Panzerfaust

Chapter 11 - Haze

September 23th, 1944, Vértes Mountain, Kingdom of Hungary 

Her eyes drop close within a minute after she downs the rest of the glass, slumping back on the sofa where she settled with a novel after dinner. Otto picks up the book from her loose grip before it closes and puts in the bookmark before setting it aside. His fingers ghost over her wrist, counting her heart rate with his thumb. He stops when it drops below 80. She is in deep sleep.

He picks up and carries her to the bedroom, her body limp like a ragdoll's. He swallows the guilt aching at the back of his throat, carefully setting her down on the bed, arranging her body of what he thinks is comfortable, head supported by the lush pillows.

He digs into her purse first; the same colour in fine leather like the wine they drank : banknotes, heavy coins and a bunch of used up tram tickets; she has a car at her disposal, why would she use public transport if not to lurk in places she shouldn't be? He has her followed since they met; how did she managed to deceive his men he trained to follow?

The red notebook she alway had in her office comes second; it's an engagement book. Otto hastily backtracks to August when he arrived in the capital; the dinner hosted by the Madame Regent is listed. He finds meetings with him and with Eichmann, more than he expected. Maybe he should visit his comrade once they're back in Budapest. On every second Wednesday there is a word - KÚT - written in the afternoons, and nothing else. Is it an anagram? If so, what does it stand for? He scrolls to September; there are no entries of their meetings since the Opera Night; Sophia did not documented any of it.

To protect him or to protect herself?

He closes the book with disdain; what was he hoping to find? A detailed list of conspirators? Otto already knew their names, knew when and where they met. Sophia wasn't among them. He made sure he alienated her from the traitors she called family.

He looks at the pale face shielded by blonde tresses on the pillows and he recalls it resting against his shoulder as soft hands tirelessly stroked him through his panic. The voice inside him drips the poison of delinquency in his mind and Otto wants to shake her awake and beg for forgiveness. He tucks her in and leaves the room.

Sophia stirs only late afternoon, when the sun is about to duck under the horizont, casting the last rays of light on the quiet cottage. Wobbling on her feet like a newborn fawn when she tries to stand up from the duvets, Otto is by her side in a second, steadying her.

'Are you alright, Schatzie?'

'I-i don't know.' She sits back on the edge of the bed, cradling her head. 'I feel a bit funny. Maybe it's the mushrooms. My Opa would be so disappointed with me...' 

'I ate the same and I am fine, Sophie.' He takes her wrist to check her pulse once again. Too slow. Verdammt, the effect should have been worn off by now. 

'How did I fell asleep? I never nap in the afternoons. I always feel bad after it.' Her voice is unsure, waiting for him to fill out the blank canvas in her memory. 

'You were reading, then you nodded off. I carried you to bed.' Chest heaving, eyes unfocused, she is raking her brain for any other logical explanation, but comes up with nothing; she just fell asleep, that is all, isn't it?  

'Maybe a bath could help?' Otto offers and she nods her agreement; with one movement, he sweeps her into his arms, hers snake around his neck almost instinctively, as he carries her to the bathroom, setting her down on the tabouret. Otto opens the silver taps, and rushing water fills the porcelain tub quickly, blowing hot mist into the air.