Flashback

January 7, 1941

The boat trip from Germany to Australia was long. Very long. It seemed, to Emilie, that it was a little too long for a trip she had taken before; she hadn't remembered it being this nauseating. She had spent the majority of her time in Australia, travelling back and forth between it and Germany, the country she had been born in, every year. Only when she was 15, two years ago, had her family decided to stay in Berlin for good. Well, it was more like her mother had decided, her father had caved, and she and her brother were dragged along. But it was all the same in Helga's eyes.

Anyway. She had always been independent and strong, never wanting to admit she needed help, but when she had been younger, trapped on a boat, she had grudgingly told herself to stay close to her mother. Because, as cruel as her mother was, no one dared get on the wrong side of her, even the toughest, biggest man, and a redeeming quality about her was that she protected her children as fiercely as a lioness defends her cubs. Even if she did ignore them the rest of the time.

But now Emilie was all alone, confined to a boat, unable to run from anyone. The first day, she had been up on deck, resting on the metal railing while she stared out to the horizon across the crashing waves, focusing on not throwing up. A drunken older man had stumbled over and slung an arm around her shoulders, warm breath stinking of alcohol and making her skin crawl as he slurred, "Hey, beautiful."

She had elbowed him hard in the stomach and he hadn't bothered her again.

Now Emilie lay on her back on her tiny bed; she had originally had to share the small, white room with another woman, but as soon as Emilie had begun complaining about her family and why she was going to Australia, the other woman, Margaret or something, had run to the captain and pleaded for a room change. She had gotten her wish, and now Emilie was all alone. Now that she minded much. Though she was lonely and home-sick at times, she still preferred to lock herself away inside her herself and not talk to anyone. She wouldn't have ranted to the woman on any other day, but now she was hurting more than usual and needed someone to talk to, no matter who it was. She would have spoken to a rat if it had shown up in her cabin at that point.

Emilie went for hours without eating, only getting up to open the door for one of the crew when they knocked to give her a plate of food, and she would mumble a thank you before slamming the door shut once more. She would pick at the food, but it always tasted funny. Not as good as the freshly cooked food at home… She shoved the thought from her mind as soon as it appeared. She thought of everything, yet she thought of nothing.

She hadn't changed clothes in over a day and a half now, nor had she brushed her teeth or even combed her hair. She got to a point where she felt so sick – either from the sea-sickness, lack of sustenance, sadness, or a combination of all three – that she couldn't even get up to open the door, and the crew had to open the door themselves with the key they carried on a large bronze ring. They had said she had no colour in her face and her eyes were bloodshot; she hadn't even realised she hadn't slept. Everything felt surreal. They told her to go see a doctor as soon as they landed in Australia.

Finally, after Emilie had lost all track of time and she could have been on the boat for 100 years for all she knew, the metal creaked and groaned and finally the ship came to a stop. But even then she didn't get up. In fact, she very well could have been forgotten had it not been for a maid that came around to clean the rooms, and received quite a surprise when she saw Emilie sitting on her bed, legs crossed, back pressed against the cool wall and head angled to stare at the ceiling. The lights were off in the room.

She was ushered out, and stumbled off the boat; after being bed-ridden for so long, she had almost forgotten how to move her legs. The first thing she did once she stepped onto dry land was throw up. Not eating didn't agree with her.

As Emilie hadn't made any arrangements before her spur-of-the-moment trip, she was left relying on the generosity of her friends who lived permanently Down Under. She had never gotten on very well with her aunt, who also lived there, so she was out of the question for accommodation. After going down the list of friends, and being turned away most of the time (she reminded herself to 'lose their addresses'), she finally found someone, a recently-divorced family friend, kind enough to give her a room. Maybe they had been able to see the tears that were lurking just behind Emilie's eyes; at that point it was dark, cold, and she was getting pretty damn desperate. Or maybe she was just lonely and in need of some company, no matter who it was.

Audrey didn't ask any questions, only smiled and helped Emilie with her bags. She must have already been asleep, as she was wearing her nightgown, and Emilie felt a brief flash of guilt that only added to how crappy she was already feeling. Inside it was warm and bright, a fire crackling and dancing in the living room. Lying on its side in front of the fire was a large German Shepherd that look up when Emilie entered, ears pricking and eyes wide with curiosity.

Emilie looked up when she felt Audrey place a hand lightly on her shoulder. She was eyeing her with obvious concern.

"I, um…" Emilie let out a small laugh, shaking her head and wiping her eyes, "Thank you so much for doing this. I must look like a wreck. I won't stay here for long."

When Audrey spoke, Emilie took a second to realise how odd it was to hear another Australian accent. And she found she missed the German voices she had become accustomed to. But there was no time to dwell on that now. "Nonsense," Audrey insisted, face kind and sympathetic, "You stay here as long as you need." She turned on her heel, glancing back in front of the door that lead to the kitchen, "Now that I'm up, would you like a cup of tea? It might make you feel better."

Emilie offered a thin smile, but shook her head, dropping her bags on the ground and walking over to the dog. The name on his collar read Clarence. She crouched down and held her hand in front of his nose so he could get used to her scent; he sniffed at it for a few moments, before flopping his head back down on the carpet with a groan. She ran her hand between his soft black ears, not looking up as she answered, "No, thank you. I think I'll just go to bed. Sorry again."

"Stop apologising or I'll throw you out," Audrey smiled warmly, "Come on, I'll show you to the guest bedroom." She clicked her tongue and Clarence raised his head, scrambling to his paws and trotting over to her, bushy tail wagging slightly. Then she picked up Emilie's bags, despite her protests, and lead her up the stairs.

She stopped at a door at the end of the hall, swinging it open while it creaked the entire time. The room was small, one wall completely lined with books, giving the space that old book smell you can only achieve in a library or second-hand bookstore. Against the opposite wall was a single bed, with a bedside table beside it and a lamp sitting on that. In the corner was a wardrobe, and only one painting hung over the bed. It was simple and depressingly under-furnished, but it would do. Emilie couldn't afford to be picky.

Giving Audrey a thank you hug (though it seemed Emilie just wanted the comfort of another's touch more than anything) she took the bags from her, almost forgetting how heavy they were and marvelling at how Audrey hadn't complained once while carrying them, and backed into the room, shutting the door behind her. Clarence remained in the room with her, leaping onto the foot of the bed and quickly making a place for himself, watching Emilie through deep, soft brown eyes the entire time.

Emilie felt her way towards the lamp, narrowly avoiding tripping over the bags, and flicked it on; it wasn't very bright, barely managing to fight away the shadows that threatened to claim the room. The full moon that shone through the open window was the only other source of light. Emilie walked towards the window and pushed it open a little more, which was quite difficult considering how much the wood stuck and she ended up having to use both hands. But she got it done, and stuck her head out into the warm night air. She had dressed for winter, forgetting the seasons were the opposite in Australia; she hated hot weather.

Most of the houses below were all dark and quiet. Everyone else was asleep, save for a lone dog that howled somewhere in the distance. Emilie felt a prickle of doubt tug at her heart, but shoved it away. And yet she couldn't get one question out of her head no matter how hard she tried: What was she doing here?