Emil’s hands have stilled, recognizing the sound of me arming his Luger. “Do you intend to shoot—” I push the barrel against his ribs. The trigger clicks as I pull it, but nothing happens. It doesn’t fire. My eyes leave his as I fumble with the toggle once more. It’s in the up position, indicating that there are no bullets in the magazine. I cock the toggle anyway and try to fire the pistol. Again, nothing happens, except that the toggle springs back to the up position once more. I lift my eyes to Emil’s. He’s amused.
“We’re running low on ammunition. I gave my cartridges to Axel so he could dispose of the staff. I am, as you see, out of bullets.” I can’t seem to swallow. I stare into his cold, blue eyes. “I thought you loved me, Simone.”
“I don’t,” I hear myself whisper. “I hate you.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. Not even close.”
The violent crack of his backhand across my cheek sends me toppling from the bench. Landing hard on the floor, I pull my heels up to me so that I have a better chance of rising fast. His Luger flies from my hand, spinning to a halt underneath a table.
“Pity,” Emil says. “I love you. You’re dear to me.”
My palm cups my throbbing cheek as I look up at him. “You love to torture me. It isn’t the same thing.”
He rises from the bench, towering over me. “It is to me.” He lifts his cane from against the side of the piano. The silver wolf head shines in the light from the window. “You’ve grown rebellious. Why is that? It’s as if something has given you hope. Is that it? Do you hope, Simone? Do you believe you will be liberated by my enemies?”
I don’t answer. I’m afraid that he’ll see the truth on my face though. I did hope. I placed my hope in a British soldier who has abandoned me. I rise to my feet with my hand on the nearby table. Backing away from him, he watches me move. My clumsy hand stumbles over the table, knocking over the kerosene lamp, breaking the top of it off. Emil’s eyes go to the growing stain of liquid as it pours out. I retreat from it, my feet walking backward toward the doors to the hallway. Emil goes to the table, catching up the broken bottom of the lamp. He looks in my direction. Flicking his hand at me, the oil from the lamp soaks the front of my dress, splashing onto my face and arms. I close my eyes, trying to avoid getting it in them. Blurrily, I try to wipe it from my face with the back of my sleeve.
“Do you hope, Simone? Do you pray to be rescued? Do you wish for someone to take you from me, now that we are in retreat? Do you believe that I will ever let you go?” He sets the broken lamp back on the table. A matchbox rests next to his hand. Running his fingers over it, he snatches it up. Blood drains from my face as he opens it and withdraws a matchstick. With trembling knees, I force my feet to move.
Driven by terror of the madman behind me, I stumble into a chair, toppling it over. I put my hands out, trying to feel my way across the room while my red-rimmed eyes burn with tears. Managing to find the doors, I fling them wide. The hallway is quiet. Empty. My hands go to the plaster wall and follow it to the kitchen. The scraping sound of a dragged foot follows me as I cross the stone floor. I fumble for the latch of the back door, finding it I fling it open. Leaning heavily on the railing, I descend the stone steps that lead to the cobbled drive.
The hazy shapes of soldiers crowd around at the end of the drive, loading the rest of their belongings into trucks in preparation of the evacuation. I avoid them, switching direction toward the carriage house. The wooden sliding door looms ahead. I hear Emil following me. In desperation, I throw all of my weight into the task of rolling the wooden door open on its glide. A diagonal sliver of light cuts the darkness inside. The space has been cleaned out. There are only a few bales of straw in the loft above. The cobblestone ground is dank beneath my feet. A blackbird flies onto the beam of the high ceiling. Rushing in, I roll the door closed. I try to throw the bolt, but Emil opens the door from without. He calls to his men outside, telling the soldiers to go on to the next location without him—he’ll catch up with them. Truck engines rev and softly fade as his men depart.
I pant in fear, but stand my ground. There’s no point in retreating further. There’s nowhere left to go. Emil slides the door closed behind us. Light from a window near the gables is plenty to see by, but Emil strikes a match anyway. He opens the glass of the wall sconce and touches the fire to it. It flames to life.
He looks down his nose at me, as if I’m some sort of insect he has to dispose of before I infest the world. His lower lip pushes up, curving his mouth down. “Simone, I’m very disappointed in you. You not only tried to kill me, you ran from me.”
“You’re not disappointed. You’re offended. You believe I should love you.”
“You should love me!” he snarls. “I’ve labored to mold and shape you into the perfect woman. You should thank me!”
“I should kill you,” I don’t even try to keep the venom from my voice.
“You haven’t the strength to kill me. I own you.”