Damon retreats back into the shadows. He can't make himself leave yet so he watches the house from afar. One hour turns into two and then into three. It's like he's frozen. He can't help but imagine what it would be like to step back inside of that house. He remembers when he was a little boy how he idolized his papa. The man was a linguist, teaching at the University. It's from him that Damon learned his love of languages. Hour after hour, he spent with his papa, text book open, chalk on the board. Despite the circumstances he finds himself in, Damon can't help but smile at the memory. His mother would play the piano, a young Damon would dance for her and then his father would direct him to pick up the violin and play along with her.
His dear grandma was always baking, breads, cookies and wonderful Czech dishes. She would hand him plates to set the table. Then if he was a good boy, she would give him warm cookies straight from the oven along with a glass of fresh milk. He feels his belly rumble painfully at the thought, snapping Damon out of daydreaming. If only he could bite into the pečená kachna right now. She always served it with bread or potato dumplings and braised red cabbage.
Feeling a spit of moisture on his face, he sees that it's beginning to snow. He pulls his collar up to snuggle around his neck but his coat is so flimsy that it doesn't take long for it to get saturated by the heavy wet snow. His mind was so far away that he hadn't even realized that the weather has taken an unfortunate turn.
It feels to him as if the temperature has plummeted too. Having no other choice, Damon drags himself back onto the street. Without looking back, it hurts too much, he hopes to reach the theatre before he freezes to death.
His luck seems to be wearing thin though. As he looks around their old neighborhood, he hears voices, conversing in German. After awhile he can recognize single words, apparently they were watching over their commanding officers to make sure they receive their 'peaceful sleep'. Seems his grandparents aren't the only ones who lost their homes.
For the sake of his own safety, Damon has no choice but to stay out of sight so he won't attract their attention. Until they leave their post, he can do nothing. He finds a tree, hiding behind its trunk. Obscured by shadows, he leans against it, his mind drifting to his beautiful Elena. He's certain that she's wearing her worried face right now. She is no doubt wondering if he'll be able to keep his promise and return to her. Frankly, with fear enveloping his body, Damon is wondering the same.
Elena stares into the darkness in her room. Although she's tempted to keep the candle burning, it's too valuable to waste. She knows she should try to sleep but she's terrified for Damon. Her heart is pounding hard in her throat. Even though she repeatedly tries to swallow past the lump, she can't. She knew that it was a possibility, a very real and distinct possibility that he wouldn't make it back but how can she not worry about him? What if they caught him? What if they shoved him into a car just like they did to her mama and papa? Or what if one of them cracked his neck with a forceful shove? The red smudge followed her body as it slumped to the ground.
Melancholy fills her at the thought of her last memory of her sister. Sighing heavily, she turns over on the couch. Her mind drifts to earlier in the evening. After she waved goodbye to Milos and trudged up the stairs, she went through the theatre, even peaking in his little space to see if he was anywhere to be found. There just wasn't any trace of him, not anywhere.
She even toyed with the idea of going to the basement, taking several steps down the dark staircase but couldn't make herself go any further. Instead she came back here, to their room. This is where he would come for her if he was able to. Feeling tears begin to leak from her eyes, she doesn't try to stop them. Without Damon, the place is so scary so she lies here, praying, something she hasn't done in a very long time, that he's alright and that he'll return to her soon.
Damon is playing at the piano, one of the songs his father insisted that he learn before he left to start a new life for all of them. Suddenly he hears tires squealing. Damon looks through the window, his mouth parting when he sees sleek black cars stop in front of the theatre. Men in dark hats and leather trench coats step out of the car. He hears the words 'Beeile dich'.
He knows what it means. He's holding his breath, his hands literally frozen on the keys as he watches them approach. Suddenly he feels his mother's hands on his shoulders, shoving him into the shadows just before the men barge in. Damon is hidden behind furniture and stage pieces. He hears them start to yell at his mother in German, telling her that she has to come with them.
His mother, always the brave one, tries to call them out on basic human decency and rights but Damon hears the distinct sound of a slap. One of them asks where her husband and son are. She tells them to go to hell and then he hears another snapping sound followed by his mother's painful cries and groans. He squeezes his clammy hands, ready to jump out of his spot and defend her.
He's stopped by her hysterical voice, "You won't get them, they're long gone." There's an edge to her voice and Damon knows she's worried that he'll get caught if he tries to help. Warring with himself, he fists his hands, one at his side and one in his mouth to keep himself from screaming at them. He knows that they wouldn't hesitate even a millisecond to shoot him on the spot. If he's dead, he'll never be able to help her.. so he stays hidden.
Suddenly Damon is startled by a distant sound, probably a car door. During the endless long night he somehow ended up on his haunches, his back leaning against the rough tree bark. He's drenched and when he tries to stand up, he starts to sway as it feels like the ground is moving beneath his feet. Too dizzy to stand alone, he grabs onto the tree trunk again to stop himself from toppling over. He tries to swallow but his throat hurts, every inch of his body aches. With his head spinning, he can barely see straight. With his breath coming in harsh gasps, he looks around, still clutching the tree for support. He doesn't know how he'll manage to get back to the theatre but he has to try. He made a solemn promise.
Somehow he manages to get back to the main street. Looking around, he steps back into the shadows. Although each step feels like he's carrying an anvil, his body aching, he miraculously finds his way back to the Vinohrady quarter.
As each hour passes, Elena feels more and more like she's on pins and needles. No matter how hard she tries to distract herself, she keeps finding herself running all manner of catastrophic scenarios in her head. She prays, dropping to her knees, begging for his safe return to the theatre or that he's successfully reunited with his grandparents. No matter how much she'd miss him, she knows that it would be the best possible outcome. She can't find it in herself to begrudge him that.
"Katerina, darling are you okay?" Jarmila asks, feeling her face for fever. She studies Elena, almost as if she can read her mind but Elena tries to reassure her that she's alright, physically at least.
Elena nods and forces a smile. She doesn't want to upset her so she gets back to the task at hand, helping Jarmila with the laundry. She's trying to take as much of the job on herself as she can so Jarmila won't be too exhausted and put the baby in danger. Tomorrow she will have several packages to deliver. Since she doesn't want her to worry about her anymore, she forces herself to smile while she washes the clothes and folds up the dry piles.
Even though minutes pass like hours, it's finally time for she and Milos to go back to the theatre. After she's bundled up, Jarmila gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells Milos to make sure she keeps warm. Milos smiles and nods himself, giving his wife a hug before walking out of the door. As soon as Elena steps outside, he takes her hand and the two walk along the sidewalk, the boots crunching the frozen snow beneath their feet. Despite the turmoil going on in her country, she still finds joy at how pretty the trees look with the frost clinging to them and the bright moonlit sky. Her breath comes out in white puffs when she blows into the air. When Milos chuckles, she can't help but smile back.
Once they're inside, she follows Milos to his space where he lights the fire and starts her tea. When it's finished, he pours her a mug, again telling her to keep warm as she starts to climb the stairs towards their room. She sighs, disappointed but not really surprised when she finds it empty. It's quite clear that no one has been here since she left this morning. The horrible feeling that she's felt all day erupts even more painfully, gnawing at her like something slowly devouring her from inside out. Too nervous to sit, she starts to pace back and forth, wondering what she should do. She takes a deep breath, finally plucking up the courage to go downstairs and check the basement.
She places her hand on the curtain. Afraid of what she'll find, she pauses for a moment and closes her eyes. Steeling her shoulders, she finally slips under the curtain and into Damon's hiding place. She almost falls over his body. Damon's curled up on the floor, on top of the mattress made of old costumes, only half covered by the blanket. Her fear intensifies when he doesn't respond to her presence. With stark terror exploding in every pore in her body, Elena drops to her knees next to him. Tears are in her eyes when she touches his face. He's hot and sweaty, his breathing is labored, he doesn't react in the least to her touch. Elena's heart starts to slam hard and fast against her rib cage as panic begins to fill all the spaces in between. She's so scared, she struggles to figure out what to do. She tucks him in with the blanket. When he finally moves just slightly, her name falls from his mouth "Elena...?"
With tears trailing down her cheeks, she swallows thickly and brushes his sweat dampened hair off of his forehead. She wants to say his name to tell him she's there but no words leave her lips. Instead, she squeezes his shoulders. This time Damon seems to relax under her touch. Knowing that she needs to warm him up, she lays down and envelopes him with her arms.
"I'm sorry I was late..." In more than one way.
*beeile dich - hurry up.
This is one of the shorter chapters so I'll try to update sooner next week.
Huge, huge thanks to all of you. I cannot say thank you enough. With all of your help "I Can't Escape Myself" passed the 2500 review mark. I never ever dreamed when I came up with that idea that it would ever take off like that. I truly thank you all. You're all the BEST.
And Eva, you are just as responsible for these stories as I am. I couldn't do it without your insight and wisdom and love and support. I love you, sister.
Chapter title: 'Not Ready to Say Goodbye' by Leah Nobel.
"The Night We Met" and "This Isn't What We Meant" continue. When TNWM is done, I'm going to post my other short story period piece. It's set in the 1880's and it's based on another real life event that isn't well known.
I hope you all have a fabulous day and a wonderful week ahead. We'll see you next time.