Chapter 16 Aleida #2
Her mind was too clouded with terror to answer, so she only managed a sob. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry . . .”
For letting a message be discovered. For sending Madame Bellamy into the Gestapo’s hands.
For whatever Dietrich forced her to confess, even if she avoided betraying their colleagues, limited the information to matters that affected only her and Madame Bellamy because it was too late for them anyway.
He would torture them, kill them, and nothing she said would prevent him.
Dietrich seemed to take the apology as confirmation. He gripped Aleida’s chin, lifting it until she met his gaze, her breath
shuddering so much she could hardly hear.
“I will let you live. In return, you are mine. You will continue working with the resistance. And you will report all members,
contacts, and activities to me.”
She blinked past her tears. He was turning her role entirely on its head—from reporting on the fascists to reporting on the
resistance. She glimpsed Madame Bellamy, whose eyes were wide with horror.
“That is my offer.” Dietrich released her and aimed his weapon at the elder woman again. “Refuse and I will shoot her.”
Madame Bellamy remained frozen while a wave of lightheadedness threatened to overtake Aleida. How could she agree? Reporting
on resistance activities would lead to arrests, likely murders. But she could not let him shoot the woman who now had a gun
against her head.
“Make your decision, or I will shoot you both.”
Madame Bellamy’s own fractured breaths joined Aleida’s, because they both knew her choice was not a choice. If she betrayed
the resistance, they lived; if she refused, Madame Bellamy died. If she did not make a choice, neither one would survive.
Aleida opened her mouth, unsure if she could force words past the tears or the urge to be sick, but when Dietrich cocked the
weapon, the sobbing shriek rushed free.
“I’ll do it! I’ll work for you, I’ll do it . . .” Then she choked on words, on tears, on her own betrayal while Dietrich lowered the pistol.
One guard uncuffed her and she sank to the floor, pummeled by gut-wrenching wails, unable to meet the tears in Madame Bellamy’s
gaze. Saving their lives would cost countless others, because now she had agreed to work for the Gestapo.
After Madame Bellamy was escorted out and Aleida had exhausted her supply of tears, she lay on the cold floor, shaking, until
hands brought her upright to face Dietrich.
“Ours will be an auspicious partnership. But I can’t allow your past mistakes to go unpunished.” A chill pulsed through her
body, leaving her unable to look at him yet unable to look away. Then he issued his next order. “Strip her.”
Newfound energy surged through her, and she struggled until pain exploded against her stomach. The blow sent her to her knees,
gasping, then fire ignited along her shoulders as one man forced her arms behind her back and pulled her upright again, then
they were pulling, tearing, yanking every piece of fabric—her blouse, her skirt. Her undergarments. The sour taste in Aleida’s
mouth intensified. No amount of struggling or protesting would be enough.
Dietrich would let them have her. Torture her. Lie to Mother about what really happened over the last few days.
Instead of forcing her over the table, as she expected, they pressed her back to the cold cell wall, secured her wrists in
thick metal cuffs on either side, closed heavy chains around her ankles. Then the guards stepped away.
The room felt too quiet, too still. Her chest heaved in shallow, choking breaths while the men studied her, every part of
her. She could only stare in return; nothing would release her, cover her, spare her. She was exposed, trapped, helpless.
Completely and entirely alone.
Dietrich drew a thin dagger and unfastened his tunic and collar, exposing the long line across his neck. “This scar is from the Great War, when the Allied soldier who sliced my neck open didn’t cut deeply enough. Some might call my survival a miracle.”
She neither spoke nor struggled. All she could do was imagine the many ways he might be preparing to use that dagger.
“Do you know what I’ve realized?” He brushed his thumb across the skin above her nipple, prompting her whimper. “That soldier
wasn’t trying to kill me. He wanted me to live. To spend every day with a reminder of that moment when my life belonged to
him.”
His eyes were as cold and sharp as the dagger in his grip. Then Dietrich pressed the blade into her breast, slicing through
her skin as effortlessly as the pain slicing through her body, drawing a piercing shriek from the depths of her being as he
began to carve.
A few hours later, the men left Aleida in the interrogation room. For how long, she did not know. Only that every breath ached
and smelled of blood and fear.
When the guards returned, they brought her new clothing. The sight should have been reassuring, but nothing could reassure
her anymore. Once she was dressed, they led her down the halls. Where they were going, Aleida did not know, and she did not
resist.
What did she have left? Ingrid had been gone for years. Madame Bellamy was in custody. No one in the resistance would be safe
when Dietrich extracted names and information from Aleida. And she no longer wanted to exist within this body of hers and
what it now bore.
Outside, a cold wind swept over her; she shivered but marched forward. Maybe they would go somewhere out of sight, where she
would be shot down like a diseased animal. One quick bullet to put the wretched creature out of its misery.
Instead they stopped outside the gate, where a car waited. Despite the bright sunlight obscuring her vision, Aleida recognized the elegant woman who stepped out.
“Mother?” Her voice was roughened by the screams that even now echoed in her mind.
“Oh, my darling, I’ve been so worried. When you didn’t come home from class, I went by, and one of the girls said she saw
the men who came for you. Gregor hasn’t been home for a few days; otherwise I would have come sooner, but I contacted every
one of his colleagues until I found where they had taken you.” Gently, Mother cupped Aleida’s face. “I notified him and arranged
for your release, so I’ve come to take you home.”
She was free because of Mother? Aleida wanted to curse her for bringing that horrible man into their home, but everything
inside her was warped and twisted and she didn’t know how to untangle any of it. A sob racked her body, and she stepped into
Mother’s arms.
“There, there.” Mother shushed her, coddled her as if she were a small child. “You’ve had a fright, but all is well now.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding. I’ve identified those responsible for the confusion, and they will be punished to the full
extent of my power.”
The new voice sent a chill through Aleida far harsher than the cold wind whipping around them. A misunderstanding. So that
was what he was going to call it for Mother’s benefit, pretending this had not been the result of his orders, had not led
to interrogation or threats or torture. Simply a harmless, mistaken arrest.
“Aleida, please accept my apologies on behalf of the entire Ordnungspolizei and Gestapo,” Dietrich said as he reached them.
“Such carelessness will not be tolerated under my command.”
Mother placed a grateful hand on his cheek while Aleida fought a fresh wave of nausea. Mother had no idea what that man had done. And when he nodded for them to get into the car, she had no alternative. So she sat between Mother and Dietrich, still and silent, while the driver took them home.
Once there, she professed a desire to bathe and rest. Then she retreated upstairs, closed the door, and vomited into her washbasin.
She heard nothing more over the sounds of her own heaving, not until she wiped her mouth and a booted footstep sounded just
outside her door.
Nowhere to escape, no way to prevent whatever he might do. As Dietrich allowed himself inside, Aleida backed away until she
found her bed and could back away no more.
“I’ll scream. I’ll tell Mother everything.”
He lifted a mocking brow as he eased the door closed. Because if she fulfilled her threats, he still had Madame Bellamy in
custody. He could give Mother an excuse, blame another guard for harming Aleida without his knowledge, then punish her for
speaking out by retaliating against Madame Bellamy.
“Provide me with a list of resistance colleagues. If I don’t have your list by morning, and if any leads are false, I will
hold your dance instructor accountable.” His eyes drifted over her, lingering on her breast, then he met her gaze. “This time
I brought you home; next time, I will not.”
Dietrich waited until she had nodded her assent, then he departed, and she heard her mother’s bedroom door gently close. A
list by morning. He was leaving her no time to warn anyone, to do anything except comply.
She grabbed the thin dress the guards had given her. With shaking hands, she pulled it over her head and stared at her naked
body reflected in the floor-length mirror.
Untouched, save for one place. Now she knew why the girls in her cell had returned with matching bloodstains on their breasts.
Because Dietrich must have interrogated them too.
She stared at the red slashes, the sharp lines forming the key from his crest.
Then she turned back to the washbasin and vomited again.
Aleida was alive. Alive with the reminder of when her life had belonged to him. She gathered the dress but lost the strength
to put it on. Instead she held the garment against her chest, sank to the cold floor beside Ingrid’s bed, and wept.
She needed to warn the underground resistance, to save herself from becoming an informant, to gather funds to bribe a guard
into releasing Madame Bellamy tonight because they could not delay any longer. For the right price, surely a guard could be
persuaded to break out a prisoner. For now, though, she could only sob.
In moments like this, her sister would calm her, reason through everything that had happened, promise her that she was safe.
Now she had no one to calm her, to reason with her, to assure her that she was safe. Because she was not. Not here in this
house or in Arnhem or as herself.
Being Aleida de Vos was no longer safe. She had to become someone else.