Agony
Chapter I
He sits in his corner. Silent, except for the steady, soft ticking coming from his chest. He slowly rocks back and forth; a behaviour he developed over the last decades as a result of close to none stimulation from the outside world. When the Americans had spotted the castle in Norway, Ilsa and Kroenen had been forced to flee in a hurry, only taking with them what they could carry. Most importantly everything that had to do with the Master and the art of resurrection. Almost no personal items, they had left behind nearly everything. And for Ilsa - she didn't talk to him very often. Either because she knew he wouldn't respond anyway, or because she couldn't stand being in his silent presence. He preferred to think it was because she was afraid of him. An aura of loneliness and pain seemed to surround him since he had stopped talking. After one particular event, which had taken place about 35 years ago, shattering his whole life. Back then he still wrote his diary sometimes. Beneath the black, obscure surface of his mask, his eyes turned watery and his gaze turned into a dull stare. Like it always did when he remembered things he actually shouldn't think about.
When the Third Reich still existed and he worked for the SS, he had many admirers. Some of them secret, others so obvious, you could smell it 20 miles against the wind. If he visited one of the many parties for the Reich's high society, even though he mostly stayed away from those decadent meetings which literally overspilled with vanity, he was surrounded by a group of NSDAP members and other "fans" of his immediately. Most of the time he tried to get rid of them; close physical contact had never been one of his things. He much preferred to watch the ongoings from a certain distance. Women in beautiful dresses, vividly chatting with each other and ever so often looking at him, just to blush heavily when realizing he was glancing back into their direction - it made him smile viciously. "Actually..." he thought, "Actually I could have each one of them by a fingersnap. If I wanted to, they would be mine..." But he wasn't really interested. They would leave him anyway. No woman had been able to put up with him for more than a few years. Two broken marriages validated this thought to him. After a short while, they all said things like "Your eyes freak me out..." or "You're draining my whole energy. You're no good for me.". He had accepted it, avoided eye-contact with other people if he wished to have them around, otherwise stared them down with his unnaturally large, blue eyes. Most of the time, this worked out pretty fine. One of those evenings, he had been introduced to a young woman who had exceptionally awakened his interest. She was twenty-two years younger than him, maybe fifteen centimetres smaller and amazingly beautiful. Shoulderlong, blonde hair, eyes as dark and blue as the ocean and a cocky, yet highly seductive look on her face. For the first time, Doctor Kroenen just stood there and stared, as her father started a conversation which seemed to be rather important, but Karl didn't hear any of it. He just filtered out the name of this beauty who never broke their eye-contact and smiled at him with those red, tempting lips: Ilsa von Haupstein. The two of them remained like that until a sharp, unnerving voice broke the enticing, almost arousing silence between them. "Are you allright, Doctor Kroenen? You look a bit white." Shaking his head in slight confusion, he pushed the young SS officer out of his sphere of privacy. As soon as he could feel other persons' breath, it was too close. "I... I'm fine, just a little... not myself today." He shook his head once more, blinking a few times. Professor von Haupstein, Ilsa's father, winked at him. "Looks like my daughter just messed up your head a little. Don't feel bad for it, she knows very well about her effects on men." Ilsa chuckled and smiled at Karl once more. He had been absolutely stunned by her, now appearing pretty much speechless. "I... I'm sorry... To be honest, it's been a while since someone actually drew my full attention on them... I apologize if I somehow appeared uninterested into what you were telling, Professor..." But the elderly man just smiled and shook his head. "I think I need some fresh air... I'll be right back. Excuse me." And with that, Kroenen left the building, vanishing into a dark alley nearby and started to collect his thoughts. Short time later, he heard footsteps approaching. "Herr Doktor? Are you allright? You looked like you were about to faint." Ilsa had followed him and now sat down next to the shivering man. "No... no... I was just a little... " He stammered a few words, trying to think of some good excuse, but then he sighed loudly. "What am I talking... You just hit me like a truck... I couldn't help but stare at you, I'm so sorry..." But instead of scolding him a debauchee, she rose one hand to stroke his cold-sweated forehead. "Your eyes are amazing, Doktor Kroenen. I have never before seen such intense, beautiful eyes like yours." He glanced at her. "I... thank you... actually people seem to avoid my eyes, saying they're unnatural and scary..." He chuckled slightly and smiled at Ilsa. "Oh and, just call me Karl. And know that you're one of very very few people I offer this..." He grinned shyly, receiving a warming smile from her. "Thank you. So you may just as well call me Ilsa." She bent over and placed a little kiss on his cheek, causing him to blush heavily. "Will you come back inside? I'd love to share some more time with you, Karl." He nodded. "Just give me five minutes. I need to calm down a little." She strutted away, but not without making some younger men watch her and drop their jaws. In fact, "calm down" hadn't been quite the truth. Kroenen took an exaggeratedly deep breath, trying to will away the erection that had built up while she had talked to him so privately and then even kissing his cheek. He shook his head, thinking to himself. "Karl, what the hell? You've been married twice! It's not like you never talked to a woman before, even if they weren't so unbelieveably beautiful..." His thoughts switched back to the picture of her eyes and her seducing lips. For a moment he even imagined her sitting on his lap and... "Goddammit... I need to stop thinking about stuff like that..." He got up and started to walk in small circles. Completely sunken in his thoughts, the otherwise very perceptive and aware Kroenen didn't even notice the brawny men who slowly walked towards him from the darkness of this small street.
Suddenly, two pairs of arms grab him and crush his skinny body against the nearest wall. "If it isn't Karl Kroenen. The Führer's cute little lapdog. What are you doing here? Outside, in the dark, far away from Daddy's protective watchdogs?" Karl's eyes flinch and he struggles to get his arms free again. "I'm no lapdog. For noone. Who are you and what do you want? I have nothing you could be interested in." One of his tormentors, a massive man with a short neck, bald and not looking very intelligent, laughs cruelly. "Oh, it's not about materialistic stuff. You know... There are certain people, who would like to see you dead. Others though would like to see you in your own purgatory without having to get you killed. Thus, you do actually have something our clients would like to steal from you." Karl growled and bit down on his teeth. The three men holding him down cackle viciously. "How about... your dignity?" With that, they turn him around and smash his head against the wall. Kroenen's sight turns blurry for a short time and he feels very dizzy, close to falling unconscious. A few moments later he regains consciousness, realizing he is lying on the floor. His eyes widen with pure fear and the painful perception: one of the men is raping him. Horrible childhood memories flash back into his mind and he closes his eyes as hard as possible, praying for this to be a nightmare. But the loud moaning of his torturer and the laughing of his fellows take this last hope away. "Please stop it..." he whispers, his voice a raspy, crackling gasp. Tears run down his face freely. Minutes pass by, but they feel like days to Karl. An ice cold, sweaty hand suddenly lifts his waist up and touches his private parts, making him convulse painfully. "Keep your hands off me, you bastard!" but as soon as he starts to yell, another hand holds his mouth shut. "Aaw come on... I bet you're enjoying it just as much as I do. Just admit it, I won't condemn you... God... you're so pleasantly tight..." Muffled screams vanish unheard in the darkness of this chilling night. After what seemed like eternity, he pulled out, but not without letting Karl feel as much as possible. Silent tears evaded his eyes, his head sinking down on the cobblestone pavement. He was hoping so desperately for it to be over so he could go home and get under the shower. His whole body felt so used, so filthy. Then he heard another voice behind him. "My turn." A shrieking, agonized "No!" dies unheard. Kroenen closes his eyes again, crying heavily. He feels pain welling up in his pelvis as the other man enters him with brute force, humiliating him even further, touching his private parts roughly and moaning into his ear. Karl buries his face in his hands and holds still, simply enduring what is done to him.
Almost an hour passes by. From somewhere footsteps appear, followed by a sharp yell. "Hey! What are you doing there? Get going or I'll call the police!" Immediately the three of them get up, letting go off Kroenen, who hastily pulls up his trousers and tries to get up before his saviour could guess what he had went through. He glances up. It is Ilsa; his face freezes. "Are you allright, Karl? Did they hurt you?" Shaking heavily, trying to hold back his tears the best he can, he replies. "I-.. I'm fine, they were trying... uhm, they were sent by another SS officer who dislikes me... Ne-... Nevermind... Thank you..." She slightly cocks her head. "You don't look allright... Are you sure you don't need a physician or something?" His eyes widen a little, in a fearful, slightly higher pitched voice he responds. "Nonononono! No physician, they... they didn't hurt me or... anything..." Those words made his heart clench. "If you would excuse me now... I'd like to go home... I'm tired... Please forgive me I didn't join you and your father again..." She gives him a worried, sad look. "Too bad... Will we meet again?" He shrugs. "Certainly. After all this wasn't the last party, huh?" He tries to smile, but he can't. Ilsa steps forward, giving him a hug. "Get home safe. Don't get caught by bullies again, will you?" He nods and quickly gets on his way home. Even though his appartement lies only a few streets further south, it takes him almost half an hour to get home. Shivering heavily from the cold and repressed sobs, he enters the beautiful, well-spaced flat, immediately hurrying into the bathroom, undressing on the way there. He gets in the shower, turning on the water. It is freezing cold, as the boiler isn't working during the night, but he doesn't care. He takes his liquid soap bottle and starts pouring its contents over his body, rubbing his skin almost violently afterwards. He goes through this procedure over and over, twelve, fourteen times, until his skin itches and burns painfully and is torn open almost everywhere. Not even to mention the pain he feels in his pelvis. He turns his head just to realize he had poured a total of six bottles with soap over himself. His face convulses in emotional pain, his jaw trembling heavily as he starts to cry. He sinks down in the corner of the shower, hugging his knees tightly and letting the tears run down his face. They mix with the blood running from the many wounds where he had torn his own skin open in the violent compulsion to clean himself. And he still felt used, humiliated and so horribly filthy. He presses his face into his arms and sobs loudly. "Impure... Unclean... Filthy..." His thoughts circle around what he just had experienced. How he hadn't even been given a chance to defend himself. How he had been forced to just lay there and allow them to debase him. After almost four hours of violent crying fits and scratching until he bled from several spots where he had literally lacerated his pale skin, he finally calms down a little. He gets up and out of the shower, just to see that the sun was already rising. He sighed deeply and looked up into the mirror over his basin. And for one short moment he could clearly see his sould dying in the reflection of his watery, blue eyes.