Chapter 14
Bruno lay awake on his mattress in the attic. A small smile played on his lips and put dimples in his thin cheeks. He stared up at the ceiling, but saw nothing except Phaedra. He replayed the scene over for the fiftieth time: Phaedra stacking books, with her hair dazzling in the light, delicate fingers holding books. Then, when he saw her helped down, he rolled over on his side, again, for the fiftieth time.
Phaedra. How did he think of that name? He thought back to the scene again, and in his memory, he looked at the books. They were hazy and vague, but he hoped his memory would prove to be useful. One minute passed, then two, then five, and still no answer. Disappointed, Bruno rolled over again to stare into the dark wall of his room. Sleepless still, he went to the window and looked out over the collapsing tops of buildings in Auschwitz. Memories flooded his mind, making his vision swim. He balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into the cold, weak flesh of his palm, hoping, begging the pain to distract him from his demons. He tore his eyes away from the window, and lay in his bed, finally drifting off into a troubled sleep.
In his dream, he floated above Auschwitz, his hand outstretched, reaching towards something. There was a light, and he felt himself flying faster. Then, he saw a figure. A bird. No. A snake? No.
Phaedra. The word echoed like a song, a whispered promise.
Phaedra.
Her hair glistened, billowing in the nonexistent wind. Her eyes were sapphires, her lips two drops of ruby. Her skin was pale, like milk. Smile played upon her lips. Bruno felt his heart exalting, he could hear it thumping.
Phaedra.
He called her name. She was now close enough to touch. She smiled, and her mouth formed the word "Bruno." A pearly hand caressed his cheek.
He recoiled. Her breath was rancid. The hand was flaking, and her cheeks thinning. Her hair turned brown and fell away. Her eyes sunk in, and her lips lost their vitality. Her breath smelled like blood.
A rattling sound came from her throat, and, as her mouth formed the 'o' in "Bruno", a large worm emerged, slimy, pink, with a mouthful of teeth.
Bruno screamed, and woke, mid scream. A sheen of cold sweat drenched his forehead. His hand shook violently as he wiped it away. He turned sharply towards the window, expecting to see the ghostly specter of his dream floating towards him; cold, bony limbs outstretch trying to take him into its arms. All he saw was the sun rising over his windowsill.