Dawn
By Monnie
I've been slipping into some Evanescence phase – but I've found, like, three songs that coincidentally fit seamlessly with this storyline, and I have to include them somehow. Which reminds me, I don't own them. Or their lyrics. Blah blah blah. I don't know what's been happening to me, with all the writer's block I've been getting with this story. I'm trying very, very hard to make sure that the image of the horrors and the pain that these people went through is captured in text alone – you can imagine how difficult it is. Or maybe you can't. Either way, that's probably why I've been so long in between updates. I had a good idea at the beginning of the story, but then plans changed to keep with context, so, at this point, a lot of it is being created as we go along. Forgive me for being slow, this is a delicate story.
Chris, hope this one's long enough for you. ;)
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Chapter Eleven – Venomous Eyes (I Must Be Dreaming)
"Work faster!" They yelled in their faces, pacing up and down the aisles of shoveling workers, pushing down the weak, and crushing them with their canes.
Many suffered broken backs from the tips of canes, and none of them survived. They were just feed for the fire.
There was one of the weak that did manage to keep up her strength long enough to finish the job. She had lost her voice with the cold, having to work outdoors in bare feet, and gradually losing weight made the cold harder to outsmart. The women in the unit were all deathly thin, and many of them were near fatally ill, but the thinnest of all the survivors was Phoebe. The fighter.
The Schutzstaffel signaled for the workers to stop. She dropped her shovel and vomited into the snow.
= =
Rachel took four steps forward. She had been counting her steps for several hours, looking for a way to pass the time. She was going mad, and her friends were not there to bring her sanity back. Phoebe had been taken away to work with several others, and Monica was off somewhere, probably being treated the same way. But Rachel – she was forced to sit with twelve women she didn't know, and pace around a room, waiting to serve the master of the house nearby.
She put her hand on her belly. There was something in there. Or, so she very much believed there was. But how could she have conceived? She had found out only a week after that incident... was he the father?
Her thoughts consumed her, and she felt faint. Her head spun, and she felt like someone was sucking the life out of her. Confused, she sat down on the floor with the others. None of them spoke. It was as if they didn't notice her presence. In fact, she was sure they didn't.
A voice in the corner of the room – harsh, and cold, beckoned the girls to the kitchen, where they would spend the evening. But they would never receive any of the dinner they prepared. A young woman who snuck a taste of the precious meat was taken out of the house and beaten to death. After that, not one dared to even smell the food.
= =
"This is it." Chandler opened the stiff metal doors and turned to the young girl. "Need help getting up?"
She shook her head, and stepped up into the truck. Chandler shut it, and cracked one panel open slightly, letting some light in. He offered her the chair, and she sat in it warily. He leaned up against the wall and slid down, his feet in front of him, spread eagled. He suddenly felt very aware that she was naked, and he avoided looking at her, slipping his jacket off his shoulders.
"Are you cold?" Chandler asked.
After a moment, she nodded slowly.
"You want my jacket?"
Another nod. He stood up and handed it to her, and she wrapped it around her, sivering.
"So..." Chandler began, "how are you? Are you all right? I mean, did Kip hurt you?"
She stared at him.
"Kip?" Chandler asked again, "the man I took you from? Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"Not a big talker, are you?"
Shrug.
"Can I at least know your name?"
She looked up and met his eyes. He knew those eyes... "Monica," she whispered, and Chandler recognized her instantly.
"God, Monica! I know you – don't you remember me? It's me! Chandler!" he gestured at himself, as if it would help the situation. "We met just outside of here. You – uh – you ran into me?"
Still no answer.
"Monica, please speak to me." He pled.
She hesitated, then whispered, "I remember."
"Oh, good." Chandler sighted, and scooted closer to her; she shifted back. He paused. "What's wrong? Did I frighten you?"
"N–no."
"Then what is it?"
"It's – it's this room. It scares me."
"Oh. Yeah, it creeps me out, too. I don't like all this darkness. Is that what scares you about it?"
She shrugged. "Not really. I live in the dark."
"Oh. Well, what is it?"
"It – I'm not really sure. Many people have been in here before. I feel it in my bones. I smell it in the air. Can't you smell it?"
He sniffed. The air was dank and rotten. "What do you smell?"
"Death."
= =
"So, your family made you go, pretty much?" Monica asked, crossing her legs, and leaning back in the chair.
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"That's gotta be rough."
"I guess." Monica and Chandler had been chatting in the truck for a little over an hour and a half, and she'd finally come out of her shell. He'd made her laugh on several occasions, and he thought at one point he'd even seen her eyes sparkle. Chandler leaned forward from his spot on the floor and smiled. "So, what about you, huh? What's your story?"
She sobered. "What do you mean?"
"Like – I dunno. Why aren't you suicidal? Or, like, giving up? You're fighting. That's really unusual."
She furrowed her brow. "Wha – do you want me to go throw myself into the fence?"
"No, no!" He put his hands up. "I mean – I guess – what I'm trying to say is – it's just that –" he stuttered, then stopped himself and took a deep breath. "I mean – what's keeping you alive? What are you fighting for?"
Monica fell silent, deep in thought. She looked up after a moment. "I'm fighting for love."
"Love?"
"Love."
"Whose love?"
"I – I don't know. My friends, my family, I guess."
"Your mother and father?"
"I don't know. I don't know if – if they're even alive. I guess – I guess I'm fighting for my brother. But, I don't know if he's alive, either. Nor my husband."
"Your – your husband? You're married?"
"Yes, his name's Michael."
"Oh, so that's why..." His voice trailed off.
"Why what?"
"You've called me 'Michael' before."
"Really?" Monica covered her mouth.
"Yeah. So, you think he's still alive?"
"I hope he is."
Chandler concealed his wandering thoughts. "You love him?" he asked.
"With all my heart."
He smiled. "Well, he's a very lucky guy."
"Thanks," she reciprocated, "what're you fighting for, Chandler?"
"I'm fighting for love, too."
"Oh?"
"But not quite the same thing."
"What's yours, then?"
"Well," he began, "have you ever fallen in love with someone before you met them?"
"Not personally, but yeah. I know what you mean."
"It was like that. I was in love with a woman that I knew only from my dreams."
"So, you're looking for her?"
"That was the idea. But there's more – just a while ago, I met her."
"You met your dream woman?"
"Exactly. But, I get the feeling she doesn't like me. Plus, she's – well, she's taken."
Monica chewed on her lip. "Hmmm... does she belong to this camp?"
"Yep. It's also illegal to carry on love affairs with prisoners. 'Course, no one does anything about it – that's why the officers get away with it, but I'm so afraid of doing anything about it. I don't want to make anything worse."
"Does she know about it?"
"She doesn't know the way I feel, no."
"Does she know you?"
"Yes, we've talked before."
"Why don't you tell her?"
"Because she's taken!" Chandler looked at her as if she'd gone mad.
Monica was nonplussed. "When has that ever stopped true love?"
He started to respond, when there was a tap at the truck's back panel. "Chandler?"
"Joey?" He asked.
"Yeah, it's me!"
Chandler and Monica both regained their former identities – their 'camp' identities. "Come on in."
Joey pried open the doors, and climbed on the truck. He held rags on his hand, and he offered them to Monica, who took them gratefully. Without thinking, she stood up, and the jacket she was wearing slipped off her shoulders. Joey and Chandler averted their eyes as she pulled on her clothes, and Joey gave his friend a look of inquiry, which Chandler met with a shake of his head. Joey nodded, and they turned around to address the situation.
"So um – how is everything?" Joey asked, shifting awkwardly.
"Fine. Just fine. Mon?" Chandler glanced at the tiny woman, who nodded.
"Good, good. Listen – uh --" Joey scratched the back of his head. "Kip thinks – uh – that you two – that – that you two – uh – hum – that you –" He brought his hands together in simulation, and they understood.
Monica spoke up. "We didn't –"
"I know," Joey interrupted, "so you're going to have to lie if you want to see each other again. But I'm supposed to take her back, by Kip's orders – so I'm gonna wait outside." He took two steps towards the doors. "I'll give you guys a minute alone." He shut the door behind him.
"Um, Monica?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you – um – do you want to see me again?"
She considered a moment. "Yes. Yes, I do."
Chandler broke out into a smile. "Wonderful!" he laughed, reaching out and taking her hand in his. He realized what he'd done, and nearly let go – but her eyes were locked with his – and instead, he kissed her knuckles gently. A smile dusted her lips, and she blushed, color reaching her face for the first time in weeks. Chandler took the biggest risk he could think of, and pulled her to him. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest. He held her close, and they broke apart wordlessly, just a moment too soon.
In complete silence, they exchanged promises to meet again, and prayed the day would truly come.
= =
Rachel squinted into the darkness. In one corner of the room stood an SS officer, scanning the room intently, and she squinted a little harder, trying to make out who it was. She'd learned the faces of several officers, knowing their habits and behavior towards prisoners helped her when it came to learning how to act in front of them. Some allowed more free time than others. Some scraped larger portions of soup into their bowls. But most importantly, some of them only killed on certain occasions. Those were the ones to watch out for, because one never knew when they would strike.
The officer locked eyes with Rachel, and triumph swept across his expression. He smiled maliciously, and Rachel closed her eyes, hoping she could avoid the inevitable if she pretended she was asleep.
"Hey there, little one," breathed the officer, when he'd reached Rachel's bunk, "I know you." He brushed his fingertips over her face, and behind her ear. "Wake up, won't you? Open your eyes."
Rachel's eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up at him with fear and hatred. But what she noticed was that he mirrored her expression. Was there fear in those eyes? Those dark, cold, merciless eyes also sheltered frailty?
"That's a girl," he whispered, "come with me. We're visiting the dentist again. Do you understand?"
Rachel nodded timidly, and the officer grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, and pulled her out of her bed. She whimpered in pain, her stomach clenching and twisting, and her foot caught the arm of Monica, who had been sleeping almost peacefully.
She was instantly jerked awake, but she said nothing, as her mind comprehended what was going on. She looked up and into a pair of desperate, hopeful eyes – Rachel's eyes. And she met a pair of foul, sharp, venomous eyes; a pair which she did not recognize, until she saw the face in which they rested. His name silently trilled off her lips, and she chanced her luck, waiting until they left the block to tiptoe out of the block after them.
= =
They'd entered the truck behind block fourteen, just as she and Chandler had earlier that day. But she knew for sure, that this meeting was not going to end as gracefully. With a quick step into the shadows, she was able to dwell in the darkness, the voices from within the steel walls faint but coherent. She strained her ears. Someone was crying.
"Please – please don't."
"Why? Why not? You took it the last time."
"This time is – different."
"Did I give you permission to speak?"
"No, Kip."
"Bitch!" He barked, his patience diminishing. "Did I give you permission to call me by my first name?"
"No, sir."
"That's better. Now – why is this time different?"
Silence.
"Answer me!"
Monica heard him slap her.
"My baby! Please, sir – my baby!" Rachel sobbed.
"What baby?" Kip's harsh voice was eerily calm. Monica slid to the ground, her arms around her knees.
"My – my child."
"But – the last time I brought you here, you had never – you were a –"
"Yes, sir."
"So, the child is –"
"Yes, sir." And with a hushed voice, she added, "the child is yours."
"No. No, I won't believe it." There was panic in his tone. "You couldn't be. I – I'm – no." He took a long, shaking breath. "This child shall not be born."
"What?"
"You heard me. Lie still."
"NO! STOP IT!" Rachel screamed. Objects clattered to the ground, and Monica, outside, clutched at her own flesh, silently crying, and listening to the events within.
"COME HERE!"
"NO! LEAVE ME!" She let out another scream, and a breathless groan, "LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME –"
There was a sickening thud – and a strangled cry. Rachel choked, and gagged, and fell silent. Monica clapped her hand over her mouth, her tears still streaming down her cheeks. She slinked back into the crevice underneath the truck, and collapsed onto the earth, the silence more overwhelming than the screams were a moment before.
The doors swung open, and Kip crunched to the rocks below him. He staggered forward, and Monica tilted her head to see him trudge away... with Rachel's fragile, limp body slumped over one shoulder. She stared harder, and saw that Rachel's hopeful eyes were open – cold and grey now, and she had the remnants of blood drying on her cracked lips.
Two lives lost in a single second.
Monica's thoughts could not comprehend the horrors she had to face from one day to the next. She dug her nails into her skull, willing her mind to wake her – but her nightmare was real.
And as the clamor of cold steel enveloped the pungent stench of death in the hollow darkness, the truck behind block fourteen held another secret in its depths.
How can I pretend that I don't see
What you hide so carelessly?
I saw her bleed
You heard me breathe
So I froze inside myself
And turned away
I must be dreaming
We all live
We all die
That does not begin to justify you
It's not what it seems
Not what you think
No I must be dreaming
It's only in my mind
Not in real life
No I must be dreaming
Help you know I've got to tell someone
Tell them what I know you've done
I fear you but spoken fears can come true
We all live
We all die
That does not begin to justify you
It's not what it seems
Not what you think
No I must be dreaming
It's only in my mind
Not in real life
No I must be dreaming
Not what it seems
Not what you think
I must be dreaming
Just in my mind
Not in real life
I must be dreaming...
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