15I wanted to apologize for my previous Chapter 9. I have no idea how it ended up like that and I'm truly sorry! I've retyped it and have gone over it extra carefully to make sure it doesn't happen again. I hope you enjoy this chapter and once again I apologize for what happened.
My fingers hesitated over the envelope. It took me three days to finally build up enough courage to decide to even read these letters. I was told that the letter given to me by the German was a ploy. It wasn't written by Callan at all, but curiosity was eating at me as I sat on my bed glancing back between both. My name was written on both envelopes and you can tell they weren't written by the same person. The second envelope I was given, Callan's, his cursive was less domineering and soft, but bold. The other one was very angry and dark. My name was written swiftly, but by a powerful hand. I picked that one up letting my fingers pry at the opening again. This time however, I opened it and pulled out the crisp sheet.
'Imogen,
I know we haven't spoke in a while. That's mainly my fault.
If you can. Please, meet me at the theater. 8:30. I'll be in the third row.
Callan Ritter.'
It was so impersonal and written in German. It lacked the emotion we had for each other. I couldn't help, but wonder if I didn't know what I knew now would I have read this letter and thought it was Callan? Would I have went to the theatre? I couldn't dwell on the what ifs, so I set it aside and turned my attention back to Callan's actual letter. There were more pages in this one. It was thicker and my heart fluttered as I opened it. There were two pages. They were creased and dirty. He obviously held onto them for awhile before I was given them. The date was from two weeks ago. I stared at the French cursive. He has been studying.
'Love,
By now you've heard what the Frenchman, Pierre is his name, had to say. I know it's a lot to take in. I'll start from the beginning. My duties as an Officer were being held highly and I was respected. I'm not sure when I started noticing it, but men would show up and watch me. Wherever I went there would be a soldier or a Frenchman I've seen before.
That day, the day you had me give Martin the blanket and I had said that I was worried someone might see me, was because I felt eyes on the back of my head. My men know not to cross me, they've seen me angry. Tension were high at the Hotel and have been for awhile. I'm being second guessed and questioned on every decision I make now.
Just when I thought nothing else worse could happen it does. My father arrived days ago. I hadn't seen him in three years. Like I said we haven't laid eyes on each other in years, but in a five minute phone call he stated he was very upset when I was transferred here form the Camp. That was over five months ago and until now, our only form of communication. For him to show up now and express his gratitude for my position, caused suspicion.
Nothing I ever did amounted to a good job from him. He's the reason I'm an SS Officer. I did this all for him. Even now after all I've accomplished he's made up his mind about me being a daisy compared to his actions and what he's heard of others. He's scattered dozen of spies all over Paris.
That man, Micheal, the one who attacked you was a French spy offered solstice by men working for my father. He was sent to break you and I guess when he realized it wasn't going to happen his way he asked about me. That fight- I wasn't fighting for my life, but for your dignity. That man stripped you of your happiness the minute he touched you and I don't regret killing him- even if it was in a gruesome manner.
I quickly flipped to the second page my eyes skimming the page. I only had a page left. It was so many words and I read them slowly.
'I guess in some ways I am like my father. He has a rage inside of him so dark that I can see it in his eyes when he speaks to me, and that day I felt it inside of me. Imogen, my father knows how I feel about you and is not afraid to use you against me- you've experienced that firsthand. Don't bring attention to yourself. Act like you know about none of this and maybe I can get back to you in a few weeks if, I'm lucky.
He thinks you're just a normal French woman whose whored her way into my words, obviously. I'm going to let him keep thinking that because that is what's keeping you from death. He doesn't know your father was American. When he asked about you I lied and said that you're father was French.
I know no one really knows of your origin, but please, for me keep it to yourself. I know you're not going to blurt it out randomly. I had thought I was doing fine. I was using my position to show power. I have done some awful things. You may think you know me, but you only know me as a man, not as a Nazi. The difference is immense and soon I'll have to leave the man behind and take on the role of the Nazi fully. I have to become more like my father if I am to keep you alive and help your people. It's the only way to get him off my back. Off of our backs.
I came here to entice fear into the people, have them cower at our feet like we were Hitler himself, but that all changed the moment I realized that you were important to me. In a way you're at fault here-for my change of heart. My loyalties have been shaken all thanks to you. I'm not sure If I had told you this, but I had tried to figure out how to get into that bakery for months. I know I could have just walked in. We Germans can clear a room, but I didn't want to do that. I didn't want that to be your first impression of me. My way of doing it, bringing my men, was very pathetic. It got your attention, though. Everything was fine until I saw you in the market and you stole my heart with that kiss in my room.
I'm not sure how much longer I can keep away, but that's not up to me. My father has joined our ranks for the time being. I wrote this under close watch and was barely able to smuggle it to Pierre. It may be awhile until I get another letter to you. Don't write to me, my father will most likely be on the look out for your letters.
I am scared. Not for my well being, but that the last time we saw each other may actually become the last time ever. My father has always been cold to me, even when I was a six year old boy that broke mothers favorite china on accident. I still have the scars of the belt. I know I was angry and acted out. I should have stayed and helped you through your issues, but it was causing too much of my own problems to bubble to the surface-when you threw that cup at me I had flash backs to my child hood. He is a very cold man. I often wonder if that is what attracted my mother to him. Was it his calculating gaze or his harsh words? Mother claims he is a good man and maybe at one point he was, but the man I know never was.
I hope to see you again. If you don't hear from me don't panic. If I am dead or just gone Pierre will tell you. Please, don't go looking for answers yourself.
I love you.
Callan'
His name was written beautifully even if the last few paragraphs were wobbly with haste. He must have written this letter on different occasions because his train of thought is a bit jumpy. I traced my fingers over the indented words. A tear splashed onto the page. Blurring the 'r' in his last name. I wiped my tears and held the pages to my chest, falling back on my bed. The bakery was closed for the night and I was glad I wasn't opening until noon tomorrow. I was suddenly so tired. I let my eyes flutter shut, Callan's words repeating in my mind.
I love you.
"Ms. Gallagher," The voice was deep and full of power. It sent cold shivers down my spine. I turned to see an older man with two other officers. The man before me had a harsh tight face. His lips were thin, his nose sharp and his jaw was square and broad. My eyes flittered to the medals and pins against his chest. Their dark uniforms were casting shadows across the only few patrons I had in the store. I glanced around to them as they looked around frantically, they had no idea how to react.
The young couple that were scoping out the cakes to the right of me were frozen in place, but I watched the male hold the woman close to him as they kept their eyes glued to the glass they were peering through.
"Ms. Gallagher," His voice was sharp and irritated and I realized that I had not addressed him.
"Yes?"
It was then that I noticed his eyes and the resemblance. His eyes were the same blue, just accompanied by a few wrinkles and slight bags under them. His cover was held in his hand. His shoulders rolled back, his chest jutted out. His fingers slowly spun the brim of his hat in his hands as he watched me. Like father like son in that aspect. My eyes roamed his face. Their hair was the same shade of beautiful honey. It was streaked with grey along his temples. If I took away the signs of age I would be looking at a slightly altered version of Callan.
"I heard that this is the best Bakery in Paris. That opinion is biased, but I am willing to test it," His eyes slithered over the treats in the glass counter before they snapped back up to me,"Show me only the best, Ms. Gallagher,"
I was stunned at his dominance over me and how effortless his demanding tone was. This man has only been in my presence for less than five minutes and I was already panicking. Callan's words of warning echoed in my head as I nodded and silently did as told. I managed to pull off the lid to the German cake I had made this morning, without giving away my cool exterior. My fingers hadn't deceived me.
Next I pulled out the sugar cookies and the Schnecken labeled 'Schnecke' from behind the glass. I set them on top of the counter aware of his gaze taking in all my movements.
"This is what everyone has been bragging about?" He asked eying the Schnecken before his eyes moved to the cake.
I nodded.
"Open your mouth with a reply. Don't nod your head at me, girl,"
Anger welled up in me and I had to push it down with a tense smile,"Yes, These are everyone's favorites," I said through clenched teeth.
He simply nodded and demanded that he sample them all. As I set out a plate for the cake he took his finger and scraped it across the surface. The icing bunched into a massive glob against his finger and he eyed it for a moment before slapping it against his tongue. His men and I watched with silent anticipation. You couldn't read his face- it was void of all emotion. He had no tell. No wide eyes or quiver of a smile. Nothing.
He pulled his finger out and one of his men handed him his handkerchief. He wiped his finger and looked me in the eyes.
"The icing lacks what I hope the cake itself can make up for," As if that was my cue to cut the cake he waved his hand at me.
After I set out a fork for him and handed him the plate he watched me for a moment.
"You are scared of me," He said.
I only had a chance to suck in a breath before he was speaking to me again.
"But not of my son?" His eyebrow went up as he slipped the fork and small piece of cake past his white straight teeth.
My voice bubbled up into my throat and past parted lips,"No." I bitterly stated.
He finished chewing and swallowed, setting the plate down and taking a bite of the sugar cookie. As he finished the smallest bite I have ever seen taken he turned his attention to the Schnecken. He eyed them distastefully and didn't bother picking one up he just slid the plate away. He wiped the crumbs from his fingers and turned to me.
"Shame,"
I prepared to offer him something else, but his voice next words shot me down.
"It seems like the icing between your legs isn't the only thing keep my sons attention,"
And with that Callan's father turned on his heel and strutted out of my store as if he had won a battle. He had insulted me and complimented me in the same sentence. What was with all the bakery jokes and their double meanings? I scoffed aloud at the thought. The couple that was standing next to him glanced at me and left the store. I then noticed that I was alone. Everyone was gone.
I was alone and insulted.
I was stuck in my spot, my mind mulling over his words. I now can see why Callan was so afraid of his father. That man was a monster. A cold heartless man. The finger drag in my cakes icing glared back at me.
"Is he gone?" Martin quipped as he poked his head out from the back room.
"Yes," I answered looking at him,"Thanks for leaving me to fend for myself," I shot back picking up the cake platter I opened the trash bin and tossed it in. It crashed heavily against the can and the cookies followed. Martin spoke up when I went to dump the Schnecken.
"He looked at them. Criticized them. They've been contaminated with his hate, Martin," I snapped sliding them into the trash. I set the plate on the shelf and pulled out the bag, tying it off and shoving past Martin who watched me sadly. I glared at him and quickly hurried to the back. I crashed through the back door, it banged against the brick and I made haste towards the large metal trash can. I dropped the bag inside. It hit the bottom with a dull thud and my arms grabbed the cold rim as I emptied my lunch.
I wiped my mouth on the bottom of my apron clutching it tightly into my fist as I stumbled back into the brick wall. My emotions came to a boil and I sobbed. My cries breaking in the slight wind as I slipped down the wall, the brick scraping against my thin blouse. I tucked my knees up against my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I sobbed into the hem of my skirt.
"Imogen?" Martin asked in the doorway.
I wiped at my face and stood up,"Sorry, you need me?" I asked.
"No, I was just coming to check on you," He offered a hand to my back as I moved past him into the store.
"Thank you," I smiled weakly at him and he followed me into the store.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just shaken,"
"Who was that?" He asked gesturing to the door.
"That was Callan's father," I told him.
Martin nodded, his lips pursed,"And you're not scared of Callan?"
I frowned,"No,"
His expression seemed to indicate that my answer was the wrong answer.
"What is it, Martin? What are you not telling me?" I demanded my hands clenching into fist.
"I don't know if I should tell you this," He started. I could tell he was fighting with himself on whether or not he should continue.
I squinted at him and took a step closer to him,"Spit it out, Martin!"
"Today in the square an argument broke out. Oscar, you know him, right?" He asked. I did know him. He used to help out at the dress shop before the owner was taken away and it was shut down,"He picked a fight with an Officer. Oscar claimed that the Germans-these Nazis needed to be stepped too, that this wasn't going to last forever. He's right- it's almost the end of the year. How much longer can they stay here?" Martin asked.
"Martin, tell me what happened,"
"Oscar landed a punch, but the Officer pushed him back and pulled out his pistol. He didn't even wait a second to look Oscar in the eye before he shot him. Oscar was killed instantly. The bullet hit him right in the heart. Then they just walked away after spitting on the body and ordering for someone to clean it up,"
I knew who the officer was, but I need to hear him say it.
"Martin, who was it? Who shot Oscar,"
"It was Callan,"
That night I didn't sleep very well. My nightmares were keeping me awake, so I had wandered down to the store. My tongue wanting something sweet. I tied my robe around me and pulled out a stool my gaze falling on the smaller German cake I had baked. I should have just given him that one. I turned and reached for the drawer holding the forks. I set it atop the counter and pulled the cake platter from its spot and set it on the counter.
I stabbed at the cake and smiled at the hefty piece I had gathered. I quickly set the sweet cake on my tongue. My mouth exploded with beautiful taste. It was bitter from the chocolate icing, but so rich and creamy. I hadn't eaten my own baking in a really long time. Not satisfied and suddenly so hungry I began to eat the cake as if I have never tasted anything so rich in my entire life.
I don't know how, but I finished the cake. My fork hit the glass and I realized there was no more. It was gone. Never coming back.
Then the tears started and my body began to shake.
Callan was gone.
He was not the man I knew.
He warned me of this.
You may think you know me, but you only know me as a man not as a Nazi. The difference is immense and soon I'll have to leave the man behind and take on the role of the Nazi fully. I have to become more like my father if I am to keep you alive and help your people.
He said he'd have to do horrendous things to throw his father off and keep him away from us, but am I truly ready to know what they are? I know I'll find out. Whatever the German's do it's always passed around. Everyone knows about it minutes after it happens. And everyone knows we're together so I'm bound to find out. The bigger question is: Am I ready to accept the person he's making himself be?
Even if it's to protect me?