Eli was aware of the danger he was in and yet he wasn't scared. But it wasn't bravery. One time Lotte had called him brave for leading The Pink Order in the way they had before the Dolphi and Tig incident. He'd laughed and reminded her she was supposed to be the smart one. She should have remembered he'd never been brave. He cried at almost everything and was so emotionally unstable a stubbed toe could set him off. He didn't like to catch the spiders and whenever there was one in the house he'd get Peter to catch it. When Peter disappeared he'd just let them stay in the house and skirt around them when he had to pass them in the hallway. Then when he'd moved in with Lotte and Evelin he was safe again because Lotte caught them in her bare hands without a second thought. He'd realised then maybe Peter's attempts hadn't been as impressive as he'd once considered them. Maybe a grown man screaming at a tiny little creature as he slid a piece of paper under a cup wasn't the epitome of courage after all.
Eli didn't consider himself brave. That definitely wasn't it. He handed out those leaflets out of desperation for a change when he still had hope Peter could be alive and out there somewhere and if they were able to get some more people on their side they could campaign to get him back. Not only was he a coward, he was also an idiot. Something like that could never happen. Nothing ever went that well. If anything now, he was numb. He was tired. He'd had enough of waiting for death and was ready to face it now.
In this world, he'd already accomplished everything he ever could in his life if this was how it continued. What else could he do other than keep hiding until the war was over? And even then, what if Germany won? It'd be a lifetime of hiding and waiting to die. At 29 years old, he'd already accomplished everything he ever would.
When did he stop living and start only surviving? Was it when Peter disappeared? No. That had destroyed him and for a long time he thought he'd never recover but he had. He'd kept living even without him and even though it hurt. It hurt everyday for so so long but he hadn't given up then. Maybe he should have. It would have saved a whole lot of pain. But he moved on as best as he could and continued living. He tried to make a difference and failed, getting three more of his friends killed in the process. It was probably after that. Everything seemed so hopeless. Nothing had ever worked out the way it was supposed to. Everything had gone wrong.
He remembered when he was little and had faith. When his mama would teach him everything her family had taught her about their religion. Her family had been pretty orthodox but she'd stopped practicing a lot due to Eli's father. He was Christian and didn't approve. But she was determined to teach Eli and he'd quickly become invested. He loved learning about the traditions but more so he loved having time to be exclusively with his mama. They'd celebrate Shabbat together while his dad would leave and usually go to the bar or a friends house for most of the day. But he'd be there on Friday when Rachel and Eli were rushing around to get prepared before nightfall on the first time they'd decided to acknowledge the holy day. He'd scoffed at Rachel taking a day off work when money was as low as it was, even though it was his fault they had none in the first place. But then he'd be out on Saturday, at least during the evenings if not all day, and it could just be the two of them.
It was a special memory that Eli never wanted to forget. He still remembered sitting on the raggedy old sofa on Friday with his elbows resting on the arm, propping his head up as he watched his mama light the candles as the sky outside began to turn a rusty shade of orange. He remembered how the flame lit up her tired face and he could see how beautiful she was when she was relaxed and happy. For over a decade, all he ever saw was the run down and tired woman who was forced to snivel and obey the man she clearly didn't love and it didn't suit her. She always seemed distant and lost but with the flickering candles in front of her as the sun slowly set, she was truly beautiful.
It was hard to believe in any of that stuff anymore but Eli was still desperately clinging to the last threads of their religion because he still wanted to hope that someone was looking out for them. He wanted to know there was still a chance everything wrong could be righted if God wished it to. He felt alone. He felt completely and utterly helpless and alone and the idea that this was all meant to happen for a reason, that he was part of something, was the only thing that really made him feel anything anymore. If he didn't have that, he had nothing. Everyday had been like the last and when things changed, they only got worse.
And now he was staring death in the face and he wasn't scared. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe this was what God intended all this time and he should have been dead a long time ago. He wished Peter hadn't come to find him on that night all those years ago. It would have saved so much trouble. He'd be dead and buried in the ground and Peter would be alive. Peter would be happy too. Sure, he'd probably mourn for a few months but then he'd get over Eli's death and move on. He'd find another man, or maybe even a woman. Maybe that would be better. He could get a wife and settle down with kids, and he'd never have to worry about being targeted by the government. He'd never be taken away and never heard from again.
It had been seven years since Peter disappeared and Eli still blamed himself for it everyday. If he hadn't been in the picture, Peter would have lived a normal life. If Eli hadn't told him he was bent, he probably would never have told anyone he felt the same way and he'd be so much better off for it. Most importantly, he'd be alive.
But it didn't happen like that. Eli was still alive, and Peter was dead. Soon Eli would be too, the cold barrel of the gun pressed into his long hair a chilling reminder. He looked up, finally focusing his eyes and listening to what was going on around him. Opposite him, another officer was kneeling in front of Heidi and holding her shoulder tightly. She was crying, tears dripping off her round, childish face and dripping onto the stone floor of the pantry. She was shaking her head as the officer screamed questions in her face, gasping and hiccupping as she tried to answer between sobs.
"No, no I don't kn-kn-know them, plea...please..."
"This Jew is not your brother?"
"Nnn-no, no, he's not my b-brother. My brothers are upstairs. Where's my mama? Please let me go!"
The officers grip didn't loosen but he looked up at another uniformed man standing in the hall who was holding a baton and leaning against the doorframe to the pantry.
"Go find the rest of the Printz family. Find their papers," the one in charge said and the other obeyed. When he left, another officer took his place. From what Eli could gather, there were five of them; the one behind Eli who was keeping him on his knees with a gun to his head, the one who'd gone to get Heidi's brothers and sister, another who went with him for backup, the one in charge and a final one standing next to him, a rifle in hand.
Eli had been waiting for something like this to happen but now that it was playing out in front of him, it was so much worse than imagined. He didn't like Heidi but her fear sent a sick feeling to his stomach. He didn't want to watch the SS execute a child in front of him. Surely they wouldn't punish her that severely? It wasn't her choice to hide Eli and Rachel in the house, surely they wouldn't imprison or kill a teenage girl for her mother's decisions? To be honest, he had no idea what would happen to Heidi or the rest of Peter's younger siblings. He didn't think they'd be shown much mercy if his past experiences with the Nazis were anything to go off.
"Go up the stairs," the one in charge said, pointing the officer beside him to go up the narrow stairway where Eli and Heidi had fell from.
Eli's eyes widened and he tried to move forward, only to be grabbed by the collar and pulled back, then pushed onto the ground so his chest was against the floor. He groaned and turned his head to the side, staring at the skirting board, feeling the pressure of a boot on his back, pushing him firmly into the floor so he couldn't get back up even if he tried. He couldn't see behind him where the stairs were so he couldn't see them dragging his mother down the stairs but he could hear the loud scuffling as she struggled to get free.
"Eli? Did they hurt you? Are you alright?" She asked as she fell to her knees beside him.
"I'm fine, mum, I'm okay," he choked out, the air forced from his lungs by the pressure on his chest.
"Shut up," the one with the rifle said, hitting Rachel in the back of the head with the side of the gun. She moaned quietly in pain and didn't try to speak to Eli again. It was clear these officers wouldn't hesitate to seriously hurt them if they spoke or acted out of line. They were in serious trouble and she wouldn't jeopardise her son's safety for some witty or stupid comment she could make. She was too smart for that.
They were both quiet as the leading officer approached them, his triumphant smile plastered on like a mask. Did he really get joy out of doing this or was it just what he'd been told to feel?
"I used to have a much easier time rounding up Jews and sending them away where they belong," he said, pacing in front of them. "Maybe because we're succeeding. The Fuhrer's plan to wipe out your disgusting race is working as we all knew it would, and by the time Germany wins this war, the Jew will be completely eradicated from the Fatherland, just as it should be.
"This is pathetic," he said, stopping and bending down slightly to grab Rachel by her long curly hair and yanking her head back, "hiding in the walls like rats. Like vermin," he spat.
Eli closed his eyes and just tried to block out his words, focusing on the thought that if he died, he'd maybe see Peter again and that was better than anything that awaited him on earth. He just wanted this to stop. It would be less painful to get it over with now. Please. Please. Please.
"Take then to the car outside. It's getting dark and my wife will start screaming bloody murder if I'm late again."
There was a scuffle in the hall as Eli and Rachel were both pulled up to their feet. Brigitte seemed to have gained consciousness after they knocked her out when getting into the house. She was trying to get into the pantry, pushing back against the guard who was trying to hold her back.
"Get your hands off me! Let me past, please!" She cried. "Where are my children? Where have you taken them?"
"Arrest her," the one in charge said simply, not even looking up at the woman screaming in the doorway.
"Where are they?!" They were putting her in handcuffs and she was glaring darkly at the officer as she demanded knowledge on Heidi and her siblings. She was so different from the reserved and strict woman Eli had known as a teenager. Time and the war had changed her, made her more desperate and opened her eyes to the real world. Eli had a lot more respect for her than he had back then. She still wasn't his favourite person in the world but she'd put her life in danger to hide them for two years, and his mother had been best friends with Brigitte in school; he trusted her judgment.
"Outside in the car, waiting to be taken to the orphanage, Miss Printz. Now shut your whore mouth if you know what's good for you."
"Paske, please," she said, addressing him by what Eli assumed was his actual name. "Please can you just forgot you ever saw this. Let my friends and my children go, you used to be a friend too. You weren't much older than my Peter, used to come around for dinner when you were little. My husband loved you like a son."
Paske turned slowly to stare at her, his expression cold and remorseless.
"Your husband isn't here anymore though, is he? I don't think you're fit to be a mother, Miss Printz and you don't deserve to look after your poor vulnerable children. A spinster, clearly insane since you choose to help these Jews like you have, it's not sensible for you to care for them anymore. Even if you get away with no jail time for harbouring the Jews, I doubt you'll get custody again. You brought this upon yourself, Brigitte."
Brigitte screamed and lunged for Paske despite the fact she was handcuffed. There was a loud gunshot and before Eli had even realised what was going on Brigitte was on the floor, clutching at her stomach as blood pooled on the ground.
"No!" Rachel cried, dropping back to her knees and reaching for her friend, her bony fingers shaking. "Brigitte..." she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Brigitte's arm twitched but she grabbed Rachel's hand, her whole palm soaked in dark blood that dripped and trickled down their arms like a rope binding them together as Rachel gripped Brigitte like if she held her tight enough, maybe her life wouldn't slip away.
Eli could do nothing but stare blankly, rocking back and forward slightly, eye glazed over and unfocused. The gunshot echoed in his brain, replaying over and over again until it was the only thing he could hear other than a woman's quiet sobs.
"Where are your papers?"
"On the table upstairs."
He didn't even realise the words had been his until after he said them and recognised the voice speaking in a strange, disjointed way.
"Rachel, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't help you sooner," Brigitte whispered weakly. "I should have done more. I should have never stopped talking to you like I did but I was scared, scared of what would happen if I was seen with you."
"It's okay, it really is," Rachel said, shaking her head. "You've made up for that. You kept us alive these past years. This was inevitable, it wasn't your fault. They were always going to find us eventually."
"Eli..."
Eli jolted into focus when she said his name, so soft he could barely hear her.
"You and Peter deserved each other. I wish he wasn't queer but I can't change that. I thought keeping him away from you would keep him out of trouble but I was wrong. He'd always get into scrapes and I couldn't change that at any point in his life, and I'm glad that out of everyone, it was you. I'm sorry."
"I-it's...it's okay," Eli said with a small nod of affirmation, his mind too foggy to think too much about what Brigitte was telling him.
The officer who'd been to get their papers came back and they were immediately moving them on, leaving Brigitte on the ground to bleed out. Rachel protested but calmed when she realised it was futile and if she continued, she'd meet the same fate.
The rest of the house seemed to incredibly foreign and unknown as they were lead down the corridor where the old paintings still hung on the wall and the lampshade hung a bit too low so anyone tall would bump their head on it. Eli looked around and saw the broken part of the banister on the stairs where he and Peter had knocked out one of the railings while going down the stairs on the sled that was usually tucked away in the shed until winter. The door to the kitchen had the scribbles near the bottom where the kids had drawn in crayon while Brigitte's back was turned as she slaved over the oven. As they passed the living room, Eli noticed the height chart marked in pen on the doorframe. All the heights were marked evenly except the ones with 'Peter' marked next to them. Those lines were wonky and sloping up and to the side. Eli smiled, certain that Peter had carefully measured his siblings' height and then had to do a shoddy job of his own since he was the oldest and the tallest.
It was the little things he noticed while being marched to his death that made Eli's chest tighten and his eyes sting. Tiny reminders of a life he barely remembered, back when things were normal.
The Printz home used to be full of life, with children running every which way and delicious smells wafting through the house, the living room kept warm by a fire. Despite the familiarities of the objects, the house was not the same. The home was gone. Peter was dead, the rest of the children were being taken away and Brigitte was dying alone down in the pantry. It was gone, every little reminder of Peter and the life he'd lived was gone.
———————————
It was surprisingly sunny out in the courtyard for such a hopeless day. The door had been left unlocked and open, the rusty hinges creaking as the slight breeze pulled the old wood planks back and forth as the hours passed. The freedom was so tempting it was painful.
The guards were gone. The whole camp had been pretty much abandoned with a few hundred prisoners left scattered between the different barracks. A few had been wandering around since it seemed like they were free to do so now. A group of young Jewish boys and a teenage Romani girl had came to say hello at one point. They'd seemed remarkably happy and Peter and Jens had been a downer on their mood so they'd left soon after. The two weren't using their apparent freedom to explore because the truth was they were both dying.
With all guards and all workers in the camp gone, there were no daily meals and they were both starving. The food was always pitiful but it just about kept them going. After years of being on the verge of starvation, it was finally happening. Peter also suspected Jens was succumbing to some kind of infection as well. The camp was hardly clean and his wrists were still rubbed raw and exposed to all the dirt and grime embedded in every surface of their barrack.
The situation was confusing but it felt like it'd been planned out by someone, somewhere. For several weeks they'd been emptying the camps of prisoners before everything just ground to a halt and the camp went silent. Only the dead and the dying were left.
"It was raining so hard yesterday," Peter said, his voice croaky and hoarse. "And look how nice it is now." As expected, Jens said nothing in response. But it was true all the same. The mud was still wet and the smell was rich and earthy, like the parks back in Berlin when it would pour with rain and he would play with his siblings and bring mud pies to his poor mother who always just wanted to go home and rest her weary feet. Looking back, Peter did feel sorry for her. He regretted how he'd treated her as a young stupid man and wished he'd left it on better terms with her. She'd done a lot for the family and although he didn't agree with everything she said or did, especially her political views, he'd grown to appreciate the amount of work that went into raising so many children and with an absent father to boot. Every afternoon she'd arranged an outing for them all so they wouldn't be cooped up inside all day, breaking vases and each other's toys, so there were many days when they'd play outside in the rain and refuse to go back inside until their soaked clothes were no longer refreshing and fun but just cold and heavy.
He missed the days when getting too cold in the rain was his only issue. When he knew he could count on a hot bath when he got back home, when his mother would splash him with water when he wouldn't sit still so she could wash and comb through his curls which would get so tangled and frizzy in the rain. Then she'd brush his hair until Peter felt like his head was going to fall off from the amount of times the hairbrush had yanked his head back. But after she'd finished, he'd feel polished up like a new penny and his curls would be light and bouncy, the light reflecting off the shining strands. The look his mother gave him when he was all clean and dressed up for church, that look of pride and satisfaction, was something he now craved so badly it hurt deep in his chest. He wanted someone to look at him like that again. Like they were happy with how he turned out. Like he was an actual person. Maybe even like they actually loved him.
"Peter," Jens croaked, stumbling over to the doorway, grabbing bedposts to push himself forward in his weak state. Peter grabbed his friend when he was close enough and supported his friend's weight. "Look over there," Jens said, his hand shaking as he pointed to just outside of the camp where the rail tracks were. There had been train carriages there for a few days now since they'd stopped putting more people inside the camp and were emptying them instead. So the trains had just been left there. There must have been some mix up because one of the remaining guards was yelling at what must have been the driver or simply another SS officer. Either way, they were screaming back and forth at each other about something, occasionally pointing at the train or the tracks where it had come from.
"Huh, that's weird," Peter muttered. He couldn't make out what they were arguing about and he knew there was no way for him to find out but he was intrigued as to why another train would be arriving if it was empty and was just going to be left to rust on the tracks. Maybe it wasn't empty. His stomach rumbled and for a second hope flooded through him at the thought that maybe it had food on it that would prevent the remaining inmates from starving. But he knew that was wishful thinking. It seemed to be that the only reason him and Jens had been left behind was because no one knew they were there, or they did and they were expected to die of their own accord. Either way, no help was coming. Things seemed completely and utterly hopeless.