Locked Away (GerIta)

Chapter 32

Ludwig walked in, clenching his jaw as patrons ran out, the single gunshot driving them out. He approached the woman cowering behind the counter.

"You couldn't hide him." He said flatly.

The man who'd delivered the fatal wound to the woman's husband stood behind him boredly.

"You knew we would find out."

"I-I married him to protect him... I cared for Walter." She cried out, unable to look at the bleeding body on the floor beside her feet.

"Marrying him may have changed his name but not his lineage. He is a Jew." Ludwig spat, slamming his fist on the counter.

"Loot this place already." The gunman muttered, growing impatient.

Ludwig glared at him before turning back to the woman. "You thought opening this café would help you blend in. Really, it just made you stick out." He reached for the leatherbound book on the counter while the gunman broke open the till, stepping right onto the dead man's hand.

"Not much." He grunted as he took the contents.

Ludwig flipped through the guestbook. "Everyone in here know your secret?" He smirked. "You're lucky we're leaving you alive."

He laughed bitterly and pulled his gun out of his holster, holding it lazily in front of the woman who tried stepping away. He continued flipping through the book amusedly and mentally noted that the gunman had stepped outside and told him to hurry back to the HQ.

Ludwig froze and his eyes locked on familiar handwriting. He blinked slowly and looked up at the woman.

"You.." He said stunned, cutting himself off. "He was here?"

"I-I don't... Who?" She asked timidly and he pointed harshly at a name written in the book.

"Brown-red hair, brown eyes. God, I don't know, five foot seven." He rushed, eyes widening as his heart raced and he felt his breathing become uneven.

"Yes, yes... He, he came in here with a woman, his friend." She answered timidly and swallowed past the lump in her throat as the German's voice rose again.

"Where is he?" He asked loudly, shakily. "Answer me."

"He left town, came for a v-visit." She cowered back as the soldier slammed his fist on the counter.

"Where did he come from? Did he tell you?" Ludwig gave her no time to answer, eyes wandering frantically. "I asked you, where did he come from!"

The shaking woman desperately searched her mind, hoping to recall every detail she could about the two friends.

"Your accents..." She had commented, and they'd replied with Italian and Hungarian but said they were visiting from Switzerland.

"Switzerland." She called out. "They were visiting from Switzerland."

Ludwig pressed a fist to his mouth and paced.

God, I... I know I sent him there but I didn't know where Vash lives I just knew he'd take care of them. His address was too risky to send over telegraph and even talk about over the telephone.

Ludwig cursed loudly and then took one last glance at the woman and the corpse on the floor before rushing out the door without an apologetic notion in mind.

~

Ludwig didn't go back, could not go back. He didn't have time to waste. They'd wonder where he was soon and start to look for him. So he ran.

He ran to the train station, knowing that was Feliciano's only option of transportation. The German stormed inside and asked the man in the ticket booth - breathlessly - where the Italian man and Hungarian woman had gone to.

"I am not allowed to give out that information due to privacy-"

Ludwig reached over and grabbed him by the collar. "Look in your goddamn record book and tell me right now."

The man nodded as onlookers backed away from the Nazi in uniform. Some children clung to their parents legs and hid their faces in their mother's skirts.

The ticket man fumbled through the book as a nervous sweat broke out on his brow, his shirt crumpled between the man's fist.

"St-Stockholm, sir." He stuttered. "Vargas and-"

"That's enough." Ludwig shoved him back down into his chair and demanded a ticket for the next train, leaving in ten minutes.

He snatched it and laid down a few bills and let him keep the change, stomping out onto the platform and pacing as he waited.

When he borded, he made sure the attendant understood very clearly that he wanted his sectioned off seat to himself, not to open the door, and not to ask any questions.

The German slammed the compartment door and sat heavily as he practically ripped off his tie, breathing shakily.

He hadn't looked back at the café, the woman, the dead man, or the swastikas staring down at him as he ran past the Paris SS Headquarters towards the train station.

He did not go back, could not go back, and never would go back. They had him now, not physically, but they'd already caught him the moment he'd stepped into Franz' office. His running away was only proof.

It was only a matter of days.

~

To be continued...