Author's Note: I had a genius idea while I was at work to rewrite the beginning of this chapter because I wanted it to be a little different. And so that it will help future chapters make more sense.
June 10th, 2009; Wednesday (Chicago, Illinois)
Ten trembling fingers.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Nine more days, and she'd be eighteen.
"Krista, are you even listening to me!?" The rage in her voice made Krista's limbs shake out of anger as her heart raced faster and faster.
Eight weeks she had spent making arrangements for herself in South Carolina.
Seven days' worth of clothes would have to do.
"Krista! Get your ass down here!" Now her father was getting involved. Wonderful.
Six phone calls between her and her recruiter.
"Krista DIANE!" She shivered at the sound of her middle name.
Five more minutes, and she'd be gone.
Four years of advanced placement classes studying the German language… All wasted.
Three hundred dollar bills stuffed into her bra.
Two leather bags slung across her body.
Krista's footfalls down the staircase felt as if they were landing in slow motion. Time felt distorted, her heart beat painfully present and throbbing inside her head.
"Where do you think you're going?!" Krista's mother snapped, thrusting her arms angrily outward. Her eyes were filled with a fury that was foreign to Krista. She was seeing red.
Krista kept her lips sealed while hot, silent tears dripped from her bloodshot eyes.
"Answer me!" Her mother shouted, fuming tears beginning to form.
She stopped, turning to face her mother. "I've already told you where I'm going." She replied smoothly but shakily.
Her sister's sobs floated in from the kitchen as her mother's nostrils flared. "Krista please!" Sydney wailed, her eye makeup streaming down her freckled cheeks.
Her father intervened. "Sydney, not now."
Her weeps only intensified tenfold.
The intensity of unwavering eye contact that Krista held with her mother was crushing. She'd bend, but she wouldn't let herself break. "You won't make it in the military."
It was like a laceration, but she snorted the comment away. She was pissed, but refused to bleed. "Fucking watch me."
The sharp contact of her mother's hand on her face sent a deafening, thunderous echo down the hallway.
A choked gasp from the kitchen.
The house fell into an uncomfortable silence. Krista turned her head to her mother slowly, her messy blonde hair falling free of her eyes.
She ignored the stinging heat that radiated from the left side of her face, and swallowed before heading to the door.
One phrase that will be seared into her mind for the rest of her life.
"If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back." The void of emotion in her mother's voice emphasized her words. Another laceration, but Krista held pressure; she still wouldn't bleed.
Not a single word escaped through her clenched teeth. Her mind was empty aside from the burn of her mother's warning. She turned on her heel, adjusting the bags on her shoulder. Her mother watched, her arms crossed across her chest disapprovingly. Krista placed her quivering hand on the curved door handle for the last time. She sighed, pushing it down and releasing herself to the freedom that awaited.
She closed the door respectfully behind her as Sydney's cries of distress met her ears through the glass. Her heart was truly breaking for her sister.
A tremor tore through her body, a strangled cry finally vocalizing. She slapped her hand over her mouth to quiet herself, wincing when her fingers met the sensitized skin on the side of her face.
Digging her teeth into her bottom lip, she undoubtedly drew blood as she unsteadily trekked down the cement steps. Her wobbly legs carried her down to her parked Neon on the street, her hand blindly fumbling around in her messenger bag for her keys. She crossed around the front of the car to slam herself down into the driver's seat. Another round of tremors shook her as she tossed her bags to the passenger seat and clumsily started the car. She was anxious to get as far east as she could.
Zero chance of ever turning back.
September 18th, 2009; Friday (Parris Island, South Carolina)
It felt like yesterday when Krista's nervous fingers dialed the phone number on Sergeant Carrera's recruitment business card. Marching out on the tarmac with her platoon, she realized she'd never regret a single decision she made to get her there.
Twelve weeks of the most difficult entry level military training had been mentally and physically taxing. She'd made it fifty-four hours through The Crucible during week eleven successfully. She had been awarded a meritorious promotion, and she was making a name for herself. Twelve weeks, and it all led up to graduation day.
'If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back'. Damn… It had really been over three months since she'd thought about that afternoon. So much had changed since then.
The PA system boomed around them, the announcer's words flowing into her ear canals. "The men and women you see marching before you have met and mastered the challenge of recruit training."
She wore her Private First Class stripe with pride as she marched among her fellow recruits, each refusing to let their military bearing slip regardless of their internal excitement. "Marching before you are 665 success stories," the announcer continued. If only her mother could see her now.
A sea of pressed tan shirts and bright white covers filled the tarmac, their footsteps following a rhythmic cadence. "From this day on, they will carry on the proud commitment and history of the United States Marine Corps."
His words made her let her military bearing slip for a second as the corners of her lips curved into a lopsided grin. A sense of accomplishment washed over her then. She did it. She fucking did it.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Marines of Company A and Company L." A wild applause rose from the metal bleachers. They all made it.
The ceremony began and chills of uncertainty and anticipation plagued her exposed arms. As she looked out at the crowd, a gentle breeze licked at the American flag off to her left. The commanding officers marched front and center, proudly parading before their recruits.
Sergeant Hendricks seized a microphone, and began his speech. She listened to him speak, all of her memories from the last twelve weeks flooding back to her. They were the most life changing weeks of her life, and the experience was so much more than she expected. "Today, these Marines join a long line of patriotic men and women that have earned the title, 'United States Marine'." Krista took in a deep breath, the warm and humid Parris Island air sinking into her lungs.
He then addressed the whole of the two graduating companies. "From all of us here at Parris Island, congratulations on your accomplishment. I wish you farewell… Semper Fidelis, Marines." Hendricks turned back to the crowd, the microphone firmly in the grasp of his left hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Corps's newest Marines."
'You won't make it in the military…' Oh, how wrong her mother had been.
As another round of applause erupted, Krista wished that she had someone out there clapping and cheering for her.
The ceremony blurred past, and the PA sounded again to announce the honor graduates. She hadn't been nervous until now. She slipped from formation, marching behind Private Holmes. The band played in the background as the platoon guide ons were retired, and Krista stood at full attention. Lieutenant Colonel Bryan appeared to present the awards, and she could feel sweat beading up on her back. She shouldn't be nervous. She earned that award.
Finally, he stopped before her. She offered him a sharp salute. "Reporting, sir," she said before she was allowed to lower her salute.
The man on the PA read from his list of recruits and their awards. "The most physically fit Marine of Company L is PFC Washburn, of platoon 1,073. PFC Washburn scored six hundred points out of six hundred possible points." Krista took hold of the award with her left hand as Bryan gave her a firm handshake. "Thank you, sir," she said before he moved onto the rest of the recruits.
"The senior drill instructors will now dismiss their platoons for the final time." It was chilling. It was all over and it was surreal. She wanted to smile, because damn she was proud of herself. She'd leave Parris Island a Marine, and prepared to embark on whatever path this journey would lead her to. She and the rest of her platoon performed their final about faces as recruits, turning themselves collectively away from the stands. As they were dismissed, Krista darted for Private Natasha Petrenko. She was the only one that got her sense of humor, and they connected instantly. "We fucking did it, baby!" She cried, throwing her arms around her friend as they jumped up and down.
Natasha let happy tears flow freely as she squeezed Krista. "I seriously still can't believe it. Also… Please text me. Because I'm gonna miss you."
Krista sweetly brushed away Natasha's tears with a pouted lip. "Aw, I'm gonna miss you, too."
"You better let me know how learning French goes. Then you can teach me. Hey, I gotta go… There's my dad. I'll see you on the other side Washburn!" Natasha jogged away out of sight, and Krista was left all alone again.
Twelve weeks, and they had shaped her into the woman that she was today.
January 14th, 2019; Monday (Milwaukee, Wisconsin)
Krista's jaw dropped to the floor when the lawyer seated across from her spoke. "Everything?"
The lawyer nodded to Krista. "Including the residence and adjoining property on 1737 Ardennes Avenue in New Berlin, Wisconsin."
A house? This couldn't have been real.
The last year had been a rough and jerky one, with Krista running around in circles and eventually coming to dead ends. She just wanted the carousel to stop so she could relieve her dizziness.
The lawyer slid a document across the table to Krista and she stared down at the names at the bottom. A line on the left side of the page with her grandfather's name. The letters curled elegantly across the line. 'Karl Jäger'. Her own name was printed below a line on the other side. She took a breath before she scrawled her name, and placed the pen on the table. She didn't even know she had any blood relatives in the states. It seemed impossible that he was able to find her, but weirder things had happened.
February 8th, 2019; Friday (New Berlin, Wisconsin)
Boxes lay about the house, scattered in rooms that they didn't belong in. She grasped at the handles of a red lidded Rubbermaid tote and hauled it to the attic.
Most of her grandfather's things had been cleared out before she had the chance to move in, but a single box remained as if were forgotten behind. She dropped the tote from her hands and knelt down to examine the unlabled box.
A layer of dust covered it, the flaps that closed it together aged and water stained. Her tired and bleary eyes peered inside, and she raised her eyebrows with what she saw. She recognized the 'SS' runes on the collar of a tidily folded black uniform tunic, and continued to rifle through the box. Under the tunic was a small white box chock full of German medals and ribbons. Beneath the tarnished medals was a single greyscale photograph.
She turned it over with curious fingers and took note of the description on the back. 'Jonas Fischer, SS 1942; Paris, France'. She flipped it back to the front. How had she not noticed the the Eiffel Tower looming in the background the first time around?
She sat cross legged on the dusty floor with the black Gestapo tunic that had been perfectly preserved situated in her lap. She dug into the box one more time just to come up empty handed. There was nothing else in the box. Krista sat back, eyeing the photograph. There were no letters, no photgraphs, no mementos, nothing. Just stale air.
February 28th, 2019; Thursday (New Berlin, Wisconsin)
The ground had thawed, and Krista walked her property line with a fencing company on the phone. "There's a tree right on the line that has some exposed roots-" She tripped forward, landing on her hands and knees on… Concrete? Krista's mouth fell agape alongside her eyes when she pulled herself up from her knees. She brushed her hands down her leggings and scurried to scoop up her phone that had gone skidding across the cold ground.
"Hello?" came from the other end. "Krista? Are you there?"
'What the hell?' was the only thought she had. A steam engine horn blared in the background as wispy words of French drifted about. French, and only French. What kind of weird re-enactment was this? It was set in a train station. It had to be some sort of re-enactment, otherwise, she wouldn't still be connected to the fencing company on her phone. She received a nasty glare from a young woman on the arm of a just as young man dressed as an SS officer. They turned away from her and continued on their way. She pressed her phone to her ear, taking care that no one saw her slowly retreating.
Her footing failed her, and she stumbled backward. Flat on her back in her own yard. "Hello?" Tried the now confused man on the other line.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm so sorry. There must be a dead spot in my yard," she dismissed with a laugh. What the hell just happened?
March 6th, 1943; Saturday (Paris, France)
Krista's 'departure' date for Paris: March sixth.
Krista's arrival date in Paris: Also March sixth.
She only knew the date because she saw a calender behind the counter of the inn whose keeper she begged for a room.
She'd tested the tree trick once more before she packed her bags, and it must have still worked, because she wound up in the same place.
With a small vintage suitcase packed full of anything she might need (including a small sidearm, because ya never know), and the messenger bag she'd been using as her purse, she sat alone in her quiet room. Darkness fell outside the window. She was alone, and so far from home.
She walked back through that tree with uncertainty and confidence early that morning, it like she was supposed to be there.
Jonas's tattered photograph sat in her lap as she studied it from corner to corner for the eight thousandth time. Repercussions of meddling with the past be damned, she was going to find the man come hell or high water, even if she had to do it all on her own.
March 9th 1943; Tuesday (Paris, France)
Krista had been a touch lazy with her 'research' on Jonas. Three days had passed, and she still didn't even really know where to start. She wanted to really live in the moment and take in her surroundings with mental photographs, even though she prayed that this would just be a quick in and out adventure. What could possibly go wrong?
She was exhausted and craving whiskey, but water would have to do. She plopped down into a bar stool at the closest bar she could find, and ordered a simple glass of water. Krista blankly stared down at the photograph again and picked at the corner while she patiently waited for her glass of hydration.
The bartender sat a glass of cold water before her, and she took a slow sip. In her peripherals, she noticed a grey uniformed man approach her. "Is this seat taken?" He questioned in French with a dazzling smile. She slid the photograph off the counter and tucked it beneath her thigh. Out of sight, out of mind.
She looked over to him and shook her head. He claimed the seat beside her, situating himself comfortably with his elbows pressed to the countertop.
Krista looked over to him when she was sure he wasn't watching, and allowed her eyes to take in everything about the man. His collar tabs bared singular oak leaves. Thank god she read 'Killing the SS' a month ago and had done gross amounts of freelance research, but shit… He was a colonel. Suddenly a wave of nervousness hit her like a ton of bricks. She hadn't any papers... This could be a one way ticket to her last day on earth, or he could be who she could use to track down Jonas. It couldn't be both.
She repeated 'fake it 'til you make it' over and over in her head like a silent prayer.
She had to admit. This guy was very attractive; an older man, yes, but attractive nonetheless. The way he sat with such perfect posture gave her the impression that he had quite the preceding reputation. He was polished, professional, and uncomfortably polite.
"I'm Krista, by the way. Krista Jäger," she told him in English, even though it was likely a death wish.
He turned to her, and tilted his head. "You're American?" he asked, his smile fading into something that made her feel like she was late to leave.
She figured that was a wrap, and that she was about to be hauled out to the back alley and shot. How could she have been so stupid to not even try to continue speaking in French? She laughed breathily before raising her glass to her lips and taking another sip. "Yes," she answered hesitantly.
"May I ask what brings you to Paris?" he inquired, his eyes now glued to her, searching for any sign of suspicious intention.
It was in that moment that she had to reach a snap decision on whether or not she wanted tell the whole truth, or just cherry pick the highlights. "You'll laugh," she said, turning to face the colonel.
He shook his head. "I won't laugh," he assured, turning in the stool, his full attention on her now as if he were awaiting her to say something to incriminate herself.
She took a deep breath, turning back to her half empty glass. Her index finger skated around the rim as she began to explain. "I was adopted when I was born, and I'm here looking for my cousin on my birth mother's side of the family." A breathy chuckle escaped her lips. "It sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud, actually. My sister told me that that I'm wasting my time. She said there's no way I'm going to find him." She looked over to him once more, and took note of his striking hazel eyes and dark sandy blonde hair littered with small sections of grey. He was... kinda sexy. Was that wrong? Was she wrong to think that an SS colonel was sexy?
"Do you think it's a waste of time?"
She shrugged after finally sipping the last sip her glass. "Realistically speaking... I don't know."
He nodded. "I'm sure you'll find him." He offered her a kind smile. He had a sort of arrogant air to him, but he seemed nice enough beneath that. "Care for a real drink?" he asked, pointing to her empty glass.
"Sure," she accepted with a smile.
"What's your poison?"
"Whiskey," she answered.
For a moment, she found herself pinned down under his heavy gaze her cheeks shifting to a deep shade of scarlet. "I'm sorry... I don't mean to stare," she forced out.
He didn't seem to mind the least. "Don't apologize. I was just admiring how beautiful you are."
She wondered how many other women had fallen victim to those eyes and that flattery. 'Don't fall into the trap, Krista. Don't do it' she told herself, but it was so damn hard.
Let's not let those four years of German classes go to complete waste. "Danke, Standartenführer," she replied.
He smiled then. Maybe she was in the clear for the time being. "Ah, sprichst du Deutsch?"
The bartender slid a glass a third full of liquor to her which she gladly accepted.
"Ja," she answered in his mother tongue.
"You seem like a very intelligent young woman," he mentioned before raising his glass to hers. "Prost," he said as their glasses clinked together.
"Prost," she said as well.
Following a short moment they remained silent before he finally spoke up. "Where are you from, Krista?" He asked curiously.
"Chicago," she answered simply. She worked nights and weekends at Ocean, but Chicago no longer felt like home.
"I've never been to America," he admitted. "I'd like to visit though."
She nodded, smiling politely. "I like it there," she said, allowing herself to catch his eyes again. The eye contact should be making her skin crawl, but it was doing the opposite. It had an exhilarating effect on her. She was actually beginning to enjoy herself for the first time in a long time.
"Did you leave your husband behind when you came here?" he asked, an almost devilish tone coloring his accented voice.
A husband? Please. She laughed, flashing her left hand to show the absence of a wedding band. "I'm actually not married."
"I would have thought for sure that a woman as beautiful and as smart as you would be taken." He leaned back a little and pulled a tin from his tunic pocket as well as a lighter. He took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. "Any man would be lucky to have someone like you on their arm." He put the lighter to the end his cigarette and took a long drag from it.
Krista shrugged again. "I guess I just haven't found the right person yet," she answered, moving in her stool to face him fully. "Maybe someday." She placed her elbow on the counter and rested her head on her hand. "Are you married?" It may have been out of bounds to ask a man of his position a question like that, but by that time, there was no turning back.
"No I'm not," he responded before taking another drag, and she watched him as if were an art form. "Same as you. I suppose that I just haven't found the right woman yet." He smiled at her and pulled a second cigarette from the tin. "Do you smoke?" He questioned, hurriedly changing the subject.
She did smoke, but it was Mary Jane that she danced with. "Sometimes." He passed the cigarette to her, and lit it for her once it was securely between her lips. "Thank you." She let the smoke curl elegantly from between her lips and up into her nose in a perfect French inhale.
Hi eyes never left her as she took long, slow draws, her eyes falling to her full lips coated in a flattering red lipstick from Kat Von D. "Is something wrong?" she asked, noticing that he seemed either in a daze or in a state of longing.
"No, I'm just watching you." Watching was putting it lightly. He was studying her. All of her mannerisms and body language was under a microscope.
It was weird feeling; feeling like one was on display and backed in a corner. "Why? I'm not very interesting," she said, placing the remainder of her burning cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
"I disagree," he told her, lowering his voice, his eyes actively seeking out hers.
Her heart began to pound loudly in her ears, and she could feel herself begin to tremble ever so slightly. She felt cornered for no reason, and she was beginning to think that his intimidation tactics assisted him in the rise to his rank.
His fingers brushed over her skin as he tucked a stray lock of long blonde hair behind her ear, and it felt like trails of fire had been placed there. She assumed that this is what lust at first sight felt like. As wrong as it was, she was almost dying to feel those lips on hers.
It was like he could read her mind just by looking into her eyes, and that scared the shit out of her. He slowly drew her face closer, his hand cupped gently on her cheek. It was too fast, but all of her cares had gone like the wind, and she fell into his touch easily.
Finally, he softly brushed his lips over hers, and her eyes instinctively fell closed. His lips were much softer than she had expected, and they tasted of fine whiskey, which she found utterly intoxicating
"If you're going to kiss me, you could at least tell me your name," she said to him.
She had a valid point. "Hans Landa. At your service, Fraulein." He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a polite, gentlemanly kiss over her knuckles.
Krista finished her glass of whiskey, and licked her lips to draw what liquid was on them into her mouth. He motioned for the bartender to bring her another. "Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" Her eyes flashed devilishly as she gladly accepted the third drink.
"Absolutely not," he assured, matching the look in her eyes.
She'd had her fair share of one night stands, and this was usually how it all began. She Krista could see the dark desire burning in those captivating eyes of his. She glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall and realized that it was now nearing fifteen minutes past curfew. She downed the whiskey like it was a shot, and licked her lips once more. "I think I should go. It's already past curfew. I'm not really in the mood to get arrested."
Hans waved a dismissive hand. "I'll escort you. Don't worry."
"Oh thank you. I appreciate that." Krista opened the flap of her bag and dug around to make it look like she was digging for money to pay the tab. He placed a hand over hers to stop her. She then stood up from her stool and turned to Hans. "I'll be outside," she told him simply.
The photo that had been safely tucked away beneath her leg had long been forgotten and had been left behind when she made her exit from the bar. It fluttered to the floor, and it caught Landa's attention. He scooped it up and eyed it for a moment. He looked out the large window to where Krista was standing, then back to the photo. "Obersturmführer Fischer?" He muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes at the photo. His deductions were proving correct so far. There was something more to this woman than she was letting on. 'Why does she have this picture?' was the question that popped into his mind before anything else. The young lieutenant was currently undercover in Lyon. This American woman having a photo of him was beyond peculiar. Hans slipped it into his pocket for future use.
If Krista were to admit anything right now to herself, it would be that her fruitless day had shifted into a very interesting evening. "Shall we?" he asked, pulling a pair of leather gloves over his hands.
"Of course." With the sun hidden away for the night and the moon and stars littering the sky, she realized just how chilly the night March air was. A slight breeze blew over her face, and goosebumps covered her arms beneath her sheer black blouse and jacket.
Before she knew what was happening, she had been tugged into a dark alley, and backed into a wall. His hands skirted up her legs without hesitation, pushing the hem of her skirt up in the process. Initially, she panicked, and it was etched in her face. She relaxed slightly when she didn't immediately feel the cold metal of a Luger barrel pressed to her temple. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Perhaps," he answered, his hands curving around to her ass to give it a rough squeeze. Hans was very… Hands on. The kiss the shared in the bar felt incredible, but this was all escalating so quickly.
She didn't want to give in to the demon at her side that told her 'go for it', but she kind of wanted to see what would happen if she did. Her fingers curled around the lapels of his heavy leather coat and pulled his chest flush into hers. Caught off guard by her advance, Hans let a hand move from her smooth skin to the wall behind her to catch himself. "If you are, it's working," she said, pressing her lips into his with a sort of needy desperation that she didn't know that she was capable of.
Their lips moved together with such perfection that it felt nothing short of blissful. It felt sinful, but she couldn't escape it. The sensations paired with her half inebriation from the whiskey had married together to form the type of dopamine rush that she usually smoked marijuana to achieve. "I don't think this should be done here," he breathed before nipping at her bottom lip and pulling away. "Let me take you home."
Hopefully his plan was still to escort her back to the inn, and not to wherever home was for him.
He released her leg and smoothed his hands down the front of her skirt, ridding it of the folds and wrinkles. They exited the alley, heading out to the left in the direction of the inn.
They had reached the halfway point when a group of three men in black Gestapo uniforms bounded toward them. "Standartenführer Landa. I'm terribly sorry to bother you and... This young lady, but there's been a development in our investigation," the man leading the small pack said, slightly out of breath. Trying her best to avoid contact, she took in the rank of the man that was speaking. He was a captain.
She caught the captain eyeing her, and she averted her eyes and looked off into another direction. "Of course," he replied to the captain with a nod. He turned to Krista then. "I'm terribly sorry, but I must go now. I apologize for not being able to escort you home, but you won't be bothered for being out past curfew." Her now slightly inebriated brain tried to quickly translate what he had told her in German, but it was moving to slow for her liking.
She nodded and managed a simple, 'okay'.
"I would like to see you again," he added before he departed with the rest of the group.
Krista watched as the briskly went back off in the direction she'd just come from, and noticed one of the officers give Hans a clap on the back. "Really?" she muttered under her breath. With an eye roll, she continued back to her room, and flopped down on the bed once inside. Although her alcohol tolerance was very high, the room was just slightly spinning, and that alone was enough to force her to keep her eyes open.
Fatigue and hunger were beginning to set in, but she still had no money to buy food, and it was too late at night for her to make a trip to her trusty train platform to go back home. With a deep sigh, she stood up and crossed to room to where her suitcase sat, and pulled out her phone. She held the lock button to power it on, and patiently waited. Sitting down on the corner of the bed, she peeled off her false eyelashes and blinked a few times to allow her eyes to readjust to their absence.
Google had never, correction: hardly ever done Krista dirty, so that was the first place she found herself when he phone had finally powered on.
She had gathered enough small tidbits of information that Hans Landa was an important man here during the occupation. With that being said, she had a tiny scrap of hope that she'd be able to find something about him online somewhere.
She typed in 'Hans Landa' in the search bar, and tapped the first link that came up. The page was adorned with a large picture of him at the very top, and it took her all of about a half of a second to say to herself, 'that's him'. She read through the page, and paused for a moment when she reached a subheading that read 'French Occupation'. For a long moment, she contemplated whether or not she should continue reading. She took a breath and continued until she reached the end of the article.
At least now she knew what she was getting herself into, but it led her to a question: What if he knows Jonas? This could be her only shot to find him. After reading the article, she wasn't so sure that Landa was one that she should be actively pursuing. He had been described as ruthless, arrogant, and relentless. Was that really something she wanted to get involved in? Not to mention, with his respected status in the SS, he could easily make her cease to exist with a single order, and no one would ever ask any questions.
With her mouth slightly open in shock, she absentmindedly looked around the small, dimly lit room at nothing in particular. "Oh god... What have I done?"
PLEASE NOTE: I do not give permission for any reproduction or re-adaptation of this story in any way, shape, or form.
Author's Note: Since I started writing this three years ago, I feel like my writing has grown. As I'm continuing down my story line, it seemed necessary to give a little more in depth background on Krista and why she's the way she is. That being said, I have edited this chapter pretty heavily on a whim.
One last thing: All dates and corresponding days of the week anywhere in this story are historically accurate. Not actually important, but I thought it was a nice touch.
Again, I can't thank you enough for reading, and continuing to read!