Chapter 33 #2
She gripped the cold metal handrail and plunged down the fire escape, her feet striking each step with desperate precision. Her medical bag, still slung across her shoulder, banging against her hip. The iron steps clanged beneath her weight.
At the half-landing, she spun around, breath catching. Paul hung halfway out the window above. ‘Go!’ His voice cracked like a whip.
Clara didn’t hesitate. She launched herself down the remaining steps, three at a time now. Her feet hit the alley’s broken pavement and her ankle buckled, sending lightning pains through her leg. She stumbled forwards, arms windmilling and somehow managed to stay upright.
The first gunshot split the air like thunder.
Then another.
Clara’s world narrowed to the rhythm of her own ragged breathing and the slap of her shoes against stone. She didn’t turn back. She couldn’t afford to. The alley stretched ahead into shadow, and she ran towards the uncertain darkness. Her life depended on it.
Clara’s hand shook so violently she could barely fit the key into the lock of her apartment door. The familiar hallway felt foreign and dreamlike after the horror she’d escaped, and she had to lean against the door frame for a moment to steady herself before turning the handle.
The apartment was ablaze with light. Every lamp and overhead fixture burning and she could hear Friedrich pacing frantically in the living room, his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor.
As she stepped inside, clutching her medical bag like a lifeline, she heard him talking rapidly on the telephone, his voice strained and desperate.
‘Arnold, yes, it’s me, Friedrich Bergmann.
’ As if sensing her there, he spun around.
His gaze took her in from top to bottom, as his hand holding the telephone dropped away from his ear.
She could hear the tinny voice of Arnold sounding through the receiver.
Slowly, Friedrich moved the receiver back to his ear.
‘Actually, Arnold, it doesn’t matter now .
. . Yes, I’m sure. Goodnight.’ He slowly replaced the telephone into its cradle.
Friedrich stared at her for a frozen moment, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Then he crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled her into arms so fiercely she could barely breathe.
‘Mein Gott, Clara,’ he whispered against her hair, his voice breaking. ‘I thought . . . They said the Angel of Life was caught. I thought you were . . .’ His words dissolved into shuddering breaths as he held her.
Clara felt her legs give way beneath her, the shock and terror of the evening finally overwhelming her. Friedrich caught her weight, guiding her to the sofa as great, heaving sobs wracked her body. It was several minutes before she could calm herself.
Friedrich knelt in front of her, his hands gentle on her face as he wiped her tears away. ‘You’re safe now,’ he murmured, though his eyes were dark with fear. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Paul came to the apartment. Marie was here,’ she began, managing to tell Friedrich the whole story before the enormity of what had happened caught up with her again. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to Marie or Paul. They were supposed to be behind me.’
‘We can’t do anything tonight. It will look suspicious if I start asking questions at this late hour,’ said Friedrich.
‘All we can do now is to try to get some sleep. From a purely selfish point of view, I am so glad you made it out of there. I was going out of my mind with worry. There was no book on the table to tell me you’d gone out to help someone. ’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’ Clara sniffed.
‘This is why I was so against you doing anything like this again.’ His hand moved to her stomach. ‘Especially now.’
‘I’m sorry. I feel guilty putting our child in danger.’
‘No recriminations now,’ said Friedrich. ‘You were just being you. But, please, liebling, no more.’
As he had done so just the other week, and had done so every night since then, Friedrich held Clara in his arms all night long.
She had never felt more scared and yet so safe than she did lying there next to him.
His deep, steadying breathing, in and out like a metronome, calming her, lulling her into a sleep, albeit it shallow.
Clara awoke the following morning to Friedrich coming into the bedroom, already dressed for work, carrying a breakfast tray with him.
‘I’m being very spoilt this morning,’ said Clara as he set the tray down. ‘Toast, eggs and tea.’
‘You need to rest,’ said Friedrich, kissing the top of her head. He perched on the edge of the bed, passing her the daily newspaper. ‘Page five.’
Clara hesitated, not sure what she was going to find. ‘What is it?’
‘According to reports, the police have caught the Angel of Life.’
Clara shook her head as she realised what that meant.
‘No. Oh, no, please say it’s not true.’ Clara snatched the newspaper up and found page five.
She scanned the article. So full of German pride and victorious at having caught the Angel of Life who had confessed to her crimes the previous evening.
Tears rushed from Clara’s eyes. Blobs of tears hitting the newspaper as the words blurred.
She cried some more at the thought of her dear friend being arrested and pretending to be the Angel of Life.
Clara couldn’t put into words how much of a sacrifice Marie had made.
She wasn’t sure she deserved such loyalty.
Friedrich took the paper from her. She looked up at him. ‘What about Paul?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Friedrich, softly. ‘He didn’t make it.’
He held her as he’d done so many times while she cried for the loss of her friend. A young man who had been forced to betray her but who had ultimately given his life to save her.
Clara pulled back from Friedrich’s embrace, her face soaked with tears.
‘They’re both dead because of me. Marie is going to die for my crimes and Paul gave his life saving mine.
’ Her voice broke completely. ‘I should have seen the trap. I should have protected them better. They deserved so much more than this.’ She looked down at her trembling hands.
‘How can I live with this? How can I escape to safety when they paid the price for my choices?’