The requested precursor to the one-shot. Please let me know what you think of it!
DISCLAIMER: As usual, I own nothing and all portrayals are based on depictions in Schindler's List, decorated with historical truths.
My dear Helen,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, although I do not doubt that the receipt of it will shock you. I must say that I shock myself writing it.
It is perhaps a vain hope which I hold, that you may spare a moment to read this letter in its entirety, and not cast it into the fire upon recognising my script. I would ask you to hold that impulse for a few minutes more.
You will have heard, by now, that I face trial. Hardly a shock to me, to be truthful, and although most of the charges are petty, they hold the risk of life imprisonment or death for me. Some things will never leave you, I suppose. You may wish this fate upon my head, and I would not blame you, but I would ask you to cast your mind back to the relative ease with which you lived in my house in Krakow, and how little your work was in comparison with that of your compatriots in my camp. I believe I have not given you cause to loathe me, now we are parted.
It is my wish that you would testify for me. A surprise request of you, perhaps, but it would please me greatly were I to see your face again, if only fleetingly. I would not ask this of you did I not feel your help would be instrumental. I believe you will also be called upon to testify against me; a ridiculous proposition, as I see it. I did my best to protect you from the greater harm you faced, Helen, and I am sure that you have not forgotten that.
Please reply, if you can, to the address above. I hope fervently to hear from you without too much delay.
Regards,
Amon Leopold Goeth
Helen's hands shook, and the folded paper floated gently to the ground as it slipped from her fingers. The envelope which it had come in, with its familiar handwriting on the front, remained on the small table next to her.
She rose too quickly and stumbled, flinging out a hand to steady herself on the frame of her bed. She moved shakily to the washroom and leant a hand against the doorframe, her head spinning.
Some things will never leave you.
She reached out and turned on the tap, a steady trickle of cool water running over her skin, and she splashed some onto her face. The smeared mirror in front of her seemed to taunt her, its cracked surface showing only her weakness, never her strength. Freedom was not treating Helen well.
Her thin, almost gaunt face was far too pale. Powder did nothing for her. There were bags under her eyes. Helen noted that her eyes seemed too big for her face, dark and anguished.
Are these the eyes of a rat? Hath not a Jew eyes?
Something inside her twisted uncomfortably, and Helen spun, dropping to her knees on the tiles in front of the toilet as the contents of her stomach rose, and she retched until only bile filled her mouth. She turned her head, resting it against the porcelain. As she dragged a thin, shaking hand across her mouth, tears slid down Helen's cheeks, the sting in her eyes searing as she wept.
