Chapter 48 Ada #2
She can’t feel anything except his fingers on her skin and his gun at her chest, can’t see Ingrid, Mother, anyone. Only him
and the silver scar across his neck flaring red in the lamplight.
Then, as another sob racks Ada’s body, he removes the gun.
The moment he rotates to direct it at Ingrid, Ada ends her supposed fit and snatches the robin figurine from the shelf.
The movement recaptures Dietrich’s attention, and as he turns back to Ada, she glimpses Ingrid on her feet, moving toward them, toward Dietrich’s turned back.
Toward the pistol that, for this instant of chaos and confusion, is not pointed at either sister.
Ada’s eyes lock with Ingrid’s for only a moment before Ada lunges for the gun and swings the figurine toward Dietrich’s throat,
feels the tiny pointed beak make contact even as he prevents her from snatching the weapon. Amid his furious shout, Ada loses
sight of Ingrid, of his weapon, of everything when his hand closes around her neck, gripping tight before his eyes cloud with
something close to surprise and he begins to turn toward where Ingrid must be. A deafening clap pierces the air and a woman
screams.
No, not this, not Ingrid. He can’t have shot Ingrid.
Another cry mingles with the first, harsher and deeper, except Ada can’t see around him, can’t see who was shot, can see only
Dietrich as he staggers with something crimson pouring from his neck and shoulder—blood. She shoves him away, breaking his
hold and sucking in painful breaths, yet his eyes never leave hers, bright and furious as he lunges toward her, teeters, collapses.
His head strikes the coffee table with a dull thud. Then he sprawls across the floor and lies still, blood seeping from his
head and shoulder and trickling from the old scar.
Within every performance lies rawness and truth—honest, emotional, uninhibited. And when it concludes, the lines between reality
and performance blur, too real and overwhelming to separate when both exist fully within the performer. Now, as Ada’s ears
ring and she stares at Dietrich’s limp form, she can’t distinguish which is which.
He fired. She heard him fire the gun while Ingrid was rushing to help Ada, to save her rather than herself. He did not shoot
Ada, so he must have shot Ingrid, yet the weapon has disappeared from his clutches.
“Don’t move, Mother.”
At Ingrid’s command, a wave of lightheadedness crashes over Ada. That voice, strong and assured and not in pain. She looks to her sister—unharmed, standing with the gun she apparently snatched from Dietrich during Ada’s efforts to distract him, pointing it at Mother.
“Girls, what have you done?”
Neither acknowledges Mother’s cry. Ingrid’s chest heaves as she holds the weapon level while Ada kneels by Dietrich—unmoving,
surrounded by blood. Bile rises to her throat as she presses her fingers to his neck. There will be a pulse, must be; they
can’t have gone through all this to end with a body. He’s got a trial to withstand.
Centimeters from the scar, she finds a faint thrum.
“He’s alive.”
Amid Mother’s relieved breath, Ingrid’s knuckles remain white as she grips the pistol. “Do you realize what he’s done? To
so many during the war, to Aleida, to me? Or do you simply not care, you heartless, wretched—”
“Inge, look at me.”
The gentle prompting silences her, breaks the trance; she blinks and obeys, her eyes glassy, her hands shaking. Ada touches
Ingrid’s forearm, guiding her as, together, they slowly lower the gun.
“You’re certain I . . . I didn’t . . . ?” Ingrid looks at Dietrich, supplying the unspoken.
Before Ada can reply, the door bursts open and three men enter—first Gordon, then Lars, then Archie Stribling, of all people.
Perhaps the little robin relayed the messages it overheard in this room, after all.
“I’ll take it from here.” Archie gestures to Mother, who responds with a fierce scowl. “Mrs. De Vos, if you would—”
“This is between me and my children, and this is all a misunderstanding.” Then her voice is high, shrill. “Please, my girls,
my darling, beautiful girls—”
“Enough!” When Constance closes her mouth, eyes bright with sudden, imploring tears, Ada doesn’t flinch. “No more, Mother. Not now or ever.”
Ada vaguely senses Gordon’s gentle touch on her forearm while Lars steps to Ingrid’s side, yet she keeps her eyes forward,
as does Ingrid, on Constance. The woman who might have been everything Ada always wanted in a parent, if she had ever cared
enough to try.
As suddenly as her tears nearly spill, Mother clears her throat and draws herself up. Her stony gaze shifts between her daughters
and Dietrich before she ignores Archie entirely and exits the room. Gordon quickly pursues her, leaving Lars and Archie to
contend with Dietrich’s bloody, unconscious form, which they heft between them and drag out. Then the library is empty of
all except endless worlds contained within the pages lining the shelves, two sisters, and the secrets they have carried for
so long. A burden now imparted on this room, hidden among the figurines, tomes, and drops of blood.
Lamplight falls across a floor bruised with bloodstains while the distant sounds of music and laughter settle the thudding
of Ada’s heart. If anyone heard the gunshot, Ada will have to explain it somehow. Perhaps she will give the simplest explanation
of all: the truth. Beside her, Ingrid’s breaths remain shallow.
“Honestly, Inge, you bugged my bird?”
She lets out a faint laugh. “And I’m not going to apologize. That little fellow was just the help we needed.”
Indeed it was. Ada finds the figurine on the floor where she must have dropped it and picks it up—intact, with the wire inside
still in place. Quite a resilient little thing.
When Ada takes Ingrid’s hand, the remaining tremble she finds there eases slightly. Then Ada pulls her close, their breaths
sharpening in unison as they cling to one another. Dear, infuriating, brilliant Ingrid. The sister she lost once and will
never lose again.
When they release each other, Ada nods to the door.
“Shall we?”
She still has a party to host.
By the time Ada and Ingrid step onto the motor court, Mother and Dietrich are already inside the black car. Out of sight.
Still, something in Ada won’t settle until she glimpses them for herself. She steps closer, as does Ingrid, whose tight jaw
mirrors Ada’s. When they can make out the two silhouettes of Mother and Dietrich, the turmoil inside Ada settles a little,
despite the feelings swirling inside her and the strangeness of this night. While Lars stands guard over the vehicle, Archie
leads Ada and Ingrid a few steps away.
“I’ve got an FBI contact waiting to hear from me, so I’ll transfer them,” he says.
“How did you and Lars know to help?” Ada asks. “Did Gordon give you my message?”
“He did, confirming my suspicions that something was wrong.” Archie glances at the two shadowy figures in the back seat. “Early
in our investigation, Agent Stieber gave me a sealed message with instructions to plant it at the Star Society party—a test
for Ingrid, he said, to see how she dealt with your reaction since this was her first assignment. I thought nothing of it
until after your trial when Ingrid warned me about Stieber. Then today he told me he needed to question her.”
A chill overtakes Ada. Dietrich really was behind the messages all along. Never Mother.
Archie looks to Ingrid. “I couldn’t defy orders without him getting suspicious, but I had no intention of leaving you with him.
I told Lars, and he told me what you said about Gordon’s house and listening, so we assumed that meant you had planted a listening device.
We followed you to the house, then Gordon took us upstairs to use our equipment privately to record your conversation. ”
Quite similar to the plan Ada had hoped to devise, if she and Ingrid would have had time to discuss it. Despite ignoring her
ever since the trial, somehow Ingrid hadn’t lost her willingness to help with the war crimes case. They made each other a
promise, after all.
“Listen carefully, because you will never hear these words from me again.” Ingrid’s teasing smile fades as she extends a hand
to Archie. “Thank you.”
“God, that was painful for you, wasn’t it?” He smirks as he clasps her hand. “I’m sure our paths will cross again, so until
then, don’t let anyone aggravate you too much. That’s my job—and you’re actually not so bad at yours.”
She flashes an appreciative smile. “I do hope that was painful for you.”
“Agony.”
After nodding to Ada, Archie returns to the car. She stays with Ingrid, watching him go. Taking their mother with him. Heaviness
settles in Ada’s chest while Lars insists on cleaning the library himself, so she and Ingrid proceed to the backyard until
they stand far from the pool, the entertainment, the noise. Neither speaks as they stare at the night sky, dark aside from
a sliver of moonlight.
“Why did you not allow me to speak with you these last months?” Ingrid asks softly.
“Not allow you? No one tried. I never received a call, word of your efforts, nothing from anyone except—” The words stop in
Ada’s throat. “Except Mother.”
The mother who confiscated Ingrid’s letters to keep her daughters apart. The mother with a powerful FBI contact who likely
held the ability to set boundaries and restrictions for Ada Worthington-Fox.
“Except Mother,” Ingrid repeats, the words bitter. And yet, like Ada, she resigns herself to the understanding they have come to know too well.
Perhaps Ada should feel something more. More shock, more guilt, more anger, more than this odd emptiness that has overtaken
her. Constance will be held accountable for her role in Dietrich’s war crimes, yet she is still their mother. Then again,
she is not. A mother in name does not a true mother make.
When she feels a gentle hand on her cheek, brushing away the moisture she didn’t realize was there, she sighs unsteadily.