minute, neither of them spoke, staring each other down. At last, Rojko relented, letting out a scoff and holding up his hands. “Fine. After. But you’d better pay up.”

As he passed her, he gently held her chin and whispered in her ear. “It’s not like you can leave anyway, Princess Rahm, can you?” He walked back toward the courtyard, sending one last smirk over his shoulder at her.

As predicted, Rosel was a lot easier to convince. The threat of being excommunicated from the aufseherinnen was enough for her to agree to cover Heni’s morning roll call and supervising that Friday.

“And she’ll corroborate our story,” Erika muttered to Heni in the hallway on the way to supper. “About you being sick in bed.”

“Starting to feel a bit sick now,” said Heni, grinning, but she was only half-joking.

The others, including Rosel, were seated at the table already. “You two have been spending quite a lot of time together,” Lissl quipped. “Sure hope you’re not up to something.”

“Maybe which untermensch is going to knock Erika up this time,” Ellie said snidely, causing Lilly and Lissl to snicker. Beside them, Rosel stared at her plate, silent.

The days dragged on; Friday morning was slower than all of them put together. At dinner, as Rojko and Lilly passed by, the former gave Heni an almost imperceptible nod. Rosel casually picked up Heni’s clipboard and disappeared from the dining hall before Lissl had even started eating.

At two o’clock sharp, Heni strode across Courtyard One like she was supposed to be there, taking care of business. The key to the cell of prisoner A506, previously left under the picnic table she and Rojko made the deal, burned a hole in her palm. With a shaking hand, she shoved it in the lock and turned.

Jiří turned his face away as the door opened and sunlight filled the room. Heni quietly closed the door behind her, slipping the key in her pocket. He still didn’t look over at her.

She tiptoed over and knelt in front of him. “Jiří?” she asked uncertainly. Still turned away. She reached for his hand, but it was all bandaged up, so she went for the other one. Gently, she took his cold hand in both of hers. “Jiří, it’s me, Heni.”

His neck creaked as he finally looked at her. His eyes were completely blank. The skin surrounding them was black and blue, split by a gash with caked blood on his cheek.

“Jiří,” she gasped. “What have they done to you?”

She reached up to touch his face, but he winced, turning away again. “I’m sorry,” she said, clutching his good hand. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, Jiří, please look at me.”

He complied but this time when his eyes fell upon her, they were narrowed, filled with something unfamiliar. From him — she’d seen that look plenty of times from Karl.

“Your father did this to me,” he bit out. “He interrogated me. About you.”

“About me?” Heni frowned, confused. She hadn’t seen Karl in weeks. “Why?”

Jiří didn’t answer, looking away again. She reached out and gently touched his right jaw, the only part of his face that wasn’t bruised. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m going to get you out somehow, I just need to think of a plan. In the meantime, do you need anything? Here, I brought you a buchta.”

She pulled the foil-wrapped buchta she’d swiped from the dining table out of her pocket and extended it to him. He didn’t take it, so she left it on top of the empty wood-burning stove.

“Jiří…” she tried again. “How can I help? I could get you more clothes, a blanket. Are you getting enough water?”

“I don’t want your help, Heni.”

She knelt in front of him again, touching his hand. This time, at least, he faced her without her prompting. “You’ve done enough.”

“But I can — "

“No.” His voice was laced with vitriol, stunning her. “I said, I don’t want your help, Heni. I don’t want anything from you but to leave me alone. You’ve ruined my life enough.”

“But Jiří…” Her eyes were welling up, each of his words ripping at her heart. “I want to help you. I love you.”

The look in his eyes was so cold, she let go of his hand, her lips parting. “Your help only results in more trouble for me. You are trouble — this whole thing was a mistake. You — you come here, pregnant in a guard’s uniform, and you claim to love me?”

He scoffed, shaking his head as if she was an annoying fly buzzing around his ear, and let a look of pure contempt take over his face. His lips tightened, and his next words were more spat than spoken. “I love you, Heni, but I shouldn’t. You are disgusting. Now go back to him, and leave me alone before you get me into even more trouble.”

His face blurred with her tears. She wanted to protest that she hadn’t wanted to betray him and get pregnant and become an aufseherin, that Karl had forced her into all of that. But while all of that was true, it didn’t matter because Jiří was talking about her heart, and that belonged to both him and Karl. No matter how hard she wished otherwise.

She wiped her eyes and stood up. “I will get you more supplies,” she said. “And however you feel about me, I still love you and I always will.”

Fighting the urge to kiss his forehead, she left the cell and locked him inside. He was right: She was disgusting, and she’d caused more harm to him than good. He was better off without her.

Her heart was shredding in her chest. The tears kept coming even as she blotted her cheeks over and over again. At least she had the time it took to put the key back under the picnic table to pull herself together enough to make it through the rest of the day. Except when the picnic table came into view, she saw it was occupied by two people, a man and a woman.

Rojko and Lilly sat upon the bench, seemingly waiting for her. The shreds of Heni’s heart were thumping against her throat. Something was terribly wrong.

“Good day,” she ventured, making like she was strolling past.

“Well, if it isn’t Princess Rahm out and about,” Rojko said. The malevolent glint in his eye told her he was up to no good.

“A quick recovery she’s made from just two hours ago,” said Lilly. “Perhaps Frau Oberaufseherin should be informed.”

“I agree,” said Heni, giving her a fake grin. “I am just on my way to tell her I’ll be taking back supervision from Rosel.”

Rojko stood and held out his hand. “Enough of this. Give me the key.”

“What are you talking about?” Heni tried to play dumb, but Rojko was advancing on her, snatching her arm. “Let go of me!”

His hand burrowed into her pocket as she tried to wrench herself free. First he had the wrong pocket, but then he twisted her arm back, making her hiss in pain, and delved into the other one. “Here it is,” he said to Lilly, holding it up for her to see.

“He’s pursuing one of the other guards,” Heni told her, stamping her foot behind her, catching a boot. “I saw him last Thursday with her.”

When Lilly said nothing, she continued, “And he tried to pursue me in exchange for help seeing the prisoner, but he’s gone back on his word like a dishonorable scum — "

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Rojko sneered, pushing her forward. “Like I’d ever go after a fat, stupid partisan’s whor* like you.”

“Liar,” Lilly added, twisting her small features in disgust as she walked by Rojko’s side.

Down the hill, through the courtyard, across the main path, and into the commandant’s house they dragged her. On the way, they only saw a cluster of SS men. One nudged the others, and they all turned to watch them pass, snickering.

“Looks like she’s in trouble!”

“Yes, she looks like trouble. That must be the one with the Czech bastard in her womb.”

“What a shame. Quite a looker otherwise…”

In the commandant’s building, they turned down a hallway on the ground floor Heni had never been in before. It felt like part of a maze, even though they couldn’t have made more than three turns. Rojko’s grip on her wrist was so tight, her fingertips were going numb.

He dragged her into an office decorated with marble statues, paintings, an oriental rug, and an ornate oak desk. Behind this sat a man, SS-Obersturmführer Anton Malloth according to the brass nameplate on the desk under a stained-glass lamp.

He looked up, grinning. Heni recognized him as the handsome man who gave the speech at the execution. “Ah, Kommandant Rahm’s daughter, yes? I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Please sit down.”

Rojko let go of her arm, allowing her to take a seat in the single wooden chair in front of the desk. “I will take it from here, Stephan,” Malloth said, turning his grin on Rojko.

He and Lilly left, closing the door behind them. Malloth picked up the phone by his desk, waited a few seconds, and said into the receiver, “Herr Czerba. Has anyone been in contact with Kommandant Rahm? Alright, thank you.”

He set the phone down and took Heni in with mirthful hazel eyes. They dropped to her midsection for half a second before settling on her face. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”

Heni swallowed hard. Whichever way she spun it, she was in massive trouble, but she couldn’t let any come to Erika or Jiří. You’ve done enough.

“I’m not angry with you, Fräulein,” Malloth said. “I would just like to know the truth.”

“It was my doing.” Heni’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “I fell in love with a prisoner, so I asked Herr Rojko for the key to his cell and snuck in to see him. But he…he doesn’t want to see me. He told me not to come back anymore.”

“Ouch,” said Malloth. “That must have hurt. Who is this prisoner?”

How many times could she betray him? She’d done enough. But Malloth would find out from Rojko or even Karl when he found out. “Come on, sweetheart, tell me,” Malloth prompted.

“A506,” she whispered.

“A506,” he repeated, pulling open a drawer and taking out a heavy leather-covered binder. “First Courtyard, that is…hmm…” He muttered to himself as he ran his finger down the names. “Ah, here we are — Pokorny, partisan, eighteen years old from Prague. Alright, well that makes sense. This goes further back than the Small Fortress, yes? You knew him in Prague?”

“Yes,” Heni told him.

“Well, that’s better news,” said Malloth jovially as he shut the binder and cleared it from his desk. “Can’t have our aufseherinnen falling in love with prisoners, no, not a good look at all. That’s what our guards are for.” He let out a chuckle.

“Herr Obersturmführer,” Heni said in a rush before she could change her mind. “Please, please don’t punish the prisoner. This was all my doing — I pursued him after he told me to leave him alone. I should have listened.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Malloth agreed. “Some lessons need to be learned the hard way, hmm?”

At Heni’s distressed expression, he sighed and scrunched his lips into his cheek, holding out his hands. “The decision of what to do with the prisoner isn’t mine, it’s your father’s.”

Heni sank her face into her hands. There wasn’t a chance in hell her father wouldn’t beat him again. Tears burned her swollen eyelids, but she managed to stave them off and lift her head. Malloth had moved onto something else, leafing through a stack of papers.

A knock on the door sent shivers down Heni’s spine. But who entered the office was not Karl but Lissl with a smug expression on her face.

“Good evening, Herr Obersturmführer,” she said sweetly to Malloth. “I suppose you’d like me to hold onto her until Kommandant Rahm arrives?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Malloth told her, “but he did pass along orders to keep a closer eye on her while she performs her duties.”

“Wait…” The smugness dropped from Lissl’s face and Heni couldn’t help feel a twinge of satisfaction. “Forgive me, Herr Obersturmführer, but are you telling me she’s staying?”

“She is.” Malloth gave her his characteristic grin, nodding. “Kommandant Jöckel says we need her. Unterscharführer Rojko has assured me he won’t be so careless with his keys from now on, and that his guards will keep a closer eye on A506’s cell.”

“So she” — Lissl pointed to Heni, her meticulously-groomed brows mashed together — “just simply returns to work with absolutely no consequence for having a liaison with a prisoner?”

Malloth grew serious, staring at Lissl with the sternest expression Heni had seen him with to date, which was still softer than Karl’s neutral one. “Elisabeth, please do not question orders. Your superiors are working with information and careful planning that you are not always privy to.”

“Yes, of course, Herr Obersturmführer,” said Lissl, glancing at her feet. “Please forgive me, I’m a bit stressed out by this whole situation. But no matter, I will gladly keep a closer watch on her. Come along, Heni.”

Heni heaved herself to her feet and followed Lissl out of the office. She assumed they were going to the dining hall for supper, but Lissl took her arm and shoved her into a room that appeared to be for meetings, judging by the long table surrounded by chairs and film projector on the far wall.

Lissl closed the door behind them, snatched a handful of Heni’s hair, and snarled in her face, “Listen here, you stupid, annoying little whor*. If you weren’t knocked up, I would whip my hand across your ugly little face until you bleed — though I’d be doing the world a favor if I got rid of that bastard baby. You’d better stay out of trouble or I’ll make you wish you were a prisoner too, you hear me?”

Her hand clamped around Heni’s chin and pulled her even closer. “Answer me, you stupid little f*cking pig.” Droplets of spit sprayed Heni’s cheeks.

“Yes, Frau Oberaufseherin,” Heni seethed, curling her fists around her skirt to keep from pushing Lissl away.

“Good.” Lissl released her, opened the door, and waved her through. “Let’s go to supper then, shall we?” she said in a fake-upbeat voice.

Lissl did not speak to Heni on the way to the dining hall, nor at the table where she joined Ellie and Rosel. Erika was not there, so Heni sat slightly away from them, avoiding their glances.

Though she kept the airy voice, Lissl’s grip on her spoon was so tight, her knuckles were white. Heni wanted to tell her she was no more happy about this lack of punishment than Lissl was, because any punishment Malloth could give would pale in comparison to Karl’s.

And she knew by his absence that Karl’s calculated punishment was coming, and it would hurt badly when it did. It was just a matter of when.

Chapter 20: XX - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

Standing in the women’s courtyard, Heni blew her whistle for the second time that day. “Roll call! Line up at once!” she bellowed.

Swinging the key ring around her finger, she watched the women leave their cells and line up in neat rows of fives. Soon they were joined by the Jewish families. By now, even the youngest children who could stand on their own two feet knew to stand silently for the headcount.

Once everyone was lined up, Heni did a quick survey of the courtyard. It looked the same as this morning, but of course she couldn’t be sure. The sun was sinking behind the fortress walls. With her clipboard in one hand and the other on the small of her back, she walked slowly on the perimeter of the formation. The flutters she’d been feeling in her belly began to still, lulled by her steps.

Looking down at her clipboard, she opened her mouth to call out the first number, but in the same second, she heard someone call “Rahm!” from behind her.

She turned to see Schmidt waving her over from the entryway to the courtyard. “Come on, it’s urgent.”

You see I can’t run, she thought grumpily as she hurried over the fastest she could. “What is it?” she breathed, clutching her bulging lower belly.

“You’ve been summoned by the commandant,” he informed her. “Pass that clipboard to Bauer so she can take over the roll call.”

Beside him, Erika held out her hand without speaking. Her face was blank, but Heni got the sense Erika’s large honey eyes were trying to tell her something. However, she had no time to decipher it, hurrying after Schmidt down the path to the commandant’s building.

“Which commandant, Herr Untersturmführer?” she asked tentatively, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“The one who’ll finally put you in your place,” Schmidt sneered. From this, she deduced Jöckel, her shoulders sagging, though that still meant trouble.

But upon their arrival, she saw a group of uniformed men gathered around the second of two SS cars. In the dim blue light of dusk, she couldn’t make out their faces until they were almost right in front of them.

Jöckel was nowhere to be seen. The group consisted of Malloth, Rojko, the SS driver Wöstrel, and, leaning against the driver’s side door with a cigar in his hand, Karl.

“Here she is, Herr Kommandant,” Schmidt announced, nudging Heni toward her father.

Karl gave one disinterested glance at his daughter before stepping on his cigar and turning to the rest. “Alright, we’re ready to go, then?”

“Who’s riding with who?” Wöstrel asked, walking around the first car and pulling open the driver’s side door.

“They’re all going with you,” Karl told him. “She is coming with me.”

He didn’t wait for anyone’s response, opening the passenger side door of the second car. Malloth looked like he wanted to protest, but all he said was, “I’m riding in the front seat.”

In the front seat next to Karl, Heni kept her clammy hands clasped on her lap, watching the Small Fortress pass by. She’d assumed they were going to the ghetto, but they turned down a road just over the river.

Karl didn’t speak to her. His hands were wrapped tightly around the wheel as he followed Wöstrel’s car through the fields. Another turn and now on a dirt road through the forest. From the crew, it seemed like an SS getaway, like a fishing or camping trip. But then why was she brought along?

Wöstrel’s car slowed down as it approached a huge clearing between the trees. Karl drove around it and stopped in the middle of the path. As soon as the car stopped, he shut it off, got out, and came around to the passenger’s side. Gripping her arm, he marched his frightened and bewildered daughter into the clearing.

Malloth and Wöstrel met them somewhere in the middle, each lighting up cigarettes. The grass tickled Heni’s legs, but she barely felt it in her violent trembling. Surely Karl could feel it. But then he let go and approached the others.

“Where is he?”

“Rojko and Schmidt are getting him, Herr Kommandant,” Malloth said with his usual grin.

Heni looked toward the other car. The trunk was open, and she could see dark figures moving near it, but that’s all she could make out.

“Come on, it’s getting dark, for God’s sake,” Karl called impatiently. He paced, scowling, ignoring the others until Rojko and Schmidt approached. Between them was a tall figure with a black burlap sack over his head. A prisoner about to be executed, Heni realized, her heart sinking.

“Over there.” Karl pointed ahead.

“I’ll do the honor, Herr Kommandant,” Malloth offered while the SS guards dragged the prisoner further through the grass. “I never miss a shot.”

Oddly, the prisoner’s clothes were new, monotone grey shirt and trousers, but he was barefoot. He stood mutely between Rojko and Schmidt, who had a hold on each of his arms.

“Are you suggesting I’ll miss the shot, Anton?” Karl asked waspishly.

“No, of course not, Herr Kommandant,” Malloth assured him. “It’s just that I told Kommandant Jöckel that I’d be taking the shot. It’ll help me, ah, you know, earn back the points I lost, so to speak, when he found out an aufseherin made her way into Courtyard One — "

“f*cking fine, take the shot,” Karl snapped, losing what little patience he’d brought here. “Take your position behind him but don’t you raise that gun until I tell you to. You two, make him kneel.”

He took two steps and turned back, his narrowed eyes falling on Heni for the first time since he’d all but yanked her out of the car. “Come with me.”

Clutching her belly, she followed him around the scene until they were in front of the prisoner. “Take off the bag,” he ordered.

Schmidt hastened to obey, fumbling with the rope, loosening, pulling it up, taking the burlap with it. The prisoner’s dark blonde hair, much cleaner than the last time she’d seen it, fell over his hollow cheek. Jiří’s blue-green eyes landed on Heni and glistened in the dying sunlight.

“No,” Heni whispered, tears rushing to her own eyes. “No!” she cried louder, turning to Karl. “No, you can’t!”

Ignoring the controlled fury in his eyes and his fingers digging into her upper arm as he shoved her out of Jiří’s line of vision, she begged, “No, Father, please don’t! This isn’t his fault, it’s mine! Please, he didn’t do anything wrong — !”

Like a hawk’s talon snatching its prey, Karl grabbed the hair on the back of her head and yanked it back to hiss in her ear. “Shut up now, or I promise you will pay later, do you understand me?”

She could only whimper.

“Johann, get the f*ck over here, will you?” Karl barked, still holding Heni in place by her hair. “Anton, are you going to stand there like a dolt or are you going to shoot?”

“Hands up!” Malloth bellowed to Jiří, raising the gun. The SS guards scampered to his side, hands on their own holsters, while Wöstrel joined Heni and Karl. Wöstrel’s hold on her arm was surprisingly gentle, like he was about to escort her.

Meanwhile, Jiří knelt with lifted hands, his eyes raised to the sky. His lips were moving, whispering something in Czech. A prayer perhaps, though he’d told Heni so long ago he wasn’t religious.

“Ready…” Malloth boomed, clicking the safety off and aiming for the back of Jiří’s head. “Fire!”

Wheezing, Heni tried to duck her head, but Karl’s grip was too tight, so she squeezed her eyes shut just as the CRACK echoed off the trees. When she opened them, Jiří was slumped over in the grass.

“No…” Her knees buckled just as the men let go and she collapsed onto the ground. Blackness in her peripheral vision taunted her, threatening to overtake her, but her breaths and footsteps in the grass and voices kept her from succumbing.

“Make sure he’s dead,” Karl was saying to someone. “I don’t need the piece of sh*t showing up three days later like Christ resurrected.”

“He is dead, Herr Kommandant,” came Malloth’s cheerful voice.

They floated away, leaving Heni crouched on the ground. An eternity later, she was able to heave herself up to her feet and walk albeit wobbly like she was drunk, toward Jiří. Just one last time, one last touch —

“Where are you going?” A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around to see Karl glaring at her. “Let’s go, get back in the car.”

“No!” she yelled in his face, wrenching herself out of his grip. Of course he caught her in the next second, latching onto her arm again and dragging her to the car.

“No, let me go!” she exploded. “How could you? He didn’t deserve to die, you monster!” The heels of her palms slammed into her father’s chest; her leg swung out and connected with his shin. “You murderer! I hate you!”

“Shut the f*ck up.” Karl grabbed her by the neck, pinned her to the car, and slapped her hard across the face twice. The second one caught her mouth, smashing her lips against her teeth. “I said get in the f*cking car before I shut you up for good.”

Still holding her neck, he opened the car door and shoved her roughly inside. It slammed shut behind her, just missing the heels of her loafers. She positioned herself in the passenger’s seat and tried to steady her breath, looking out the window.

The SS had respectfully convened on the side of Wöstrel’s car, giving Karl privacy to beat his daughter out of view. Their banter and laughter came through the glass pane — how could they laugh after murdering an innocent eighteen-year-old boy? Monsters, all of them, Heni thought, biting her swollen lip in anger.

She wasn’t going to give Karl the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but as soon as the car pulled away, leaving Jiří lying in the field, abandoned, the tears came. The thought of him dying alone, scared and barefoot, unleashed the sobs she’d been carefully swallowing down. On the entire way back, she wept into her hands, unconcerned about Karl’s reaction. He didn’t seem to have one, driving silently with one hand on the wheel.

Until they were back in the Small Fortress, pulling up next to the commandant’s house. Heni was still crying, but with enough pauses in between sobs to blot her face with her handkerchief.

“It’s time to pull yourself together before you hurt yourself,” her father said. “Or the baby.”

“Now you’re concerned about the baby,” she muttered to herself.

Of course Karl heard it, scoffing. “I’ve always been concerned about the baby, so enough with your prissy little attitude, Henioche.”

Instead of gripping her arm like usual, he held her hand as he led her inside the building. The other SS didn’t follow, melting into the courtyards or driving back to the ghetto.

When they got to the second floor, they nearly ran into Lissl, apparently on her way to a date by her carefully styled hair and painted lips. “Good evening, Herr Kommandant,” she said, giving him a winning smile. “Would you like me to take Heni to her room for you?”

“It’s fine, I’ve got her,” Karl said, passing by as she deflated. But once she got a good look at Heni’s puffy lips and eyes, a flash of triumph lit up her face.

Heni thought Karl would dump her in her room and leave. He didn’t, closing the door behind both of them and gesturing to the bed. When she sat upon it, he stood in front of her, took her chin in his hand, and tilted it up to look down at her.

“You were right,” he said, “when you said it was your fault. That boy is dead because of you.”

Heni’s nails dug into her palms as her fists clenched in her lap.

“Does that make you angry to hear, baby girl?” he taunted, pressing the pad of his thumb into her stinging bottom lip. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Let this be a lesson. Every man who touches you will meet that same end. Do you know why, Henioche?”

She gently took his hand off her face and held it loosely. “Because I’m yours,” she said flatly, staring at his belt buckle.

“Good girl.” He tightened his hand around hers and tugged her to her feet. A blink, and then his hands were on either side of her jaw, holding her face. For a minute, he simply looked into her eyes, invading her soul in the way only he could.

Then he pulled her closer and kissed her hard, pressing his tongue against hers. Her swollen lips were devoured by his, her face held steady, firmly, even when the back of her head met the bed. At first, she didn’t kiss back, but her own hands were around his shoulders, betraying her resolve.

His hat tumbled off, a piece of his hair fell onto her cheek, and it was over: She opened her mouth and met his tongue, arching into him. Abruptly, he took his hands away and stood up, smirking down at her.

“Let’s see if you’ll behave now,” he said, putting his hat back on, adjusting his coat, and leaving.

Heni grabbed two fistfuls of her hair at the root and clutched it tightly, sinking to the floor and curling into herself. Out of tears, she let out a cry of anguish into her skirt. The CRACK of the bullet in the forest echoed in her head. Karl’s spit clung to her tongue. How could she hate him and want him at the same time? After what he’d just done?

No — what she’d just done. As Karl and Jiří both told her, this was all her fault.

Chapter 21: XXI - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

Following Jiří’s execution, it took a week for Heni to rise out of bed. For the first three days, she didn’t eat or bathe. The rest of the time, she refused to come out of the room or speak to anyone. She didn’t care what repercussions this would bring. The Allies could drop a bomb on the whole Small Fortress as far as she was concerned.

Lissl and the others must’ve been instructed to leave her alone, for no one came barreling into the room and yanked her out of bed like she expected. Someone knocked on her door and left her meals on trays in front of it — Erika, she discovered a couple days in, seeing her back disappear down the hall.

After seven slow days, she managed to rise from bed and put on her uniform — in just a week, it had grown uncomfortably tight — and head downstairs for breakfast, clipboard in hand.

The other aufseherinnen fell silent as she approached the table. She took the seat next to Erika, where a plate of toast sat waiting for her.

“Well, look who decided to show her miserable face,” Ellie remarked. “We’ve missed you around here, Heni.”

“Have you?” Heni asked blandly, pouring herself a cup of tea from the kettle.

“Oh, yes,” Ellie said, exchanging a grin with Rosel. “Who else provides such dramatic entertainment around here?”

Heni didn’t deign to respond, already regretting coming down here. She should’ve let Erika bring her the plate and then gone straight to the kitchen for the prisoners’ plates. But it was nice to be beside Erika again, even if the pair didn’t speak to each other.

“Well, I expect you to carry on with your duties as usual,” Lissl told Heni. “So today you’ll be bringing the meals. Kommandant Jöckel and Obersturmführer Malloth are in discussion about adding extra duties to make up for what you missed.”

She stared Heni down, waiting for an answer. “Yes, Frau Oberaufseherin,” Heni replied, lowering her eyes to her teacup. She hated giving Lissl the satisfaction of seeing her like this, but what choice did she have?

At least she didn’t have to interact with anyone other than the prisoners for most of the day. She loaded up the cart with trays of sad soup and small canteens of water. Breakfast was served with no hassle and the next timepoint was supper — no dinner — so she had a few hours to roam around the women’s courtyard, looking out for errant prisoners. There were none, so she floated by the family blocks to join Erika.

“Glad to see you’re alright,” Erika said as they stood next to the fence of the yard. Three children out of the seven Heni had seen the last time were seated on the ground, playing a game with rocks and sticks.

“Relatively speaking,” Heni replied, turning her back on the sun. It was easy, with the children’s laughter, to distract herself away from the crack of the gunshot and her awful imagination presenting him still lying in the clearing, rotting in the same sunlight warming her arms.

“I’m sorry about the prisoner,” Erika said, squeezing Heni’s hand. “What was his name, if you’d like to share?”

“Jiří,” said Heni, staring out beyond the fence. “Jiří Pokorny.” Her heart twisted in her chest when she said it.

Erika must’ve sensed this, for she didn’t ask anything else. Heni didn’t say anything else, either, but she held onto Erika’s hand, appreciating her gentle presence.

Later, after her own supper, Heni went to the kitchen to grab the food cart for the prisoners and found Rosel wheeling it down the path to the women’s courtyard, Lissl training behind.

“What are you doing?” Heni demanded. “This is my duty today. I’m well enough to — "

“Princess Rahm is saved from her duties yet again,” Lissl snapped, rolling her eyes. “Your father has come for you — he’s in front of the commandant’s house.”

“Must be nice having Daddy get you out of everything,” Rosel added, turning from the cart to shoot Heni a look of pure hatred over her shoulder.

Heni didn’t respond, making the journey up the grassy hill. Her heart was thumping, and not just from the exertion of carrying the extra weight. She wanted and didn’t want to see Karl, but mostly she was confused as to why he wanted to see her. Perhaps to scold her for lying in bed for a week.

Yes, that was exactly what it was, she realized grumpily, breathing heavily. As if he didn’t know why she would be so distressed.

She expected to see the usual crew of SS around the car, but only two figures stood in the way of the path to the commandant’s house. Karl and an older man with a small mustache she’d heard about many times but had never seen until now: Jöckel, the commandant of the Small Fortress.

When they saw her, he simply waved at her and turned back to the house. Karl didn’t speak to her either, pulling open the passenger’s side door and waiting for her to get in. Part of her, from the gallows humor she’d developed at the Small Fortress, wanted to ask him if there was a prisoner in the trunk. She suppressed the urge and stared out the window, pressing her palms against her belly. The baby kicked back in response.

They drove through the ghetto as night fell, answering her question. The streets were quiet, everyone tucked away in the buildings except for the occasional gendarme. The car stopped in front of a building on the main square.

She didn’t remember this building when she pointed it out to her, but she could guess that it was the SS headquarters by the two guards on either side of the double doors. “Good evening, Herr Kommandant,” they chorused as they each pulled open a door.

Inside was an empty office and doors to presumably more, but he led her down a dark hallway and up a flight of stairs. The decorations were very similar to the ones in the commandant’s house in the Small Fortress. Another two flights, a locked door which Karl opened with one of his many keys, more stairs, another door, and then they were in what appeared to be a large flat without a kitchen or dining area.

An alcove with a seating area was off to the left, on the right the bedroom with a large, neatly-made bed. Next to that stood a wardrobe; on the adjacent wall was a large window overlooking the square. Across from the bed were two doors and a full-length mirror.

Karl hung his cap on a hook next to the nightstand and pointed to the door next to the alcove. “Go and have a bath. There is a nightdress for you in there — put it on and come back when you’re done.”

“Yes, Father.”

She filled the large claw tub and hot soapy water and climbed in. Her eyes sank closed as she leaned back, letting the heat sink into her skin and soothe it. Through the closed door, she heard Karl leave the flat, keys faintly jingling as he locked her in. Thump thump thump down the stairs.

Heni might’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for him returning a few minutes later, keys still jingling, slamming the door shut behind him. He was probably waiting for her, so she washed up and drained the water.

The nightdress also came with a robe, both blue sink and folded neatly on the vanity. They were soft against her palm. To her dismay, the nightdress didn’t even fit over her breasts, let alone her belly. After much struggling, she disentangled herself from it and reached for the robe instead. This, of course, fit much better, but she wished it came with panties.

“About time,” her father said from one of the chairs, glass of whiskey in hand. He gave her a once over and looked out the window.

Unsure what to do, she sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap. For a long stretch of time, Karl drank down the entire bottle of whiskey and stared at the window as if Heni wasn’t there. She tried not to fidget, wondering why on earth he brought her there.

“Your uncle Stefan is dead,” he said suddenly, still not looking at her.

“Oh, my — how?” Heni asked, taken aback.

“Killed on the front.”

She couldn’t speak. Stefan was Karl’s closest brother, he knew, the one who persuaded him to join the Nazi party. He was going to be a doctor — that was the plan. But the war had different plans for him, too.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Heni said softly.

When he didn’t reply, she did the only thing she could think of: She climbed upon his lap, wrapped her arm around him, and buried her face into the crook of his neck, half-expecting him to shove her off.

He didn’t, holding her close and leaning his cheek against her forehead. Together they sat like that, entwined. His scent and warmth were all around her, his heartbeat against her chest. It was the closest she’d ever been to him, and she wanted it to last forever.

But of course it ended a few minutes later when he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “Why are you wearing this?” he asked, tugging on the sleeve of her robe. “Take it off, show me the nightdress.”

“I, um, I’m not wearing it,” Heni admitted, feeling her face flush. “It doesn’t fit.”

Karl smirked, loosening the belt. “Even better.”

He pushed the robe off her shoulders, cupping her heavy, swollen breasts. Heni squirmed and looked away, embarrassed over him seeing her like this. It was bad enough when she wasn’t pregnant.

Sensing this, he yanked the robe off and pinned her to the bed. “There’s no need to be shy with me, Henioche. I’m enjoying you like this, swollen from carrying my child.”

He slapped a round breast, causing her to wince as it bounced back into place, before running his hands over her belly. “Spread your legs,” he ordered. “Let’s see that fat little c*nt.”

Though she’d ignored it, Heni had to admit that for some strange reason, she’d been full of desire ever since Karl had kissed her and left her on that terrible day. In mourning Jiří, she refused to touch her more sensitive than usual labia other than washing, but now she was powerless against her father’s firm rubbing.

“So soft and wet,” he said quietly, kneeling on the floor. “You really are a treat.”

He took his hand away, leaving her cold until he ducked his head. For a moment, the shame and embarrassment returned at having him so close to her throbbing labia. His breath tickled them, making them clench, and then his mouth overtook them.

“Oh,” she cried, trying to lift her legs higher, but the baby was in the way. He still managed to lap at her folds, filling her with burning, desperate need.

Over and over, he slowly and firmly licked her dripping lower lips while she writhed with pleasure. It felt so good and so dirty at the same time, having a man’s mouth on her softest delicate flesh, devouring it like a starved wolf. It almost hurt, especially when he sucked her labia hard into his mouth and spread them apart.

“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned without a trace of shame or embarrassment. “Oh, that feels good.”

In response, he pulled her lower lips farther apart and buried his tongue into her wet, clenching hole. She thought having her folds licked was the best feeling ever, but nothing compared to his firm tongue against her inner walls, thrusting deep into her.

Her fists gripped the blanket and her hips rocked as he slid his tongue in and out of her, switching every so often to pull all of her soaking folds into his mouth. Just as she bared her teeth, ready to climax, he stood up, leaned over, and pinched her nipples hard.

She hissed in pain, pressing a hand on his shoulder, but he ignored it. Now his mouth was on her nipples, sucking down the droplets of pearly white he kneaded out of them. This felt good, too, but also a bit strange and kind of painful. He bit one hard, making her cry out, before he moved onto her own mouth.

“You taste so good,” he hissed in her ear, rubbing the bulge in his trousers against her wet flesh. “Baby whor* likes when Daddy tastes her milk and her c*nt juice, hmm? This is how he likes you best, a leaking, messy whor*. Turn around.”

While she was relieved to get off her back, it took her a bit to roll over, helped by Karl’s hands guiding her hips. Her breasts and belly were so heavy, pulling her down. She swallowed down his spit, tasting an odd but not terrible combination of milk, juices, and whiskey.

“That’s it, get in proper position,” he said, giving her bottom a spank. In the same second he was inside of her, his hips pressing into the plump skin of her rear.

Heni cried out into her pillow as he pumped. It sort of hurt, how deep he was breaking into her, but it still gave her shivers of pleasure. She backed her bum up against him, clenching around his co*ck when it was all the way in.

“Yes, good girl,” he growled between breaths. “Nasty little knocked-up slu*t likes taking it from behind, hmm? You like having your sweet c*nt stretched like this?”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back. Her heavy, milk- and spit-soaked breasts swung with each hard slam into her. Between this, his deep thrusts, and his fist pulling her hair at the root, she was in quite a lot of pain, yet somehow the pleasure kept up, building and taking over.

She buried her face into the bed and cried out, stiffening up. Then glorious release at last, leaving her limp and gushing fluid onto the bed. Now the pumps were just hurting, but by his tight grip on her hips, she knew he was close, so she scrunched up her face and took it.

A few seconds later, he gave one last slam and released his seed into her, adding to the mess between her legs leaking onto the bed. “Messy whor*,” he sneered, half-tapping, half-spanking her wet flesh. “Go on, get into the bed.”

Heni, for a reason she couldn’t understand, was weeping. She slid off the bed, ducking her head so Karl wouldn’t see her face. A multitude of reasons, she realized, everything hitting her at once: Karl’s attention, Onkel Stefan’s death, Jiří, fear of what was to come… All of it came spilling out of her eyes and squeezed her chest, choking off her breaths.

Hands were on her, lifting her up and nudging her to lay down on the bed. Near her knees was the wet spot, so she rolled over, trying to pull herself together. Karl went away for a minute of two, the light went out, and the blanket was pulled back.

“Hush,” he whispered, cupping her cheek and wiping away the stray tears.

“I’m sorry,” Heni whimpered. “I don’t — I don’t really know why — I’m not upset — "

“Shh.” He was all around her now, his bare chest against her forehead. “Relax, baby girl, it’s alright.”

Before she could think better of it, she snuggled into him, wrapping her arm and leg around him under the blanket. She expected him to push her away, but he kept holding her close. His even, steady breaths helped get her own under control.

Heni almost said it. The words were right on her lips. It would’ve been so easy, so natural to murmur them against his chest. I love you.

But in the end, she decided not to. Even if he was nice to her now, that didn’t mean he suddenly loved her. She was stupid to even entertain it. Why ruin the moment and hurt herself more?

Chapter 22: XXII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

October, and the night was as cold as winter. The inmates were huddled together, burying their faces in the collars of their coats and hugging their meager possessions close to them. Their breaths clouded in front of their faces as they whispered among each other, eyeing the train looming in front of them.

The SS dogs and their owners both barked, keeping the Jews from straying out of their tight huddles. Haindl and Bergel stood on either side of Karl, talking over his clipboard. Too much noise when Karl was deprived of both sleep and patience. He clenched his jaw, keeping quiet.

The upside was there were no children crying — that had been the last transport. The adults weren’t stupid enough to tell them their fears about the East, but children had a way of picking up on things. Stefan had taught him that when they were growing up, and Henioche was reinforcing it now.

“f*cking cold out tonight,” Bergel complained, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Can we hurry this up somehow?”

“No,” said Möhs from beside him.

In front of each wagon stood two SS men, who were responsible for calling out transport numbers and matching them with the ones tied around the inmates’ neck before ordering them in the wagons. One of these was Walther Aschenbrenner, Karl’s nemesis, brought along by Möhs for “a helping hand,” though Karl suspected otherwise.

Aschenbrenner had specifically chosen the wagon closest to them, either to shoot Karl smug looks or kiss Möhs’ ass, Karl wasn’t sure which. He bellowed out transport numbers, never taking his eyes off his clipboard except to look their way, while Baumgarten checked the cards around the prisoners’ necks.

Haindl grew bored, so he did what he usually did when he was bored, which was shove and kick random prisoners, daring them to do anything but stumble and keep their heads down. “Let’s go, you Jewish swine!” he yelled. “Move faster!”

“Herr Kommandant,” said a small voice from where Haindl had been standing.

Karl turned to see wide dark eyes under a brightly-colored headscarf, contrasting oddly with the drab surroundings. A woman was standing in front of him, her knobby hands clasped in plea. “Herr Kommandant,” she breathed. “I’m supposed to be on this transport, but I’ve been caring for my mother in the infirmary. Could I please — ?”

“Get the hell out of here, you old bat,” Bergel snarled, snatching up the card with her transport number. “EL-127!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Which of you has EL-127?”

“I do, Herr Inspektor,” said Lederer from three wagons away.

“Come get this dumb old bitch on the train,” Bergel said, shoving the woman away. “She’s bothering us with her nonsense.” Although the woman walked on her own toward Lederer, Bergel continued to shove her until she tripped over someone’s foot, dropping her bag. He took care to step on it as he made his way back to his spot.

Not for the first time, Karl watched this and thought to himself, what the hell is the point to all of this? They were going to lose the war anyway. Germans, Jews, Czechs…all dying for nothing in the end.

Bergel clapped him on the back, grinning and breathing heavily. “Don’t be so glum, Herr Kommandant. Soon they’ll all be out of here!”

For once, everyone on the list was put on the train without any massive snags, likely because this was the fourth transport in as many weeks. “Fewer Jews, fewer problems,” Möhs said when Karl remarked on it.

In the headquarters, it became apparent their destination was the lounge for a card game. Karl really should’ve joined, but the exhaustion was setting in. Henioche kept him up, plodding to the washroom three or four times a night. In between those trips were her nightmares, her whimpering in her sleep.

“Come on, Karl, just one game,” Möhs said as they reached the second floor landing.

“I hear you have a good poker face, Herr Kommandant,” said Aschenbrenner, and Karl had to resist the urge to give him a shove down the stairs.

“That’s because poker doesn’t set him off,” Wöstrel said out of the side of his mouth.

“Unfortunately, I must go upstairs and tend to my daughter,” Karl said, stepping away from them.

Möhs’ brows knitted together in confusion. “Your daughter is here? I thought she’s helping out in the Small Fortress?”

“She can’t anymore, so she stays with me until a spot opens up at the Lebensborn house. Goodnight, gentlemen.” He unlocked the door to his room before they could protest. The apathy, the futility of it all was wearing him down.

But there was something that made it better: His little doll, waiting for him. Recently, he’d begun questioning if he had to send her away, if he could have her give birth in the ghetto. But he could only imagine the questions Möhs would ask when he found that out.

When he walked in the room, fourteen hours after he left it, she glanced up from her book and gave him a shy smile. Better still, a bottle of whiskey, a glass, and the day’s newspaper was sitting on the small table next to his favorite chair. Her doing, no doubt, trying to win his affections after being all but ignored the past week.

Sitting in the chair, Karl let out a long breath as he poured whiskey into the glass. He reached for the newspaper even though he’d read the whole thing at five in the morning when she’d woken him up rolling out of bed.

She wanted attention, fine. If she was expecting tenderness, she would surely be disappointed.

“Come here, Henioche.”

It was already worth it, seeing her flushed, eager face. She slid off the bed, ready to crawl to him. Perfect — almost perfect. He held up a hand. “Undress.”

She didn’t like to be naked, he knew. Still she pulled her dress over her head, letting her breasts spill over the cups of her bra. Glancing at him, seeing him watch her, she reached behind her back, unsnapped her bra, and let those glorious tit* free.

“Good girl,” he told her. She still had her panties on, but he beckoned her over anyway. He was in the mood to tear them off anyway, feeling his fingers curl into fists at the sight of his little doll crawling to him.

Her cheeks were soft under his palm as he brushed her hair back. Her eyelids sank down; her little heart-shaped mouth opened slightly.

“Look at me, Henioche,” he ordered.

He wasn’t sure what he preferred: the adoration in those wide hazel eyes, like now, or fear. Both stiffened his co*ck all the same, but today, after all the sh*t he was dealing with, he wanted her crying and begging. At her most beautiful.

His thumb slipped between her soft lips, opening her mouth wider. Slowly, he dipped two fingers into it, turning half-feral when she wrapped those lips around them and sucked.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Get used to using your mouth, slu*t, because you’re just getting started.” He pulled his fingers away, watching the faintest bit of spit cling to her bottom lip. Not nearly enough.

He lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips and patted his belt buckle. “Take it out,” he said before taking a sip.

So shy and so desperate to please him, a mix that made her cheeks tinge pink and her hands unbuckle his belt. He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for the first time in days. But when she pulled it out, she simply closed her hand around it.

“Let’s go, I want to feel your mouth,” he said, tugging on a handful of silky hair she’d probably spent an hour styling for him, bringing her face closer to his painfully-stiff co*ck. “And none of this shy nonsense. Swallow it all, baby slu*t.”

Of course he didn’t expect the girl to slide it all the way down her throat in one go. But she was so hesitant, glancing up at him whenever it went in a millimeter deeper. Feeling his patience straining, Karl set his whiskey down and held her face with both of his hands.

“Come on, I said don’t be shy, Henioche. I want to hear you gag on it, whor*.” He held her face and rammed into her mouth, feeling his tip breaking into the back of her throat. The back of his head met the chair as her lips closed around the hilt, her breath through her nose against his skin. If she couldn’t suck his co*ck properly, he would face-f*ck her and enjoy that hot little mouth no matter how much she fought it.

And fight she did, sinking her nails into his shins and pushing herself off of them, trying to get it out of her mouth. “Not happening, baby girl,” he chuckled, ramming in deeper.

He gagged her hard, unleashing floods of drool down his co*ck and all around it, coating his stomach and balls and legs. Another few pumps, just for the hell of it, and he let go.

Gasping for breath, she sat back on her knees, reaching up to wipe the tears and spit from her cheeks. “Ah-uh,” he said, slapping her hand away. “Tonight, you will look like the messy, nasty whor* you are. In fact, come here.”

Holding more of her hair, he pulled her face closer again and rubbed the spit over it with his co*ck, across her cheeks and closed eyes. “Clean it up, my little co*ck-slu*t,” he told her, mashing her face against his balls. Like a good girl, she slurped up all her spit, pulling the skin of his shaft and balls between her puffy lips.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, rubbing them all over her face, smothering her mouth and nose. When he released her, he was pleased to see she was still a mess, spit clinging to her eyelashes and dripping down her chin.

He gripped his co*ck, thinking of how to f*ck her next, and then the little bitch covered her face with both hands and wiped it clean.

“What did I just tell you?” he snapped.

“Sorry, Daddy.” She didn’t look very sorry. In fact, she stared at him defiantly, the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry now,” he promised, tucking himself away and standing up. “Crawl to the mirror over there and stay on your hands and knees.”

As she crawled, Karl gave her a kick in her fat ass. “Faster, little bitch, I haven’t got all night. I’m already wasting my time on you from what it seems.”

When she was facing the mirror, he gave another swift kick, this time feeling her soft c*nt against the top of his boot. It was covered by her panties, but it still hurt, judging by her pretty face scrunching in pain and the cute little squeak she let out. One of his favorite — if not the favorite — sights in the world.

Of course, he could’ve taken his co*ck back out and f*cked her like that. It would’ve been a relief not to have it rock-hard, straining his trousers. But it was more fun to play with her, to hurt her. After all, soon she’d be leaving him, so he had to get in his fun while he could.

“Proper position,” he told her, pressing a boot on her back until her cheek was pressed against the floor. “This is how you present yourself to me, Henioche.”

He knelt behind her and tore at the cotton of her panties. He could’ve just yanked them down to her knees, but he liked the way she squirmed and whimpered as the cotton dug into her soft skin.

With that out of the way, he brought his hand back and spanked her soft, meaty c*nt, making her cry out. Over and over he spanked, on her ass too but mostly those puffy lips. Her pale skin was turning a nice bright red, but still not marked enough.

“No, Daddy, please don’t,” she cried when he took off his belt and made a point to fold it in front of her face. “Please, it already hurts…”

“It’s supposed to hurt, slu*t,” he told her, whipping the leather across her bottom. That was more like it: Her cries turned into wails and the redness turned into angry welts. Next time, when she bent over for him again, her ass would be black and blue, another work of art.

He dropped the belt and gave her c*nt another spank. Unlike the last few times, his palm clapped against wet flesh — despite whimpering in pain, she was turned on.

“You like being put in your place, hmm?” he taunted, dragging his fingertips over her bright red, swollen little c*nt lips, watching them clench and leak. “Perhaps that’s why you’re such a bratty little bitch, because you want me to give it to you rough. Is that true, Henioche?”

She didn’t answer, grating his patience, so he slapped her cheek hard, shoving her other one against the floor. After a yelp, she sniffled, “Yes, Daddy.”

“You’re such a pathetic little whor*.” He stood up, sliding his foot in between her knees. “And you’re going to show Daddy how pathetic and nasty you really are. Back yourself up and start rubbing that needy c*nt on my boot. Let’s go.”

It took her a minute to position herself, since her womb kept getting in the way. Karl watched her struggle with amusem*nt until eventually she was smearing her juices up his boot.

“That’s it, look at yourself in the mirror, at what a stupid, desperate whor* you are, trying so hard to please me. Making a mess with your filthy little c*nt. Does it feel good, slu*t?”

“Yes, Daddy…” By her scrunched-up face and her hips rocking, she wasn’t lying. He watched her press her palms against the floor, mashing her swollen tit* together with her upper arms. When his boot was wet enough, he brought it up, a kick with his ankle, knocking her nearly flat on her face.

Again he knelt behind her, this time freeing his co*ck and mounting her. In the mirror, he saw her eyes raise to the ceiling and her mouth open. He latched onto her hair, yanking her head back to better see her face.

“Look at me, Henioche.” Keeping his eyes on her, he pounded her hard, making sure to slam his hips into the welts on her ass. She was crying out in pain, but by her leaking, clenching c*nt hugging his co*ck, he knew she was enjoying it as much as he was. Her teeth were bared, her eyes squeezed into slits.

“Look how this bitch loves getting f*cked from behind.” He let go of her hair and dug his fingers into the raw skin of her ass. She was hissing in pain, ducking her head — no good.

“You want to feel Daddy’s come fill you up, hmm? Answer me, Henioche.”

“Yes,” she cried to the floor, already hurtling toward climax. He stopped thrusting, feeling her tight grip on his co*ck, and quickly pulled out just as her knees locked and she howled.

He parted her fat c*nt lips to watch her tight clenching hole spit out hot fluid onto the floor. His co*ck throbbed painfully, aching to continue pumping, but he was done with this hole for tonight. He gave her drooling c*nt a hard slap and ordered her on her knees.

“Open your mouth,” he added, standing in front of her with his hand wrapped around his co*ck. His plan was to go slow, but seeing her looking up at him with her red-rimmed eyes and eager mouth had him pumping for about ten seconds before ropes of seed streaked across her cheeks and splashed into her open mouth.

“That’s it, baby whor*, swallow it all.” He smeared it over her face and dipped his fingers into her hot little mouth to lick off. That let him scoop out some spit from her tongue and add that to the sticky mess on her cheeks and lips.

“Now you look like a proper whor*,” he sneered. “Now…” Stepping backward, he pointed to the puddle of c*nt juice near her knee. “That needs to be cleaned up, and so does my boot. Not my fault this whor* has such a messy little c*nt, is it?”

As if it couldn’t get any better. Of course it wasn’t like Karl could get hard again watching his little doll lap up come from the floor and his boot, but he could save the image in his head forever.

When she was done, Henioche reached up for him, so he helped her up, guided her to the bed, and went back to his chair. He could tell she wanted him closer to her by the frequent glances out of the corner of her eye. Keep them coming, he told her silently, smirking into his whiskey glass. He liked her needy and vulnerable like this.

But as she was falling asleep, he decided he could indulge her a bit. He stripped down, climbed into bed, and took her into his arms. She immediately turned toward him, pressing her sticky face into his chest. He knew he was spoiling the princess, but what the hell. This was her reward for making everything else go away when she was with him.

Chapter 23: XXIII - Munich

Chapter Text

Evidently, not many German girls were having children in the Protectorate, since the maternity home was all the way in Munich, Germany. Either that or Karl deliberately chose a place farther away to avoid Heni running into anyone who knew her or the Rahm family, though she’d eat her own hat if the news of her pregnancy hadn’t already traveled to Vienna, let alone all over Prague.

The mountains and fields were blanketed with snow. Christmas was coming, and it wasn’t clear where Heni would be when it arrived. Thus, her holiday spirit was dampened.

On the drive there, Karl didn’t say a word. If not for the occasional hand on her thigh, she would think he’d forgotten she was in the car at all. Every time the hand came, she placed hers over his, hoping he’d keep it there. But inevitably he’d have to turn the wheel or adjust his cap or shift the gear.

This morning, back in the ghetto, they’d only spoken to each other once. “Do I have to go?” she’d asked.

“Yes,” he’d answered.

And he’d taken her suitcase and placed it in the backseat, effectively ending the conversation, if one could call it that.

The maternity house was nestled in the tree-dotted fields just beyond the outskirts of Munich. A wrought-iron fence separated its land from the rest of the sprawling, snow-covered fields. Heni’s first impression was that it looked like a farm without animals.

Maybe they’re hibernating, she thought as they drove through the gate down a winding path to the mansion looking ahead upon a hill. Then, wryly: Maybe we’re the animals.

The hill was steeper than she originally thought. It took all of her energy to climb up on it and not slip on the snow and go rolling down like a marble. Perhaps to deter us from going outside, Heni thought.

“Come on, girl, I’m on a schedule,” Karl said irritably, but the steady arm around her waist was surprisingly gentle.

At their knock, the front door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in matching checkered blue apron and headscarf. Wisps of blonde-grey hair peeked out of the latter along with watery blue eyes. The look of suspicion melted away when they fell upon Karl.

“Good morning, Herr Obersturmführer,” she said, beaming. “Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler,” Karl returned with far less enthusiasm. “I believe you’re expecting us? The name is Rahm.”

“Oh yes, I remember seeing a Rahm on the list.” The woman stepped back and waved them inside. “Let’s discuss in my office, first door to the right.”

The office was warm and stuffed with so many knickknacks and figurines, Heni felt like she was in a gift shop. Two armchairs faced a desk with papers splayed all over it. Despite the mess, the woman was able to find one with her name on it immediately.

“Henioche Rahm,” she read off the paper and glanced at Heni. “That’s you, yes? And the father is SS-Hauptscharführer Johann Wöstrel.” She looked at Karl. “But that’s not you…”

“Indeed it’s not,” he replied. “I’m her father, SS-Obersturmführer Karl Rahm. I’m here to escort her because the child’s father is held up with Reich duties. He’s also married, so he’s asked that this matter be treated with discretion.”

“Ah.” She nodded, apparently used to this situation.

“I also wanted to ensure that the paperwork has been all squared away,” Karl continued. “Of course I have faith that Johann Wöstrel’s bloodline was appropriately verified when he joined the SS, but we can’t be too sure when it comes to children of the Reich, can we, Frau…?”

“Lehrmann,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “Berthe Lehrmann. And of course I understand your concerns, Herr Obersturmführer. We share them, too. But rest assured, we have checked and his bloodline has the stamp of approval from Reichsführer Himmler. Your daughter will give birth to an undoubtedly beautiful Aryan child. You should be proud, Herr Obersturmführer.”

“I am,” said Karl, rising from the chair and setting Heni’s bag on the floor next to her. “That’s wonderful news, Frau Lehrmann. I trust that she is safe with you from here on? I must return to my Reich duties. Time-sensitive matters, you know…”

“Of course, Herr Obersturmführer.” Frau Lehrmann stood up, opened the door to the office and said to Heni, “You sit right here, dear, while I walk your father out.”

“That won’t be necessary, Frau Lehrmann,” said Karl. “I don’t think she should give you any trouble, but please contact me at once if she does.”

Frau Lehrmann waited until the front door closed behind Karl before closing the door to her office and taking her seat behind the desk.

“Hmm,” she said, reviewing the paperwork again. “I think we have you assigned with our dear Ruth — oh, my!”

“Is - is something wrong, Frau Lehrmann?” Heni asked anxiously, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Not at all,” the older woman said quickly. “I somehow missed that you’re only fifteen years old. Not a problem, of course. We’ve had girls that young before. It’s just not quite…that common.”

She slapped her papers on the table and stood up. “Anyway, let’s get you to your room. Come, follow me.”

Heni followed her with great difficulty up a flight of old, creaky stairs and down a small hallway to a door adjacent to a window overlooking a barn. As Frau Lehrmann knocked upon the door, Heni studied the barn and concluded it was abandoned.

The door opened to reveal a heavily pregnant young woman with reddish hair and a smattering of dark freckles across her nose. “Good morning, Frau Lehrmann,” she ventured, looking slightly bewildered.

“Good morning, Ruth. Do you recall when I told you about getting a new roommate? Well, here she is. Her name is Rahm…what’s your given name, dear?”

“Heni.”

The woman, Ruth, eyed Heni warily. “Yes, I do remember. Hello, Heni.”

“Hello, Ruth,” Heni replied, clutching her bag with sweaty palms. It seemed she often had to make new acquaintances, and judging by her entire time in the Protectorate, she’d been none too good at it. It had been much easier in Vienna — perhaps this Ruth was Austrian.

“Well, go ahead and get settled in, Heni,” said Frau Lehrmann, giving Heni a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Ruth, I trust that you will guide Heni through our scheduled events for her first few days?”

“I’d be happy to, Frau Lehrmann,” said Ruth, and from her accent, Heni could tell that she wasn’t Austrian. Nevertheless, her freckled face was open and friendly, the corners of her mouth turned up in a half-grin.

She stepped back, allowing Heni to enter the room. It was small, with two twin beds and two wardrobes, each against opposite walls with a window in between them. Ruth had already claimed the right one, which had a knitted blanket draped over the same white cover the left bed had. Heni dropped her bag next to the wardrobe on the left and sat upon the bed, already winded.

“In twenty minutes, we have to go to yoga class,” Ruth said, sitting on her own bed, facing Heni.

“What’s yoga?” Heni asked.

“It’s stretching and stuff, you know. That’s mostly what we do here, exercise in preparation to give birth.” Ruth’s green eyes dropped to her knees before lifting back up to Heni’s face. “How old are you?”

“Um, I’m fifteen.” Now it was Heni’s turn to lower her eyes.

“Oh, I’m nineteen,” Ruth replied. “I assume you’re not married to the SS man who got you pregnant?”

“No, I’m not,” Heni said, wondering if she was going to have to make up a fictional Wöstrel since she’d barely interacted with the real one. “Are you?”

“Nope.” Ruth slid off the bed, opened her wardrobe, and pulled out a white gymnastics uniform. “You’ve got one of these, right?” she asked, holding it up.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Heni rifled through her bag, which had been packed beforehand by Frau Schwann and sent to the SS headquarters in the ghetto before her departure. To her immense relief, she found something similar, pulling it out.

“Perfect,” said Ruth.

In silence, they each pulled on their respective uniforms. Heni’s was similar to the one she’d worn at school, except the bust and midsection were much bigger. She felt sort of ridiculous with this vast belly and tiny skirt, but at least Ruth looked similar. Goosebumps dotted the girls’ pale skin; the house was drafty and the radiator didn’t seem to be on.

To Heni’s complete horror, Ruth led her through the kitchen and out the back door to a tented patio where soft rubber mats were laid out on the concrete. The only upside was that the snow had been cleared away from this area, so Heni’s trainers weren’t completely soaked by the time she got to a mat all the way in the back.

From this class, she was able to deduce that about twenty women resided here, all at least in their seventh month of pregnancy or later. The oldest one, who occupied the mat between Heni and Ruth, was maybe thirty. The rest looked to be in their twenties, while Ruth and Heni were apparently the youngest.

A small non-pregnant woman appeared in front of the mats and clapped her hands. “Ready, ladies? Sit on your knees on the mat and let’s take some deep breaths…”

Heni thought yoga would be a bit of breathing and stretching, easy. But ten minutes into the class, when the instructor had them bend down and lift each leg high in the air for two minutes, she realized how wrong she was. In addition to the pain, the cold seeped into her mostly bare skin, causing her to shiver and lose the grip on herself she needed for the positions.

“You in the back with the dark hair!” the instructor barked, pointing at her. “Lift your leg higher!”

The rest of the class didn’t go any better. The other girls seemed to be used to contorting their heavily pregnant bodies this way and that. The woman between Heni and Ruth glanced at the former out of the side of her eye, her nose slightly wrinkled.

“Fräulein, you’ll need to work a bit harder to get yourself ready for birth,” the instructor told Heni after the class. “It’s no easy feat, you know. Your youth and natural figure is on your side, but then there’s the task of getting back into shape quickly afterwards.”

Back upstairs in her room, the blush finally receding from her cheeks, Heni let out a sigh and unbuttoned her uniform.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that just yet,” said Ruth. “We’ve got volleyball in twenty minutes. Let’s meet in the kitchen for some water in five.”

“Let me guess,” Heni said miserably, jamming her feet back into her trainers. “The court is outside, too.”

“Oh no, we set up the net in the barn,” Ruth informed her cheerfully, glancing at herself in the mirror and tucking a stray hair into her headscarf. “To avoid the snow. There’s no heat like in here, but we’re jumping around, so we don’t really need it.”

Heni followed her out of the room, realizing just how good she’d had it the past couple weeks in Karl’s suite at the SS headquarters, mostly laying in bed and reading. Her hands clutched her belly as she clomped down the stairs after Ruth, fighting the image of herself serving the volleyball and the baby popping right out of her onto the ground of the barn.

Much to her relief, this didn’t happen during volleyball, or jogging through the fields, or yoga the next day, or even discus throwing. By the end of the second day, Heni felt like perhaps she wouldn’t be spontaneously dropping dead or giving birth any second from activity. By the third, she managed to keep up without drawing much attention to herself. By the fourth, the cold was almost bearable and she had to admit the maternity house was easier than staying with Karl. Here, no one berated her or slapped her when they were in bad moods.

On the fifth day, she received a letter at breakfast from Frau Lehrmann:

Dear Henioche,

Please report to my office today at eleven o’clock sharp this morning for a meeting with potential adoptive parents. This will take place in lieu of your scheduled sports activity before dinner. This should go without saying, but please come looking your very best and ready to present yourself in a way that upholds the reputation of proper German girls.

Sincerely,

Berthe Lehrmann

“What’s that?” Ruth asked. When Heni passed it to her, she nodded as she read. “You’re not keeping the baby?”

“I guess not,” said Heni, instinctively pressing a hand to her belly. The baby was carrying on, kicking so hard, her whole midsection wobbled. A pang of sorrow passed through her: On some level she’d known she couldn’t raise the baby herself. But she’d grown rather attached to it, the kicks bringing her comfort.

Ruth seemed to pick up on this, patting her hand. “Don’t feel bad, Heni. You’re so young. There’s plenty of time for you to have more that you’ll get to keep.”

Karl’s words ran through her mind: Any man who touches you will meet the same end. Any baby she would have would be Karl’s and he’d have them taken from her again. But she plastered on a grin for Ruth and nodded.

At eleven o’clock sharp, Heni knocked on Frau Lehrmann’s office door. She stood in a dress pale blue and dotted with little hand-stitched poppies, nylon stockings, and polished loafers. Ruth had pinned up the front of her hair and swiped a bit of rouge on her cheeks. Heni was hoping her looks would compensate for whatever else she lacked.

Frau Lehrmann opened the door and beamed at her. “Ah, Henioche! Right on time. Please come in, dear.”

The two chairs were occupied by an unsmiling couple. A third had been placed next to Frau Lehrmann’s desk. “Please sit,” she said to Heni as she took her own seat.

Heni sat and smoothed her dress over her thighs, feeling two pairs of eyes scrutinizing her.

“Henioche, this is Herr and Frau Zimmer from Passau. They are interested in your baby. Why don’t you tell them about yourself and the baby’s father?”

“Um, well, I’m from Vienna,” Heni said, mustering a grin that wasn’t returned. “And so is W — Johann. But we met in Theresienstadt, a camp outside of Prague.”

“Both of you are Austrian?” the woman asked, narrowing her blue eyes.

“Yes, Frau Zimmer,” said Heni. “My mother is German, from Nuremberg. My father is from Vienna.”

She could tell that they’d prefer a German. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought, letting her grin turn wry. As if Austrians didn’t produce the Führer and make up much of the Reich.

“How old are you?” the woman asked.

“I’m fifteen, Frau Zimmer,” Heni told her.

Frau Zimmer openly scowled, exchanging a glance with her blank-faced husband. “That’s so young,” she said. “I assume you were not planning on having a child?”

“No, Frau Zimmer.”

“Hmm,” Frau Zimmer said, pursing her red-painted lips. “But you don’t have any girls who are between eighteen and twenty-five? Fifteen is quite young.”

“If fifteen is too young,” Herr Zimmer said, his eyes on Heni, “How did she get pregnant, then? We came to see this one, Helga. With how sweet and beautiful she is, I can’t imagine the child coming out anything other than perfect.”

If Frau Zimmer hadn’t hated Heni before, she certainly did now. The look she directed at Heni was of pure loathing before she caught herself. In contrast, Frau Lehrmann clapped with delight.

“Right you are, Herr Zimmer! She certainly is beautiful, isn’t she? And from a sturdy bloodline — German mother and high-ranked SS-officer father. I will be surprised if you can find better!”

“I would, too,” Herr Zimmer agreed, watching Heni flush under his gaze. “So it’s settled, then. I assume the paperwork has been drawn up?”

“Of course.” Frau Lehrmann wasted no time producing a pen and sliding a thick stack of papers across her desk. “Take all the time you need to read it over.”

This turned out to be no time at all. Without a glance at his wife, Herr Zimmer took the pen, flipped all the way to the last page, and signed the bottom.

“Well, isn’t that just lovely!” Frau Lehrmann exclaimed, tucking the papers in her desk. “You’ll have a new baby for Christmas!”

Both of the Zimmers placed their hands on the arms of their chairs, ready to stand. Herr Zimmer had finally taken his blue eyes off of Heni, looking far more pleased than his wife.

“I would like the baby to be named Karl,” Heni blurted. “If it’s a boy.”

A tense moment passed where they all stared at her, aghast. Heni didn’t see the problem; Karl was a common enough name.

“It’s our baby,” Frau Lehrmann spat. “We decide the name. If you want to name a baby, have one in wedlock next time, little girl.”

“Helga,” her husband hissed with a not-so-gentle tug on her sleeve. “Mind your manners. The girl is just giving a suggestion.”

“Frau Zimmer is correct,” Frau Lehrmann jumped in quickly, clasping her hands together and giving the Zimmers a broad smile. “You are free to name the baby whatever you wish. I’m sure you’ll pick a fine German name.”

Karl is a fine German name, Heni thought grumpily, but of course she kept quiet. When the Zimmers finally left, Frau Lehrmann rounded on her. “What on Earth was that about?”

“I’m sorry, Frau Lehrmann,” said Heni even though she really wasn’t. “I was only giving a suggestion, like Herr Zimmer said. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

“Well, if you’re not going to watch how you speak,” said Frau Lehrmann, opening the door to her office and waving Heni out, “then you’d best not speak at all, hmm? Now onward to dinner with you.”

Heni was fine throughout dinner and fine through the hike in the forest. Fine at supper and fine through an evening gathering in the sitting room with Ruth and the other girls for tea. But when she locked herself in the washroom and ran the tap for a bath, the pang in her chest she’d been carrying since the meeting finally broke free.

Clutching her belly, feeling the baby kick happily, unaware of her plight — his future — Heni sat in the bathtub and wept. The warm water surrounding her did nothing to abate the sorrow. She realized why she was so miserable: She wanted to keep the baby.

“It’s not fair,” she whimpered to herself. “It’s not fair.” Ruth got to keep her baby — why couldn’t Heni? She was the one who had to carry it and give birth — for no reward at the end?

But as the water cooled around her and the crying subsided, she tried to imagine the scenario in which she was allowed to keep the baby. Her parents would be no help at all. Everyone would treat the baby as if it was a creature of another species, thinking it was Czech. And then what?

No, the baby was better off with the Zimmer couple, Heni knew. But that didn’t make the thought of giving it away to them hurt any less.

Chapter 24: XXIV - Prague

Chapter Text

The baby came ten days before Christmas. To Heni’s great and pleasant surprise, Ruth and Frau Lehrmann attended the birth, each holding her hand and encouraging her to breathe, relax, push. “This is the most beautiful thing on Earth, a young Aryan girl giving birth to the future of the Reich,” Frau Lehrmann said, wiping Heni’s brow with a cool washcloth.

“This will be me next week!” exclaimed Ruth gleefully when the baby was finally out and in the cot, sitting on the edge of the bed. She and Heni watched the midwife wipe the baby down and bundle him up. What Ruth didn’t say is that her own baby would be birthed in a room with her family and taken home in her arms, not sour old Frau Zimmer’s.

“It’s a healthy boy!” the midwife announced. “I’ll go wash him up.” Before Heni could get a good look at him, she wheeled the cot out of the room.

“Wonderful!” Frau Lehrmann clapped, smiling. “The Zimmers will be so pleased.”

Heni didn’t care about the Zimmers. For the next week, as she recovered in her own bed, aided by a nurse, she tortured herself with images of her baby. Of holding him, cradling him against her leaking breasts and nursing him. She didn’t even have Ruth to distract her, for Ruth went into labor not even three days after Heni.

After a miserable, achy, bloody week, Heni received one visitor: Frau Lehrmann telling her to pack her belongings by the next day because her parents were coming to collect her. Mothers who were keeping their babies were allowed to stay an extra month to learn how to care for their babies and earn back their post-pregnancy figure. Without a baby, there was so reason for Heni to stay.

Although she wasn’t looking forward to her parents seeing her in this sorry state, she was glad to get away from all the pregnancies and babies. At least home in Prague, there wouldn’t be constant reminders of the baby she couldn’t have. Slowly, she worked on gathering her belongings and packing them neatly in her suitcase.

Around ten o’clock in the morning of the day before Christmas Eve, Heni was summoned to Frau Lehrmann’s office to find both of her parents waiting for her, Iolanthe in one of the chairs and Karl standing in uniform next to her. The nurse set her suitcase next to the other empty chair and disappeared.

“Well, dear Henioche, it has been a pleasure,” said Frau Lehrmann, beaming at her. Her next words were to Karl: “She is very sweet and well-behaved, Herr Obersturmführer. I’m sure she’ll have no trouble at all finding a husband for herself.”

Karl thanked her, took the bag from the floor, and held out a hand for Heni to take. She relished his warm palm against hers, but as soon as she stood, he let go.

In the car on the way home, Iolanthe spoke her first words to her daughter from the front seat, still facing forward. “Well, now that this ugly ordeal is over, let’s all move on, shall we? I hope you’ve learned from your grievous mistake, Henioche.”

“I have, Mother,” Heni muttered to her hands folded in her lap.

“I’m sure she has,” said Karl. “And if not, I will gladly teach her again.” His blue eyes held hers in the rear view mirror.

She was expecting him to at least stay for the night, but as soon as they arrived at their villa in Prague, Karl set her bag in the foyer and left for the ghetto. He returned the next evening right in time for Christmas dinner.

This Christmas was a subdued affair. Karl had told Iolanthe not to invite any guests, so it was the three of them, eating in silence. The only indication that it was Christmas were the wreaths, candles, and small tree in the corner of the dining room. Until Karl left the table without explanation and returned with two small velvet boxes.

He waited until Maria had cleared the plates away before giving one to Iolanthe and the other to Heni. “Oh, Karl, that’s so lovely,” Iolanthe fawned, “but you didn’t have to give us gifts, with money being tighter and the rations — "

“Please just open the box, Iolanthe,” Karl said wearily.

Heni opened hers to find a gold ring with three diamonds, two small circular ones on each side of a larger oval one in the center. They glistened in the candlelight when she took the ring out and slid it on her third finger. It was too large for her left hand, so on the right it went.

“…absolutely stunning,” Iolanthe was saying, hooking a new watch onto her wrist. “Thank you, darling.”

She looked over at Heni. “And yours?”

“Also stunning,” Heni said, holding out her hand and smiling at her father. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Iolanthe was frowning slightly. “That looks like a wedding ring. You should be wearing it on your other hand.”

“It doesn’t fit on that hand,” Heni told her.

“Still…if you’re wearing it, men will think you’re married,” Iolanthe said, tightening her red-painted lips. “That won’t help your prospects, will it?”

“Iolanthe,” Karl said quietly, narrowing his eyes at her. “I’ve gone through a bit of trouble to get these gifts for my wife and daughter. Perhaps they could be a little more grateful.”

“I’m grateful, Father,” Heni said quickly. “I love it very much. I will wear it all the time.” She wasn’t lying; she liked this symbol of Karl’s connection to her, even if it was more about ownership than love.

“I am, too, darling,” Iolanthe assured him. “Forgive me, I’m not feeling too well. Nothing a bit of wine and cake can’t help, though. Maria! Please prepare dessert.”

Maria’s first order of business was to bring Karl’s fifth glass of whiskey, followed by wine for Iolanthe and a cup of tea for Heni. In the ensuing silence, Heni listened to “Stille Nacht” playing on the record in the parlor. The cake was set out a minute later.

No one went for it, so Heni cut herself a slice and slid it onto her plate. Much to her annoyance, Iolanthe was frowning again. “That much?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Heni, holding her knife and fork, returned her mother’s glare. “And what of it?”

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” Iolanthe spat. “And you know what of it — that’s not part of your diet.”

“Mother, it is Christmas,” she said irritably. “I can relax the diet for one day.”

“Perhaps you could’ve if you hadn’t gotten yourself pregnant and ruined your body for a Czech. No other man is going to settle for a fat, ugly blob with no discipline.”

Heni felt her face flush and her eyes sting with tears. “Stop bickering at the table, for God’s sake,” Karl snapped. “Mind your manners. Let her have a slice of cake.”

“Karl,” Iolanthe sighed. “I am trying to find her a husband and with most of the suitable German men either aware of her scandal or dead on the Eastern front, she’s not exactly in a great position, is she?”

“Enough of this nonsense.” Karl drank down his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. “I should be running the ghetto and yet I’m here, listening to this sh*t. Maria, bring the bottle out, won’t you please?”

“Yes, of course, Herr Rahm,” Maria said as she flew out and set the mostly-empty bottle of whiskey on the table. As she poured some into the glass, Karl and Iolanthe stared each other down.

“And another thing,” Karl continued when Maria had gone back to the kitchen. “Do not ever call my daughter fat or ugly again, do you understand me?”

“Well, I can see you two have gotten close in that camp,” Iolanthe remarked, draining her own glass. “After all the complaining that she’s spoiled, and then you go and buy her a wedding ring.”

“First I’m too harsh, then I’m too soft. Can’t seem to make up your mind, I see, so why don’t you try shutting the f*ck up for once.” He stood, tucked the bottle under his arm, took the empty glass, and stormed out of the dining room.

As his footsteps thundered up the stairs, Iolanthe also stood and grabbed her glass. “Maria, I’ll have my next glass in the parlor,” she called into the kitchen before leaving Heni alone with her untouched piece of cake. After all of that, she didn’t even want it.

Upstairs, she expected to see the strip of light under her father’s study door, but it was dark. A slight thump from the ceiling told her he was in the attic, painting. She knew he would leave for Theresienstadt early in the morning — without saying goodbye. With her fingertips, she hugged her new ring. At least she had that…

Wrapped in blankets on her bed, Heni’s eyes flew open in the darkness. Someone was in her room, sitting on her bed. Whiskey, smoke, paint, and the indescribable scent of him filled her nose. The blanket was peeled back, her nightdress pushed up.

“Daddy,” she murmured, reaching up to hold onto him. She hoped he wouldn’t go below the blanket and feel the sanitary pad in her panties. Fortunately, he was focused on her upper half.

“Do you have any milk for me, Princess?” he asked, stroking her heavy breasts.

“I - I don’t know,” she said — they felt full, especially today, but she hadn’t seen any milk come out. But when he kneaded her nipples, beads of fluid appeared and a strange, sort of pleasant feeling came from inside her breasts.

He ducked his head and slurped it up, tugging on her nipple with his teeth. She squirmed under his palms, wincing. But when he pulled it between his lips, she felt that strange release again. Like when she was pregnant, he squeezed her breasts from the outside in, milking them straight into his mouth.

With nothing else to do, Heni rested a hand on the back of his head, enjoying his mouth on her and the short hairs against her palm. He leaned up, leaving her nipples swollen and sticky with milk, to whisper in her ear. “You taste so good. Such a sweet little treat you are. And all mine.”

Holding the sides of her face, he parted her lips with his and slid his milk-soaked tongue against hers. She held him tighter, hoping the kiss would ever end, but he broke away not a second later.

“When I’m not here,” he said, cupping a half-full breast, “I need you to squeeze out milk like I was doing.”

Heni sat up and tried to mimic the kneading he’d done, producing beads of milk from her nipple. “Like this?”

“Yes, like that.” Karl pushed her roughly on the bed and licked up the milk. “Damn, I love seeing you do that.”

Smiling coyly, Heni squeezed out more, letting the droplets slide down her breasts.

“Bad girl,” he chided, swiping some with his fingertips and smearing it across her mouth. “Do it every day for me, is that clear?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She licked the milk from her lips. It was lighter and saltier than the one from the bottle, but she didn’t hate it.

“Good.” He turned away, ready to stand up. On a whim, Heni bore down on his arm to keep him in place.

“Did you mean what you said at the table?” she asked before she could think better of it.

Karl smirked, taking her hand and holding it up, inspecting the ring. The diamonds caught the smallest slivers of moonlight, shimmering against her pale skin. “Well, I agree that it looks like a wedding ring, but I’m not too upset about that.”

“Oh, um, not that,” Heni said, her nerve abandoning her. She flushed, looking down at her hand still held loosely in his. “I meant when, um, when you told Mother not to call me fat and ugly.”

“Of course I meant that.” He stared at her with a furrowed brow. Then his face relaxed and he smirked again, stroking her cheek. “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t see it yet, since you’ll only grow even more beautiful as you get older.”

Heni grinned, feeling her spirits rise for the first time in months. Karl picked up on this, chuckling and pinching her cheek. “Baby girl likes this type of attention from Daddy, hmm?”

Without waiting for an answer, he kissed the back of her hand, stood up, and left the room. Still high from his words, Heni clutched the hand he’d just kissed, feeling the ring against her palm. A funny feeling was in her chest, an unusual wish that he would stay home.

But as expected, when she woke up the next morning, he was already back in Theresienstadt. Again Heni settled into the same boring routine with Iolanthe, dieting and keeping up the post-birth exercises she was taught at the maternity house.

After a few weeks, she was nearly back to her normal figure, save for the milk she dutifully pumped out into the sink every morning and every evening. Iolanthe was also back to her regular self, keeping to her parlor and those of the SS wives, in her own bubble. And so, on a dull Thursday afternoon in late January, Heni quietly bundled herself up and slipped out into the streets of Prague.

Everything looked the same, but the air was different: The SS and Gestapo weren’t roaming around, and the few she did see walked quickly with their eyes glazed over. The Czechs didn’t seem to be out, either, even taking the cold into account.

It was too painful to go to Pokorny Opravna, so she walked all the way to the Voyner house in the next neighborhood over. After ringing the bell, she waited, bouncing on her heels.

A heavily pregnant girl with thick blonde hair opened the door. For a second, she and Heni simply stared at each other until the latter said, “Hello, does Himmel Voyner still live here?”

“That’s me, silly!” the girl laughed, and Heni recognized her broad grin. “Heni, it’s been so long! How are you? Come in!”

She stepped back, allowing Heni into a foyer she’d been in many times. Heni felt her shoulders start to relax. “Sorry about that, Himmel,” she said. “You look quite different in pregnancy. And your hair is shorter.”

“Yes, my mother made me cut it,” Himmel said in a low voice, shooting a dirty look down the hall to the dining room. “Come, let’s go to my room.”

“Himmel?” her mother called as they climbed up the stairs, but Himmel either didn’t hear her or ignored her. It took her a few minutes due to her large belly. Watching her, Heni was both wistful and relieved that her late pregnancy days were over.

Behind her closed door, Himmel sat upon the bed and Heni took the vanity chair across from that. “So…” Heni said slowly, glancing around the same small room she’d been in many times before. “When are you due?”

“In March,” said Himmel. “Maybe you’ll share a birthday with him!”

“Maybe,” Heni echoed, trying not to stare at Himmel’s stomach. The real question she wanted to ask, which was who the father of the baby was, buried itself in her throat. Instead she asked, “Are you keeping him?”

“Of course!”

Heni must’ve made a face, because she added hastily, “My mother agreed to help me raise him. Or her, if it’s a girl. I know yours wasn’t as…agreeable.”

“That’s wonderful,” Heni said with sincerity despite the prickle of jealousy in her chest. “I hear it’s difficult in the beginning, but I’m sure you’ll make a great mother.”

Himmel beamed at her. “Thanks! He or she might even have a father, since he promised to return after the war. He’s in the Wehrmacht, so it’s, um…well, we’ll see if he returns.”

Heni took her hand. “I hope he does. Won’t you tell me about him?”

Her friend’s sky-blue eyes lit up and she squeezed Heni’s hand. “His name is Wolfgang, but everyone calls him Wolfi. He’s such a darling, Heni. He writes to me all the time, poems and musings and all kinds of things. He’s taken me out to the theater, even though it costs a lot of money. He’s sixteen, about my height, dark hair, grey eyes…all around dreamy.”

Heni grinned at Himmel’s lovesick expression. The jealousy was still there, but seeing the joy in Himmel’s eyes overruled it. But then Himmel continued, “I suppose he’s like your Czech.”

“In which way?” Heni asked sharply, feeling the grin slide off her face.

Himmel hesitated. “Well…he was the father to your baby, wasn’t he? And I remember he was a darling to you, too.”

“He was.”

From this, Himmel correctly deduced that, unlike her own beloved Wolfi, Jiří was not going to return anytime soon. “Did they take him away?” she whispered.

Heni could only nod, the sorrow building and hardening into a lump in her throat. Against her will, tears were stinging her eyes. It was horrible to sit here, only several blocks away from the barren Pokorny Opravna, knowing Jiří wouldn’t ever come back. That she was responsible for his death — and that the baby wasn’t even his.

“I’m sorry, Heni,” said Himmel, clasping Heni’s hand in hers. “I’m sure he still loves you.”

Heni pulled her cool hand out of Himmel’s and pressed it against her cheeks, blinking back the tears. Then she took a deep breath and mustered a grin. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. Have you thought of a name for the child yet?”

“I think I might name him Wolfgang after his father,” said Himmel, brightening up. “And if it’s a girl, I think I’ll name her —

The door burst open and Himmel’s mother stood in the doorway, scowling. “Didn’t you hear me calling you, Himmel? Time for supp — oh.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “You didn’t tell me you had a guest. I’m afraid you can’t stay, Fräulein Rahm. There is only enough for the four of us.”

“It’s alright, Frau Voyner,” Heni said quickly, standing up and slipping into her coat. “I’d best get going as it was.”

“Your father and brother will be home any minute,” Frau Voyner said to Himmel as if Heni hadn’t spoken. “Please make yourself more presentable than that.”

She watched Heni slip past, her mouth tightened in disapproval. Heni was taken aback: Usually the Voyners were warm and inviting, not staring at her like she was a stray cat who’d come in through an open window. Heni waved goodbye to Himmel before heading down the stairs on her own.

“…let that Rahm come back here,” she heard Frau Voyner hissing to her daughter when she’d reached the foyer. “She’s a bad influence.”

On the way home, Heni felt her mood, which had already been precarious, plummet into the earth. The nerve of Frau Voyner to judge what she didn’t understand. And as much as Heni was happy for Himmel, she was rankled by her seemingly perfect outcome to the same situation Heni had been not two months ago. How was it fair?

And underneath it all, exacerbated by the streets of Prague, the sorrow. Last time she was here, she had Jiří. Now she had nothing but heavier breasts and the nightmares of gunshots and barren fields.

She turned onto her street, keeping her head down and hands jammed into her pockets until she reached the steps to her house. The key dug into her palm as she fished it out, a good sort of needling, like digging her nails into a bug bite until it bled. Only when she stuck it in the lock did she catch the glint of cold winter sunlight on the hood of a black Mercedes.

Of course Karl had come home during the one time she’d left the house in several weeks. A large part of her was hoping neither of her parents had noticed her absence. That was so unlikely, it was laughable.

Well, so be it, Heni thought defiantly, turning the key and throwing open the door despite her shaking hands.

Chapter 25: XXV - Prague

Chapter Text

All was quiet in the house. Heni closed the door behind her and took off her coat and hat. Maria didn’t come to the foyer, so she hung them up herself, straining to hear any noise down the hall. Nothing.

“Henioche,” said Iolanthe’s voice from the parlor as soon as her foot landed on the first step. “Come here.”

Heni was expecting both of her parents in the parlor, waiting for her with tightened mouths. What she stepped into was an utter mess: shards of china all over the floor, tea soaking into the Persian rug and lace tablecloth, the table flipped over with a leg jutting through the top half of the curio cabinet, which glass door was also shattered.

And amidst it all, Iolanthe sat in the chair like nothing was out of the ordinary. Except her eyes were puffy and swollen, a purple half-moon hugging her right eye socket.

“Maria,” she said quietly to the figure standing by the window Heni hadn’t noticed. “Please inform my husband that his daughter has returned home.”

“Of course, Frau Rahm,” Maria said at once, setting down the dustpan and leaning the broom against the wall before hurrying upstairs.

Heni’s limbs were tingling, her heart beating in her throat. She tried to control her erratic breathing, placing a numb hand on her heart, to no avail. Meanwhile, Iolanthe simply glared at her. When the sound of Karl’s study door opening traveled down the stairs, making Heni flinch, her mother’s narrowed amber eyes gleamed with triumph.

Each footstep shot straight through Heni’s core, multiplying the stages of her panic attack. Maria reappeared with Karl on her heels, still in his SS uniform, hat and all.

He walked into the parlor, held up his hand, and spoke not to his wife and daughter but to Maria. “Ah-uh,” he said, pointing to the dustpan she’d just taken up. “You will not be cleaning the mess she’s made. Please stay in the kitchen and tend to supper for now.”

“Yes, Herr Rahm,” said Maria, placing the dustpan gently back on the floor and trotting down the hall. Despite her own state, Heni felt the waves of relief rolling off of her as she passed.

Karl next spoke to Iolanthe: “Take up that broom and start cleaning. You’d do well with a bit of time on your hands and knees, hmm? I want this done by supper, is that clear?”

Iolanthe didn’t speak, but she stood up and walked over to the broom. Karl snatched her arm and yanked her to his chest. “Answer me, Iolanthe,” he snarled in her face.

“Yes, it’s clear,” she bit out, glaring at his boots. Surprisingly, this was sufficient enough for him to let go and turn to Heni.

“You’re coming with me. Let’s go.”

She followed him out of the room, expecting to go up the stairs, but he marched her down the hall toward the dining room. Before they reached it, he pushed her to the right until they were in front of the door to the cellar.

Heni’s panic turned cold as the creak of the door opening vibrated her heart in her throat. A blast of icy, musty air hit her in the face. Gripping her arm, her father pulled her down the stairs.

He’d prepared for her return down here: The hanging bulb was already on, shining upon a spot that had various tools and buckets the last time she’d been down here. A bundle of rope lay draped over the end of the railing at the foot of the stairs. He took it on his way to the center of the room, where he shoved her hard away from him.

“Undress for inspection.”

Already shivering, Heni stripped down to her panties and knee socks, wondering what to do with her dress since she didn’t want it to touch the dusty floor. Then Karl ripped it out of her hands and tossed it somewhere to the side.

“Everything off, stupid girl,” he snapped, snapping the waistband of her panties against her belly.

When her panties had joined the now dusty pile of discarded clothing, he took her wrists and held them together in front of her. “Stay like this.”

She managed to stay still as he tied her wrists together, but when he yanked her arms up over her head, she squirmed, feeling the cold sinking deeper into her skin.

More tying, this time to one of the hooks hanging from the ceiling beam that usually held his fishing pole. That, too, had been cleared away somewhere, and now the cold metal hook dug into the back of her hand. He stepped back, smirking, as she stood, trapped and naked and cold, with her hands tied up far over her head.

“Now that you are where you belong,” he said, slipping his pocket knife back into his pocket, “Tell me where you were.”

“I was at Himmel Voyner’s house, I swear!” Heni burst out in one clouded breath. “Her mother saw us — you can call her and she’ll tell you!”

“And what the hell made you decide it’s a good idea to leave the house in the first place when you know you’re not allowed?” Karl demanded. “Have you not caused enough trouble?”

The second question flipped a switch in Heni’s brain — perhaps turning it off, but also turning off the fear and panic and letting the defiance she’d felt before rush in. “Have you not caused enough trouble, Father?”

Her voice came out cold and clear; her eyes locked with his narrowing ones, undeterred. “All of my problems are because of you!” she told him, conjuring the rage and letting it flow through her, warm and nourishing. “And you have the nerve to — to stand there and blame me!”

“Who the f*ck do you think you’re speaking to like that?” he spat, his hand tightening on the bundle of rope, but Heni kept going.

“And then what? You’ll drive off back to Theresienstadt and pretend I don’t exist, right? And yet you expect me to wait for you obediently like it even makes a difference.”

In response, Karl tossed the rope to the side, stepped forward, and pulled his hand back. With her only defense tied up over her head, she had no choice but to take the slap square on her temple.

“After all this time,” he said, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. “This dumb f*cking bitch still doesn’t know her place. Another lesson is in order, I see.”

He released her, turning away and going back upstairs. The door slammed shut, again causing her to flinch.

Her breath came out in short puffs in front of her face. Her teeth chattered so hard, surely they would break. It was better not to move, since the ropes dug into her wrists, but she couldn’t control her shaking. All the while, her mind raced, trying to anticipate his plan. Would he leave her down here all night? Until she cried and begged?

But no, he was back less than ten minutes later, this time with more rope in hand, even though the first bundle lay next to her clothing. Except this rope was black and sleek, attached to a handle…

“No,” Heni whispered out loud. “No, please no.” She’d seen whips like that in the Small Fortress. The gash on Jiří’s cheek, the pitiful cries of grown men when the snake-like end made contact with their skin.

“Oh?” Karl grinned, stroking her cheek. “Now the little brat has nothing to say? Let’s see her dance, then.”

He walked around her, disappearing from view and letting the whip drag behind him. It snaked across the concrete, nudging her feet, until he pulled it away.

“Father, please — ” Her raspy voice cut out in her throat. She swallowed hard, a futile endeavor since her mouth had gone completely dry. Still, she tried again, whispering. “Please no, please…”

“Shut up,” he said, followed by a whip through the air and an explosion of pain on her back.

Heni howled, feeling her knees buckle. If not for the ropes digging into her wrists, she was quite sure she would’ve fallen on her face.

Whip. White-hot pain overtook her vision and screamed in her ears. “No, please stop!” she cried. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’ll behave, I swear, please!”

“I said shut up.” His voice cut through the whine of pain. “Not behaving now, are you?”

He didn’t wait for a response, whipping her again, this time on her bottom. “Though I have to admit, it’s fun seeing you like this. Let’s see if I can make this little bitch bleed, hmm?”

Another crack of the whip, another burst of pain on her back. After two more, Heni was a sobbing wreck, her knees on the verge of giving out. “Please, help, please!” Through her heaves and the incessant ringing, her ears strained to hear footsteps against the ceiling. But of course no one was coming to save her.

“Please, Daddy,” she whimpered. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Karl laughed sardonically as he walked back around to face her, whip in hand. Heni didn’t doubt for a second that he was having fun hurting his daughter. “Oh yes, you will.”

He pressed a hand on her lower belly, still with a malevolent gleam in his eyes. “I’m surprised you haven’t pissed yourself yet.”

Heni felt her eyes widen in horror. She hadn’t felt the urge to pee, too preoccupied with the situation, but as soon as his palm flattened against her bladder, the urge came on swift and strong. After pregnancy, she wasn’t too great at holding it in — and by the smirk on Karl’s face and his hand pushing against her belly, he’d figured that out.

He took a step back, raising the whip. “No, Daddy, no!” Heni shrieked, tensing up. The repeated whips across her back were awful, but the blinding pain of the whip across her breasts was unrivaled. Not even giving birth was as excruciating.

Karl tugged on a milk-soaked nipple. Normally they didn’t leak so easily, but the whip, she realized, had unleashed a spray of milk. “You’ve been keeping up with this,” he said, lifting a damp finger to his mouth. “Good girl.”

Heni nodded in desperation, hoping that was the ticket out of this. “Please, Daddy, let me go?” she pleaded.

Her father chuckled and shook his head. “Perhaps that would’ve been enough, if this was the first time you’d defied me. But you keep on doing it, so my lessons clearly haven’t been difficult enough for you.”

Another whip, this time across her belly, and Heni felt her bladder give up, the wetness running down her legs. It was hot, at least, but then the cold swooped in and soaked even deeper into her skin.

“What’s this?” Karl sneered, looking down at the puddle forming between her feet. “Such a filthy, pathetic little bitch. You’re so weak and stupid, it’s almost cute.”

Heni was weeping, leaking and dripping everywhere. Every insult cut through her heart, letting it bleed out into her chest. All she’d done was gone to see her best friend after weeks of isolation — was it so bad? Or did her father just hate her?

His knife flashed in the dim light as he raised it up and cut her loose. Her ankles gave out under the sudden weight and she crashed to the floor, her raw bottom landing in the puddle of urine. The ropes around her wrists loosened and fell away, letting her sink her face into her hands.

“Dress up and let’s go,” he commanded.

Heni was trembling hard, breathing erratically and fumbling with the dress. Nearby, his boot tapped impatiently against the floor. Cold continued to assault her from all sides, mostly through her knees from the concrete. Eventually, after several minutes, she was dressed and standing on wobbly knees.

Karl took her arm — this time her forearm, gently — and led her up the stairs to the warmth and light. In the parlor, the vacuum ran; from the kitchen, the smell of käsespätzle drifted down the hall. Heni’s stomach loosened the slightest bit.

Up the second flight of stairs and then they were both in the washroom, the door closed behind them. She was hoping he’d leave her so she could clean up the old sticky urine and blow the massive buildup of mucus out of her sinuses. But he was taking his coat off, rolling up his sleeves, running the tap.

“Undress and get in.”

He was much more patient with her wincing and squeaking as she slowly let the warm water envelop her. For a blissful second, the warmth pushed out the pain, and then Karl’s hands were on her, roughly washing her.

“Ow, it hurts,” she mumbled, balling her fists under the water.

“Hush,” he said before pulling the drain plug. “Wash your face and get out, let’s go.”

“Time for dinner,” came Maria’s voice through the door from the landing, slightly raised in confusion: Two of the household members were not in their usual spots.

Once Heni was wrapped in a towel — even that was painful against her welts — her father led her into her room, locked the door, and snapped his fingers.

“Take that off and lie on the bed.”

Everything hurt. All Heni wanted to do was wrap herself up in her blanket, but from the wolfish lust in Karl’s eyes, she knew that wasn’t happening for a while. Trying not to wince, she laid down on the bed.

As soon as her stinging back was against the blanket, he was grabbing her breasts, kneading them. “So much milk Daddy’s whor* has been making for him,” he said, watching the milk bead out of her nipples and spill over her raw skin.

Heni gritted her teeth, bunching the blanket between her fists. Her skin was on fire, only somewhat soothed by the milk until he licked it up, taking care to sink his teeth into her breasts.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” He leaned up and pushed her knees apart. “Good, it’s supposed to. I see how quiet and obedient you are now — perhaps you’re learning.”

His fingers prodded her labia, releasing a current of desire she didn’t know she missed until it ran through her entire body. Then they broke into her, stretching a place she’d been worried had been stretched forever by the baby. While she was relieved that wasn’t the case, it wasn’t quite pleasant, either.

“Still so tight,” her father remarked, holding up her thigh and reaching in deeper. Slowly, he pulled them back out and then in again, gently loosening her inner walls.

Heni felt herself sinking into the bed, relaxing. The initial discomfort was fading, replaced with the familiar pleasure as his fingertips rubbed the magic spot deep within. Just as she let it consume her, he stuffed a third finger in.

She whimpered, attempting to close her legs but of course he held fast. “Keep your legs spread, whor*, and show off that fat little c*nt. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen it.”

He was on his knees in front of her, resting his other hand on her lower belly. His thumb found the nub just above her lower lips and idly rubbed while his fingers continued to thrust into her.

Now her whimpers were laced with need; her inner walls not shriveling with pain but clamping, coating his hand with juices.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, slowly pulling his fingers all the way out and leaving her lower lips wet and spread. “Look at this messy little c*nt. Spread it wide, slu*t.”

She thought he meant her legs, but he grabbed her hands and placed them on her stinging bottom with her own fingertips on her wet, pulsing flesh. Pressing into them, she spread them open to show her father her leaking, clenching hole.

“This one, too.” He spread the cheeks of her bottom and held them until she gripped them, too, spreading herself with her legs high in the air.

“What a nasty little whor*, serving up her tight little holes,” he said, leaning over and letting out a stream of spit. It slid between her lower lips, into her. With his fingers, he pushed it in deeper and smeared it along with her juices around her rear hole. It tightened up, but fortunately, it seemed like he was content with just rubbing it —

“Ow,” she squealed as his finger, still damp at least, forced its way inside. These inner walls were impossibly tight, clamping around it in protest.

“Stay still,” he ordered, pushing it in deeper. “And keep spreading that c*nt.”

Holding her bum cheek, he dipped his finger all the way to the knuckle and thrust, causing her to wince. She decided that she didn’t like this part, but she kept still.

A couple of thrusts and he took it out, spreading her with his own hands. Except his hurt, opening up both of her holes and stretching her labia as far apart as it would go.

Still holding her open, he leaned further in, slid his tongue into her, and licked up her juices from the inside. All the way in, then out over her folds and sucking them hard into his mouth. Only seconds of this had Heni rocking her hips and arching her back. It stung as the blanket peeled off the welts, but she barely felt it.

“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned as quietly as possible. “Oh, it feels so good, I love it…”

“I know you do, whor*.” Too soon, he was standing up, unbuckling his belt. But when he was inside of her, Heni wrapped her legs around him, keeping him close.

As he pumped, he held her face with both hands and kissed her hard. Her mouth flooded with spit, milk, and juices. She swallowed it down and stuck her tongue out for more.

“That’s my little dumb doll,” he growled. “Taking it like such a slu*t. My baby whor* is always ready for me. All mine — say it.”

“I’m yours, Daddy,” she cried, holding her legs wide open to get him as deep inside as possible. “I’m your dumb little doll.”

This was apparently what he needed to hear since not a moment later, he was pulling her to him and filling her with hot seed.

A few minutes later, they were both dressed and ready for supper, breathing slightly heavier with the taste of each other in their mouths. Heni’s welts still hurt with every move, especially in her tight bra, but she was more preoccupied with the fluid gushing into her panties as they went downstairs.

Iolanthe was seated at the table, her plate and wineglass empty. She didn’t speak to either her husband or her daughter as they entered the dining hall and took their places.

For an awkward moment, she and Karl only glared at each other. Iolanthe wasn’t calling for Maria to bring the plates like she usually did. Heni wondered if she should, but just then Maria poked her head out.

“Ah! Your plates will be out momentarily, Herr Rahm,” she said cheerfully.

“Iolanthe,” said Karl in a surprisingly neutral voice. “While she and I eat, I need you to go upstairs and pack her a suitcase.”

“Of course.” Iolanthe set down her wine glass and neatly blotted her mouth. “May I ask where she is going?”

“I’m taking her back to Theresienstadt with me, so no need for anything special.”

Iolanthe was all too happy to comply, heading up the stairs with light, breezy footsteps.

“Um, Daddy?” Heni asked, swallowing down the new lump on her throat. “Am I, um — am I going to the Small Fortress?”

“I don’t know if they need you,” Karl replied. “I heard another aufseherin was sent over a few weeks ago. Regardless, you’re not staying here when you obviously can’t be trusted.” He glowered at her as he picked up his utensils.

Heni’s hands loosened slightly on her own fork. At least if he kept her in the ghetto, she wasn’t at the mercy of Lissl Schmidt and the other guards. On the other hand, there she had a different tormentor, which was Karl’s whim. The welts on her bum and chest and back seared.

But being with Karl was better than being without him, if the last few dull weeks were any indication. And so, she sat quietly in the passenger’s seat of his car with her hands folded in her lap, watching the sky turn orange and indigo with dusk, on the drive back to the ghetto.

Chapter 26: XXVI - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

The gathering was originally going to be held on the first floor of the SS barracks, but at the last minute, it was moved to the headquarters. Of course no one bothered to tell Karl the reason, so he discovered it upon walking into the lounge and seeing Adolf Eichmann seated at the table.

He had no companion. Hans Günther to his right also didn’t; Möhs on his left had his young lover from the office, Hanna something-or-other. It was across from her Karl directed Henioche to sit before taking the seat across from Eichmann.

Besides Karl, the only other one from the ghetto who’d been invited to this gathering was Bergel, who had another girl from the one of the offices. From the Small Fortress was only Jöckel, who had no choice but to bring his wife since she insisted on living with him over there. She was the only companion who wasn’t nervously glancing around the room and forcing a grin.

“Let’s toast,” said Eichmann as soon as everyone was seated. The men drank down their bourbon, the women sipped their wine, and the evening began. On the platform in the corner, the piano was played by one of the prisoners who’d been kept off the deportation list for this purpose.

Everyone was quiet for several minutes, eating and waiting for Eichmann to speak first.

“The ghetto is coming along nicely,” he said at last. “Or what is it we’re calling it now? The Jewish resettlement area?” At Karl’s nod, he grinned. “That’s not too far from the truth, is it?

“Perhaps more of a transit area these days,” said Bergel.

“The best is yet to come.” By his tone, Karl could tell Eichmann’s statement was sardonic. “Tell me, Karl,” he continued. “How is the duck farm coming along?”

Bergel snickered, Möhs grinned, Günther frowned. “Duck farm?” Jöckel repeated, nonplussed. “I must have missed the double meaning behind this one.”

“No double meaning.” Eichmann winked. “It’ll be quite the farm if all goes to plan.”

“It’s coming along about as well as the storage room,” Karl told him pointedly. “A hassle at every turn.”

Möhs found this terribly funny, clapping his hands. His girlfriend forced a grin, clearly lost.

“I suppose it’s a bit more difficult when you’ve got to keep the residents both compliant and well enough for our visitors,” said Jöckel. “At least at the Small Fortress, we can…take more liberties.”

“The fact is, these projects should have been built years ago,” Eichmann said, refilling his glass and setting the bottle on the table in a spot where Karl would have to awkwardly reach over Henioche’s plate for it. “Right when the resettlement area was first established. Perhaps not the one in the ravelin, but there should have been an efficient method from the start.”

He took a large swallow of his drink, looked around the table, and grinned. “But what do I know? I merely carry out the orders.”

All of his men chuckled with various levels of enthusiasm. With the women present, they couldn’t talk plainly about the gas chamber and the ditch, which would result in thousands of dead bodies. Karl also couldn’t tell Eichmann his true feelings about the project, which was pure dread that took hold of him even just looking at the blueprints. Not only from the thought of mass extermination happening under his watch, but why even go through all the trouble of keeping everyone — Germans, Allies, Jews, the Red Cross — placated by the conditions at Theresienstadt if the end result was another Auschwitz?

And when the day came when the Reich would have to answer for their wartime activities, the surviving prisoners would remember Karl Rahm’s extermination camp. Not Eichmann’s, not Himmler’s.

Eichmann was watching him closely. “Another drink, Karl?” he asked, passing him the bottle. Karl took it gratefully, pouring slowly into the glass.

“Herr Oberführer, I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Günther, “How is Burger’s project in Greece coming along?”

More vague allusions to the same thing, carrying out the orders of The Führer and attempting to leave no traces of it by the time the Allies inevitably arrived. No one wanted to think about the war’s end, but it was here in the room with them, taking up all the empty space.

Just when glumness shrouded them all, the other musicians showed up from the ghetto, accordion and saxophone at the ready. “Anything upbeat,” Karl told them, wanting to get everyone dancing and worn out and gone already.

The accordion was what got everyone moving — he made a note to give the player an extra ration tomorrow. Jöckel’s wife, without asking, seized her husband’s hand and led him to the clearing next to the table.

“I suppose you want to dance?” Möhs asked his girlfriend, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Just one dance,” she promised.

Bergel, who’d finally won his girl over after a months-long pursuit, had no choice but to dance. This left Eichmann, Günther, Karl, and Henioche at the table, none of whom wanted to shout over the music.

“Pass me the bottle, sweetheart,” Karl said to his daughter, pointing to it.

As she did, Eichmann fixed his blue eyes on her, seeming to notice her for the first time that evening. “This is your daughter, Karl? Hans told me she worked at the Small Fortress for a bit.”

“Yes, Herr Oberführer.”

“How old are you?” Eichmann asked her.

“I’m sixteen, Herr Oberführer.” Her cheeks were flushed pink, but she managed to keep her head up and smile at him.

“Ah, sixteen.” He leaned back and took a puff of his cigar. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were so young, as you sit so quietly at this table of men. You know, some men would say women and girls have no business knowing the inner workings of the Reich, but I don’t agree. I’m curious, Fräulein Rahm. Did you have Jewish friends when you were younger?”

Startled, Henioche glanced up at him with wide eyes before she caught herself. “Um, no, Herr Oberführer.”

“And why is that?” Eichmann asked. “Because your parents forbade you, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied slowly, fiddling with the napkin on her lap. “And also, I went to Catholic school in Vienna, Herr Oberführer. Before we came to Prague. So I’ve never known any Jewish girls.”

“You’ve never known any Jewish girls?” This seemed to come as a surprise. “Or any Jews at all? Would you make friends with one now, if the chance presented itself to you?”

“Of course not,” Henioche said quickly.

“But you’ve never met one,” Eichmann insisted. “You’ve made the decision to never acquaint yourself with one, but not from personal experience. Have you wondered what it would be like to meet one?”

“Yes, a few times,” she admitted, flushing deeper. But then she gave him her little innocent grin, batting her eyelashes. “But the teachings of the Reich have told me they aren’t worth the bother, and I haven’t been given a reason not to trust the Reich so far.”

“Indeed you haven’t… On a completely different topic, I wonder if, with your father’s approval of course, you will have one dance with me?”

He was looking at Karl, gauging his reaction. Karl managed to keep his face blank, but his hand under the table found his daughter’s thigh and gripped it. She turned to him, waiting for his response. Günther, too, was watching with interest.

Eichmann knew Karl didn’t want anyone dancing with his daughter. But Eichmann also knew Karl wouldn’t refuse him. Not building the gas chamber, not allowing the dance. That is why Karl, and not Möhs, was the commandant of the ghetto despite his rank being lower. Reich or no Reich, Eichmann was a powerful ally for Karl to have. He nodded.

“Excellent,” said Eichmann, grinning at Henioche. “Come this way, Fräulein.”

To his credit, he danced with her like she was a niece, keeping a respectful distance. When it was done, after several long slow minutes, he kissed her hand and led her back to the table.

As soon as she sat down, Karl’s hand found her thigh. Perhaps this was when he should’ve asked her to dance, but he couldn’t: He knew being so close to her, knowing she had no panties on under the dress like he’d ordered, would distract him in front of his superiors. So close to his fingertips, he could feel the heat between her legs, begging for him.

Fortunately, the gathering concluded not too long afterward. Günther was the only one going back to Prague, so they followed him out to the car to see him and Jöckel off before convening in front of the lounge again.

“Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure,” Eichmann said, “but I must rest before I make the journey back to Berlin tomorrow.”

Günther and Möhs seemed reluctant to part ways in direct contrast to Karl, who bade Eichmann an enthusiastic goodnight and steered Henioche to the stairwell to his quarters.

“He and his daughter sleep up there together?” he heard Möhs mutter as the door closed behind them.

“Family affairs are hardly ever our concern, Ernst,” came Eichmann’s muffled reply as Karl’s boot touched the stairs.

Finally behind the closed door, the separation between the madness out there that would still be there tomorrow for Karl to deal with. Now there was only his little doll with no panties on, bending over to unstrap her heels.

“Ah-uh,” he said. “The only things you should be taking off are your dress and bra.”

He didn’t get the chance to see her before she dressed, but he’d told her to wear the lingerie set he’d bought her last week. She was — black straps and lace against pale skin, and no panties like he’d told her.

“Good girl,” he said, taking a seat in the chair. No whiskey but at least he had a cigar. He lit it and beckoned her over. “On your hands and knees.”

The sight of her crawling to him, all made up and strapped up with her milky tit* hanging heavy, made his co*ck stiffen so hard so fast, it was painful. He pulled it out, gripping it tightly as she approached.

Her eyes were on it, her lips slightly parted. Karl was ready to smear her lipstick all over her mouth, to gag her until black tears streamed down her cheeks. But not yet.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

Moving closer, she did so, waiting for him to stuff his co*ck into it. He tilted her chin up and sneered down at her. “You look like such a dumb f*cking whor* like this, waiting for Daddy’s come with your mouth open. But now you’re going to swallow something else.”

He leaned over, conjured the spit in his mouth, and pushed it out, aiming for hers. It landed on the back of her tongue and slid down her throat.

“Swallow it all.” His hand clamped around her cheeks; he felt lipstick against his palm and felt the bob of her throat.“What do you say, slu*t?” He tapped her sharply on the cheek.

“Th - thank you, Daddy,” she said in her small voice. Her doe-eyes were already brimming with tears. Perfect.

“Turn around with your ass up.”

He should get the rope and tie her up in that position, since it was one of his favorites. It was in the room somewhere. But the straps of her garter digging into her plump ass, a nice frame for her pink little c*nt, was good enough.

And, of course, her pathetic yelp as he slapped it. “Nasty little bitch, seated at the table with your c*nt bare and ready to be pounded. You enjoyed all that attention, didn’t you, slu*t?”

When she didn’t answer, he spanked her again. This time, his hand came up wet with her juices. Gripping his pulsing co*ck, he watched her c*nt lips leak and redden and swell.

“Answer me, Henioche.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it, Daddy,” she mumbled to the floor.

Another spank, another yelp. “I’ll bet you did,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from my dumb little f*cktoy. You would let them pass you around and f*ck you if I told them to, wouldn’t you?”

Again no answer, but at least Karl could take his temper out on her. “Answer me, you bratty little bitch. You are testing my patience.”

“I - I don’t know!” she cried. “You would — wouldn’t you be upset?”

He let out a hah, making her flinch. “That matters to you now? If I ordered you, too — to lie down with your legs spread like the filthy whor* you are, you would, yes? Let each of them have a turn?”

A series of short breaths as she spiraled in a panic before she managed to spit out a meek “yes.”

Karl stood up, pulled back his boot, and landed a kick square in her c*nt, punting her across the rug on her hands and knees. They both gave out and sent her crashing into the floor face-first.

She was up in a blink, covering her leaking tit* and crying. “I wouldn’t enjoy it! I’d do it only on your orders!”

“Liar.” He tucked himself away and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling it out of the elegant knot at the back of her head. “You would enjoy every second of it. But unfortunately for you, I don’t like to share my toys, even the stupid, worthless ones like you. On the bed with your legs spread.”

He supposed he should be grateful that she was too shy to show off her little holes, but on the other hand, they were his and it was time to stretch them. “Spread them wider,” he ordered, pushing on her knees. Finally, her legs were high in the air with the garter straps digging into them, and all that soft pink was on display.

First the easier one, the wet one that clenched around his fingers and begged them to stay. He gave a few pumps for her to loosen up and soak them with juices before moving onto her next tight hole.

“Ow, Daddy, no!” she cried when he slid his finger through the tight, puckered rim. She reached down but he slapped her hand away.

“Hush,” he snapped. “All of your holes are mine, slu*t. You know better than to tell me no, don’t you?”

He added a second finger, making her whimper and scrunch up her face in pain. This was better: He liked the cries of pleasure, but the ones of pain drove him crazy with hunger. As a reward for clenching up and taking his two fingers knuckle-deep into her ass instead of fighting, he ducked low and licked her fat c*nt lips.

Now she was turned back on, her hips rocking and juices flowing into his mouth and gathering on his fingers as they slid in and out. She was moaning like a whor*, arching her back with her round tit* bouncing.

“Now this whor* wants it, when Daddy eats her fat juicy c*nt, hmm?” He leaned up and watched her tight rim hug his fingers. “Spread it for me, baby slu*t, as wide as you can. Open up for me.”

Each time her little hole opened, it spit out a stream of juice, soaking the whole area between her legs. As he pumped his fingers, he pushed upon the stretched wall between her ass and c*nt, watching the messy wet pink move with them.

“What a nasty little bitch, taking it up the ass,” he taunted, reaching up to pinch a stiff, milk-soaked nipple. “Messy little slu*t, ready to get pounded hard, I see.”

He pulled out his fingers, unleashed his co*ck, and rubbed the tip against her c*nt lips until it was covered in juices. Lower it went until he felt it breaking into the rim.

“No, no!” she bawled, attempting to crawl backward. “No, please!”

“Shut up.” Karl leaned over her and slapped her hard across the face. “What did I just say about you telling me no?”

“But please, Daddy, it’ll hurt!” She covered her face and sobbed into her hands.

“It’s supposed to hurt, you dumb f*cking bitch,” he spat. “What, do you think I’m using you for anything but my pleasure? No. You’re just a toy, Henioche. Say it.”

“I’m — just a toy,” she sniffled.

He had to concede that he couldn’t f*ck her ass tonight, not here where his colleagues were directly underneath the floor and would hear her wailing in pain. He spanked her and said, “Turn over.”

Once her ass was up, he didn’t waste time mounting her. He buried his co*ck deep until he felt her c*nt lips on his balls and held it there, spreading her ass. It was still mostly puckered, but it gaped the tiniest bit when he spread it with his thumbs. He aimed his spit here — it landed just above the rim. He gathered it with his fingertips and broke them into the hole.

She squealed into the blanket, tensing up. However, once he began to thrust his fingers and co*ck together, she relaxed very quickly, taking them as deep as they would go.

“Such a nasty little baby whor*.” He felt his fingers against his co*ck with just the thin, slippery wall between them. “Getting both her ass and c*nt stuffed and pounded. I can tell you love it, slu*t. You can’t fool me.”

In that position, deep inside his toy’s stretched holes and his fist in her hair, keeping her head down, he came hard only a minute later. He withdrew and half-pulled out, stepping back as a spray of seed rained down on the floor.

“Spread that c*nt wide,” he said, yanking her hips so it was over the floor. Seed poured out of her onto the floor, fast at first and then a dribble.

“Get it all out, that’s it,” he said, spreading her himself. As she clenched, spurts of white dripped onto the floor. When they slowed, he rubbed her messy c*nt and spanked her again.

“Time to clean up your mess.”

One of the best parts of the evening: Her with smudged makeup, reddened holes, and snarly hair kneeling on the floor and lapping at the puddles of his come and her own c*nt juice from the floor. For some reason she was barely touching them with her tongue, perhaps thinking he wouldn’t notice.

Losing patience, he knelt down, forced her head lower, and smeared the puddles across her face. “Let’s go, bitch, faster. Don’t act like you’re not the nastiest come slu*t. Clean it all up with that little mouth.”

He sat in the chair and began taking off his uniform. “When you’re done, get in the bed and sleep with your filth all over your face like the slu*t you are.”

He expected her to mutely comply like she usually did after a session — broken for just a short, glorious stretch of time — but to his surprise, she rose, stalked into the washroom, and slammed the door behind her.

“Henioche,” he barked, standing up. The lock clicked in the door in response, curling his fists. He walked over to the bed to see that she’d at least cleaned the floor before deciding not to obey him anymore.

At least when the door cracked open, she peered out, waiting for him to pounce. But he was already down to his drawers in bed, propped up by a pillow and taking a deep pull on the cigar.

She emerged freshly washed, wrapped in a nightdress with her hair pinned up. The scent of soap and waving lotion filled the air instead of her c*nt juice, reverting her back to clean like she’d been at the party. Karl sighed; at this point, he was too tired to do anything.

“Come here,” he said, waving her over.

As resistant as she’d been to him all night, her bare skin was against his before she was under the cover. Her cheek met his chest and she wrapped herself around him, hugging him tight.

“I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Daddy.” Against his chest he felt hot tears.

“Will you continue to?” he asked, stubbing out his cigar and turning off the light.

“No, Daddy, I promise.”

“Let’s hope not.” Giving in, he laid a hand on her cheek and smoothed her hair back. “No need to cry, baby. Go to sleep now.”

She obeyed this command. Only a few minutes later, her breaths were slow and even, her body like a bag of sand at his side. He wished he could sleep as soundly or at all even. The conversation with Eichmann was running through his mind, looping over and over…

The next morning, Eichmann appeared at the commandant’s desk just as Karl was about to go over the morning roll call.

“Listen, Karl,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’m going to exaggerate the ‘revolt’ to Frank and maybe he’ll agree to stop the nonsense with the gas chamber.”

Karl looked up, wondering if he was being toyed with. But this was Eichmann, blank-faced with no history of toying with him like Möhs and Günther. “Not that I oppose this in the slightest, Herr Oberführer,” he said slowly, “but may I ask why?”

“Because we can’t have a mass extermination going on in front of the Red Cross,” Eichmann replied, shaking his head. “Or the Allies when they inevitably show up to the ghetto. Listen, I want every Jew dead as much as the Führer does — you know that. But the reality is, that’s not going to happen. Auschwitz and Treblinka are liberated. Now we’ve got to think of ourselves, and how to plan for when the Reich falls.”

“We are destroying the RSHA papers,” Karl told him. “They’re almost all gone. But yes, this ravelin project is a thorn in my side. The inmates are restless, the SS men even more so. No one wants to be the one with the Zyklon can. And if I’m completely honest, Herr Oberführer — I won’t be the one, either.”

Eichmann gave him a half-grin. “There is only one other order you would refuse from me, isn’t there?”

Karl said nothing.

“To give me your daughter. Not that I’m asking that of you either,” Eichmann added at the involuntary tightening of Karl’s mouth. “Take away what a man loves the most, and for what does he need loyalty after that, am I right? I was always more of a pragmatist than a sad*st.”

“Only that, Herr Oberführer,” Karl said.

Eichmann tipped his hat, grinned in full, and left the office.

Chapter 27: XXVII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

Heni dressed in her dowdiest dress and scuffed loafers before wrapping a silk scarf over her hair and slipping out of Karl’s room. Like a cat in the night on the hunt for mice, she crept down the maze of hallways in the headquarters until she reached the courtyard.

Warm spring hair brushed her cheeks as she stepped into the gardens. It was only after much weedling and coaxing that her father had let her roam the headquarters and its courtyard. And now she was about to blow it.

If I’m caught, she told herself, ducking through the hedges across the archway to the ghetto. If I’m caught by him, specifically. Karl was gone from sunup to sundown — she had a hard time believing he spent this entire time traipsing through the ghetto with the other SS.

With her shoes scraping against the cobblestone streets, she hurried away from the headquarters. She had absolutely no idea where she was going or even what she expected to find. Herr Eichmann’s words played in her head, encouraging her: Have you ever wondered what it was like to meet one?

Not meet — she wasn’t that stupid. But she wanted to see.

The square was still a maintained park, the lawn shining bright green and flowers blooming. As she passed, she searched it for a sign of human life and came up with nothing. No one was in it.

She didn’t know where else to go but straight. Buildings loomed ahead with no activity. The streets had been swept. It looked like no one lived here at all. Then, as she passed a rundown yellow building, a thick, acrid odor filled her nose and the air became hazy.

Heni pressed one of the tails of her headscarf over her nose and mouth. Something was on fire, but it wasn’t the pleasant, woody, smoky scent she associated with League campfires. As she continued on, the smell became more and more rotten. It seemed to be coming from the building just up ahead, except the chimney was blocked by another building.

As she approached, three men pulled a wagon in front of the building and set it down. They were dressed head-to-toe in white suits with thick rubber gloves and cloths draped over the lower half of their faces. Heni, sensing the danger, stopped short and backed up onto the sidewalk.

Another similarly-dressed man appeared, barking orders in what sounded like Czech, gesturing to the wagon. Together, the four of them pulled the tarp off the wagon to reveal its contents.

It took Heni a few seconds to understand what she was looking at. One of the men yanked something from the pile, something like a flesh-coated skeleton…

Bodies. A tangle of impossibly long, thin limbs. Limp wispy hair sprouting around sunken-in faces. Heni was aware of her breakfast creeping up her throat, her scarf folding into her open mouth. She tried to tear her eyes away from them — they were starving, naked; they needed dignity — to no avail. There were so many of them, all so frail that it was clear the ends of their lives hadn’t been any improvement over death.

How — how could there be so many? Her mind was spitting random, incoherent questions that no one would answer. Eichmann again: Have you ever wondered what it was like…?

“Ahoy!” Someone grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around. Frozen in terror, Heni looked into the narrowed grey eyes of a gendarme.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Frau?” he demanded. His eyes were sweeping her face, filling with confusion; apparently her guise wasn’t as effective as she’d hoped.

“S - sorry,” she choked out. “I — I’ll be getting back to my barracks now.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Um…” Heni blurted the most Jewish name she could think of: “Rebecca Bernstein.”

“Transport number?”

“A506,” she said more clearly, hoping like hell that it sounded anything like an actual transport number.

By the suspicion in his eyes, she could forget about that hope. He gripped her arm and steered her back in the direction she came. Just as they turned the corner before the park, a black Mercedes appeared in front of them, rumbling along the cobblestone in the opposite direction.

The driver took a good, hard look at them, allowing Heni to identify him as the camp inspector, Bergel. Her heart stopped, but the car passed by, it was gone — no. The squeak of the breaks, the rumbling closer reverberated through her chest as her heart fell into her already-weak stomach.

He appeared again, backing up the car. “What’s going on here?” he yelled, parking and jumping out.

“I’ve caught her by the crematorium,” the gendarme explained. “I’m going to verify who she is and then I’ll —

Without warning, Bergel reached out and snatched Heni out of his grasp by the arm. “Not sure what the hell you’re doing here, little girl, but I’ll let the commandant find that out. Let’s go.”

He shoved her into the car and drove off, leaving the gendarme standing there in bewilderment. The minute it took him to reach the SS headquarters and pull her into it felt like less than a second. The lights and female voices and tapping on typewriters rushed by her in a blur. If Bergel hadn’t been holding her, surely she would’ve fainted by now.

A quieter hallway, a second to breathe, and then a door, which Bergel knocked upon.

“Enter,” called a voice that chilled Heni’s blood.

Bergel opened the door and shoved Heni rather roughly inside. She’d never been in this room before, but she knew right away it was Karl’s office even before she saw him seated behind the large oak desk. The room was decorated as lavishly as the rest of the headquarters, complete with fireplace. Behind Karl and next to a closed door was a painting she recognized from his studio on the second floor.

Karl hadn’t looked up yet, frowning at a list of some sort. He was in uniform save for his hat, hung up between the painting and a customary portrait of the Führer. The brass plate on his desk read SS-Obersturmführer Karl Rahm.

“What is it?” he asked, eyes still on the paper.

“I don’t know how to explain this, Herr Kommandant,” said Bergel, bearing down on Heni’s shoulder for her to sit.

Karl didn’t look up at Bergel’s voice, unnerving her even more. “Do your best,” he muttered.

“I was doing midday rounds and found her by the crematorium… I’m not sure if she’s allowed out of the headquarters, Herr Kommandant.”

Frowning, Karl finally glanced up. His cold blue eyes landed on his daughter and narrowed. The list was dropped back onto the desk at once.

“I’ll take this over from here, Karl,” he bit out. “But I’ll need Wöstrel with the car in twenty minutes.”

“Of course, Herr Kommandant.” Bergel left, taking care to close the door behind him. As soon as the knob clicked back into place, Karl spoke in a calm, deadly voice.

“Explain yourself.”

“I, um…” Her father would see right through her lies. And anyway, why should she lie? Like Herr Eichmann said, girls could know about the inner workings of the Reich. Himmel knew, Lissl knew, Erika knew. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to see what was going on in the ghetto. How the Jews live.”

He let out a harsh breath and shook his head. “I’ve shown you what goes on in the ghetto, dumb girl. Did you see what you wanted?”

“I saw a lot of dead bodies,” she said, holding his eyes. “That looked like they’d been starved to death. Is that what’s happening here, Father? We’re killing them here instead of in the East now?”

“Not that it’s any of your f*cking business,” Karl snapped, “but these prisoners came from other camps, carrying typhus that has now spread across this entire camp, which is why I don’t want you out there. Not even the other prisoners are allowed to enter the quarantined barracks.”

Heni mulled his words over, wanting hard to believe them. He stood up and walked around the desk, glowering at her. “Do you want to catch their diseases, dumb bitch? Again you don’t listen and mind your own affairs, and I’m getting tired of it.”

“But this is my affair, too,” Heni protested, ignoring his curled fists at his side. “Herr Oberführer says even the girls of the Reich —

She only blinked, and he was in front of her, raising his hand. Her head whipped to the side as he slapped her cheek hard. “It is your affair when I determine it is. Eichmann doesn’t own you, I do, and the quicker you start learning to obey me and only me, the better. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” she muttered, cupping her stinging cheek.

“Good. Now go upstairs, pack your bag, and be back down here in ten minutes. Understood?”

“Pack my bag?” Heni echoed dumbly. “Where — ?”

“What did I just f*cking tell you, Henioche?” He grabbed her chin, squeezing her jaw. “You can’t be this dumb. Go pack a bag now. Ten minutes.”

Heni had no choice but to go upstairs and stuff all of her belongings in the bag she’d brought from Prague. As she folded her dresses and tucked away her hairbrush and toothbrush and bobby pins, tears dripped out of her eyes. She’d known she’d be in huge trouble if she was caught, but she didn’t think Karl would get rid of her.

In Karl’s office, he was speaking with an unfamiliar SS-man, so she sat in the chair and waited patiently for him to finish. Once the man was gone, Karl stood and motioned for her to follow him.

His secretary looked up in interest as he passed, narrowing her heavily made-up eyes at Heni. No need, Heni told her drily in her head, he doesn’t want me anyway. Fresh tears stung her eyes, but she managed to blink them back by the time they left the headquarters.

The black SS car was outside waiting for them. Heni was relieved to see that Wöstrel wasn’t there so she wouldn’t have to fake-smile. Karl opened the car door and set her bag at her feet.

It won’t be all bad, she assured herself, trying to swallow down the lump of misery in her throat. At least she’d have more freedom in Prague. And she’d see Himmel again and perhaps help care for her baby since Heni’s own was ripped away from her. Yes, in fact, it wouldn’t be so —

Instead of turning onto the road toward Prague, the car kept going straight over the river, slowing down only when the black-and-white blocks of the Small Fortress entrance loomed ahead.

“Father…am I going to the Small Fortress?” she burst out, her stomach twisting up. “Please don’t take me there! I’ll behave, I promise!”

“Shut up,” Karl said flatly. “I’m sick of you saying the same meaningless sh*t over and over. Here is where lying, sneaking little bitches like you belong. One more word and you’ll be in one of the cells instead of guarding them.”

Heni’s bottom lip wobbled and her sweaty hands wrung in her lap. Oh, how she hated the Small Fortress. She could only imagine the SS taunts headed her way after her long leave of absence.

The car pulled up in front of the commandant’s house. Heni had hoped she’d never see this place again, and now she was being led through the gardens. The guard greeted her father and opened the door to let them in.

He directed her down a familiar path to Malloth’s office. As his eyes fell upon her, Anton Malloth gave them his usual grin and asked, “Is she back with us now? Good thing — it seems like these damn prisoners are multiplying.”

“I’m sure she could be put to good use here,” said Karl. “Is Kommandant Jöckel in his office?”

“I think so,” Malloth replied. “I assume you want the same close watch on her?”

“Even more.” Karl dropped the bag on the chair in front of Malloth’s desk. “Typhus continues to rage in the ghetto thanks to those marches, and she’s prone to wandering around.”

“Mischievous one, she is.” Malloth turned his grin onto her. “Do not worry, Herr Kommandant. We’ll keep her out of trouble. We’ve got a new aufseherin, and she doesn’t let her charges out of sight.”

“Wonderful,” Karl said. He left without another word, with just one quick blank-faced glance at his daughter.

Malloth picked up the phone and dialed Maria, the main secretary. “One of our old aufseherinnen has returned,” he said. “Please have Oberaufseherin Schmidt come fetch her.”

Heni managed to turn her scowl at her bag lying on the chair. Lissl was the last person she wanted to deal with. But with the approaching heels clicking down the hall, she knew she had no choice.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Heni!” she greeted, smiling. Heni knew her words were genuine: Lissl was happy to have her back, miserable and under her control. “Your old room has been taken by Hildi, but I know there’s another one up there somewhere. Come, follow me.”

Curse Karl, Heni thought grumpily as she slung her bag over her shoulder and followed Lissl out. It was easier to let the anger take over, keeping the sorrow at bay, since this would be the worst time to start crying again.

Her new room was half the size of her old one with nothing but a flimsy cot under a small window and an old wooden trunk. “The washroom is across the hall,” Lissl said while Heni set her bag down on the cot. It gave an aggressive creak in response.

“You’ll have to share it with Erika,” Lissl continued, “but you two were always stuck at the hip anyway. Let me guess, another Czech? He’s not another prisoner, is he?”

Her eyes lowered to Heni’s stomach and then to the ring on her hand as she wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me you married him. Did he knock you up as well?”

“There is no ‘he,’ Frau Oberaufseherin,” Heni said icily, pressing her hands flat against her thighs to prevent them from balling into fists.

“Hmph,” Lissl said, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows in disbelief. “In any case, I’ll have to get you a uniform in at least one size larger, as your figure isn’t what it used to be. Once you’re dressed, you’ll meet me in the women’s courtyard for evening roll call. After that, we’ll head to the gallows to see an execution.”

With the knowledge that she’d just pelted Heni with everything she hated about this, she gave her a wide grin. “Welcome back, dear Heni!”

She twirled on her heel and slammed the door shut, leaving Heni in this small, sad room to cry.

Chapter 28: XXVIII - Theresienstadt

Chapter Text

In Theresienstadt’s Small Fortress, there was a new aufseherin, and it wasn’t “Princess Rahm,” the ghetto commandant’s daughter who showed back up one day under mysterious circ*mstances. This one was a young charge from Ravensbrück who had, within the span of six months, been sent to the fortress, married SS-guard Mende, and became Oberaufseherin alongside Lissl Schmidt.

“Her name is Hildi,” Erika had told Heni. “And she’s hell in heels.”

Heni had little interaction with the pretty blonde with the brutal reputation except at mealtimes, where the women ignored her. She was content to keep it that way until Hildi showed up at her side a week after Heni’s arrival as Heni was dealing with a wayward prisoner.

Heni had found this prisoner wandering the fortress when she was supposed to be in the textile workshop. She was maybe forty, widowed according to her file, walked around clutching herself like she was continually cold, and spoke no German. When Heni seized her arm and demanded why she wasn’t at work, the prisoner spat something at her in Czech.

“Come on, let’s go,” Heni said, tugging on the woman’s rather smelly wool coat. “Back to the workshop you go.”

The woman wrenched herself out of Heni’s grip. She turned away, folding her arms.

“What are you doing, you dumb piece of sh*t?” came a snappish voice behind her. Heni whirled around, thinking it was speaking to her, but Hildi was striding toward the prisoner.

Grabbing her by the shoulder, Hildi pulled her arm back and punched the lady square in the face, resulting in a loud crack and blood dripping from her nose. The prisoner didn’t seem to have a handkerchief, cupping her face. Blood leaked through two of her fingers onto her coat.

“You see, little one?” Hildi said to Heni. “That’s how you have to treat them, with a rough hand. I know you haven’t been here that long, but I’ve never seen you hit anyone.”

“I’ve hit some,” Heni lied. “I was reluctant to hit this one because I think she’s acting out after her husband was hanged.”

“That’s not our concern, dear girl.” Hildi took the prisoner’s arm and turned her so they faced each other. “Will you behave now?” she barked in the woman’s bloody face. “To the workshops — let’s go!”

Later on, Erika and Heni passed the evening after the execution in the former’s room. Heni set Erika’s hair and then they switched. Heni’s took a bit longer, since she had more hair. As she sat on the small vanity chair in the washroom, she kept her eyes on her hands, trying not to think about Hildi’s punch, the swinging bodies in the gallows, the skeletal bodies on the wagon.

“I saw the prisoners in the ghetto,” she said quietly.

“Hmm?” Erika said absentmindedly, raking more waving lotion on a hanging section of hair.

“I saw the prisoners in the ghetto,” Heni repeated, stronger. “The dead ones — they were burning them in the crematorium.”

Erika went still, watching Heni in the mirror.

“They were so thin,” Heni continued. “Like they’d been starved. My father said they were taken to the ghetto from other camps. But why?”

“The other camps were taken over by the Allies,” Erika said, taking up a piece of hair. “So before that, to hide what they were really for, the SS sent the prisoners here. They made them march here.”

“All the way from the East?” Heni tried to imagine the bodies in the wagon, upright and breathing, marching through field after field. It was impossible.

Erika nodded. “Many of them died on the way.”

“My father said the ones in the ghetto died of typhus,” Heni said. “But I’m sure all that marching didn’t help.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what he’ll tell the Allies when they come here.” There was a bitterness in Erika’s tone, a forcefulness in pinning the hair to Heni’s head that hadn't been there before.

Heni tried to shove the Allies out of her head. Just the thought of them made her heart skip a few beats. She wanted this awful, wretched war to end, but the yawning abyss of her family’s future when it did was too scary to contemplate.

Of course, in trying to do this, her dreams were filled with marching soldiers in addition to gunshots in fields and Jiří slumped over, dying. “I’m sorry!” she cried as not the SS but soldiers with American flags stitched on their uniforms carried her away from him. “Jiří, I’m sorry!”

“Hush, it’s alright.” One of the soldiers wiped her tear-soaked face. “I’m here, Heni, it’s alright.” He spoke German in a voice that didn’t match his face, oddly feminine, familiar…

Heni blinked and found herself in her tiny cot. All was dark except for the moonlight shining in her window, reflecting off Erika’s pale face. “You were dreaming,” she whispered. “You’re alright.”

“No,” Heni croaked, sitting up and cradling her head. “No, he’s still in the field and it’s all my fault — "

“Hush, it’s alright,” said Erika, wrapping her arms around the weeping younger girl. “It can’t be your fault. You didn’t shoot him.”

“But I got him shot,” Heni sobbed. “Otherwise he would’ve survived.”

“Heni, listen.” Erika’s voice was firm, but she paused for a few seconds before continuing. “None of these prisoners are going to survive. Why do you think there’s an execution every day now? The SS doesn’t need information about anti-Reich activities when the whole land will soon be anti-Reich. Now they have to get rid of witnesses.”

Heni hugged herself, suddenly cold. “So they’re all going to die?”

Erika nodded, her mouth set in a grim line.

Heni’s stomach was clenching. How could she possibly go out to the barracks and face the prisoners, knowing their end was so near? No, she would not do it.

“I’m not going back out there,” she declared.

“You don’t have to,” Erika assured her, patting her hand. “I’ll tell Lissl you’re ill. You’ve just been in the ghetto — perhaps they’ll believe you’re ill with typhus and leave you alone. Sorry, bad joke.”

Bad joke or not, Heni felt her face crack with the first grin she’d had in 1945, or at least that’s what it felt like. She squeezed Erika’s hand. “No. If you’ve got to carry out your duty to the SS, so do I.”

Erika shook her head. “The SS didn’t execute the love of my life in front of my face for no reason, either.”

As it turned out, neither Erika nor Heni had to go out and face the prisoners. The next morning, they arrived at breakfast to see that shutters had been placed over the windows. Frau Schwann stood in front of the front door, her arms crossed.

“What on Earth is going on, Frau Führerin?” Lissl demanded from behind Heni.

“You’re not going out there today,” Frau Schwann said. “The Allies are approaching and the SS-men are liquidating the prison. It is not safe for you out there.”

“But we want to help, Frau Führerin,” Lissl protested. “We are part of the SS, too!”

“Speak for yourself,” Rosel muttered.

“Well, you can’t,” Frau Schwann snapped. “Surely your husband has told you that, Mother Reich? Now go on to breakfast, pack your bags, and stay in this house to wait for your husbands like dutiful wives.”

Lissl scoffed and turned away. Ellie and Hildi followed her, both looking tense. Heni had no idea what “liquidating” the prison meant, but judging by their expressions, it wasn’t anything good. Was Karl across the river doing the same to the ghetto prisoners?

“My father is in the ghetto,” she blurted to Erika as they all sat down for breakfast. “If we are to leave, he’ll have to retrieve me.”

“The ghetto has been abandoned already,” said Erika, which caught the attention of everyone at the table. “The SS are long gone, Heni.”

Heni’s mouth dropped open. A plate was placed in front of her, but the bread with jam turned her stomach. “Gone…? But my father…”

“Stupid girl,” Lissl sneered. “Did you think they’d wait around to be captured?”

“Heni,” said Hildi, her tone kind in contrast to Lissl’s. “The SS aren’t in charge anymore. According to the Allies, they’re war criminals now. It is safer for the time being for you to be away from your father.”

Erika was nodding, but Heni couldn’t stave off the tears fast enough. “But he…he just left.”

“For your safety,” Erika said gently. “We must all leave, too.”

“Who’ll take you all the way to Dresden?” Ellie asked her.

“Hohaus has agreed to,” Erika replied, pouring herself tea. “Although I don’t know how long it’ll take…” She shot an anxious glance at the shuttered window. Through the wood, they could hear muffled SS shouting from just beyond the fence.

“Is anyone going to Prague?” Heni asked, fortunately past the brink of tears. “My family is there.”

“No, little one, you must not go to Prague,” Hildi said. “It’s not safe there. You are from Vienna, right? It’s better to go straight there.”

“Like hell, Hildi,” Ellie said. “All the SS are running back to Vienna. It’s the first place they’ll look.”

“She’ll come to Dresden with me,” said Erika. “Then we can worry about Vienna.”

“Erika, Vienna is in the other direction. She can’t travel alone with the Soviets — "

“Vienna is in the American zone — "

“But the Soviets have Dresden — "

As they discussed Heni’s immediate future, she clutched her stomach, fighting the urge to throw up. The sorrow welled up in her chest, but she fought that, too. It was easier to panic about the Allies than to process the fact that Karl had left her in this place…

It wasn’t working; tears dripped out of the corners of her eyes. Shielding them from the others, she rose from the table. “Excuse me,” she mumbled before hurrying out.

She ran up the stairs, burst into her room, and threw herself onto the cot. Burying her face in the pillow, she let the sobs free, her shoulders shaking and her head pounding.

“Shh.” Someone was behind her, rubbing her shoulders. She didn’t turn around. She had to pull herself together and figure out how on Earth she was getting to Vienna on her own — not that she particularly ready to be with her traitorous, uncaring parents, but she had no choice…

“Heni.” Erika, more forcefully. “Look at me. It’s alright, I won’t leave you here. You can come with me. I’ve written to my parents. They’re waiting for me, and I know they’ll take you, too.”

Heni sat up and took a deep, shuddering breath. “How could he just leave me?” she whispered, dissolving into tears again. “How could he just not care about me at all?”

Erika rubbed her back and blotted her cheeks with a handkerchief. “I’m sure he does…Hildi is right, he’s a war criminal now. But, Heni, if I’m honest — is he really the best father?”

Heni looked up sharply, glaring at her through blurry eyes.

“My father didn’t want me to come here,” Erika held her gaze, undaunted. “I, being a fanatical teenager of the Reich, signed up for the SS-Helferin behind his back. It took me too long to understand why he didn’t want me here. I can’t imagine any father sending their daughter to a torture prison. I’ll bet even Hildi’s father doesn’t know what this place is.”

“And” — she refolded the handkerchief and wiped Heni’s cheeks — “that is not even touching upon what they did to your Jiří. I’ll bet anything your father had something to do with that.”

“He did,” Heni muttered. “Him, Malloth, Rojko, Schmidt, and Wöstrel. They all went in a car with Jiří in the trunk. My father took me along in another.”

Erika was still and quiet, listening. The bizarre combination of birds twittering and distant gunshots floated through the window. Heni had been so afraid to voluntarily revisit the day in the clearing, but surprisingly, her eyes were dry and her hands steady.

“They took us to this clearing somewhere beyond the ghetto,” she continued. “They covered Jiří’s head with a potato sack. Until they made him kneel. My father originally wanted to shoot but Malloth insisted.

“I couldn’t do it.” She looked into Erika’s honey-colored eyes, wanting to see contempt and finding nothing. “I couldn’t watch. When he was shot. I tried to go to him afterward, but my father pulled me away. Oh, the things I said to him — I called him a monster, a murderer, even though Malloth was the one who shot him.”

“You were right,” Erika told her, taking her hand. “Your father is a monster and a murderer, shot or no shot. He’s not a war criminal just to the Allies, Heni.”

Just one hour ago, Heni would’ve argued with vehemence that Karl Rahm was carrying out his duty to the Reich with honor. But with the Reich fallen, with the disaster that was the ghetto, with Jiří’s body decomposing in the field, with his daughter here alone, the argument had no conviction. It was no longer important.

“Come with me, Heni,” Erika pleaded, squeezing Heni’s hand. “I trust Hohaus to get us to Dresden. He protected the prisoners every chance he got. It’s not great there, either, but my parents are there. My brother has returned from the Wehrmacht. We can help rebuild the city. And you’ll be safe. No one has to know who you are.”

Heni let out a sigh, feeling the misery and sorrow unpeel from her lungs. Though they still lingered, they weren’t squeezing, suffocating her. “Alright,” she said, standing up and swallowing hard. “Let’s start packing.”

Later, with their bags stuffed with their belongings, dressed in civilian clothes with their uniforms abandoned in the washroom, Erika and Heni sat on the former’s bed and waited for the knock on the door.

It came sometime in the late afternoon, setting Heni’s nerves on edge. Erika opened the door to reveal a tired-looking Rosel. “Hohaus is in Malloth’s office, waiting for you,” she said, swiveled on her heel, and disappeared.

Gripping her bag with shaking hands, Heni followed Erika out of the room and down the hall for the last time. On the way, she noticed the door to her old room was flung open. She peered in to see that Hildi and Herbert Mende were already gone.

“Come on, Heni,” Erika called.

Malloth’s office was filled with gagging smoke: He was ripping out the papers from his large, leather-bound binder and throwing them into his fireplace. The grin on his face was absent, his cheeks lined and hollow.

Heni watched the flames erupt angrily each time they were fed a piece of paper, swallowing records of the prisoners. She wanted to take the one with Jiří’s name on it and smear the ink across his face and slice papercuts into his cheeks.

“Both of you are going to the same place?” asked the older man standing beside his desk. Looking at him, Heni was reminded of a greyhound, tall and lean with a long, curious face.

“Yes,” said Erika. “Heni, this is Herr Unter — Herr Hohaus.”

Hohaus nodded at Heni and slung his own bag over his shoulder. “Let’s get going. We need to be out of Czechoslovakia before sundown. Good luck, Anton.”

Malloth didn’t reply, robotically tearing out the papers and tossing them into fire, into which he stared with vacant eyes.

Where Hohaus had gotten a nondescript old Škoda from and how he'd gotten it into the Small Fortress was at first beyond her. But as they approached, it became clear that no one was checking anything. She saw not a single person around, SS or prisoner, but she heard a lot of yelling and gunshots from the direction of Courtyard One. Her stomach churned as she envisioned, against her will, a line of prisoners falling, dying as they hit the ground.

No one was at the entrance to the Small Fortress either. The car turned right before the ghetto entrance in the opposite direction of Prague. From the back seat, Heni looked out the window, squinting in the afternoon sun. The ghetto gates were closed and, oddly, guarded by two figures. She couldn’t make out anything else, such as if they were uniformed.

A traitorous twinkle of hope flickered in her chest. Perhaps the SS hadn’t abandoned the ghetto — perhaps Karl was still there? But it was too late, the fortress walls were passing by and moving away.

Anyway, Heni told herself, facing forward, it still didn’t matter. Karl had left her in the Small Fortress alone, knowing the Allies were coming. To her, her father represented the entire Reich; they were now one and the same.

And she was done with all of it.

Chapter 29: XXIX - Dresden

Chapter Text

Flour and potatoes. The last two rations of the Bauer family. Tensions were high in the household. The head, Hans, hadn’t been seen in three weeks. Out fixing the railways, his profession, but never had he been gone this long.

“Someone has to get them,” Erika said. “We have nothing left. You’re the only man, Hans. You need to get it together and go to the grocery already.”

“Erika, be kind,” said her mother, Ilse. “He’s gone through enough.”

Her older brother, Hans, sent a scowl across the small kitchen table. “So we’re supposed to just starve until Father gets back?”

“You act like hunger is something new,” Erika argued.

“It is, with the Extra Mouth,” he replied, looking at his “cousin” Heni. “Maybe she should go for once.”

“Fine,” said Heni despite feeling the color drain from her face. She held out her hand. “Give me the card.”

“Absolutely not,” said Erika’s mother, who Heni called Tante Ilse, shaking her head. “You are the last one who will be leaving this house, Heni. You are too young and too…”

Hans snorted, glaring at Heni with contempt. “There are plenty of young, pretty women in Dresden, Mother.”

“And do you ever see them in the streets?” Erika shot back, crossing her arms. “You’re being utterly ridiculous. It’s perfectly safe out there for you. This isn’t Stalingrad, Hans. Time to grow up.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Hans snarled, glancing down at the spot where his right arm used to be. “It’s not like I’ve just been released or anything.”

“Enough,” said Tante Ilse, who grew misty-eyed at every occurrence of her children fighting even though it was at least once per day. “I will go.”

“Mother — " both her children started.

She held up a hand before taking off her apron and hanging it up on the hook next to the washing board. “Erika, fetch me a headscarf.”

“Tante, I can go,” Heni insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t start with me, Heni,” came the harsh reply, reminding Heni of her own Oma Willa.

Erika came back with a dyed-black headscarf and motioned for her mother to sit in the other kitchen chair. “I’ll put it on for you.” It was not black because Tante Ilse was in mourning — one of the few in Dresden who wasn’t — but because it attracted less attention.

She took the ration card, tucked it into her breast pocket, and stuffed her feet into loafers. Heni wrung her hands, unsure what to do. “Onkel” Hans had always been around to take care of the groceries.

As soon as Tante Ilse left, Erika rounded on her brother. “What kind of man are you, letting your own mother fall victim to the fate of every German female? What if the Soviets hurt her, what then! Will you feel better?”

“Shut up, Erika,” Hans snapped. “I don’t like this any more than you do!” He stood up and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“What a coward,” Erika said, shaking her head. “I want Father to come back and see how absurd his son is behaving.”

Heni could tell by the way she kept glancing at the door to the flat that she was nervous about both of her parents. “Come, let’s heat up the water for the washing.”

Erika scowled at the closed bedroom door before joining Heni at the sink. Twenty long minutes later, the front door opened and Tante Ilse hurried in. To their great surprise, she was grinning broadly.

“You can buy things at the grocery without a ration card!” she announced, plopping the heavy paper bag onto the table. “Look — not just flour and potatoes but butter, too! And yeast!”

Erika and Heni hurried over, exchanging glances of disbelief on the way. It seemed too good to be true: Tante Ilse not only home unscathed but with more food.

“Mother, this is wonderful,” Erika said, beaming as she pulled out a stick of butter, which was starting to melt in the midday heat. Heni took out the flour and potatoes, searching the bottom of the bag for the yeast. Instead her hand closed around something wrapped in foil.

She pulled it out to see it was a chocolate bar. “Mother!” Erika cried. “That must have cost a fortune. Hershey’s,” she read off the wrapper. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Oh, well, you know Herr Wünche still works at the grocery…” Tante Ilse’s cheeks had gone very pink. “And he gave me this as a gift, you know, since it’s been awhile. American, he claims it is.”

She glanced at the still-closed bedroom door before whispering, “Your brother doesn’t have to know about this one.”

“Ooh, let’s hide it,” said Erika. “Where’s a good spot?”

“Anywhere in the kitchen,” Heni suggested. “Perhaps in the cupboard with the skillet.”

“Good idea!”

In high spirits, the three of them busied themselves making bread and potatoes. Heni’s mouth was constantly full of saliva, thinking of the butter melting in the baked potato. And although she would never ask, she hoped Erika would share with her the tiniest piece of chocolate. She hadn’t had any in at least a year.

No, longer than a year, she remembered, her chest growing heavy — the last time was her own ration, right before she’d stolen Greta Weinmann’s and given it to Jiří.

The pain of the memory must’ve shown on her face, because Erika patted her flour-coated hand. “Heni, are you alright?”

“Yes,” Heni replied quietly, kneading the dough with more force. “I was remembering the time I’d given Jiří chocolate as a thank you for helping me when I was lost.”

She didn’t want Erika to grow solemn, but she didn’t want to forget the joy of that memory either. “He was very pleased,” she continued, half-grinning. “He fretted over taking my ration, but in reality, I’d stolen it out of this girl’s rucksack at school.”

Erika gasped, her eyes lit up. “Wow, I would never suspect you of that!”

“You must have really liked this boy,” said Tante Ilse from in front of the bin, peeling potatoes. “What is his name again?”

“Jiří,” Heni told her, fighting the familiar wave of sorrow. His blue-green eyes twinkled in her mind; the ghost of his hands taunted her skin. What she would give to see him again. And to think she almost chose Karl over him.

“Interesting name,” Tante Ilse remarked. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one. Is he Austrian?”

Heni shook her head, wondering if she should elaborate. At Erika’s nod, she added, “Czech.”

Luckily, the conversation was interrupted then by the emergence of Hans from the bedroom. “Mother, you’re back!” he said, sighing with relief. “I was worried.”

“Like hell,” Erika snapped. “You were sleeping.”

“I knew she’d be fine — "

“Both of you, stop fighting,” Tante Ilse sighed irritably. “You’re worse than children. Hans, the bin needs to be emptied when I’m done here.”

The high spirits continued during supper. Erika and Heni spoke of one day leaving the house and finding jobs. “I’d be a good teacher,” Erika said. “What about you, Heni?”

“I’m not sure.” Heni had never thought about what she wanted to do as an adult. It was always assumed her father would make that decision for her. But now, without him and without the war, she had the same possibilities as Erika. Perhaps it was the fullness in her belly for the first time in months, or the memory of Jiří, or the concrete evidence that the war was finally over and Germany would return to normal, but Heni was filled with a sudden burst of hope.

A swift knock at the door cut short their idle chatter. “Perhaps it’s Father,” Hans said, rising from the chair. “We’ve been quite lucky today so far.”

Tante Ilse, on the other hand, looked skeptical. “He has a key…”

“Maybe he lost it,” Heni said.

The flat was silent as they watched Hans look through the peephole. When he turned back around, his face was pale.

“Soviets,” he whispered.

“Girls, get in the room now,” Tante Ilse hissed, standing up.

“Mother, you need to come — "

“No. Now.”

Erika took Heni’s hand and pulled her into the bedroom. “Over here,” she said, crawling into the tiny space between the bed and the bureau. Heni followed suit, trying to ignore her heart thumping in her throat.

Tante Ilse’s muffled voice, then a loud slam before the thundering of footsteps. “Where are they?” a voice barked. “Where are the girls?”

“No girls live here,” Hans lied, his voice wavering. “It’s just my parents and I.”

“Shut up, you little liar,” another voice snarled. “Who’s the extra plate for, then?”

Heni saw her terror reflected in Erika’s wide pupils seconds before the door burst open and a Soviet spotted them, pistol raised.

“Ah, here they are!” he declared. “I knew that little sh*t was lying.”

Erika’s nails sank into Heni’s arm as her quick, heavy breaths blasted her in the face. Heni barely noticed, deep into a vivid, ugly flashback of Aschenbrenner breaking into the shop and catching her and Jiří together. Something was terribly wrong here: The man was in a Soviet uniform, but he spoke perfect German. Austrian German, as if he’d grown up in Vienna…

“Are there two of them?” his companion called from the main room.

“Oh, yes,” said the uniformed man, stepping closer. His eyes were on Heni, glinting like he’d caught a particularly big fish after hours on the boat. “This is definitely the one he wants.”

He was joined by another uniformed man. Heni’s hand covered her mouth as she took him in, recognizing him instantly. Czerba, the SS driver from Theresienstadt.

“Hello, Little Rahm,” he said, grinning down at her. He stepped past the first uniformed man and extended his hand. “Won’t you come with me?”

All Heni could do was tremble and clutch her knees and shake her head. Erika attempted a rescue: “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’re mistaken. This is my cousin, Walburga.”

“I recognize you, too, baby girl,” Czerba sneered. “One of those ‘guards’ at the Small Fortress. Do your dear parents know you’re now a war criminal?”

Erika’s face went pale.

“Walburga!” Czerba threw his head back and laughed. “Looks like we’ve got the wrong girl, Rudi! What shall we do now?”

“Take her anyway,” said Rudi, his small dark eyes glued to Heni.

“Excellent idea,” said Czerba. In one swift motion, he reached down, snatched Heni’s arm, and pulled her to her feet with unexpected strength, given his slight frame. “Come with us, Walburga. We’re going for a long ride.”

The other one disappeared from view moments before hands wrenched her wrists behind her back. They were joined together by rope and tied tightly in place.

Heni stole one last glance at Erika, who was frozen in place with tears streaming down her cheeks, before they pushed her out of the bedroom.

“Wait, gentlemen, please don’t take her!” Tante Ilse bawled. She threw open the cupboard and held something wrapped in tinfoil, catching the glare of the table lamp. “Please, I’ve got American chocolate and can get plenty more! Leave her here and it’s all yours!”

Czerba and his companion laughed so hard, they shook Heni in their grip. “American chocolate! Silly sow, like we haven’t got the best chocolate in the world in Austria!”

Tante Ilse went still, her brows knitting with confusion. Nearby, Hans’ mouth dropped open as he registered the soldiers’ words faster than his mother.

There was no time to say goodbye; Heni didn’t think she could even form the word had she been given the chance. The two men shepherded her out of the flat, downstairs, and onto the sidewalk.

After two months of being stuck indoors, the outside world pelted Heni from all angles. The sun blared into her eyes, the steam from the pavement seeped through her skin, and the squeaking of car wheels reached all the way through her skull. She was too overwhelmed to take in any of it, marching robotically between the two uniformed men.

An army truck stood double-parked, waiting for them. To Heni, it stood out like a sore thumb, but apparently this — both the truck and a girl being escorted out by Soviet soldiers — was nothing new by the way people passed by without a second glance. Rudi opened the rear door just before Czerba shoved her face-first into the backseat.

Her nose dragged against the leather and her knees bent to avoid her feet getting hit with the car door. With her bum high in the air, she struggled to roll over, feeling her dress slip down her thighs — no matter which way she moved, it was undignified.

Fortunately, the men didn’t seem to be paying attention. After much scuffling, Heni managed to get herself upright with her dress over her knees, except it wasn’t a very comfortable seating arrangement with her hands behind her back.

She looked out the window to see another Soviet truck coming toward them. Czerba held up a hand and the driver did the same, none the wiser. Then the crumbling city streets were passing by, the tires crunching over the rubble. Despite this, people carried on.

“Um, gentlemen?” Heni asked around the heavy lump in her throat. “Where — where are you taking me?”

Czerba smirked at her in the rear view mirror. “Where do you think, Walburga?”

“Vienna?” Heni guessed, since that seemed to be the common origin of everyone in the car.

“Not quite,” said Czerba. “But right land, at least. Aren’t you ready to return to where you belong? One thing we can never have enough of is pretty Austrian girls. Isn’t that right, Rudi?”

The outer limits of Dresden flew by. They were on a highway Heni recognized from her way in. Her heart clenched, thinking of Erika and her family in the flat, fretting over her. Well, one less extra mouth to feed, she thought miserably, just when the ration system was over.

The lump in her throat grew. They would pass through both Theresienstadt and Prague if they stayed on this road. She raked through her mind, trying to remember the journey from Vienna to Prague. In 1940, just over five years ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

As it turned out, she didn’t need to worry about seeing either of them, since Czerba ordered her to lay on her side as soon as they approached the Czechoslovak border.

“And don’t even think about moving,” he warned, “unless you prefer to spend the rest of the ride in the trunk.”

This spot was terribly dull. She tried to fall asleep, knowing this was her next few hours. But her heart kept racing and the lump in her throat prevented her from swallowing. She’d suspected that, from their destination being Austria and the he Czerba had referred to in Erika’s kitchen, that they were taking her to Karl.

The lump was dread; her heart racing was excitement. Did he really want her back? Who else in Austria would go through all the trouble to take her?

Both the dread and the excitement, as strong as they are, eventually waned as the ride stretched on and on. Her back ached and her hands tingled. Even the men in the front seat fell silent, just the hum of the engine filling her ears. Outside the sliver of the window she could see, the sky turned inky black.

She must’ve finally fallen asleep because she jolted awake as the car slowed. By the rumbling and crunching of dirt under the tires, she could tell they were going down a dirt path. The sky was still dark.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Czerba muttered. “I think one of the headlights is out.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, he slammed on the brakes and the truck stopped short, smashing Heni’s face into the back of his seat.

“What the f*ck was that?” he demanded.

“Looked like a deer,” said Rudi. “Keep going.”

Now Heni was in an even worse position, not quite fitting into the gap between the seats and with her face smushed against leather. Her hands and arm were fully numb in contrast to her bladder screaming for release. Please let us be there already, she prayed silently.

As it turned out, they were not there: The army truck and Soviet uniforms were left behind as they pulled her into a regular car parked in what looked like a clearing in a forest.

The air was much cooler and crisper than in Dresden. After the stifling car, Heni sucked in as much as she could, trying to clear her head. She tried to look around, but everything around was pitch-black. The leather was cold against her skin, making her shiver. “Stay down,” Czerba instructed her.

Another long, agonizing stretch of time later, the car came to a much gentler stop on another dirt road. The back door just above her head opened, and hands were sliding her out. Her legs swung out, her heels hitting earth.

“Hold her up, that’s it,” Czerba commanded Rudi before commanding her: “Stand up, girl, and walk, let’s go…”

They each took her arms and led her further down the path. Up ahead, something large upon a hill was blocking out the stars, a vast black castle from what it looked like. The half-moon only provided enough light to outline it and the millions of trees surrounding them.

There was no way in hell that this was where her father, a camp commandant and former-toolmaker, had landed himself after the war. So then who — ?

A crackle and flash of light beside her made her jump in fright: Rudi had lit up a sparkler. He held it high over his head as they approached the structure. The window next to a heavy wooden door lit up, and a face peered out. A second later, the door swung open.

“It’s Czerba and Baumgarten!”

The figure in the doorway lowered his rifle. “About time.”

“Well, it’s not exactly over the river,” Czerba retorted. “As you can imagine, the brutes weren’t exactly willing to give up their truck.”

“Let me guess,” said the man with the rifle, giving them an amused grin as they entered the house. “They’re wandering naked in the forest.”

“The lucky one is,” said Rudi Baumgarten. “Is there still supper left? I’m about to eat the horse.”

None of them paid attention to Heni, who took the opportunity to glance around the huge foyer. There was a grand staircase leading to the upper floor, which was dark, two doors on either side of them, and a wide hallway to presumably the kitchen.

The ropes were cut away from her wrists. Immediately she rubbed at the sore, indented skin, trying to get feeling back in her hands.

“I think there’s some left,” said the man, disappearing through the door to the right. Without a word, Czerba and Baumgarten walked down the hall, the latter twirling his pocket knife between his fingers.

Heni stood alone, bewildered. Was she supposed to follow them? Neither looked over their shoulders at her. Her stomach rumbled and her bladder stung — perhaps she should find a washroom and the kitchen on her own…

The sound of a door closing from upstairs made her flinch. Footsteps followed, growing louder. Someone was approaching the landing.

Boots appeared on the stairs, attached to trousered legs, a plain white shirt around a torso, and the familiar face of a man around her father’s age. Not her father, but his colleague…

An SS gathering in the headquarters at Theresienstadt flashed in her mind as the man’s blue eyes locked onto hers. A dance, a kiss on the hand, a remark that she was mature for her age, seated at the table with men…

“Hello, Fräulein Rahm,” he said, smiling and holding out a hand. “I hope the journey wasn’t too difficult.”

It took a bit of swallowing to get her throat to cooperate. When it did, her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Hello, Herr Oberführer,” she said, unsure what to call him.

She placed her hand in his extended one and stepped forward. Through the painful tingling, she felt Eichmann’s warm, dry palm against hers.

Chapter 30: XXX - Altaussee

Chapter Text

The next few hours of Heni’s life were some of the most surreal she’d ever had. After his initial warm greeting, Eichmann dumped her in the kitchen and went back upstairs. Czerba and Baumgarten were gone, their plates and glasses left empty on the table. A woman in an apron cleared them away before bringing her out a plate of brötchen, keeping her head down.

After supper, the same woman directed her up the stairs to a large room with a canopy bed and its own washroom. Grateful for this, Heni took a bath and dressed in her old clothes, since there were no others — but at least she’d washed all the nervous sweat off.

Out the window was pitch black, giving her no clue where she was. Her mind was teeming with questions: Why did Eichmann bring her here? What was his plan? Was she in trouble?

Although the bed was soft and comfortable, a giant leap up from the backseat of an army truck, Heni’s sleep was shallow and fragmented. Hours upon hours passed in the dark, her mind bouncing back and forth between the questions, trying to conjure answers.

Morning came, lighting up the window. She looked out and saw only forest. Through the crack, the crisp, alpine air filled her lungs. She remembered this air from her family visiting the Salzkammergut each summer before the war.

Voices from just outside the door — people were passing by, walking down the stairs. Male and female alike, talking and laughing. Heni pressed her ear to the door, frowning. Some kind of SS hideout, she deduced. Did that mean her parents were here? If so, why hadn’t she seen them yet?

She debated leaving but she was too nervous to crack open the door. Good thing, as a knock came an hour later. The same woman with the same apron summoned her to the dining room, where she ate alone and was sent back upstairs.

With nothing to do, she stared out the window at the forest. Hours later, another knock came.

This time, the woman didn’t take her downstairs for dinner like Heni was expecting. She took the navy blue cloth draped over her shoulder and thrust it at her. “Dress in this and go see Herr Oberführer in the library,” she said briskly, already turning away.

Heni held up the cloth to see it was a plain but new, sturdy dress. It was a bit big on her, so she used her belt from her old dress to cinch her waist. After this, she combed her hair, pinched her cheeks, and left the room, realizing too late that she’d forgotten to ask where the library was.

Hopefully it was on the second floor. The thought of someone catching her prowling around, unattended, had her heart thumping in her chest. She peered into a few rooms, but they were all bedrooms. Some were obviously lived-in, others were cold and empty.

Eventually, she gently pushed open a door to see a wall of bookshelves. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, looking around. Walls of books except for the right one, which had a fireplace, its mantle bare. In front of it were two high-backed chairs facing each other with a small, round table between them. It reminded her of both Karl’s study and his suite in the ghetto.

The fire crackled around a lone log, but the room was unoccupied. Clutching her sweaty hands together, Heni glanced around again until her eyes landed on a closed door nestled between bookshelves in the left corner.

She crept over and peeked through the lace curtain. Eichmann was standing on the balcony, his back to her. In his hand resting on the railing was a cigar. He looked like he didn’t want to be disturbed — perhaps the woman had made a mistake? But no, she’d mentioned his name, specified the library…

Before she could lose her nerve, Heni opened the door and stepped out onto the terrace.

Eichmann didn’t turn around. “Come here, Fräulein Rahm,” he said, waving the hand with the cigar.

She stood next to him, momentarily enchanted by the stunning view. They were at the rear of the house, where there was a deep slope of lush green forest just beyond their feet, underlining the alps across the horizon along with a large, still lake. The blue-grey sky and silhouette of the trees was reflected in its glass surface.

Heni was taken back to those summers by the river, letting the cool water swallow her up. Many days had been spent running through the trees and hopping over rocks, far away from the bustle of Vienna and the pressures of minding her manners and staying out of the way. In those summers, Karl and his brothers spent their days fishing, leaving her and her younger cousins, Franz and Heidi, to roam free.

A hand over hers brought her back to the present. Eichmann was grinning at her. “Beautiful, isn’t it? If I could, I’d live out the rest of my days here. I suppose I should feel more attached to Germany, but I consider Austria my home.”

“Oh,” said Heni, taken aback. “I, um, I would’ve never guessed you weren’t Austrian, Herr Oberführer. You speak like one.”

“I came to Austria as a child,” he explained. “Most of my memories are from Linz. So it makes sense, doesn’t it? Although I can’t say I was very successful before the Reich. I didn’t do well at school and I wasn’t a salesman like my father. I was good at it, sure, but it sucked the life out of me.”

“Oh…” She had no idea how to respond to that. Never before had a man spoken so candidly to her.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be expecting a response. Giving her a quick once-over, he gave a slight shake of his head, as if he was displeased. “That dress is new, just for you. But you’re a lot smaller than when I saw you last. That’s war, I suppose.”

He tucked his cigar into the tin and took her hand again. “Come, let’s continue inside.”

In the library, he closed the door behind them and pointed to the chair. “Have a seat.”

He took the other, gazing at the fire for a minute before speaking again. “I suppose you want to know why you’re here.”

“Yes, Herr Oberführer,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

His eyes were bluer than Karl’s and bigger, warmer somehow despite the same type of probing into her. “Your father asked me for help finding you. Many of our colleagues from Theresienstadt are here, so it was quite easy to learn where you’d gone. Getting you here was another matter, but my men — your father included — have always been a determined bunch. It’s why I chose them.

“I asked him,” Eichmann continued after a pause, “to join me here at Altaussee, but he declined. I suspect he’s afraid of getting caught, so he wants to dissociate from me right now. But that’s fine. I know him, he’ll come back to me when the time is right. If he can, of course.”

Heni was torn over hearing about Karl: Her heart wrenched in her chest, and yet she wanted Eichmann to keep talking. “Herr Oberführer — "

“Eichmann,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “My rank is meaningless now, dear girl.”

Perhaps he had the same feelings, Heni thought, sort of like loss. “Herr Eichmann, do you happen to know why he wants me back?”

He frowned, apparently thrown off. “Because he is your father, Fräulein. He was distraught when he’d found out you’d left. He wanted to find you straight away, but the Allies were fast approaching.”

“I’m sorry, Herr Eichmann, but I’m still a bit confused,” Heni said. “I thought the SS left the ghetto before the Small Fortress. When I left, he was already gone…”

“Oh, no. He couldn’t just leave. Unlike the Small Fortress, the Red Cross was very interested in the ghetto inmates. I instructed him to stay until they arrived.”

Heni mulled it over, remembering the lone SS-men standing in front of the entrance to the ghetto when she and Erika passed by on their way out of Theresienstadt.

“Alright, I think I know what’s going on here,” Eichmann said. “You each thought the other had left first. And now you’re both hurt. What an unfortunate circ*mstance.”

A knock came to the door, snapping Heni out of her trance. “Enter,” he called, his eyes still on her.

“Herr Eichmann, I’ve got good news,” said Czerba, appearing at his side with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, an empty glass in the other. “Brunner has arrived in Salzburg.”

“That is good news,” Eichmann agreed, nodding. “I suppose Anton will be retrieving him since you’ll be on your way to Steyr tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, Herr Eichmann, but I’ll confirm that for you by supper tonight. In the meantime, have a drink since you missed dinner.” He set down the bottle and the glass on the small table between Eichmann and Heni.

Catching sight of the latter, Czerba gave her a grin and said, “Oh, hello, Walburga, I didn’t see you there. I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

When he left, Eichmann turned to her with his brows knitted in confusion again. “Who told him your name is Walburga?”

Heni took a deep breath before answering. “The woman I was staying with” — it felt like a betrayal to say Erika’s name — “tried to pass me off as her cousin with that name. I guess Herr Czerba found that amusing.”

“Yes, he finds amusem*nt in many things,” Eichmann remarked, opening the bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps I should call for some wine?”

Before she could decline, he stood up and opened the door. “Franz!” he called down the hall after Czerba. “Please bring or have someone bring ‘Walburga’ a glass of wine.”

“Oh, no, it’s really alright, Herr Eichmann,” Heni said quickly, holding up her hands.

“Shh,” he replied, but he was grinning. “Take this time to relax. Perhaps the wine will get you to speak more freely.”

Another knock at the door before a woman Heni had never seen before poked her head in. “Herr Eichmann?” she called. “My husband told me to bring you some wine? I hope merlot is alright?”

“Of course.”

Heni stared at her knees as he poured her a glass, feeling foolish. She shouldn’t have protested; she should speak more freely.

“Drink, Fräulein, and tell me what you’re thinking about.” His voice had an edge to it, prompting her to snatch up a glass and take a large sip. It burned the slightest bit going down and warmed her belly.

“I’m still thinking about my father,” she said quietly. “About how he wants me to go back…to Vienna?”

“To Steyr,” Eichmann told her. “Franz will take you back tomorrow. You are probably wondering why he didn’t take you straight there? Since you drove right by Steyr.”

“I didn’t know we’d passed it, Herr Eichmann,” Heni said after taking another sip. “I had to lay down in the backseat and it was dark. But yes, now that you’ve told me that, I am wondering.”

He grinned, which made her grin in return. She felt wine on her bottom lip, but she didn’t want to lick it off under his intense gaze. “Well, I told your father it was because they had to switch vehicles once we entered the American zone — which wasn’t a lie — but the main reason is because I wanted to talk to you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “To see if you’d truly defected, of course. No point in sending you back to your father if you’re going to hand us all over to the Americans, yes?”

“I wouldn’t, Herr Eichmann,” Heni said quickly.

She willed him to say the magic words, I know you wouldn’t, but he took his time drinking his whiskey, keeping his blue eyes on her. “It certainly wouldn’t be wise,” he said at last. “Since you were in the Small Fortress yourself. Not too many prisoners survived that, but it only takes one to remember you. Do you think you’re not memorable, Fräulein Rahm?”

Unconsciously, Heni was hugging herself tighter. Nothing about Eichmann’s voice or the look on his face was accusing, but she felt it all the same. Then, abruptly, he laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, my dear girl, I know you wouldn’t. It is good you understand the severity of the situation. But also, I brought you here because I want to learn more about you.”

He did that thing again where he paused, waiting for her reaction. She stayed silent, intrigued. After a long, slow sip of his drink — there was a teasing glint in his eyes now — he continued. “You see, I was curious about you from the first time when I met you, when you sat at the table among us. Your conviction in the Reich is so strong.”

“Was,” Heni blurted before she could think twice. The wine was kicking in. Recklessly, she went on, “I did trust in the Reich, but then I went to the ghetto and saw for myself what was happening to the Jews. I don’t understand, Herr Eichmann. How inferior could they be? The women, the children — ?”

“You went into the ghetto?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Well, I, um…” Heni blushed and looked into the fireplace. “I remembered our conversation, too. I guess maybe I didn’t trust as much as I thought.”

“That is natural,” Eichmann assured her. “One of my colleagues made a remark about your curiosity. It’s both a blessing and a curse, yes? For you and your father. And to answer your question — yes. They are that inferior.”

He leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Although it’s no use discussing that now, is it? All of us did our part.”

All of us. He kept his eyes on her as he said it, including her in the statement, too.

Heni swallowed the rest of her wine and set her glass down, intending to leave it there but Eichmann picked up the bottle and filled it.

“Drink a little more,” he said. “You’re still tense.”

She did as told while he looked away, past her out the window to the alps. It was a long while before he spoke again, during which she wondered what he could be thinking about. He, like Karl and every other well-trained SS man, kept their thoughts out of their eyes.

They returned to her, assessing her, before dropping to the now-empty wine glass. “Tell me, Fräulein,” he said slowly. “If I hadn’t caught you, what would you have done? What was your plan?”

Heni recalled the brief collective joy she’d felt with Erika’s family in Dresden when they’d found out the rationing was over. How she’d never thought she’d make any choices without her father’s say — and she was right.

“I didn’t have one,” she admitted. “I was going to do what Erika — what the aufseherin planned on doing.”

“You can say her name,” Eichmann told her. “Erika Bauer. Anton Malloth had told me a bit about her, how she was reluctant to hit the prisoners. And the same with you, although of course he was sure not to complain too much lest it get back to your father.”

Again the subtle accusation without any other indication that he was accusing her. Was he accusing her? Heni couldn’t be sure.

“So you had no plan,” he continued. “Well then, you must be relieved to be back in your father’s hands tomorrow, yes?”

She could tell by the way his eyes looked through hers straight into her mind, or so it seemed, that he was expecting an answer different from the one he prompted her for.

“I am,” she told him, the half-truth. “But I…” She lowered her eyes to her knees. “I know he will punish me.”

“Would he prefer he didn’t? He cares enough to search for you when you leave him. He really loves you, Fräulein.”

Nod your head, Heni told herself, and she managed to, but her eyes were burning with tears. Of course Eichmann and his colleagues thought Karl loved her like any father loves his daughter. He didn’t tell them about the brutal punishments. the whippings, the words that made her cry.

“Fräulein,” Eichmann said, bringing her back to earth. “Look at me and tell me why you’re crying.”

He isn’t the best father, Erika had said. “He doesn’t love me,” Heni blurted, sinking her crumpling face into her hands.

Fortunately, she recovered quickly, letting out a great, shuddering breath and drying her eyes. “Please excuse me, Herr Eichmann. We can — "

Eichmann held up a hand and shook his head. “I told you to speak what’s on your mind, yes? Now tell me why you would think such a thing.”

Clearly, he thought she was out of her mind. She wanted to explain, but she didn’t want to make her father look bad in front of his former-superior. After a long pause, she settled on, “He was quite harsh on me.”

Before Eichmann could protest, she went on, “I misbehaved a lot. But he was never proud of me, he never loved me and he still doesn’t.”

Tears escaped from her eyes and flooded her cheeks. Heni covered her eyes and turned away, wishing she had a handkerchief. The room was silent, only her heavy breathing filling the air. She felt Eichmann watching her.

“Heni.”

Her name in his voice — not her given name but the one used by those closest to her — snapped her out of her misery. She looked at him through watery eyes and sniffled.

“Come here,” he said, waving her over.

She wasn’t sure where he wanted her to go, so she assumed the position she took with Karl when he was seated in his chair. Pulling her dress over her knees, she lowered herself carefully onto the floor next to his leg.

A warm hand brought her head against his leg and smoothed her hair back. Heni’s eyelids sank down until she was merely peering through them. Outside, the sky was starting to darken from heavy, grey clouds rolling over the mountain tops.

“He loves you very much, Fräulein,” he said softly, grazing her ear with his fingertips as he continued to stroke her hair back. His leg shook the slightest bit as he reached over for his glass of whiskey. “He told me you’re more than he could ever ask for. He was distraught when he found out you’d left — he’ll be overjoyed to have you back. In the army, and then later in the SS, he was trained not to show these things. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think them. Do you believe that?”

“Yes, Herr Eichmann,” Heni mumbled, feeling the tension draining from her body. His knee and his hand were firm against each side of her head, cradling it.

“You’re a good girl,” he said. “We are proud of you. Are you ready to return, Fräulein?”

“Yes, Herr Eichmann.”

His praise was as warm and calming as the hand against her cheek. Her eyes closed and she let out a long, slow breath, the last of the sorrow. Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain clacked against the windows. His fingertips slid through her hair. Heni let her mind go blank, her cheek resting on his knee. Safe — something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Chapter 31: XXXI - Steyr

Chapter Text

Heni was roused the next morning before dawn by the housemaid, presenting her another new dress, a maroon color this time. “Wake up, Fräulein,” she said, shaking Heni rather impatiently. “Dress up and be in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”

She left before Heni sat up and checked her watch. Quarter to five and, as far as she was concerned, still the middle of the night. Her bed was so warm, trying to persuade her to stay. It took her five minutes just to drag herself out of it and pull on the dress. Like yesterday’s, it was a bit too large.

Her breakfast passed in silence, alone. The maid fetched her as soon as she was done eating and hurried her outside the house, where Franz Czerba waited with the car. Without a word to her, he opened the back door for her to climb in.

“Do I, um, do I have to lie down, Herr Czerba?” she asked when he’d gotten in the driver’s seat.

“No.”

Heni glanced back at the house growing smaller in the brightening sky, consumed by the mountains and the lake and the trees. There had been no time to say goodbye to Eichmann — perhaps that was for the best. A pang of sorrow passed through her chest at leaving Altaussee behind. She clutched her only possession, the dress she’d been wearing in Dresden, tightly in her palms.

After about an hour of staring out the window, Heni felt the car slow to a stop in front of what looked like a pub in the middle of the woods. They’d just passed a village, so the two cars already parked in front of the old wooden building were probably from there. Czerba pulled the car in next to a nondescript Volkswagen and shut it off.

He opened Heni’s door and tugged on her arm. “Come on, little girl, out. I haven’t got all day.” Like he did anything other than what Eichmann told him to.

She assumed he was taking her into the building, but to her surprise, he opened the passenger door to the Volkswagen and nudged her forward. “Sit in there and don’t even think about moving.”

Heni hugged herself, glancing around the car. It was completely empty. The building in front of her was silent. She couldn’t make out the faded red letters painted above the closed door. It opened abruptly, causing her to jump.

Her heart thumped in her chest and her hands shook much like when she was in the Gestapo headquarters in Prague, waiting for the same man approaching the car. Her father looked at her only once — albeit a long, probing once-over — before starting the car and driving off.

Underneath the anxiety was the longing for him to talk to her, to touch her. His hand on her thigh, her name in his voice. Anything. But he stared out the windshield as he drove through forests and small villages, keeping his hand resting on the steering wheel.

The road widened as they reached a slightly bigger and vaguely familiar town, passing a lone tank with an American flag. Heni moved her face closer to the window, looking for soldiers, but she didn’t see any and the tank was already behind them.

Steyr: A place Heni had only seen through a car window until Karl parked in front of a building nestled in the bend of a river. He opened the passenger door to let her out and spoke the first words to her in over four months.

“That’s all you have?” he asked, gesturing to the dress in her arms.

“I didn’t quite have a chance to pack my things in Dresden,” she told him pointedly, knowing she was playing with fire. But she didn’t care. Her back hurt from all the driving and she didn’t understand why her father would go through all the trouble to bring her back here to just ignore her. Eichmann had been wrong: Karl didn’t love her at all.

Further driving this point home, he tightened his mouth and turned away. “Come, this way.”

He led her inside the building, up two flights of stairs, and through a creaky door at the end of the hall into a small flat. The sitting room was barely bigger than the kitchen, holding only a small table with two chairs. There seemed to be only one bedroom just beyond the table. It was clean but undecorated, seemingly unlived-in except for the newspaper on the table and a single glass in the sink. The only bright spot was the large kitchen window looking out over the river.

Heni was unsure where to put her dress, so she draped it over one of the chairs. While Karl disappeared into the washroom next to the kitchen, she poked her head into the bedroom, surprised to find it empty except for a small bed pushed up against a wall, a bureau, and an armchair next to the window facing the next building.

“Is Mother here?” she asked when Karl came back out and filled the glass in the sink with water.

He shook his head before taking a sip and setting it on the counter. “She isn’t. There is a shop on the end of this street across from the bank with a bakery. Go on and get some bread and spätzle for supper.”

“Where is she?” Heni prompted, watching his mouth tighten again as he pulled folded notes from his wallet.

“She is in Vienna,” he said. “Tomorrow you will go there, too. Do not talk to anyone except the shopkeeper — especially not the Americans. Do you understand, Henioche?”

“Wait — I mean yes, I won’t talk to anyone,” she amended hurriedly at the dangerous look on his face. “But why is Mother in Vienna and why do I have to go, too?”

Karl let out an impatient sigh and slammed his wallet on the table. “Always with the goddamn questions. Right now, it isn’t in your and your mother’s best interests to stay with me, and I can’t be in Vienna. You will go there with her and obey her as if I was there alongside her. And speak nothing of the past six years.”

“So you’re…you’re just going to send me away again?” With the sorrow came anger: How many times was he going to break her heart? “Why even take me back if you don’t even want me? Again?”

“Why throw a hissy fit when you’re just going to run off and leave me again?” Karl snapped. “Disloyal, ungrateful f*cking bitch. I’m doing you a favor. You think you’re better off alone?”

“No,” Heni said. “I didn’t want to leave you — the others told me the SS had abandoned the ghetto —

“And yet again you listen to them and not the one who knows what’s best for you. You know what, forget the shop.” He snatched the notes out of her hand and shoved them in his shirt pocket. “You’ll probably run off again.”

He turned away, but Heni, against her better judgment, was not done. She grabbed his hand and pulled until he was facing her. “I’m not going to Vienna,” she said, blinking back the tears from her eyes. “I’m not leaving you again. It’s in my ‘best interest’ to stay with you because I hate being without you.”

She plucked the folded notes from his pocket, let go, and ran out of the flat, half-expecting him to chase her and call her back. He didn’t, so she continued on to the shop.

Besides a few men looking twice at her, the trip was unremarkable. An army truck passed by on her way home, but the lone American soldier didn’t look her way.

Back in the flat, Karl was in the armchair with the newspaper, so Heni prepared the brötchen, humming along with the radio inside her mind. The meal was passed in silence, after which her father disappeared back into the room with his glass of whiskey.

No singing or humming now, as his silence had turned Heni’s mood sour. He really doesn’t care, she thought, scrubbing the plates viciously with the sponge. Water splashed onto the countertops, but she paid it no mind.

“Henioche.”

She turned to see Karl standing next to her, bottle in hand. The running water and clanging of the plates had drowned out his footsteps. Hastily, she turned off the water and reached for the dishrag, hoping he didn’t see the puddles of water everywhere.

“Leave that,” he said, “and come with me.”

She followed him into the bedroom and stood awkwardly next to the bed while he took a seat. Whiskey splashed into the glass; the bottle was placed on the table. And then his blue eyes were on her.

“Come here.”

Like with Eichmann, she sat at his right hand on the floor, though she wasn’t foolish enough to expect him to pet her like Eichmann had. Karl folded his newspaper, set it down, took a sip… Heni was proud of herself for suppressing the urge to fidget.

“You really don’t want to go back to Vienna?” he asked quietly. Before she could answer, he added, “I’m surprised. I would think you want to return to your normal life by now.”

Heni quietly cleared her throat, considering her words carefully. She had no idea what her “normal life” was anymore. “I don’t, Father. I want to stay here with you.”

“You understand that one day, maybe in the near future, men will show up and want to imprison me. And if you’re here, they’ll take you, too. I hear they don’t hang on to our wives and children for very long…but it might be different due to your time at the Small Fortress.”

“The SS liquidated the Small Fortress,” she told him, cringing at how cavalier it came out. “I don’t think there are any survivors.”

“Maybe not prisoners,” said Karl. “But surely there are others who will mention your name to the authorities during their own interrogations.”

There was a pause as he took a sip of his whiskey, so Heni pounced on the opportunity to ask, “You aren’t worried about that for yourself?”

“I am,” he said. “Trust me, I am. That’s why you shouldn’t be here with me when they catch me. It’s safer for you in Vienna.”

“I don’t care.” Heni braced herself for the hit, which didn’t come. A deep breath, and the words tumbled out without her permission. “I’m not making the same mistake twice. I’m staying with you because I love you. I guess you don’t feel the same, but unless you physically throw me out, I’m not — "

“What?” His sharp voice cut through her rambling. “Get over here and face me.”

She crawled around his knee and glanced up at him. His eyes swept over her, not just undressing her but dissecting her. “Say it again,” he ordered.

“I’m staying with you,” she repeated.

“Because?”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Because I love you.”

“And you think I don’t love you? Look at me, Henioche.”

She forced her eyes back up to his, trying not to bristle. “Well, um, Herr Eichmann told me you do, so perhaps — "

His eyes narrowed: She’d said the wrong thing. “You won’t believe it until it comes from f*cking Eichmann? Who do you actually love, him or me?”

“You,” she said, but again anger was overtaking her, smothering her common sense. “But yes, I had to hear it from him, because you’ve never once told me yourself.”

Ignoring his glare, she went on, “You’ve told me other things though. How I’m stupid and worthless, that I’m a disgrace of a daughter. With your words and your fists. And you’ve shown me, too, by sending me to the Small Fortress. By having Jiří killed —

He clamped a hand around her jaw and yanked her forward. “Listen to me,” he growled, tilting her face up to his. “I’ve only done what’s best for you. Everything in my life, since I’ve had you, has been for you. All of it. I want you to have a better life than mine.”

He let go, turning away to take a large swallow of whiskey. “Perhaps if it worked, if you still had your privileged life under the Reich, you’d love me then.”

“No,” Heni said, clutching his thighs. “No, Daddy, I swear, I do love you. I don’t care about any of that other stuff. Won’t you believe me?”

“Perhaps when you show it,” Karl said coldly.

“I won’t leave…” She trailed off, wondering how she could show him now. The only thing she could think of was to climb onto his lap, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him hard.

She wasn’t sure if he was kissing back, but his mouth against hers felt too good to stop. He must’ve felt the same, because soon he had one hand gripping the back of her head, the other on her throat, and his mouth devouring hers. Being so close to him after so long was flooding her with desire, opening her legs wider and mashing her pulsing flesh against the crotch of his trousers.

“Such a little slu*t, begging for Daddy’s attention,” he growled in her neck as he sank his teeth into it. “Can’t live without it, can you?”

He unbuttoned the two top buttons of her dress, lost patience, and yanked up the hem. “Take this off. Let’s see those bouncy tit*.”

Her dress and bra fell into a pile on the floor while he stood, lifting her up, and pinned her down on the bed. His mouth grew hungrier as it moved down her chest and latched onto her breasts. At first just suckling but then biting, leaving deep purple crescents on her pale pink nipples.

Heni whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt, but she didn’t want to protest and set him off. He was already in a violent enough mood, biting her stomach and tearing her panties off.

“Daddy has turned his little doll into a woman,” he remarked, giving her breast a sharp slap. “It’s only a matter of time before I knock you up again. You would love that, wouldn’t you, baby whor*?”

He pushed up her thighs and feasted upon her labia, devouring them like he did her mouth. His tongue slid across her vulva and inner lips, pulling them into his mouth, before burrowing into her clenching slit.

“Oh, Daddy,” she moaned, nestling her hand into his hair and hugging his head with her thighs. On her back, naked and spread with her father’s tongue inside of her, she did feel like a nasty whor*, but that only heightened the desire. She reached around her bum and parted her labia as far as they could go, allowing him to lick deeper into her.

The juices were flowing, Heni’s eyes were rolling back, and then nothing — still nothing — and then a hard slap against her sopping labia.

Heni yelped, nearly sliding off the bed. Karl was snickering, holding her legs open. “Does this little princess think she can just lay here and get her fat little c*nt eaten all day?”

He slapped her folds again, once, twice, three times, laughing at her wails of pain. “This is more like it,” he said, moving from her burning, tender flesh to her sore nipples. “It’s supposed to hurt, slu*t. To remind you of your place under me, as my little toy and nothing else. What, did you think I’d go easy on you after you getting mouthy with me? I only want to hurt you more.”

Over and over, he slapped her hard, unrelenting. On her swollen, puffy lower lips, on her bouncing, bruised breasts, and once across her face, whipping her head to the side.

“Open your mouth, little bitch.” He didn’t give her a choice, prying it open with his two fingers and jamming them down her throat. Through her gagging and tears, she heard him chuckle and saw the glint of amusem*nt in his eyes. A ptoo as he spit, followed by a wet wad splattering in the back of her throat. She automatically swallowed it, tasting a mix of whiskey and juices.

“Now you’re a proper mess,” he sneered, spitting on her cheek and smearing the mixture of his and her saliva and her tears over her face. He wasn’t lying: Strings of it clung to his hand when he pulled it away.

She assumed he would mount her, but he ducked again and bit her puffy flesh so hard, she shrieked and snapped her legs shut. “Ow, Daddy, no!”

“Shut up and turn around,” he snapped, smacking her bum. “I want that ass up, presented to me properly.”

As predicted, he grabbed her hips and filled her at last, lighting her up from the inside. How had she ever gone without this? But he was pulling out, leaving her untouched…

A drawer of the bureau opened and slammed shut before a squirt of something cold landed between her bum cheeks. She was able to keep still until something solid and even colder broke its way into her tight rear hole.

Heni hissed in pain, ready to crawl away. It was uncomfortable, stretching her, until he pulled it out. Oh, thank heavens, she thought, sighing — but now it was back in again. Out and then in, swallowed by a hole that didn’t stretch nearly as easily as the one between her lower lips.

“This is nothing,” Karl said, twisting it while it was inside of her. “Soon I will completely claim this hole and fill it with come like the other two to make full use of my little toy. And you’ll love it, because you’re a nasty little whor*, hmm?”

He mounted her again, leaving the metal thing in. Only a thin inner wall separated that and his co*ck, causing her to wince and shift underneath him. In response, he grabbed her hips and pumped harder.

“Don’t act like this isn’t what you want over anything else.” A fist wrapped around the hair at the back of her head and pulled her face off the bed. “Like you don’t love when Daddy pounds you and makes a mess out of his pretty little doll. It’s what I made you for, after all. Baby whor* wants me to fill her womb and knock her up, yes?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Heni cried, stiffening up. Only half a second later, the yearning in her burst and she clamped hard around his co*ck, howling in release.

“Well, not this time.” Just as she went limp, he pulled out and shoved her onto the floor.

She yelped as she collided with the old, creaky wood. Before she could get her bearings, he yanked her upright by the hair and dug his fingertips and thumb into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.

“Tongue out,” he commanded as his fist pumped his co*ck right in front of her face. “That’s it, now you look like the dumb little come-slu*t you are. Open wider.”

He threw his head back and shot out ropes of seed straight into Heni’s face. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot liquid splash across her cheeks, her nose, her tongue, down her throat.

“Swallow it.” He rubbed the seed over her face, smirking, while he tucked himself away. “So pretty you are like this. Now go clean up — and don’t even think about taking the plug out.”

She didn’t, but after she’d washed her face in the washroom sink, she couldn’t help but reach down and give it a feel. The part sticking out of her was flat, digging into her bum cheeks. The inner part was round or at least oval, continually stretching her inner walls. Not the most pleasant feeling, but of course she wasn’t going to say that to Karl.

After dressing back up and cleaning the kitchen, she wasn’t sure what to do, so she poked her head into the bedroom. Karl was listening to the radio, pouring the rest of the bottle into the glass. Like a mouse, Heni crept over to the bed and sat patiently upon it. The plug was annoying her, so she leaned her elbows on her knees to take pressure off her rear.

The light outside the window continued to dim. The radio continued to play — until it was abruptly shut off. In the ensuing silence, her father drank down the rest of the whiskey and set his glass down on the windowsill. It caught the golden light of dusk, gleaming back at them.

“Father…” she blurted, intending to ask if she was returning to Vienna and chickening out. “Where are your painting supplies?”

Karl raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting that question. “I had to leave it all in the ghetto,” he explained. “It’s locked away in that studio on the second floor. Who knows what the Soviets have done with it. But I managed to take this.”

He walked over to the bureau, pulled out a canvas from behind it, and turned it around to show the painting of the farmhouse that had been hanging in his office.

Heni grinned. “You should hang it. Perhaps right over here.” She pointed to the empty wall next to the bed.

“Perhaps,” he said dismissively, sliding the painting back into place. She silently decided that if he didn’t send her to Vienna by then, she’d raid the toolbox she’d seen under the kitchen window and hang it herself the next time he was out.

“I have more supplies in Vienna,” he said, sitting on the bed next to her. “Your mother told me she brought them from Prague. I was working on something there, but here I’m not inspired by much.”

“Well, I suppose when you send me back to Vienna, I can pass them off to you.” Heni didn’t mean for the statement to come out as harsh as it did, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t sore about being sent away again.

Karl looked at her. In the faint slant of light from the window, the blue of his eyes seemed softer. “I’m not sending you to Vienna,” he told her. “You will stay with me. As it turns out, I hate being without you, too.”

Heni felt her lips part, refusing to believe what she was hearing. But then his hand was on hers, his thumb running over the diamond ring. He glanced down at it before holding her eyes with his again. “I love you, Henioche. More than anything else. I hope you understand that now.”

Her heart swelled in her chest and her eyes filled with tears. Don’t lose it now, she scolded herself. She took a deep breath as he raised her hand and kissed it. “I love you, too, Daddy,” she whispered, knowing her voice would waver.

He grinned at her — not a smirk but a grin, swelling her heart even more. Sixteen years aching for these words from the man in front of her. She’d given up hope that she’d ever hear them.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said, gently pressing on her shoulder.

Immediately, before he could change his mind and recant his love, she wrapped herself around him and buried her face into his neck. His arms were around her, too, holding her close to him. Her eyes fluttered closed and her lungs filled with his scent, his warmth soaking her skin. The perfect moment.

A small part of her heart would always belong to Jiří, she knew, and perhaps an even smaller part to Eichmann. But as far as Heni was concerned, all of her belonged to Karl. And she would never let that change again.

Chapter 32: XXXII - Steyr

Chapter Text

Life in Steyr turned out to be surprisingly stable. Heni couldn’t remember a time in her life that had been so stable, in fact. She was certainly happier than she’d been in years. If not for the latent anxiety of being caught by the Allies, it would’ve been the happiest she’d ever been. But for most of those sweet summer days, she managed to swallow down that anxiety deep enough to forget about it.

Each day, Karl and Heni woke up at the same time. While he took a shower, she made his breakfast and tea and packed him a sandwich to take to work. While he was at work, she assumed the role of maid, making sure the shopping, cleaning, and cooking was done by the time he came home. Sometimes it was dull, but she liked to please him, and he rewarded her with books, dresses, and the occasional sweet.

“My sweet princess,” he said, coming up behind her while she was washing dishes, holding her hips and kissing her neck. “My little wife.”

“Daddy,” she giggled, turning around to sneak a kiss on his cheek.

There were other days, however, that weren’t so good. Days when Karl came home in a mood, all but throwing his toolbox across the kitchen and stomping into his room. On these days, he left his supper plate cold and dove straight into the whiskey. Heni made herself scarce, keeping to the kitchen until she heard the light click off.

Today was a bad day — Heni could tell by the heavy footsteps down the hall. It could’ve been the heat, which was worse in the flat than outside, especially after she’d been cooking. She let out a sigh, setting his plate of bratwurst and potatoes and a glass of whiskey on the table.

The door burst open and he stomped in. Heni jumped as the toolbox landed on the floor with a loud crash, followed by the slam of the door behind him. He didn’t look at her or the plate of food, snatching up the glass of whiskey on his way to the bedroom.

Well, that’s that, thought Heni, nudging his toolbox out of the way and dragging a kitchen chair toward the window to settle in and read.

Before opening the book, she set the bottle of whiskey on the table next to the cooling plate. Her own was on the stove, also abandoned for the time being. In the hazy heat, her appetite was erratic.

Not just the heat. Her stomach was upset. Karl’s bad mood took on two forms: Cold and indifferent, where she was simply ignored, or vicious, where she was his prey. Until he came to retrieve the bottle, she couldn’t tell which form he took this time.

She tried to get absorbed into the book, but it was hard to concentrate without knowing what was to come. When the door to the bedroom swung open, she jumped so hard, the book toppled out of her grip.

Out of the side of her eye, she snuck a peek at him as she bent over to pick up the book. He wouldn’t bother to look at her if he was in the cold, indifferent form. The blood in her veins turned into rushing Siberian rivers as she caught sight of him standing next to the table, bottle in hand. Watching her.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Heavy with dread, Heni forced herself to stand up and follow him into the bedroom. As soon as she stepped foot across the threshold, he was snapping his fingers at her.

“Everything off.”

When she’d stripped off her clothing, he pointed to the spot in front of the chair. “Kneel here and face me.”

While she lowered herself into her knees, Karl sat in the chair and poured himself more whiskey. He took his time looking her up and down and sipping from his glass before speaking.

“Good little toy, kneeling and waiting for my instructions. You’ve earned a bit of my attention, haven’t you?”

Heni swallowed hard. “I hope so, Daddy.”

Despite the praise, his voice was icy cold, his eyes even more so. They beamed contempt through her own, narrowing the slightest bit.

“Turn around, face down, ass up. Let Daddy see if his filthy whor* is ready to be played with or not.”

It took a second to unstick her sweaty palms from her thighs and bend down. She knew the tsk of disapproval was coming before it reached her ears.

“Why aren’t you plugged?”

“I didn’t go to the shop today,” she mumbled to the floor. The rule was she had to be plugged if she left the house, but Karl liked to implement new ones on a whim and punish her for breaking them.

“From now on,” he said, “I want you plugged when I get home. It’ll only be easier for you if I don’t have to stretch your tight little hole myself. Now get on the bed, same position.”

Stifling a sigh, Heni climbed on the bed and rested her cheek against it, bracing herself. The drawer to the nightstand opened; the cap twisted off the jar of petroleum jelly. Her lower lips were completely untouched — as usual lately — his fingers probing her rear hole instead.

She winced as his lubricated finger slid into her. No matter how many times he broke open this hole, it still hurt as much as the very first time. Especially when he added a second finger. Her plan was to grit her teeth and bear it until the tight grip of her inner walls yielded just the tiniest bit…until a third finger forced its way through the rim.

“Ow, Daddy, please, it hurts,” she whimpered, curling her fist around the blanket and bringing it to her face.

She predicted this response, too, one he’d given many times: “It’s supposed to hurt, slu*t. This hole is mine, just like the rest of you.”

Slowly, he pumped, smearing the petroleum jelly all over and inside her bum. After several agonizing minutes, the grip of it and her hand around the blanket was relenting. Then, finally it was over, the hole clenching shut as soon as his fingers were out.

She lifted her head, but his hand flattened on her back. “Stay like this.”

Perhaps he would leave this hole alone and play with her a different way. But by the opening of the jar again, she knew that wasn’t happening. She assumed he would plug her himself, since she’d left the plug in the drawer —

Something was indeed pressing through the rim but it was warmer, blunter, and wider. Much wider. “Ow, ow, no!” she howled.

“Hush,” he growled, stretching her even wider. Her rim was forced to stretch around his entire tip, which was charting new territory.

“No, Daddy, please pull it out!” she cried, her fists digging into the bed again.

“Shut up,” Karl hissed, holding her hips.

He was not going to stop. Flattening her palms, Heni lurched forward, out of his grasp, and nearly knocked her head against the wall. Success: He was no longer inside, allowing her to roll over. However, he was grabbing her hair, preventing her from moving away. He yanked her toward him and slapped her hard across the face — once with his palm, followed by one with the back of his hand, square against her temple.

“You dare disobey me?” he snarled, pulling her hair hard at the root, making her yelp. “Some nerve you’ve got telling me no, like you’re any more than a worthless f*cking toy.”

He bent low, gripping her jaw and glaring into her eyes. His own were filled with pure fury, his lip curled in a snarl. “Listen to me, you dumb little c*nt. I own you, and I will f*ck you however I please. Don’t you ever tell me no again, understand?”

Heni was crying too hard to answer. Yanking her head back, her father slapped her again. “Answer me, Henioche.”

“I — I understand,” she sniffled.

As soon as the words left her lips, he let go and straightened up. “Good. Now turn around and let me claim all of you.”

She had no choice but to get back into position, trembling with dread. Her puckered hole was already sore, clenching tight in protest. More petroleum jelly, more prodding, more stretching, more pain.

Shaking and sobbing, Heni mashed her face into the blanket, praying it would be over soon. With his tip he went slow, but as soon as that was all the way in, he gripped her hips and plunged the rest into her until her vice-like rim was around the hilt.

“So tight this hole is,” he remarked, spreading her bum cheeks. “It’ll hurt less if you relax. Or don’t, I don’t care.”

He snickered as he pulled out and slowly pushed back in again. Every muscle in Heni’s body was steeling against this painful attack. But after a few moments, she started to loosen around him. With his hands on her hips and his heavy balls slapping her folds with each thrust, she could almost, almost enjoy it.

“See, I told you,” he said, pumping faster. “Such a nasty whor* likes it up the ass, hmm? What a filthy little bitch you are, Henioche. This is what you’re best at, getting stretched and f*cked hard…”

He trailed off as he ran out of breath. Heni still wasn’t exactly enjoying it, but she was no longer crying. At last he stopped thrusting and emptied himself into her with a grunt and hard squeeze of her hips.

Alright, it’s over, she assured herself as he withdrew. Again her sore hole puckered, trying to recover and keep his seed inside — and then something cold was stuffed into it.

She cried out at the sharp pain, but once it was in, it faded into a dull, burning sensation. From behind her, she heard Karl buckle his belt and sit back down on the chair. When she turned over, his whiskey glass was back in his hand, his eyes still full of contempt.

“Since you want to be a bratty little bitch, you can forget about climax,” he told her. “Not from me and not from yourself — that c*nt stays untouched and the plug stays in.”

He set the empty glass on the table and gave her a smirk, clearly amused at her wincing and heavy breathing. “Now fix yourself up and reheat that supper plate.”

The rest of the evening was uneventful in comparison. Heni waited until Karl was asleep before pulling out the plug, having a bath, and crawling into the bed next to him. She slept with her back to him — a vast improvement over other times he was in that cruel mood and made her sleep on the floor. By morning, the soreness was gone.

The only evidence of last night was the small purple crescent on her brow bone where he’d backhanded her. This was a bit of a problem, as it was Wednesday. Shop day. Hopefully no one will look too hard, she thought, inspecting herself in the mirror.

The shopkeeper’s eyes did linger on that side of her face, but of course he wasn’t going to question “the plumber’s daughter,” as she was known as in the shop what went on at home. Heni kept her head down as he packed the meat, bread, cheese, and flour into the paper bag.

After that nondescript encounter, she expected the walk home to be easy. It was lovely out, much cooler than yesterday with big, puffy white clouds filling the sky. Rays of sunlight poked through them, soaking into her hair and arms. The light breeze rolling off the river and through the buildings swished her skirt around her bare legs. The plug was nestled in place, barely felt for once.

The autumn-tinged air lifted her heart for the first time today, giving her hope. Hopefully Karl would be in a better mood. Hopefully the weather would continue —

“Hello there, pretty lady,” a voice said from beside her.

Heni started, whirling around to see a man in his early twenties dressed in a plain white shirt and grey trousers, giving her no indication of where he came from. Below the brim of an olive green bowler hat peered out a pair of hazel eyes like her own except more mossy green.

“Um, hello,” said Heni, clutching the paper bag tighter to her chest.

“Lovely day, isn’t it? Need help with that?” Before she could answer either of his questions, he took the bag out of her hands and slung it easily over his hip. Heni waited for him to run off with it, but he took only one step forward. “This way, yes?”

Slightly bewildered, Heni could only nod. Get lost, she should say, taking the bag back. Instead she fell in step beside him, clutching the skirt of her dress with sweaty palms.

“What’s your name?” the man asked her.

“Walburga,” Heni said. “Yours?”

“Josef,” he replied, watching her out of the side of his eye. “Where are you from, Walburga?”

“Dresden,” Heni lied. “And you?”

His answer took her by surprise: “Vienna. Have you ever been there?”

“Once when I was a little girl.” Heni couldn’t help lowering her eyes to her feet. Why had she agreed to this? Fortunately, her building was in view, only several awkward steps away.

“Funny how this war has left us scattered all over the lands,” Josef remarked. “What brings you here to Steyr?”

“My father’s employment,” Heni said, grateful she didn’t have to lie this time. She took the opportunity to look him in the eyes. His own revealed nothing except maybe a spark of curiosity.

“Oh, what did he do during the war?” he asked. “He wasn’t in the SS or the Wehrmacht, was he? My father is in his sixties, but he got conscripted in the beginning of this year. Fortunately the war ended before he was sent anywhere — he never left Steyr.”

“That’s good news,” Heni said politely. “My father wasn’t in the Wehrmacht. He was, um, part of the Reichswerke. Fixing the railways and all that. Now he’s a plumber.”

At last they were in front of the building. She stopped and extended her arms. “Well, thank you for the help, Josef. It was nice meeting you.”

Josef gave the building a once-over before placing the bag gently in Heni’s arms. “It was nice to meet you too, Walburga. Hopefully I’ll see you again one day soon.”

Heni hummed in response, opening the door to the building. He was still standing there when it closed behind her, his gaze not on her but on the building, raised to one of the upper floors.

“Well, that was strange,” she muttered to herself, pulling out the key to the flat and jamming it into the lock. Mulling over the encounter, she set down the bag on the counter and unloaded it.

Until now, the only person she’d spoken to in Steyr outside of Karl was the shopkeeper. It wasn’t unexpected, judging by the interested second glances she’d gotten from many men when she went out, that one would eventually approach her. And naturally, the questions were to get a sense of who was behind the pretty face. But something about this Josef fellow was…odd.

She couldn’t help but think of Aschenbrenner, how he feigned interest in her to get dirt on Karl. Josef had given her a similar feeling…but then he would’ve known she was from Vienna…

“Doesn’t matter,” she scolded herself, laying the pork cutlets out on the cutting board. “You’re not supposed to be speaking to anyone.”

Even if Josef had been courting her, it wasn’t like that was any better. She belonged to Karl, and Karl had told her not to speak to anyone. She wasn’t making that mistake again.

Chapter 33: XXXIII - Steyr

Chapter Text

The leaves turned brown, the sky darkened to a constant grey, and the Steyr newspapers laid out a grim future for twenty-one predominant former-members of Nazi Germany. An “international military tribunal” was conferring to try them as war criminals. Heni had no idea what that meant, but she knew it was more doing of the Allies to stamp out the Nazis.

Her father gave no indication of what he thought about this. He continued to read the newspaper every day and toss it out when he was done. He went to work, beat Heni or ignored her or — much more rarely — let her lay in his arms, and listened to the radio from his chair.

Heni decided to take a page from his book and push the war criminals out of her head. She’d passed a few military trucks with American soldiers on her trips to the shop, now taken on Thursdays to avoid Josef. Karl Rahm and his daughter were clearly not on their radar.

She set the plate on the table and poured a glass of whiskey. Her father had been in plenty of bad moods lately but all in the indifferent form. Heni felt like there was an anvil over her head, ready to be dropped.

But the footsteps coming up the stairs today weren’t stomping. Indifferent, neutral, or — dare she think it — good? The door swung open and Karl gently set his toolbox under the window.

“Hello, Father,” Heni said quietly, preparing her own plate.

“Hello,” he said, his tone giving away nothing. He went straight to the washroom and closed the door. A second later, she heard the tap running.

Heni felt her shoulders drop with relief, the air leaving her lungs. He was about to eat, a good sign. Just as she sat at the table, she realized she left the whiskey bottle on the counter, so she turned to grab it and ran straight into Karl coming out of the washroom.

“Oh, heavens, sorry,” she said, scrambling to move out of the way and tripping over his foot. She was already blushing, but when she felt his hands on her hips, her cheeks flamed even hotter.

“Watch out, baby,” he said softly in her ear, moving her out of the way. He sat at the table while Heni, flustered, reached for the whiskey bottle.

“Put that in the room,” he told her.

“Of course.” She nearly trotted into the bedroom, grateful for the opportunity to compose herself. But when she returned to the table, she couldn’t look in Karl’s direction without blushing.

“What’s going on with you today?” he asked, stroking the back of her hand. “You’re so shy.”

She glanced up at him, saw his smirk, and dropped her eyes to the table. Between her legs, her inner walls were clenching, yearning for his touch. “Nothing, Daddy.”

“You’re such a silly little liar,” he sneered. “Look at me, and tell me why your face is red.”

“I, um.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. It had been over a week since she’d seen them on her and even longer since she’d felt his hands. “It’s been a while since you’ve touched me.”

“Ah…” His grin grew wider. “And you’re dying for more, hmm?”

She squirmed in her seat, pressing her legs together in a weak attempt to fight the onslaught of desire. God, had she missed the wolfish gleam in his eyes when they looked her up and down. “Yes, Daddy.”

Much to her frustration, he didn’t say anything more, standing up from the table and taking the empty whiskey glass to the bedroom. Heni knew he’d grow annoyed with her stomping and slamming of plates as she cleaned up, but she didn’t care. Plenty of men, as evidenced by Josef, would love to give her attention, and she wanted it only from the one man who held it just out of reach.

Well, Heni decided, she was going to take it anyway. She dried her hands on the scratchy dish towel, threw her apron over one of the chairs, and marched into his bedroom.

He glanced over from his newspaper only for a second when he saw her lower herself to her knees at his side. She took care to brush up against his leg, pressing her arm against it. When he didn’t react, she leaned her head on his thigh.

“Such a desperate little thing,” he said, resting a hand on her head and idly stroking her hair. “Baby girl needs to ask Daddy for what she wants.”

“Please touch me, Daddy,” she breathed, tucking her hands between her thighs. Against them, her lower lips pulsed hot underneath two layers of clothing.

“Come around this way.” He gripped her hair and guided her rather roughly around his knee and brought her head to his crotch. His fingers ran through her hair, relaxing her. Against her cheek, she felt the bulge in his trousers start to stiffen.

After a minute or two of petting, he turned her head so that her face was pressed into the stiff bulge. Now dripping with desire into her panties, Heni nuzzled the bulge like a cat, blasting her heavy breath through his trousers.

His fist tightened against his scalp and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. Heni grinned as she rubbed her face against the stiffness — now he could have a taste of desperation. Parting her lips, she pressed them against him, feeling his heat soaking into them.

His hips tilted up and his fist bore down. “That’s it, slu*t, use that pretty mouth,” he growled. “Earn Daddy’s love.”

Burning with need, Heni obeyed, flattening her tongue against the bulge and dragging it across. She started with his balls, licking them over the cloth, and moved up to his rock-hard co*ck.

“Goddamn…” Her father’s voice was choked with desire, both of his hands on her head. She kept this up for another minute and broke away, leaving a wet spot on his trousers.

Without waiting for instruction, Heni undid them and pulled out his pulsing co*ck. Grinning up at him playfully, she slowly licked up his shaft, enjoying his heavy breaths. She managed to get two licks in before he lost patience, stuffing the tip into her mouth.

“Enough teasing me, little co*ck-slu*t. Time to use that throat.” He held the sides of her head and thrust deep into her mouth, conjuring a flood of spit with his tip slamming into the back of her throat.

Tears poured out of her eyes and saliva over her bottom lip. Despite her gagging and heaving, she managed to keep her lips wrapped around the hilt of his co*ck, his soaked balls against her chin. He held her head in place, laughing as she struggled.

“Is this nasty, co*cksucking whor* having trouble taking it all the way down her little throat?” he taunted, bearing down on the back of her head. “This is where you belong, Henioche. Choking on it like a pathetic little bitch. Isn’t that right?”

He let go and Heni fell backward, fighting for breath. His fist was in her hair again, bringing her face closer to his co*ck. “Open that mouth back up. You’re only getting started with it.”

She opened wide, bracing herself for another throat-pounding. Instead, he mashed her face into the soft but bulging skin of his balls. Closing her eyes against the spit against her eyelashes, she lapped at them, pulling the skin between her lips.

“That’s it, good little slu*t,” he said, rubbing them over her face, smearing her saliva everywhere. When she pulled away to catch a breath, ropes of it from her lips and cheeks clung to his balls and dribbled down to her chest.

“As a reward, you can come…but I want to watch, so everything off and get on the bed with your legs spread.”

Heni eagerly peeled off her dress, stripped down, and hopped onto the bed. On her back, she opened her legs as wide as they could go, showing off her leaking folds and plugged bum.

“Look at this nasty f*cking whor*, showing off her little pink c*nt to Daddy. Start rubbing and look at me the entire time.”

At first she was shy under his intense and yet cold gaze, the rest of his face blank. But even her hesitant fingertips over her plump, pulsing lower lips increased her burning need for release. Baring her teeth and holding her legs higher, she rubbed herself hard, rocking her hips.

She reached around and slid the plug in and out, letting her uninhibited cries fill the room. Juices poured from her slit and gathered between her bum cheeks, providing lubricant for the plug. Karl still kept his face blank, but his eyes were full of lust and he was leaning forward slightly.

“Baby whor* wants to come so badly, hmm?” he needled, letting the shadow of a smirk lift the corner of his mouth. “So filthy she is, rubbing her fat c*nt and playing with her little tight hole. Like a dumb, drooling toy. How disgusting you are, without shame at all, hmm? Seducing your own father, a little aberration. Does that feel good, Henioche?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Heni moaned, pinching her wet folds and rubbing the nub nestled inside of them hard until she sprayed fluid onto the floor. The plug slipped out of her hand, clanged against the wood, and rolled away somewhere.

She fell backward, cupping her wet flesh and feeling her juices leak through her fingers. The climax was relieving, and yet somehow she wasn’t fully satisfied.

“Clean up your mess,” her father ordered.

No, it had not been enough; she wanted more. She dropped onto the floor with ease, positioning herself so that her dripping flesh was aimed at him. As she licked up the little puddles, she reached behind her and spread herself, her bum high in the air, inviting him.

It worked: A sharp slap came to her labia, followed by a squeeze of her ass. “Get back on the bed and keep those holes open for me.”

As soon as she was on her back, he was prying open her legs and ducking his head. His mouth roved over her folds, his teeth sinking into them. Heni turned her head, whimpering from both the pain and pleasure. The latter took over completely when he spread her wider and licked her from the inside.

“Oh, Daddy, it feels so good.” One hand slid through his hair while the other held his hand gripping her thigh. She tilted her hips, hoping to keep his tongue inside of her forever. But it slid out of her and down between her cheeks, prodding her puckered hole.

Heni was mildly aware of her biting her lip, of the high-pitched cries leaving her mouth, but nothing could outweigh the feeling of her father’s mouth on her most delicate parts, licking over both of her spread holes. Like when he played with her bum, she felt filthy and disgusting, and yet the desire was so strong, it was almost painful.

Too quickly, he gave her folds one last hard pull before climbing on top of her and entering between them, thankfully leaving the rear alone. Holding her face with both hands again, he kissed her hard on the mouth and slowly pumped into her.

“Damn, this wet little hole feels so good,” he growled in her ear. “I can have endless fun with my sweet toy. Can’t get enough of it, I see.”

He leaned up, gripping her throat, and thrust deeper. Since his mouth had brought her halfway to climax, the other half was covered in only a few minutes. This time she came hard, thrashing underneath him. He managed to keep his grip on her neck until he, too, finished and collapsed on top of her.

Again too soon, he rolled off of her and sat up, still breathing heavily. By now, Heni was spent, lying limply on the bed with his seed oozing out of her swollen folds. She clenched her thighs together and burrowed under the covers. When she re-emerged, her head poking out, Karl was in his chair, pouring another glass of whiskey.

“Won’t you come to bed, Daddy?” she asked, wanting to feel his arms around her.

“Soon, baby, soon,” he said, picking up the newspaper. Whether he meant it or not, she didn’t find out, for she fell asleep almost immediately and slept until his alarm clock rang in the morning.

Thursday: Shop day. Heni realized belatedly as she left the building that she’d forgotten the plug entirely. She paused just outside the building, wondering if she should go back for it. It was under the bed somewhere; she hadn’t retrieved it from last night.

No, forget it, she thought. She’d deal with it when she got back. Hugging her cardigan tighter around her against the cold autumn wind, she made her way to the shop.

She ordered the meat from the butcher and waited patiently in line, like every other Thursday. However, when she approached the counter, the shopkeeper eyed her warily.

“Good day, Herr Krupp,” she said uncertainly, wondering if the sins of last night were somehow evident on her face.

“Good day, Fräulein.” He looked around the shop, which was otherwise empty save for the butcher and an older lady inspecting a jar of pickles near the back shelves. Then he leaned in and spoke in a much quieter voice.

“Listen, I don’t want to alarm you, Fräulein, but someone’s been in here looking for you.”

“For me?” Heni’s heart sped up despite her utter confusion. “Are you sure for me, Herr Krupp?”

“Almost certain,” he said. “He asked which days the plumber’s daughter comes shopping. I told him that I don’t see you too often.”

Heni opened her mouth to reply, but then the butcher appeared at Herr Krupp’s side, setting her neatly-wrapped meat on the counter. “One hundred grams of each, the usual,” he told Herr Krupp before disappearing into the back.

“How old are these pickles?” the older lady piped up from behind Heni, holding up the jar.

“Only three days, Frau,” Herr Krupp assured her.

Heni paid him and left, holding the brown bag to her chest. Who could be looking for her here in Steyr? The only one she could think of was the man with the bowler hat. She glanced around, looking for the flash of olive green, a pair of eyes on her, but there was only the latter from a man walking slightly ahead of her.

She looked toward the street, hoping he’d go away, but no, he was still looking at her. He grinned, saddling up closer to her. “Don’t remember me?”

The mossy green of his eyes gave him away. “To be fair, you’re not wearing your bowler hat. Have you been looking for me?”

He brushed his dark hair back, chuckled, and shook his head. “I asked the shopkeeper about you. He was very suspicious of me, I’ll tell you. Perhaps he’s overprotective of you?”

“My father probably coached him on what to do if this situation arises,” Heni said, feeling the tense knot in her stomach start to loosen. “He’s very strict.”

“So I see,” said Josef. “But he’s not opposed to having me carry your bag, so give it here.”

That’s because I haven’t told him, Heni answered silently, placing the bag in Josef’s outstretched arms.

“I’ve been away for a while,” he said as they walked down the block. “Visiting friends in Vienna. I don’t have many left, sad to say. Most of them died on the Eastern front.”

“I’m sorry,” said Heni, for lack of anything better. She reached over and awkwardly patted his arm.

“Ah, that’s war,” he replied. “So it goes. Anyway, I met up with my three friends from high school and we went all over the city. To the art museum first — did you know Hitler’s paintings are still hung there?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, so that was interesting. And then we went to the gardens, which is a bit sad now if I’m honest, and then one of my favorite places in Vienna — the monastery.”

“Oh, but,” Heni said, frowning, “The monastery has its own town, Klosterneuburg.” Goddamn it, she chastised herself as soon as the words were spoken. To Josef, she’d only been to Vienna once and therefore wouldn’t know the difference between the two places.

Fortunately, Josef didn’t seem to catch it, nodding. “So it is. It’s rather close to Vienna though, I’d say. We also went to this wonderful park over there by the Danube. I think people camp there, but we went by horseback down a few trails.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Heni, who had to act like she hadn’t spent the first ten years of her life in Klosterneuburg. “It sounds like you had a wonderful time.”

“I did,” Joseph agreed, slinging the bag to his other hip. The wind pushed a lock of his hair out of place, throwing it over his forehead. “Do you plan on visiting Dresden anytime soon?”

“I, um…” Heni stuttered, thrown off until she remembered she’d told him she was from Dresden. “Not really, no. It was badly damaged by the air-raids, unfortunately.”

He gave a sympathetic nod. They’d arrived in front of Heni’s building. Gratefully, she took the bag from him and said, “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Josef. Perhaps we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Well, that’s what I would like to ask about,” he said, swiping his hair back and looking away. “I was wondering if I could perhaps spend more time with you? I could take you to this cafe down the street. They have all different kinds of tea, if you drink it.”

“That sounds lovely,” Heni said earnestly. “But unfortunately, I don’t think my father will allow me. He’s rather strict.”

“So you’ve said.” The dejection was evident on his face, mashing his lips together. “He can’t keep you under his thumb forever, Walburga. You’re halfway to seventeen now. He’ll have to let go sometime, yes?”

“I suppose so,” Heni sighed. “But I don’t think it’ll be anytime soon. In the meantime, I usually go to the shop every week but not always the same day…if you’d like to run into me again.”

She gave him her best winning smile, which he half-returned. “Of course I don’t want to get you in trouble. In that case, until we run into each other again. Goodbye, Walburga.”

“Goodbye, Josef.”

Upstairs in the flat, Heni set the bag on the counter, took off her cardigan, and rubbed some warmth into her arms. Contrary to the relief she’d felt when she’d learned Josef was the inquirer, she now felt an unpleasant prickling in her stomach, disturbing its contents. But why? Her slip-up about Klosterneuburg hadn’t seemed to spark any suspicion.

Perhaps she was worried he’d keep asking the shopkeeper about her, and the shopkeeper would pass along the information to Karl… But Karl rarely went to that shop anyway now that she was here…

Heni let out a deep breath, shaking her head. “Just paranoia,” she assured herself. The Nazis facing a trial by the Allies was subconsciously messing with her mind. There was nothing here in Steyr to indicate that she and Karl were in any trouble.

She took out the flour and dumped it in a bowl before rummaging in the utensil drawer. Dumplings tonight, one of her favorites, and she planned on making enough for a couple days. Just as her hand closed around the rolling pin, her stomach flipped completely over with icy dread as Josef’s words sank in.

You’re halfway to seventeen now...

But she had never told him her age.

Chapter 34: XXXIV - Steyr

Chapter Text

Trembling, Heni dropped the rolling pin and raised a hand to her heaving chest. Over and over, she racked her mind, replaying the two encounters with Josef. Maybe she had told him her age — but unlikely because she would’ve asked him his in return and she didn’t know that either.

Relax, she instructed herself, breathe. A ringing was starting in her ears. Even if she hadn’t told him herself, it wasn’t unfathomable that he’d heard it from someone else. Karl had told at least one person he had a daughter; perhaps he’d also told him she was sixteen…

Not just sixteen, Josef had said, but halfway to seventeen. Not just her age but her birthday. Something she had certainly not told him nor anyone else in Steyr. And she very much doubted Karl had, either.

Big trouble, a voice in her head nagged, you’re in big trouble. There was no way around it: She had to tell Karl.

Surprisingly, she managed to cook the dumplings properly and clean up the mess from the dough before he arrived home. Again his mood, at first impression, was neutral. Her insides were twisted with dread, while her heart was heavy with sorrow: She was supposed to relieve him of his bad mood, not put him in one.

But she had to warn him.

Karl washed his hands, Heni set down their plates and glasses, and together they began supper. He must’ve been distracted too, for he didn’t notice she was picking at her food. Come on, she prompted herself, spit it out already.

“Daddy,” she blurted before she could ruminate over it any longer. “I have to tell you something…”

He looked up from his plate, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Today, on the way home…” She clutched her sweaty hands together in her lap and tried to steady her breathing. “A man approached me. Early twenties, dark hair, said his name was Josef from Vienna. He seemed rather interested in me.”

Karl set his fork down, waiting for her to continue. His mouth was tightened the tiniest bit, but his eyes weren’t completely iced over.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” she said hurriedly. “I thought that would be a bit suspicious if I told him to get lost. I wanted to! But I think he’s interested in me in the way Aschenbrenner was…to go after us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, he, um, he asked me out…” She blushed and looked at her plate. “And, well, I didn’t want to flat-out reject him so I told him you won’t let me, and he said that I’m ‘halfway to seventeen,’ I guess saying I am old enough to date. But I didn’t tell him my age. How would he know it if I didn’t tell him?”

“Alright, first of all,” Karl said. “You need to get comfortable very fast rejecting other men. I shouldn’t have to explain why by now. When a man approaches you, you say you’re not interested and move on…unless, of course, you are interested in going behind my back and dating?”

“No, of course not, Daddy,” Heni said quickly.

“Good. Second of all, you need to tell me everything about this man. You said he’s from Vienna?”

“Yes, and he said he returned there recently,” she said, glad to have something more to supply him with. “But I, um… I think I messed up. He’d said he’d gone to the monastery, but I told him it wasn't in the city. But I’m supposed to be from Dresden — "

Karl held up a hand and she fell silent at once. “Henioche, if he was from Vienna, he’d know the monastery wasn’t in the city.”

“So he lied about the trip, too? Why would he…?” Her hand flew to her mouth. Just when she thought her heart couldn't sink any lower. “But he was there, or at least in Klosterneuburg. He told me about the horses.”

“Yes,” said Karl. “He wasn’t there for leisure.” He let out a harsh breath, his eyes straying to the side, out the window.

Heni’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered as they dripped out. “I messed up.”

“It doesn’t sound like you told him anything he didn’t already know,” Karl said, which made her feel marginally better despite his hard stare. “But for God’s sake, Henioche, you need to stop talking to random f*cking men. You’re going to get us in even more trouble.”

She ducked her head and blotted her cheeks with her napkin. “I know, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer, thinking hard. “We’ll pack only what we need tonight, and tomorrow we leave at dawn. We can’t stay here, it’s too dangerous.”

“Where will we go?” Heni asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” He stood up, leaving his plate half-empty. She was grateful for this, as she couldn’t get anything down her throat either.

“What about the Salzkammergut?” she suggested. “Herr Eichmann told me he’d invited you to Altaussee. Perhaps we can — "

“No.” Karl’s mouth tightened and he stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Heni fought the urge to start crying again. If they were caught, no doubt she would be separated from him, and they were wasting their precious time together fighting. Holding back tears, she collected the plates, washed them, and put the rest of the dumplings away. All of that work, and they’d barely eaten them.

Tossing her apron over the chair, she headed to the bedroom to find a bag. When she walked in, she found Karl seated in the chair as usual but with no whiskey glass.

“Would you like me to fetch you the bottle?” she asked, pulling the large rucksack out of the closet.

“No.”

Heni froze: It was unlike Karl not to drink more than one glass of whiskey. But of course she wasn’t complaining. She moved onto the bureau, lifting folded piles of clothing out of the drawers and stuffing them into the bag. Things from the washroom went into its own smaller back and tucked into the rucksack alongside her rolled-up dresses.

All the while Karl watched her, his expression giving as much away as a slab of wood. She wished he would at the very least turn on the radio. The silence only enhanced the ringing in her ears.

When the bag was zipped up next to the bed, she sat at Karl’s side, wishing he’d do or say something. But he continued to sit in silence, not moving even when Heni rested her head on his lap.

“Daddy,” she blurted after at least ten minutes of this, unable to take it anymore. “Won’t you please consider Altaussee? If we’re caught there, they’ll be too preoccupied with Herr Eichmann to worry about us, won’t they?”

“I said no, Henioche,” he said coldly. “Drop it.” He shifted his leg, bumping her slightly off it.

She straightened up and turned toward him. “But Daddy, please listen — "

The hand came in the time it took her to blink, catching her on the cheek. “We are not going there, so you’d best shut up about it.”

A minute of silence, during which Heni cradled her cheek and blinked back tears, and then he spoke again. “I wonder why you want to go to Eichmann so badly. It doesn’t have anything to do with hiding, does it?”

She raised her head to look at him. “Of course it does, Daddy.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “You think I don’t know you by now? You’re the worst kind of whor*, Henioche. A prostitute-whor* tries to make money to take care of herself, understandable. A whor* for one man, even one she shouldn’t give herself to, because she loves him. Also understandable. But you? You’re a whor* for attention. You’ll give yourself up to any man who’ll give it to you.”

“No,” Heni whispered. “No, I — "

The look in his narrowed eyes was pure vitriol. “You’re disgusting,” he spat. “Nothing but a worthless little bitch.”

The tears were back, but she was not going to let them fall. Perhaps he was been half-right about Eichmann, but that didn’t mean she would give herself up to just anyone.

“If you recall, Father,” she bit out, moving backward, out of his reach, “Herr Eichmann is the one who told me you love me. He said you sing your praises about having me for a daughter. But maybe you’re both liars.”

She climbed upon the bed, hugged her knees, and glared at the bureau in front of her. Karl let out an aggravated breath and left the room. A second later, she heard the door to the washroom slam shut.

“So much for sticking together,” she muttered to herself.

However, a second later, he was back, naked except for a towel around his waist. “Did you by any chance pack my straight razor?” he asked impatiently.

Obviously, she wanted to snap, but she kept quiet and pulled the smaller bag from the rucksack. “Here.”

He took it and disappeared. Heni changed into her nightdress and pinned up her hair. What a God-awful day, she thought grumpily.

When he returned, she was climbing into bed. She kept her back to him as he dressed up.

“Henioche.”

Begrudgingly, she turned around. He was seated back in the chair, patting the tops of his thighs. “Come here.”

As soon as her rear touched his lap, his arms were around her, pulling her close. She breathed him in, melting into him. “I’m scared, Daddy,” she said, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to be apart.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he replied, kissing her forehead. Together, they sat like that for a few minutes. The warmth of his skin and his regular heartbeat against her cheek soothed her down, but still her stomach churned.

Contrarily, when the door burst open and the boots thundered against the wood, she was calm. They’ve come for us, she told herself, her mind fogged with sleep.

The light clicked on. “Up!” someone barked. “Get up!”

Two police officers, one with a gun. They swept the room, finding nothing but Heni and Karl sitting up in bed, blinking drowsily at them. “Mind telling me what the f*ck is going on in here?” one asked, wrinkling his nose.

“We’re obviously sleeping,” Karl grumbled, raking his hair back.

“Wait, I thought this was a father and his daughter,” the other policeman said, turning to the one with the gun. “Why are they in bed together?”

“Who the f*ck knows,” he snapped. “Are you hard of hearing, Rahm? Get the f*ck up, Nazi scum!”

Karl nudged Heni out of the way and stood in his drawers, glaring at the officers. “Gentlemen, with all due respect, you’ve got the wrong man. There is no Rahm here. I’m Karl Wachtel — ask around, people know me as the plumber —

While the man with the gun aimed it at his chest, the other stepped forward, pulled his fist back, and punched Karl in the mouth.

“No!” Heni yelled, jumping out of bed and running over, ready to tear into this beast’s flesh. Karl recovered immediately, throwing an arm out to block her.

He stepped in front of her, reached back, and gripped her arm tightly. “Alright, there’s obviously been a mix-up here,” he said calmly to the officers. “So allow me to dress up and take me to the headquarters if you must.”

The one who’d punched him threw his head back and let out a high, obnoxious laugh. “The headquarters!” he cackled. “Yeah, I suppose it is the headquarters, yeah? Fine, get dressed then. And you” — he pointed to a frozen Heni — “as much as I want to see you without clothes, we don’t have time for that so put on an overcoat or whatever. Now!”

“Wait,” said Karl, his hands preemptively raised to block a blow. “Don’t take her — she has nothing to do with it.”

“Quite clearly she does,” the policeman told him, waving a piece of paper in Karl’s face. “You’re probably illiterate but see what it says here? Karl and Henioche Rahm. Unless we’re all counting wrong, that’s two people, asshole.”

“She’s not Henioche,” said Karl, dressing hurriedly. “That’s my mistress. My daughter is with her mother in Vienna.”

“Nice try, sh*thead,” snarled the one with the gun, “but there’s a nice fat folder about you in Salzburg, complete with photos. And Kozak’s already paid your pretty little wife a visit. Maybe he took his chance to satisfy her like you never could — "

“Coat on!” the other barked in Heni’s face, spraying spit on her cheeks. “Let’s go, little Nazi bitch. You’re going in the first truck.”

“Let her go with me,” said Karl at once.

In response, the policeman raised the gun and shot through the ceiling, setting off Heni’s panic spiral. As she struggled to catch her breath, his colleague grabbed her upper arm and yanked her forward.

“Shut the f*ck up,” the one with the gun snarled, aiming it at Karl. “You’re not going together. I can trust you about as far as I can throw you, and you’re both shrimps. Fantl, can you get her out of here already?”

It was jarring, at best, to witness Karl being roughed up like a criminal — like he’d been treating the Jews and the prisoners for the past six years. He looked rather bewildered himself, keeping his hands up in surrender as the policeman advanced on him.

“Come on, walk,” Fantl snapped at her, pushing her through the kitchen and out the door of the flat. Absurdly, her heart was growing heavy at the thought of her carefully-rolled dumplings in the refrigerator, Karl’s painting behind the bureau, and even the plug under the bed. They’d built a nice nest despite it all, the pair of them.

The tears gathering in her eyes dried up at once when she saw the army truck waiting for them on the side of the curb. They were in greater trouble than she thought if the Americans were involved. A soldier jumped out of the passenger side and opened the back of the truck.

Fantl roughly shoved her in, keeping a hand on her back until she was seated on one of the small benches on either side. The two men sat across from her, the soldier pulling the back of the truck closed. He asked Fantl something in English, gesturing to Heni.

In halting English, Fantl presumably explained who she was — Heni only understood the word “Nazi.” As the truck rumbled down the streets of Steyr, the American studied Heni with curious, bright blue eyes. In contrast to the older, gruff Fantl, he was only a couple years her senior.

On and on, the truck rumbled, aggravating Heni’s stomach even more. The driver was surely taking care to hit every rock and pothole. She wanted to ask where they were going, since it probably didn’t take over twenty minutes to reach the Steyr police headquarters, but she didn’t want Fantl to lash out on her.

There’s a fat folder about you in Salzburg… Was that where they were taking her? Why Salzburg? Was Karl behind them, wondering the same thing? How many times was she going to be shoved into a motor vehicle and transported to the unknown? The questions multiplied in her head over and over until it was filled with just noise. To top it off, the ringing of her ears was back.

After over an hour of staring at her knees, the truck was slowing down. The driver shouted to someone in English and a minute later, a loud creaking filled the air as gates opened. The truck crawled through and stopped again.

More creaking, followed by the back doors swinging open, revealing another American soldier. He extended a hand and said in heavily-accented German, “Come with me, Fräulein.”

She glanced at the other one seated across from her, who nodded. As soon as she placed her hand in the soldier’s, he tugged her roughly out of the truck. The other soldier followed, closing the doors shut, leaving Fantl behind. Heni was not sorry about this.

She glanced around and was reminded horribly of the Small Fortress. Barracks as far as she could see, barbed-wire fences, watchtowers, soldiers… What little of the dumplings she’d eaten were creeping up her throat in acrid chunks.

The gate stayed closed. No sign of Karl, and the soldiers were leading her into a building. Inside was bright, making her wince.

“Come, into this room,” the soldier directed.

This room was much dimmer and empty except for a table and three chairs. Two on one side with cushioned seats, a heavy, wooden one on the other. Heni knew this was the one she’d be seated in before the soldier pulled it out for her.

Cold steel against her wrist, competing with the chill of the alpine November air in making her shudder. She was being handcuffed to the chair.

“Alright, please stay here,” the soldier told her as if he hadn’t just prevented her from going anywhere. The other one must’ve echoed that same sentiment in English, for they both chuckled as they left the room.

The only sound was her heavy breathing, coming out in large puffs of smoke in front of her face. She tried to focus on this, hugging herself tightly. Just as her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Not a soldier, but he was in uniform. A little older than the American in the truck, younger than the policemen. He glanced at her with shrewd grey-blue eyes before looking back down at his notebook.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“N - no, sir,” she stammered.

He took her in, the crease between his brows deepening. Heni felt very exposed and foolish in her nightdress with just a wool cardigan thrown over it. She wished she’d thought to at least pull the pins out of her hair.

“You are in Glasenbach,” he told her. “Or as the Americans call it, Marcus W. Orr Internment Camp.” His lip curled in disgust.

“I don’t, um, I don’t know what that means, sir,” Heni said when he didn’t elaborate.

He glanced down at the notes. To her at this angle, they looked like nothing but scribbles jumbled all over the page. “An internment camp is where the Americans are keeping suspected Nazis, spies, and other war criminals of the Third Reich.”

“I’m not a Nazi,” Heni told him. “Please, sir, this is a mistake. I haven’t — "

“Well, we’ll find that out soon enough,” he cut her off. “Now, let me see what we have here… Henioche Rahm, age sixteen, from Vienna, yes?”

“Not from Vienna,” said a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway. They looked over to see a man in a thick wool coat and an olive green bowler hat.

“From Klosterneuburg,” Josef said, his mossy green eyes trained on Heni, glinting with amusem*nt. He stepped into the room. Tucked under his arm was a Manila folder bulging with papers. “Born there, then moved with her mother to Vienna while her father began his early Nazi activity.”

“Yes, well, you’d know better than me, Kozak,” the man with the notebook grumbled. “About time you joined us.”

“Had to make sure her father was on the way as well,” Josef said. “Now that’s an interrogation I’m ready to get on with. Wouldn’t you agree, Henioche? Or do you want me to use your bullsh*t fake name?”

“No, this has been a complete misunderstanding,” Heni said desperately, fighting off the panic spiral threatening to take over. “I’m not this girl, Henioche. My name is Walburga Bauer and I’m from Dresden — "

“Cut the sh*t,” the other man snapped while Josef snorted with laughter.

“From Dresden, hmm? You don’t even have to open your mouth to tell anyone on the spot that you’re Austrian. You know how I can tell you aren’t from Dresden?”

He took a seat at the chair and set the thick Manila folder on the table before continuing. “Because you’re so easy. So trusting, so eager to give yourself away. All I had to do was feed you a story about my father being in the Wehrmacht. The BDM trained you well in sympathizing with them, hmm?”

Karl’s words came back to her as needles poking into the lining of her heart. You’re the worst kind of whor*…who gives herself up to any man.

“Perhaps I should’ve seduced you from the start,” Josef continued to taunt. “You’d be even easier.”

“Geh scheissn,” Heni spat, glowering at him as he snickered. “You’re lucky I even gave you the time of day, traitor.”

Before Josef could retort, the man next to him held up a hand. “Can we please get on with this? Show her the photos if she wants to deny who she is.”

“Good idea,” said Josef, opening the Manila folder. He leaned through it until he found a photograph clipped to a piece of paper. He slid it out and across to the table.

Heni looked down to see herself in black and white two years ago, standing proudly in her League uniform. Her lips parted and a lump formed in her throat, not from anxiety but something else she was too overwhelmed to place. She knew she was giving the men exactly what they needed, but she couldn’t help it. The young girl in the photo was so innocent, so unlike her.

Without a word, Josef placed another photograph on top of it, this one of Karl, Iolanthe, and herself in front of their villa in Prague. Karl was in full uniform, complete with SS insignia on his cap and pinned to his lapels.

“That’s not you, dear Henioche?” Josef said scornfully. “That’s not your father, Karl Rahm?”

Heni couldn’t answer. The next photograph was even more damning: Herself and the aufseherinnen lounging by the pool at the commandant’s house in the Small Fortress.

“What do we even do, Hermann?” Josef asked the man, keeping his eyes on Heni even as he tucked the photographs back into the folder. “With die Kriegsverbrecherin. Is there a compound for both women and war criminals?”

“We’ll let Wooten sort it,” said the man dismissively, rising from the table. “Just take her to the women’s compound for now.” He dropped a small key onto the folder.

“Another good idea,” Josef said, not bothering to hide the cheer in his voice. “Come on, little Henioche. Time to experience a taste of your own medicine. Just the tiniest taste — as far as I know, unlike you Nazis, they don’t gas and torture people here.”

The handcuffs let go of the chair but not from her wrist. As soon as she was on her feet, they were around the other wrist, locking her hands behind her back. Josef gripped her upper arm and hauled her out of the room.

Back outside, where the barracks and the barbed-wire fences seemed to be closing in on them as he marched her to another building. Inside this one was a small room with a desk, behind which sat a sour-faced female guard with her black hair tied into a severe knot at the top of her head.

“Good evening, Frau Wieland,” Josef greeted her warmly,

“What the hell could she have done?” she demanded, narrowing her beady dark eyes at Heni. “She’s just a little girl.”

“SS-man’s daughter,” said Josef, fishing the key out of his pocket and roughly turning Heni around instead of just stepping behind her.

“All the SS men have daughters,” Frau Wieland pointed out.

“Did they all work at concentration camps?” Josef shot back.

A click and then Heni’s hands fell freely at her sides. Rubbing her wrists, she took a step toward the steps only to be admonished by Frau Wieland in a booming voice that made her jump.

“Where do you think you’re going, you stupid Nazi sow? You move when I tell you to move, unless you want your face punched in!”

Heni froze in terror, clutching her wrists tightly. Josef, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the scene. On his way out, he turned to Heni and gave her a wide grin. Somehow, he barely resembled the man who approached her on the street in Steyr.

“Welcome to Glasenbach!” he told her cheerfully before disappearing into the night.