A/N: thanks for my birthday wishes and your reviews you lovely people!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE POCKET
"Ah ah ahhh," Landa chuckled, silencing her immediately with the raise of a teasing finger, "Yet again you underestimate me, mein Schatzi!" His eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement, "Don't forget, as a detective, it's my job to notice everything! The reluctance behind a pledge of allegiance, for example. The choke of a lie on someone's lips. The quiver of an unsteady hand..."
Quite without warning the smile left his face, a menacing shadow darkened his features and his eyes - obsidian black with unbridled malice - slithered sickeningly slowly down to her throat.
"Even that curious bruise on your neck... " he murmured murderously, "A parting gift from your husband, perhaps?"
White hot panic sparked through Maria's veins and instinctively her hand flew to her neck, to a spot that remained tender in the aftermath of her husband's frenzied affections.
"Bingo.." Landa hissed meaningfully, her horrified silence all the proof he required.
"Hans," she swallowed, her voice shriller then she intended, "it's not what you th-"
"Do forgive me for interrupting you mein Shatz, but before you finish your little fib, would you please be so kind as to reach into my jacket pocket and tell me what you discover there?" With a jut of his chin, he gestured downward to the side pocket of the SS uniform he was wearing.
The abrupt change in topic jarred Maria, leaving her stuttering for words that refused to form on her lips. She'd expected a violent outburst, an aggressive altercation - or at least a thorough dressing down. But instead he merely waited patiently for her to follow his basic instruction. Her first instinct was to make a run for it, but his disturbing good humour left her temporarily paralysed. Her distress must've been evident on her face however, because he looked immensely pleased with himself.
"Come now, leibling," he encouraged, jostling the lapel of the thick garment at her with a wolfish smirk, "I haven't hidden a mouse trap in there, if that's what you're concerned about. There's only one rat in this room..."
Crippled by the first stirrings of fear, Maria could do little else than obey him, reaching into the proffered pocket with quaking fingers. She could feel the heat of the colonel's body through the garment, the gentle rise and fall of his steady breathing - the only indication that this creature was human at all.
For interminable seconds she fumbled with clumsy but intimate proximity - much to his evident satisfaction, such was the fiendish delight in his eyes. At first, she found nothing of consequence and almost laughed in hysterical relief - until her fingertips closed around a small scrap of paper. Wordlessly, she pulled the note from its confines, but she didn't need to look at it to know exactly what it was. The horror curling at her insides and the hairs standing up on the back of her neck were indication enough of what shook like a leaf in her fist...
An intercepted telegram.
The floor seemed to disappear beneath her then, and she was falling, helpless, the contents of her stomach rising in her throat. She was a mouse, cornered by the cat. She knew it was over, and from the look of utter guilt on her face, it was a wonder that the Colonel was still a perfect measure of calm.
"What's that British expression?" he muttered with bemused triumph, "Something about reading between the lines..?"
Blue eyes locked with black then, and for a singular moment his boyish grin led Maria to believe that everything would somehow be alright. But deep down she knew better. With a humourless scoff, she threw her hands in the air in a shrug of bitter acceptance - her last-ditch attempt at feigning nonchalance.
"Well?" she challenged fiercely, shaking her head as though at a loss as to how to deal with their apparent quandary, "What do we do now, colonel?"
He straightened in his seat, taking a deep, measured breath. The pause that followed was so sickeningly tense that she could hear the tick of the grandfather clock out in the hallway. Could see the grin disappear from his features. Could witness his pupils dilate with mounting fury - until all of a sudden he was launching towards her, with the twisted howl of an enraged monster.
Before she even knew what was happening his massive body had knocked her to the ground with all the force of a torpedo, his thighs anchoring her beneath him like two iron bars welding her to the earth. Instantly she tried to scream, clawing at his purpling face and neck - but fingers as large and rough as serpents wrapped themselves around her throat, squeezing the remaining air from her lungs.
Terror pounded in her brain as her organs struggled for oxygen, her feet kicking out helplessly at nothing but thin air. She could feel his broken skin collecting under her raking fingernails the more she attempted to scramble for freedom. If anything though, her struggle seemed to spur him on, his teeth bared in a maniacal sneer and the veins bulging from his forehead, his face turning puce in his effort to crush her windpipe.
The sounds of her own desperate gurgles filled her ears, the blood from the cuts she'd inflicted oozed and congealed down his twisted face until it stained his teeth, making him look like the devil himself looming over her. But still he did not relent, and his strength was everything she might've expected from a fearsome SS colonel. No matter how much she tried, she could not move a muscle.
"Traitor!" He snarled through gritted teeth, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth, the tendons in his neck straining so hard they looked like they might burst through the flesh. Her head swam, her vision blurred, her pathetic flailing slowed as her body started to give up. Fleeting visions of the children flashed through her mind's eyes - Gretl's sweet laugh, Kurt's boyish dimples, Brigitta's curious gaze. Leisl, Friedrich, Louisa, Marta - all seven of them soon to be made motherless once again.
And then she thought of Georg. Her husband, her light in a darkened world. After weeks of being torn apart by circumstance, they had managed to find their way back to one another - but it had all been for nothing. She would never see him again, she knew. Her last image from this earth would be the contorted face of the murderer bent over her.
The rest of the world began to ebb away as she let herself succumb to the comfort of unconsciousness, the pain no longer seeping into her bones. But then, by some miracle, the clamp around her throat gave way, the weight of Landa's body was lifted from hers, and her burning lungs began to inhale mouthful after mouthful of air, dragging her back into the room. Coughing on sweet, crisp oxygen she was vaguely aware of a commotion nearby and when her bloodshot eyes came into focus, it was to discover her husband - half crazed with might and fury - wrestling her attacker to the ground.
"Georg!" she tried to rasp, but her windpipe refused to cooperate - and he wouldn't have heard her anyway, for the two men were locked in such a violent tangle of limbs that it was impossible to determine where one of them ended and the other began.
Something savage and untameable had erupted in Georg's veins the second he'd entered the drawing room. The sight of his wife's limp body crushed beneath her aggressor, her eyes bulging from their sockets - it'd sparked a clash of fear and rage so potent that he could think of nothing else but tearing Landa limb from limb. And now that he'd managed to pin the vermin underneath him, he couldn't claw at him fast enough. The sickening crack of sinew and bone could be heard as his fist collided with the colonel's face, but Landa gave as good as he got, his iron grip curling around Georg's jaw and pushing hard in an attempt to wrench him off.
A twisted laugh broke from the colonel's mouth, making him look positively insane, "how does it make you feel captain?" He grunted, his fingers squeezing Georg's jaw so tightly it felt as though it might break, "you're risking your own neck for a common whore."
Slamming an elbow sideways into Landa's extended arm, Georg sent the colonel's grip buckling, leaving him free to deliver another blow to the devil's bloodied face with all his might. The impact had its desired effect, for his foe immediately fell limp - and Georg took the opportunity to scramble frantically to his feet. There was no telling how long Landa would remain unconscious for and so he had to move fast.
Without a second's delay, he flew to his wife's side, gathering her into his arms. She was visibly shaken and her neck was red raw with the imprint of Landa's fingers, but she was breathing and she was conscious. Thank heaven.
"Oh God, Maria are you alright?!" He near sobbed, chest heaving, "I should've got here sooner, I should've never let you.. what happened?!"
Rubbing her throat and nodding in reassurance, Maria managed to rasp a few words, "he knew everything, Georg."
"I know, darling," Georg pulled her to him and cradled her against his body, stroking her hair, "I know. We need to leave this house, right this minute!"
"But the children.."
"They're safe," he told her, "with Elsa and Max. But I'll explain all that in the car. Are you able to stand?"
Trusting him with her life, she gripped his forearms and let him pull her gently to her feet. Relieved to see that some of the colour was coming back to her face, Georg held on to her tightly, offering her a tender smile of reassurance. She returned the gesture weakly, but then her eyes locked on something over his left shoulder and immediately her face marred with unmistakable horror.
He knew, even before Maria's harrowed cries of warning, that Landa was back on his feet. But there was no time to even turn around before he felt the cold butt of a pistol pressing into the back of his skull. Instinctively, he froze.
"Ha," Landa chortled triumphantly in his ear, "caught you flinching!"
"Hans, please!" came Maria's desperate cry - but the colonel merely gave a bark of incredulous laughter.
"All the weeks you spent in my company and you still mistake me for a man capable of mercy?" He shook his head in mock disappointment, "Oh leibling.. I was ready to kill you with my bare hands, for goodness sake. But I suppose a bullet will have to do."
There was the audible click of the hammer being pulled back and Georg's eyes immediately locked with his wife's.
"Maria.." came his low warning - and he gestured tentatively with his fingers to the open door behind him, urging her to leave the room lest she see something that no innocent person ought to see. His command went unheeded however, for she stood stubbornly firm despite her obvious distress, refusing to break his gaze.
"Turn around," Landa spat at the back of his victim's head, "I want to watch the life leave your eyes when I pull the trigger."
Holding his wife's gaze solidly, Georg gave her a barely perceptible nod of reassurance, crossing his fingers in front of his chest so that only she could see. It will all be alright, he told her with his eyes - though in truth he couldn't possibly see a way out of the mess they found themselves in.
"Move!" Landa barked, jabbing the gun impatiently against Georg's skull again. Slowly, cautiously, Georg did as instructed, turning on the spot with his palms raised slightly in a gesture of surrender. Captain and colonel faced one another, the crushing silence interminable as Landa pressed the cold metal firmly between his victim's eyes.
"It's a pity really," he trilled casually, as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather, "the Fuhrer will be most disappointed that we couldn't put you to better use."
Georg gave a bitter scoff, "I think I'd gladly choose death over pledging loyalty to a psychopath."
Landa only rolled his eyes, "How very cowardly of you."
"I prefer to think of it as honourable."
Despite his air of measured calm, Georg's blood thrummed through his veins, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He'd come close to death many times before, but in every single one of those events, he'd had some level of control over his own fate. He'd been able to do something to alter his path. Now however, he was as helpless as a child.
Time seemed to stand still then, as he waited for Landa to pull the trigger, Maria's gentle sobs the only sound that filled the room. He was about to close his eyes, to brace himself against the impact - if he would even feel one - when suddenly, he spotted something over Landa's shoulder that made his heart soar. There in the doorway, moving into the room on feather-light feet with a silencing finger pressed to his lips, was Max.
Quick as a cat, the impresario moved to the drinks cabinet in the corner and picked up the sturdy whiskey decanter that stood atop it, testing the weight of the object with his hands. Georg fought to keep his expression neutral lest Landa were to notice his reaction and spin round on the spot - but he needn't have worried. The only indication that anything might be amiss was Maria's sudden intake of breath.
"Hush!" Landa hissed at her, oblivious to the impresario's calculated approach behind him, "your tears won't save you."
Georg watched, adrenaline coursing through his veins, as Max crept as close to Landa as he dared, took one last longing look at the decanter in his hands and the expensive amber liquid it contained, before raising it high above his head and bringing it crashing down upon the colonel's skull. The deafening sound of shattering glass filled the room, thick splinters showering to the floor. Instantly, Landa's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his pistol falling forgotten beside his limp body.
Studying his handiwork, Max bent over the unconscious body and sighed at the sight of the amber liquid stains seeping into the carpet. Shaking his head forlornly, he looked up at a horrified Georg and Maria, giving a defeated shrug.
"That was a damn good vintage as well!" he grumbled.
A/N: a few of the quotes were taken/amended from Inglorious Basterds, I own nothing etc etc