Authors: Rebecca Bryn
Tags: #Mystery, #Historical, #Thriller, #Suspense
The old man sitting in the
chair with his hand on his chest was William Walter Blundell, Grandpa. He was
not
Hans Wolfgang Schmitt: he’d died when he met Gran. She sat beside him and held
a thin, shaking hand. He opened his eyes.
‘I can’t condone what you
did, Grandpa, but Adam and Lucy are right… you acted out of love. I won’t let
Hitler’s evil destroy my family and my memories. I love you Grandpa. I always
have, and I always will.’
His eyes brimmed with tears.
‘You don’t know what that means to me, little one.’
She smiled and patted her
stomach, pushing down anxiety. ‘I have Miriam or Jani to think about now.’
‘I’m glad.’ He squeezed her
hand and his eyes shone. ‘Fight for those you love, Charlotte. Don’t ever stop
fighting for them.’
‘I won’t… I promise.’ Would
Adam even be here when she went back outside?
‘I made a promise, too.’ He
took a shallow breath. ‘I promised Miriam I’d tell what happened to her family
and the children of Auschwitz. It’s why I stole the records and kept the diary.
You’ve helped me keep my promise.’
‘Grandpa, why did you make
the carvings?’
‘The crematoria, the burning
pits. Flames in my dreams every night. Guilt smothering my heart.’ He rubbed
his left arm and the pain moved to his throat. ‘I had to let it out somehow.
The burr elm, the tortured grain… it seemed the right medium. The wolf… I never
intended you to find any of them.’
‘But why didn’t you donate
the documents anonymously?’
‘I was named in them. There
were photographs of me. I could have been recognised.’ He paused and reached
for her hand again. ‘Be careful, Charlotte, there are Nazi-hunters, even now.
I’m the last of the Auschwitz doctors unaccounted for. If the press find out
you protected me they’ll hound you to the grave.’
‘I know.’ She leaned forward
and kissed his cheek. When she drew back he’d closed his eyes and his breathing
was laboured. She’d exhausted him. She should go.
‘Tykhe gave me a great gift,
greater… than I knew.’
‘Tykhe, Goddess of Fortune?’
He roused and his face
contorted with pain. ‘I wasted her gift… and Nemesis sent you both to me. The
daughters of Night… the Keres.’
‘We’re not the Keres,
Grandpa. We love you.’
His voice was barely
audible: she leaned closer. ‘At last… you have settled my account. Nemesis has
decided.’ His breathing slowed. ‘Tell the children I’m sorry.’
‘
All have sinned and
fallen short of the glory of God
.’
Nemesis was satisfied? Grandpa
had paid the price for Tykhe’s gifts? She put an arm around his thin shoulders
and rested her head gently against his heart, a child again seeking comfort.
Its beat was slow and faltering. She had only just found him and too soon it
was time to let go. ‘Out of Chaos came Nyx, Goddess of Night. She formed a veil
between mankind and heaven, and rode in a chariot, bringing Night and trailing
stars, and on her return she met her daughter, Hemera, bringer of Day. Hebe,
bids you lay down your chains of guilt and accept the ambrosia of eternal
youth. We are daughters of Night, sisters of Day, but our names are Elpis,
Goddess of Hope, and Philotes, Goddess of Love and Friendship, and we ask Nyx
to part the veil. Wselfwulf is dead, Grandpa.’
His breathing slowed: too
slow. Gran had done her grieving: he belonged to Miriam now. She raised her
head and whispered the word he needed to hear, the word Miriam wanted her to
say, her lips brushing his cheek. The slow thump ceased. Endless seconds
passed; he gasped a breath of rattling air and his grip loosened.
She sat with his hand in
hers, listening to the silence of sleep without dreams. His debt was paid; he
was at peace. She’d wanted to be someone, a name the world would remember:
instead she’d found indisputable proof of the atrocities carried out on
Mengele’s children, and no-one would know her part in it, though the candles of
Auschwitz would burn forever brighter.
She was the granddaughter of
Jane and Walt. It was who she was and it was enough. She walked outside,
brushing aside tears. Lucy waited beside Adam, who held a bloody tissue to his
forehead. She stopped an arm’s length away, trying to read Adam’s eyes; at
least he was still here. ‘His heart… Grandpa’s dead.’
Lucy’s lower lip trembled.
‘Did you… What did you say to him?’
She caught Lucy’s
accusation. ‘He thought we were the daughters of Night.’
Her sister’s face softened
in understanding. ‘But what did you say to him, sis?’
Sis
…
She took a shuddering breath. Adam reached for her
hand and gripped it reassuringly, his eyes gentle with love.
She smiled through tears. ‘
Szeretlek
… I love you.
’
The End
Rebecca Bryn lives on a
small-holding in West Wales with her husband and dog, where she paints the
coastal scenes she loves. She is happy to answer questions about her writing
and novels at
www.facebook.com/rebecca.bryn.novels
and at
www.rebeccabrynandsarahstuart-novels.co.uk
Touching the Wire was inspired by
a television report about Nazi war-criminals that made Rebecca examine her own
feelings about forgiveness. It was written to commemorate the seventieth
anniversary of Holocaust Memorial Day on January 27
th
2015.
Another novel, The Silence of the
Stones, is set in Pembrokeshire. The poem, The Vigil, was inspired by the
tragic disappearance of Madeleine McCann on May 3
rd
2007.
The Silence of the Stones.
Alana is a struggling artist and
sculptor, scarred by her dysfunctional parents and a lost love but determined
to live life her way. Opportunity beckons when she is left a cottage in a West
Wales village by an aunt she didn’t know existed, but strange runes, painted on
her door and carved onto ancient stones in a stone circle, hint at a dark
undercurrent of intrigue and she is caught up in the village’s conspiracy of
silence over a thirty-year-old crime.
An eccentric old woman, a young
investigative journalist, a two-year-old girl, a male busker and an ex-lover
seem unlikely bedfellows but combine to change Alana’s world forever.
NB:
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I really appreciate all reviews.
Thank you - Rebecca