CapturedbytheSS (27 page)

Looking back, I do remember him knocking me out the first
night after the initial interrogation. I know enough about Nazi procedures to
know he probably took measurements and even collected some blood that first
night while I was out. He might have even stripped and examined me. I think I’m
looking for a reason to be mad at him. But…for the life of me, I can’t find any
anger for him.

Deciding I’ll take a bath in a minute, I slip off the dress
and the shoes. I leave the red dress, the matching shoes and the red wrap on
the bed. I put away the extra dresses and shoes in his closet with his civilian
clothes.

I would jump in the tub now, but I still have one more bag
left to explore. It’s a pink pastel bag with a matching box inside. It’s
actually quite large. After opening it, I find a few scraps of transparent
fabric and lace. Lingerie. I gently dig through the large box. Hmm, lots of
lingerie.

I actually lose track of how many bras, panties and teddies
I find. I think he may have wiped out this particular store. I also find a
lovely satin robe, dyed the color of champagne, and some comfy-looking
nightgowns. I can tell everything in the box is brand new, but I smell a mild
detergent and I also find a cleaning ticket at the bottom of the box. He had
the garments laundered after purchase.

I’ve basically filled one nightstand already, so I decide to
stow the lingerie in the other nightstand. I hate to use both of them, but the
last time I checked they were both empty, though from time to time, he keeps
his black interrogation case in the top drawer. I pull open the drawers of the
other nightstand. All three are empty.

For now, I guess I’ll keep my lingerie in here unless he
says something. Since I still have to get ready for tonight, I hurriedly put
away the lacy garments. I use one drawer for panties, one for bras and one for
teddies and nightgowns. I also find some garter belts and sexy stockings, which
I put in the same drawer as the teddies.

I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be modeling some of this
later tonight. I know him well enough to conclude he’ll probably want some kind
of payment for my night out. I would pick out something for later, but I need
to get ready. I do, however, pull out a cute pair of panties for tonight. Since
it’s a formal affair, I really should wear underwear.

I don’t need a bra though since the backless dress has sewn
in cups…which also match my body suspiciously well and even create some
flattering cleavage. I can’t help but wonder just how
thoroughly
he must
have examined me that first night.

I walk around the bed to the other nightstand and then
retrieve some of the new bath products he bought me.

As I soak in the tub, I try not to think about just how much
he spent. Everything, including the makeup and the bath products, were all from
high-end stores, not to mention the dress was made by a designer…and then there
was the jewelry.

I fiddle with one of the pink and gold bottles as I
meditate. It’s the shampoo. Picking it up, I notice a partial price tag on the
bottom of the bottle. Whoever tore it off missed a large piece. It’s priced at
thirty-six credits. One German credit equals about two US dollars, give or
take, depending on how our relationship with the Reich is.

When things are a bit tense, I’ve seen it go as high as
seven dollars to one credit, which usually grinds business relations to a halt.
But the basic rate is usually about two to one. So, by current and standard
rates, this bottle of shampoo would be over seventy dollars in the US. To put
it in some perspective, I usually spend about five dollars on a bottle of shampoo.

Again, I’m not impressed with his bank balance, but
honestly, the man bought me things like nail clippers and bubble gum, not to
mention a dress for spring and even pink sandals to go with it. Since the very
beginning, there’s a part of me that’s been convinced that this is all
temporary. He’s not going to keep me. I’m not stupid. If he wanted to, he could
take me outside and shoot me! There’s not one law protecting me from anything.

Of course…I guess there weren’t any laws protecting me from
anything back home in America either. A bit bitterly, I trace the scar hidden
in my thick hair. Tears blur my vision as my fingertips press against the
healed incision.

Pulling my hand away from my head, I go back to thinking
about my relationship with my captor instead. If he was planning on killing me,
why would he buy me bubble gum or a pink dress for spring or nail clippers or
extra toothbrushes? Why would he spend thirty-six credits on a bottle of
shampoo? There’s a tiny voice that suddenly pipes up in my head.
Because
you’re special to him.

I dunk my head underwater. Nothing good can come from
foolish thoughts like that. I hurriedly finish my bath and make my mind think
straight again. It’s best to think only about the present, and right now, the
present is good. There’s no point in thinking about tomorrow.

I stand and drain the water from the tub. I smell like
flowers. I pile a towel on my head and wrap another one around me. I like the
scent of the pink and gold products he bought, so I retrieve the body splash and
the matching lotion. I splash a little of the body splash on my neck and torso
and smear some across each of my wrists.

Looking at the lotion, I realize it has a subtle sparkle to
it. I wouldn’t say it’s glittery but it has a subtle sheen to it. After squeezing
out a palmful, I coat my arms and freshly shaved legs with a thin layer. It
gives my skin a nice glow, and it smells nice. Since it’s from the same line as
the shampoo, I’m guessing the splash and the lotion were probably pricey as
well. But I don’t even look for a tag.

Admit it,
the little voice insists.
You’re special
to him, and you know it.

“No, I’m not,” I mutter.

Great. Now I’m arguing with myself. I apply some
antiperspirant to my recently shaved underarms and try to quiet my mind.

I retrieve the small mirror he bought me as well as some of
the makeup. I set the cosmetics and the mirror on the table by the window
before sitting down. I study my reflection. I look rested.

I think I’ve gotten more sleep in the last couple of weeks
than I have over my entire lifetime. Even the dark shadows that usually live
under my eyes are gone. My skin has a nice, youthful glow to it.

I don’t feel I need a lot of makeup, so I decide to mix a
few dots of liquid foundation with some facial moisturizer. I pass on the
powder and the blush.

I take my time with the eyeliner before applying a nice
bronze eye shadow. I finish my eye makeup with some mascara and then apply a
dark crimson lipstick. Again, that annoying little voice keeps asking why my
captor would buy all this if my days were truly numbered. I ignore the voice
and stow the cosmetics back in the drawer.

I hesitate about stowing the lipstick though. I’m not
certain if dinner is in my captor’s plans or not. If we eat, I’ll have to touch
up my lipstick. I’m thinking we’ll probably eat, so I tuck the lipstick in the
small, zippered pouch on the wrap.

After putting away the makeup, I retrieve the comb, the
brush and the hair dryer. I pull the towel off my head and plug the hair dryer
in. I drown my thoughts in the noise of the dryer. As I dry my hair, I make
myself think logically.

Obviously, his position pays well. I’m confused and I think
it means something because it seems as if he spent a lot on me, but it was
probably nothing to him. This is foolish to think about any long-term plans.
The only thing I should be worrying about is what I should do with my hair.

Since the dress plunges in the back, it would be better if
my hair were up. After running the blow dryer for several minutes, I run the
brush through my hair, which is softer than it’s been in days. Mulling it over,
I decide to part my hair on the left and do a French braid down each side.
Wanting my hair to be up, I twist the remaining length into a tight, low bun
and secure everything with a few bobby pins. I use a little hairspray to keep
everything smooth and in place.

I stand up and walk to the full-length mirror on the closet
door. Holding another mirror, I turn around and study my work. It looks good.
My eyes drift to the fresh flowers in the crystal vase on the table—red roses
with some baby’s breath. He left them this morning with my breakfast. I snap
off a few twigs of baby’s breath and use the flowers to dress up the braids and
the bun.

Unfortunately, the flowers do nothing to quiet that annoying
little voice that insists I’m special to my captor.

With my hair and makeup complete, I slip on the satin
panties before gently retrieving the ankle-length gown. After I have the dress
on, I slip on the matching shoes.

Dressed and in my shoes, I pull open the top drawer of the
nightstand. I slip in the ruby earrings first and then secure the matching
necklace. I’m a little surprised that the pieces have some weight to them, not
heavy per se but definitely substantial. I try to put on the bracelet, but I can’t
clasp it myself. I’ll need help with that. I set it on the nightstand instead.

I gather the loose hair products that are still out before
neatly stowing everything in the nightstand. I leave some of the pink and gold
products in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock, I see I still have almost an
hour to spare. I spend the time walking back and forth in the shoes, trying not
to wobble. After a little practice, I actually get much better walking in the
spikey red shoes. Pacing up and down, I hear the door suddenly open.

“Oh.” It’s all he says.

I turn and meet his startled face. “Do you not like it?” I
ask.

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes roam over me. I’m not sure
what he thinks.

“You look beautiful,” he says. “I like the dress even more
than when the designer showed it to me. He had a woman model it, but I like it
better on you.”

Yeah, he likes it better on you because you mean
something to him.
That little voice is getting really obnoxious.

His eyes drift to my wrist. “I thought I bought you a
bracelet.”

“Oh, you did. I couldn’t get it on by myself.” I retrieve
the bracelet before walking up to him. “Could you clasp it for me?”

He takes it and then leans into me. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. His gloved fingers deftly wrap the
bracelet around my wrist before securing the clasp. He doesn’t release me but
instead strokes my wrist with his thumb.

“You look really…good,” he murmurs. “I mean…I always thought
you were beautiful, but…I’ve never seen you quite so made up.” His eyes study
my hair approvingly, lingering on the flowers.

I can tell he’s a bit surprised by my appearance. When he
arrested me, I didn’t have any makeup on that night nor have I worn any since.
“Thanks,” I foolishly whisper again, not certain what else to say.

“I almost don’t want to leave now,” he mutters.

I guess something like disappointment shadows my face
because he quickly adds, “Oh, all right, don’t pout. I’ll take you out.”

I force myself to smile. The way he’s looking at me is kinda
freaking me out, and that annoying little voice is on the verge of saying,
Told
you so.

“Come on. It’s a little early, but we can drive around for a
while.”

“I’d like that.” I’m actually eager to get out. I think I
need some fresh air to clear my head. I quickly retrieve the red wrap from the
bed.

Just before we step outside, he moves to his desk in the
living room. He pulls out his holstered sidearm. A bit unhappily, he clips it
to his belt. “I’m sorry. I don’t like being armed around you, but I’m expected
to have my sidearm in public.”

I’m not mad that he got the weapon. Instead, I’m touched
that he doesn’t wear it around me. “It’s okay.” I shrug.

Once we’re outside, I take a deep breath of the cool air and
pull the heavy wrap tighter around me. It’s still light outside. After ushering
me to his parked car, he opens the passenger door for me. I think he even had
his car cleaned for tonight. I sit down and eagerly look around. It’s nice to
take in my surroundings. He’s right. I’ve been cooped up for too long.

After starting the car, he turns away from the house and
cruises down the gravel road.

He doesn’t say anything as he drives. I have the impression
driving is something he enjoys. I take in the purple sky and study the stars
coming out. I almost feel I’m back home, though I’m not sure why. There’s
something familiar and comforting about watching the sunset.

We eventually merge onto the freeway. The car accelerates as
he quickly takes the left lane. Once again, I sense he likes
driving…specifically, driving
very
fast. We don’t talk. I think he’s focused
more on the road. We drive for quite a while in one direction before he exits
the highway, loops around and speeds toward Berlin. The car’s heater warms my
feet.

“Is there anything I forgot to purchase for you? Would you
like anything else?”

Startled by the questions, I turn and look at him. “No.
You’ve been very generous.” And I mean it.

“If you require anything, just tell me.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

As we approach Berlin’s city limits, I vaguely wonder what
opera we’re going to see. But I don’t ask. I’ll find out soon enough. For now,
it’s just nice to be out.

His car cruises up to a lowered gate. Unfortunately, there
are just as many checkpoints going into Berlin as coming out, and the guards
often conduct random searches.

Back in my pre-captured days, the biggest challenge was
sneaking my toolkit in. My contact usually stowed it in the trunk and hit it
under the spare tire. Once, I had a guard find it. He even unrolled and
examined it. My heart nearly stopped when he pulled out the lock scrambler and asked
me what it was.