Dawn
By Monnie
Guess who's back for another update almost around the time she said she would? ME! How'd you guess? You're so smart. :) I don't really have anything to say about this chapter, except that it's not the happiest of occasions. Then again, it's the Holocaust, what IS?
This one's dedicated to Becca, who's so strong for reading this so far. In case some of you don't know, Bec is another AWESOME writer here on FF.net (also the co-owner of Mondlerifics with me) and she's Jewish, so this really hits her where it counts. I'm proud of you, babe. You're being so great, and I love you forever, my penguin sista!
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Chapter Six – Courage
Phoebe blinked. The world came back into focus, and she realized what the blur above her was. She opened her mouth to scream, but something covered it. A pair of deep brown eyes stared back at her, and she saw someone in them. There was a reflection, but the reflection didn't look right. It was that of a woman covered in dirt, with sad, grey eyes that sunk into her face. She had no hair, but what was there was pale and sickly. Where cheeks should have been, there was nothing but colorless skin and weathering bones. She looked like a sad, lost little rag doll. This wasn't her reflection…
Was it?
==
"Shhh, you okay? I'm not going to hurt you."
Phoebe blinked again. Who was this man, and where was Rachel? Her mouth was freed.
"I have to go," she managed to say, and tried to stand up.
He held her firm. "No, you'll hurt yourself. Lie still." Everything was so surreal to her. She obeyed, still in a daze, and she let her thoughts organize themselves. "How's the other one?" the man asked, looking somewhere out of Phoebe's line of sight.
"Still slipping in and out of consciousness," someone responded. Phoebe's thoughts clicked into place.
"Monica…" Phoebe whispered.
"Hmm?" The man's eyes darted back. The sad woman glared at her through him.
"Her name is Monica," she repeated, not understanding why she was telling him this.
"Oh. I'm Joey, you are?" He seemed pleased to hear Phoebe's voice.
"Phoebe. We-we have to find her."
"Her who?"
"Rachel."
"Where did she go?"
"Taken. Officers."
"Where?"
"Some --" Phoebe recalled her dream, squeezing her eyes shut, "someplace cold. Metal. Closed. They – they took her to the dentist's."
"What?" Joey's voice grew soft.
"Why, is that bad?"
"Mm-hmm." Another glance upward. It seemed like they were exchanging silent panicked looks.
"What's going on?" Phoebe whispered, her eyes widening in compensation.
"We need to go."
"I'm coming with you." Phoebe shot up, receiving a rush of blood to the head, her sight blacking out for a second longer than it should have.
"What?"
"Do you have a hearing problem? I said, I'm coming with you. It sounds like you know where she is. I'm coming with you, but we have to wake Monica." She glanced over to the quiet girl, Chandler still rocking her in his arms. Phoebe shook her gently, and she stirred, her eyes already open. "Mon? Monica, come on, we're going to Rachel."
"Ra-Rachel?" Monica was still in a daze. She rubbed her eyes, and sat up, finally realizing that she had been rocked awake, exactly the same way she always was. After all, the man above her couldn't have been anyone else but –
"Michael?"
"No, Monica. My name's Chandler."
"Ho-how do you know my name?" Monica scooted backwards on her hands, and bumped into someone. She turned around, and saw another man; he had his hands on Phoebe's shoulders. What the hell happened? Phoebe looked like she was scared. Monica panicked, and scrambled to her feet, running as quickly as she could. She heard the crunch of gravel behind her, and she ran faster, the block she'd escaped from so long ago back in sight again.
A shot fired through the dark haze.
Something sharp hit her right below the knee, grazing her calf, and sending her down to the ground. The rocks cut into her skin. She could feel the pain already, yet her entire body felt numb. Her eyes fluttered closed again. The sounds of the crunching gravel grew louder, and she felt drugged, muffled voices above her warbling things she couldn't understand. Someone grabbed her, and she tried to protest, but couldn't move. Michael's voice called out to her clearly through her dreamlike perception, and not long after, she slipped out of consciousness, the face of her husband fading back into the darkness.
==
"You breathe a word, and I'll kill you myself."
Rachel nodded, and closed her eyes, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilling down her cheeks in an endless waterfall, onto the pale straw that was her bed. That blonde man was going to be the end of her, she just knew it.
==
"Open your eyes."
Monica willed her eyelids to lift, but nothing happened. Something was blinding her. Pain, it seemed, had grasped rational thought.
"Uh?"
"Open your eyes, Monica."
"I – can't."
"Try. We have to get up!"
Monica pushed emotion aside, and opened her eyes, the pain in her head and her leg burning into her very essence with each passing second. She stared up, and met two crystal grey-blue eyes with her own.
"Rachel?" she managed to mumble.
"Yeah, it's me."
Monica instantly forgot her weaknesses. "Oh, thank GOD you're safe!" She hugged the shivering girl close to her, rocking with her. Rachel suddenly broke free.
"We have to go! They're doing Bettenbau, and roll call, and if we don't hurry, we'll get sent out with the garbage!"
Monica had never made her bed faster in her life. She and Rachel hurried out with the remaining inmates, and Monica did her best not to limp. She was grimacing, however, as the pain was still unbearable. Filing into line with the rest, Monica caught Phoebe's eye. She was crying, but why?
The roll call took nearly two hours longer than usual, based on Monica's perception of the sun's position that day. When she was inspected by the SS, they checked her more thoroughly that they had the others, eyeing the scratches on her face and legs suspiciously. After one officer had found, observed, and practically pinched her calf wound roughly, he looked her in the eye, his stare intense, yet vulnerable. Monica supposed it was the way she herself was looking at him.
"What is that?" He sneered, pointing at her leg. Monica looked down, and Phoebe stepped forward.
"Sir, she was –"
"SILENCE!" He barked, and Phoebe stood firm. She was afraid of no one anymore.
"She doesn't remember! She cut her leg open on a sharp rock, I was there. She went unconscious immediately. She's fine now."
"Are you able to work?" He snapped, looking back at Monica, his expression drained of all sympathy.
"Yes."
"Very well. Half rations for breakfast today, due to your inability to stand on your own two feet."
==
"What happened this time?"
"I kept this photo of her with me. It was the only thing I somehow managed to smuggle in here. I just left it on my bed. I don't want it to be taken during inspection."
"I wouldn't risk it if I were you."
"I have to! It's the only thing I have to remember her by!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"Look, I probably won't make it out of this place alive. I want to be reminded of why my life had meaning."
"How is a picture of my sister going to remind you of your life?"
"Because your sister WAS my life."
==
He turned around to enter the cabin, as Ross walked across the grounds with the others. There, lying on the bed was his small photograph, right where he'd left it. Walking over, he picked it up, and looked intently at it. It was taken only a month or so after their wedding. She was still as radiant as ever. He'd taken it while she was sleeping, because that was when she looked the most innocent. He wished he could have brought a photograph of her in which he could've seen her eyes, but this one was more precious.
Michael turned the photo over. There, written in faded black calligraphy, was a note from his wife.
'I will always be with you.'
He smiled at it, and looked at the sleeping girl once more, tears forming in his eyes.
"Monica…" he whispered, and knew that somewhere, she heard him.
"She's awfully pretty." A rough voice whispered in his ear. He turned around. An officer was grinning at him.
"She is." Michael nodded, and looked back at the picture.
"May I see it?" He asked, and Michael handed it to him, slightly confused, but oddly proud. "Yes, she's a beauty. Is this your wife?"
"Yes, she is."
"Hmm, what a shame." The SS handed it back.
"What do you mean?"
The officer took a step back. "Well," he croaked, "she could've done better. How could a sniveling worm like you get someone so beautiful?"
Michael smiled. "Just lucky, I guess."
Outside, the single gunshot fired in the empty cabin remained unnoticed.
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