Chapter Seven.
I regretted it almost immediately. How could I have been stupid enough to just let him wander off when I could feel eyes on us, when I knew we were going to die? I didn't want to die alone. I froze as I heard it. Guns cocking and rapid talking. I couldn't hear what they were saying; I had to get closer. My heart was pounding as I rose to my feet and inched along.
There he was, my darling Anton, with a gun against his head. And the man holding it was none other than my father. Why, oh why? The two policemen just stood there and smirked, not trying to stop him. Why? For a moment I hoped that my father would say it was for me.
"You took my daughter away from me," I imagined him saying. "Do you have any idea how worried we've been? How incomplete our lives have been without our Patty at home?"
But I knew this was only childish fantasy. My father didn't care. It was because Anton was German, and this gave my father a chance to be recognised. A few small moments of fame because a dangerous Nazi had kidnapped his daughter. He didn't really care about me; he only cared about the attention it brought him. He probably wouldn't even be worried if I'd run off with a nice, normal Jewish man. It's just because Anton is German. What was this world coming to? I couldn't understand it. Why couldn't we all just be friends? Why couldn't we all be happy? What did war ever achieve?
"Where is she?!" my father snarled, bringing me back to reality. The voices were raised now so I could hear clearly. "What have you done with my daughter, you filth?"
"Mr Bergen," Anton said calmly yet loudly. "I can assure you that your daughter is quite safe, but I will not reveal her whereabouts."
"She's my daughter, dammit! Tell me where she is!"
"If she is your daughter, if you care so much, would you ever beat her? Answer me that, Mr Bergen."
My father was clearly shocked; I could see the expression on his face from here. "I… How could even suggest… I'd never!"
"Mr Bergen, with all due respect, which is very little, I've seen the marks."
"Marks?" My father had turned an interesting shade of crimson. "What marks?"
"Where you've hit her. Where your belt has hit her. The marks where you hurt your own daughter, Patricia Ann Bergen. If you are so worried about her, sir, why don't you ask yourself: was she really kidnapped? Or did she run away? What was she running from?"
The late afternoon sunlight glinted off the beads of sweat that were forming on my father's upper lip. He cleared his throat and shifted, slackening his grip on the gun ever so slightly, barely noticeable.
"And what," Anton continued, "could possibly possess a child to run away from home? To run away from Daddy? What could have made her so unhappy that she went on a desperate search for love?"
And that's when I realised. All I'd ever wanted was love. Every lie I told, every silly thing I'd said, was all in desperation for some love, for some attention. I just wanted to be cared for, it's all I wanted. To feel warm arms around me, someone telling me I'm their world.
"I'm gonna blast your brains out."
My father's icy cold voice rang out, sending shivers down my spine. Anton didn't seem perturbed at all.
"Do you regret it?" he asked, softer this time. "All it takes is a little remorse. Lives can be changed, lives can be saved, if only we could learn to regret."
"Don't talk to me about regret, boy!" my father shouted, waving the gun around for emphasis before resting it back against Anton's temple.
"But why? Nobody ever talks about the things that really matter. Did you ever tell Patty that you love her?"
"Of course I did."
I couldn't remember when.
"When?" Anton asked the question as though he could read my mind.
"The day that little girl was born I took her and held her in my arms, and I can't describe the pride I felt at that moment. I love her, and I told her so as I held her and rocked her in my arms."
This was a side to my father I'd never seen before. There was something in his voice, some strangled emotion, and I noticed how his hand shook as he tried to hold the gun still.
"I love her," he whispered and then, almost like a miracle, a tiny glistening tear worked itself from my father's hard eyes and trickled down his cheek. How I longed to jump from my hiding place, wipe that tear away and tell my father that I loved him too. Then I'd throw my arms around his neck and everything would be okay. We'd be the happy family I'd always dreamed of, and Anton could stay with us too. I'd get to see Ruth again, and little Sharon. Even my mother would be pleased to see me again.
"Please," my father said, his voice cracking. "Tell me where my little girl is."
"I'm sorry," Anton said, after a moment of hesitation. "But that is a journey you have to take on your own."
And with that my father seemed to shrink. His arm dropped to his side and all the fight went out of him. Silent tears coursed down his face and he turned away. The two policemen seemed confused and came towards him, but he simply shook his head.
"So do we arrest him, sir?" one of them asked my father. "We can find a way to get information outta him."
"Let him go," my father said quietly. "We haven't seen him."
"But…"
"Do as I say! If there's any chance my daughter is still alive then I know he'll look after her. I don't know how I can let a Nazi go, or what's happened to change me, but if that darned housekeeper Ruth says he can be trusted then I'd best believe it. She makes the best griddlecakes…"
And he walked away. I don't know how long we stayed there for, silent and unmoving, but finally the sun began to set, casting golden light across our faces, and Anton came back to me.
TBC…
You didn't really think I'd kill Anton, did you? Pretty please review, because the more reviews I get the faster I write more chapters!!