Alright, this is the final chapter of "Pascha". Thank you for reading it and I hope you enjoyed it.

I'm hoping to write a sequel to it at some stage in the future. :)


The priest took a double take; he looked at Landa suspiciously, and murmured, "You don't care, do you?"

Landa snorted, "I should have thought that was obvious."

The priest looked at him with disgust, and turned to Clotilde, "Come on, let's go – you can stay in the parochial house."

Clotilde had barely got to her feet when Landa cocked his pistol and said, "Ah, ah – I don't think so. What, did you think I would just let you walk out?"

Renaud turned, and hissed – in German – "You're going to shoot me, Herr Landa?"

Landa, however, answered in French, "Oh no – that's what you want, isn't it? You'd love me to shoot you, so you can lie on the floor like the fucking crucified Christ-"

"Shut up! Shut up, you German bastard!" The priest screamed, unable to control his rage any longer. Landa stood up suddenly as the priest stormed towards him, his fist balled, ready to strike. He fired and Renaud crumpled to the ground. Blood was gushing from his leg, and he grasped it desperately, groaning in pain.

Landa stood over him, smiling, "Now, now," he began, resting his foot on Renaud's cheek, before kicking him gently, "Father Renaud, the priest, lying on the ground, bleeding to death. You're a French nationalist, aren't you?"

The priest clenched his mouth shut, and didn't answer.

"You're the sort who sympathises with the resistance, but isn't prepared to take action…am I right?"

No answer.

"Just like in your sermons…you preach about sexual immorality, but you…" Landa paused, and laughed loudly, "You preach about sexual immorality, but you've broken your vows, haven't you?"

The priest didn't answer – but Landa stamped his boot on the gunshot wound, eliciting a whimper.

"Haven't you? That Jew – the nun…she was your lover, wasn't she?"

The priest's eyes widened, and he looked away from Landa, and laughed.

"Where did you hear that?"

"I saw you embrace, after church-"

The priest laughed again bitterly. "God, they call you the Jew Hunter. She's my cousin, you bastard!"

Landa's eyes widened, and his smirk changed to a frown.

"That's right, I was born a Jew!" The priest turned his head to the side, and, laughing, murmured, "The Jew Hunter…you knew she was a Jew, but you didn't realise we were related…"

He had barely said it when Landa's gun fired once more, promptly ending the priest's life.

Clotilde clamped her hand to her mouth, and gasped. Their front room was now covered with blood, and Landa smiled once more – his sense of power and control had been restored.

"Well, Clotilde – now you really are alone…let's not lose Marie, shall we? Remember our agreement."

He walked out of the room as casually as he had entered it, leaving her alone.


Marie didn't understand; she didn't understand and it frustrated her. She didn't understand why Clotilde wasn't allowed to leave; she didn't understand why she had become withdrawn and anti-social, shunning her company and spending time alone. She didn't understand why her parents had been shot; she didn't understand why her teacher had been taken away, she didn't understand why their parish priest was missing.

Marie still went to church, although there were no services, and spent her time sitting in the pews, praying – or trying to pray. She found it more and more difficult – becoming frustrated and angry. It was then, for the first time in her life, that she began to experience doubt. Where was God now? She left the church when it was dark, and throwing her rosary beads to the ground, stamped on them hard, so that the plastic beads shattered. She screamed and screamed, and then, clasping her hands around her face, leant back against the wall of St. Agnes', and cried bitterly.

Marie's heart suddenly began to beat faster, and she felt a surge of fear, of shame, that she had forsaken her faith. She jumped to her feet and ran home, leaving the broken rosary beads in the dust.


The following days were lonely and long for Clotilde. The Germans had almost finished their work – Landa himself told her. During the day – when she wasn't being subject to the Nazi soldiers' whims – she spent time in the library reading. She read a lot, but she didn't understand what motivated her during that time to read the Bible. She began to feel a sense of hope, hope for the future – the Germans would leave eventually.

It was Easter Sunday when the Germans left the Rousseaux's house. Clotilde stood with her arm around Marie, watching as they marched out, one by one. Clotilde's mouth flickered into a smile – finally they were being left alone, the death and destruction was over – at last they would have peace. Marie, however was seething with rage. She felt anger like she had never felt before, and a desire for revenge was beginning to consume her.

Landa was the last of them to leave. He looked at them, towering over Clotilde's petite form, and smiled.

"Au revoir, Mademoiselles."

He stepped out the door, and at once Clotilde breathed in deeply. They're gone! They're finally gone! She turned and pulled her sister into an embrace, and tears of happiness began to gush down her cheeks. Marie remained stoical and emotionless. She wasn't relieved – she was furious! It was then that she began to make a plan, a cold, calculated plan – at some stage, sometime, somewhere – she would kill Hans Landa.