Markus packed a few shortbread cookies into a small paper bag, which he kept concealed in his jacket when he, Dietrich, and Moffitt arrived at the hospital. Dietrich wasn't optimistic about the cookies doing anything for Anselm, but at least they were a source of sugar, and he kept telling himself that doing little things was better than doing nothing. He stood with Moffitt while Markus asked the receptionist about seeing Anselm, hoping they would start making progress with him. Dietrich was willing to help as long as possible, but even he had his limits and he wasn't sure where those limits stopped.
When they were brought up to the room Anselm was being kept in, Dr. Traube explained that Anselm wasn't always cooperative. It didn't come as a surprise to Dietrich that Anselm wouldn't explain why, but Traube had his suspicions that it was related to whatever he went through in East Germany.
"I don't think I've ever met anyone other than Troy who's this tight-lipped," Moffitt said. "It took years for him to even tell us what state he was from."
"Because of all the nonsense with his family?" Markus asked.
"Pretty much."
"Interrogating Troy was like interrogating a brick wall," Dietrich said.
Moffitt sighed. "Bloody hell, trying to ask him about home was like talking to a brick wall." He looked at floor. "Although, now that I know why he clammed up every time we'd ask, I can't exactly blame him. It's probably the same case for Anselm."
The three men were led to Anselm's bed. The young man was sitting up, slouched over and huddled under a blanket and Dietrich's jacket. A bowl of broth was on a nearby table, along with a cup of plain tea.
"You have visitors, Anselm," Traube said.
As expected, Anselm didn't respond. He kept looking at his lap until Traube left, then he glanced up at his uncles and Moffitt. "Do you all have nothing better to do?"
"As tempting as it is to give a sarcastic response, I will refrain," Dietrich said. "No. We are going to help you."
"We even brought something." Markus took the paper bag out, and opened it to show Anselm the shortbread cookies. "Go ahead, take as many as you like."
"Try them with your tea." Moffitt made a face. "I ought to bring a few bags. How do they expect anyone to feel better with this? That broth, too. Anah would be furious with it."
Markus looked confused for a moment, then Dietrich said, "The snake can cook, and cooks very well."
There was silence for a moment, then Anselm said softly, "It's at least better than what I had in East Germany."
Dietrich looked at Moffitt, who looked at Markus, who looked at Dietrich. All three glanced at Anselm, but quickly went back to exchanging shocked glances with each other. Dietrich was afraid to speak, and he suspected Moffitt and Markus were, too. They were standing in a room full of gunpowder, holding matches and trying not to drop them. Markus looked to be holding his breath. Moffitt was looking at the brothers like they were going to tell him what to do next. It was painfully obvious none of them wanted to be the first to speak.
Dietrich resisted an urge to panic when he noticed Anselm was giving each of them a look that suggested he was a bit confused, but too tired and still too scared to really express it. Dietrich looked at Markus and Moffitt, noticing they were both looking at him. Why do you two idiots think I am the best one to speak? Heaven's sake… He turned back to Anselm. "I… uh… S-Sorry."
Silence fell over the room once more, and Dietrich held his breath. The silence was broken by Anselm reaching into the paper bag to take one of the shortbread cookies. He looked over it for a long moment before tasting it with a tiny nibble. He seemed to be savoring it, then put the rest of it in his mouth. "I thought it was going to be sawdust, but it's not. It's… good." He took another cookie from the bag.
"No, I can assure you we don't use sawdust in our cooking here," Markus said. "You had Aunt Liesel's cooking when you arrived. That was good, right?"
Anselm shrugged. "Didn't really think about it."
"That is alright. After your journey, I imagine you were starving."
"Not much different than any other day."
Markus sighed. "Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore."
"No?"
"No. When they release you from the hospital, we will show you."
Anselm didn't respond. He put his cookie back in the paper bag, and drew his knees up to rest his head on them. "Why am I here?"
Markus looked at Dietrich, then back at Anselm. "Why… in the hospital?"
Anselm nodded.
"You fainted in my living room. We could already see that you are badly malnourished, and you needed help, but we were not going to force you to come here unless something happened." Markus sat by the bed, getting close but not too close. "May I ask you just one thing?"
Anselm didn't say anything, but he maintained eye contact with Markus.
"Where is your mother?"
Dietrich expected Anselm to shut down again. Instead, Anselm said, in a quiet voice, "Dead."
"When?"
"About three months ago."
Markus looked at Dietrich and Moffitt, then back at Anselm. "Are you… Are you ready to tell us what happened?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes. We will not hurt you if you don't wish to talk."
Anselm glanced to his right at the curtain shielding him from the view of other patients. "Not here."
"Okay." Markus set the paper bag on the table next to the bed. "Here. Take all of these. Just don't eat them all at once, or you will make yourself sick."
"We can bring more treats if you'd like," Moffitt said. "Perhaps you'd like to experience chocolate."
"Oh, we can do better than that," Dietrich said. "Cake. Real cake."
"Might be difficult to sneak a piece of cake in here," Markus whispered.
"That does not mean we cannot try."
Moffitt gave him a concerned look. "Dietrich?"
"What?"
"You're starting to sound like Troy."
Dietrich's smile dropped, and he looked away from his brother and Moffitt.
"Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?" Moffitt was making a poor attempt at suppressing a grin.
"I am perfectly fine. Could we get back on topic, please?" Dietrich looked at Anselm, offering a small smile. "Even if we cannot bring you something tomorrow, we will have a slice of cake waiting when we take you home."
He expected Anselm to say something nasty to him, but the young man looked defeated and lost. Anselm said nothing, and resumed staring down at his lap.
Dietrich was stunned that they had managed to talk to Anselm at all that day, and he didn't want to ruin what they had so far. He was curious as to what prompted Anselm to talk in the first place, and why he seemed more accepting of them compared to yesterday. Dietrich chose not to ask questions, figuring it was best to leave on a good note.
It was early in the evening when the three returned to Markus's home for dinner. Sophie was quite chatty about her day at school, but Dietrich wasn't paying attention. He had left his jacket with Anselm again, and was surprised that Anselm had kept it at all, given the young man's opinion of Dietrich. There were a lot of questions, and so far, not many answers. The only question they had answers for that day was what happened to Anselm's mother, but the "how" had yet to be explained.
Dietrich glanced at his still-talking niece, and immediately began wondering how bad Anselm's school experience had been. After dinner and hot showers, Dietrich and Moffitt sat down with cups of tea, thick slices of streusel, and a chessboard in the living room. Their game had just begun when Dietrich said, "I think we made progress today."
"With Anselm? Much to my surprise," Moffitt said. "I expected that to go horribly wrong at any point."
"I still think there is a chance we can help him."
"I will remain cautious, but, I agree."
Dietrich studied the board for a moment. Moffitt was the best chess player of the four Rats, having won multiple tournaments while attending Cambridge, so Dietrich couldn't afford to lose sight of what was happening. He made his move, then continued the conversation. "I was wondering, during dinner, if it would be possible to have Anah tutor Anselm when he is ready."
"What brought that up?" Moffitt asked.
"Oh, Sophie's incessant chattering. I have a feeling Anselm's education was… subpar, to say the least."
"That wouldn't surprise me. He's not stupid. After all, he did survive the journey here, which from what I've heard, isn't easy."
"No. People have done some extreme and highly dangerous things just to get out of East Germany."
"Have you been to the border at all?"
"Not personally, but I have seen photographs and talked with a few of our own border guards. I am not someone who scares easily, but being assigned there would be… nerve-wracking, to say the least."
"This, coming from the man who prevented war from breaking out with East Germany."
"Well, I would like to not have to do that again. Having the fate of the world resting on my shoulders was not exactly a fun experience. I am quite enjoying not having to worry about the prophecy anymore."
"Frankly, so am I. It's been nice." Moffitt grinned. His grin faded as he turned his focus to the chessboard. After making his move, he said, "I can talk to Anah. I think she'd be happy to help give Anselm some proper teaching. She's been doing a fantastic job with Jules over the last few years."
"Jules is growing up fast."
"He certainly is, but he still loves horses and is still asking for one of his own." Moffitt's grin came back. "He'll get it, just not for another two years. Speaking of horses, though…" Moffitt sighed, his grin fading once more, "Snowstripe has definitely reached the point where he can't be ridden anymore."
"I'm sorry. He means the world to you."
"Yes, he does. He's very old for a horse, but he's sound. I just think it's best to retire him completely from riding. When I return home, I'm going to be heading out to the farm to look at getting a new horse. It… feels wrong, though."
"Riding has kept you sane. I do not think there is anything wrong with you acquiring another horse to take out on trails and such. Nothing can truly replace Snowstripe. You will always have the memories."
Moffitt nodded. "I hope I've given Snowstripe a good home over the years. I think he knows what I did for him when the Scots Greys made the switch to tanks—even if he did bite me when I went home. Somehow, I knew the intention was, 'Don't you ever leave me again.'"
"I have never seen a horse and rider so in sync with each other as you and Snowstripe. He is truly special to you, and I think you are special to him. It seems strange to say, given that he is not a talking horse, but anyone who watched the two of you would see that you two were meant for each other. I doubt he would want you to quit riding just for his sake. You still have knowledge and plenty of love to pass on to another horse."
"That… That makes me feel better. Thank you."
"No problem."
Moffitt took a sip of his tea before making his next move, taking a pawn from Dietrich. "We got off topic."
"That is alright. I do not want to be focusing on Anselm every hour of the day. When we bring him back, I think it is imperative that we avoid fussing over him." Dietrich stared down at his own tea, thinking back to the weeks and months after his suicide attempt. "There is a time to help and a time to let someone be. You, Hitch, and Tully grasped that pretty quickly with me."
Moffitt nodded. "The first time you visited me after you moved into your new home, I didn't think you wanted me, Vanora, or Anah fussing over you. I expected Anah to fuss, but she didn't."
"No. She offered to make food or hot beverages, but did not force it."
"I remember she just sat with you and cuddled for a bit."
"Yes. Never really held a snake like that before. Or at all. The amusing nature of the situation actually helped, in a way, largely because I was thinking about that and not my…" Dietrich glanced at the scar on his right wrist. "Not… this."
"I know you said you don't want to be talking about Anselm all the time, but I do think amusement is something he'll benefit from."
"Maybe we should call Troy, then," Dietrich said with a snort.
"Him. Or Anah. Him and Anah together, especially when they start acting like a brother and sister perpetually annoying each other."
"There is also Ludwin and Sophie, but I am not sure Anselm will want to be around younger children."
"I think it'll be best to wait and see what he wants when we bring him here." Moffitt studied the board, then his gray eyes widened with delighted surprise. "Oh, hello! Perfect—" He moved a piece rather close to Dietrich's king. "Check."
Dietrich sighed and rubbed his face, unable to believe he hadn't caught Moffitt in time. "Damn it. Well, good game."
The next morning, when the two brothers and Moffitt headed to the hospital, they were hopeful to continue what they had started yesterday. Anselm's posture hadn't changed from the day before, and he was still not being cooperative with the staff. Dietrich admitted it was a bit of a surprise that Anselm was showing more discomfort around the doctors and nurses than he was with Dietrich, Markus, and Moffitt. At the same time, he wasn't entirely surprised, and in a way, he sympathized.
Dietrich and Moffitt stayed with Anselm while Markus was getting instructions and supplements from Traube. Anselm was quiet for a few moments before glancing up at Dietrich. "Are they letting me go?"
"They should be, yes," Dietrich replied. "The doctor did say two days, and it has been two days."
Markus walked over to them a second later, and motioned to Anselm. "Alright. Time to head home."
Dietrich couldn't help wondering if Anselm was feigning cooperation with them. What was going to happen once they were back at Markus's? Was Anselm going to go back to hiding and accusing Dietrich of cowardice? Dietrich didn't want to think that, but he couldn't deny that it was a possibility. He kept a close eye on Anselm as they left the hospital, but tried not to make it obvious when they got in Markus's vehicle to head home. The whole time, Anselm was still wearing Dietrich's jacket. That had to mean something, right?
After the car stopped in the driveway, Dietrich offered to help Anselm out, but his help was declined. Not rudely, but very tiredly. Everyone was quiet as they went inside, but Dietrich could sense that Markus and Moffitt were trying to make the silence more natural and less tense. Once the door was closed, Anselm disappeared into the living room.
Moffitt cleared his throat. "Anselm? Would you like anything?"
Anselm stared at him.
"We talked a little yesterday, remember?"
"Yes. I know." Anselm sat at the edge of the couch, huddled in a blanket.
"We're not going to force you to discuss everything. It's very obvious that you have been through some unimaginable horrors, and we are aware that escaping East Germany is no picnic. I know we don't really see eye to eye, but we want to help you regardless."
"Why? Why would you want to?"
"It is the right thing to do," Dietrich said. "You were not taught that, were you?"
Anselm didn't respond, and went back to looking at the floor.
"You were not taught kindness, nor were you raised in a society that fostered kindness. You were probably raised to see it as a weakness, something that would hinder your survival. You were not shown love by anyone, were you?"
"There was… There was Mother."
"Really? Did she really love you?"
"I… of course she did."
"Did she? She did not marry your father for love. She married him because he fit the criteria of what was considered 'perfect' in the Nazis' eyes. Do you recall her saying anything truly loving about your father? Did he ever do anything nice for her?"
"That wasn't exactly possible with the war on. Other than that… I don't remember anything. What are you trying to say?"
"I was told she got along wonderfully with your grandmother. Do you want to know what type of person your grandmother was?"
"I was told she was a very strong lady who prepared Father for what was coming."
Dietrich drew in a breath, agitated tremors running through his body as he slowly stepped closer to Anselm. "That, my friend… is a baldfaced LIE!" He towered over his nephew, chestnut eyes blazing with poorly restrained fury. "Do you want to know what your grandmother would have done with you?! She would have expected you to feed yourself and get yourself back in shape! She would not have taken you to the hospital if you fainted in her living room! Even if she did, she would not have sat with you, or given you any items of comfort! She would not have requested a blanket or given you her jacket! It would be the same nonsense that she applied to your father, to Markus, and especially to me! 'Do it yourself.' That is what she would have told you. That was how she raised your father. She was the one who was weak and cowardly, and successfully made your father into the same, sorry form."
The silence that followed bore a tension that was thick and stuffy. Moffitt glanced at Dietrich and Markus, not daring to say a word. Markus's gaze was switching between his brother and his nephew. When Anselm turned to Markus, the silence came to a halt.
"Hans is right," Markus said, his whole body tensing as it seemed he, too, was trying to suppress his own anger. "And I nearly became exactly what your grandmother wanted. I watched her and your mother chatting together when I came home on leave after the wedding. There is not a chance in hell that you were raised by someone who was 'strong.' You were raised by one of the most rotten human beings on the planet. What did she do to you? Did you make you fight for food? Reward you when you did only what she wanted? Beat you if you didn't? Convince you that all of your suffering was for a purpose greater than yourself? There isn't a doubt in my mind that you went through exactly what we did."
"You two need to stop," Moffitt said.
Dietrich and Markus turned to the lanky Englishman.
"Dumping all of your own grievances on Anselm is not going to help."
"How else do you expect us to break whatever conditioning that horrid hag did to him?!" Markus snapped.
Moffitt blinked, looking unsure of how to answer.
"He needs to know the truth," Dietrich said.
"I'm not arguing with that, but you two need to put aside your own problems first."
"That is outright impossible when our problems were likely his problems, too," Markus said.
"You don't know that! You didn't even bloody ask him or let him speak! He said one semi-positive thing about your mother—"
"There is nothing positive to say about her!" Dietrich growled.
Moffitt sighed and rubbed his face. "You know what? I'll talk to you when you've both settled down and quit being so bloody irrational." He stormed out into the kitchen and opened the door into the backyard, before slamming it shut behind him.
For the next hour, everyone went their separate ways around the house. Dietrich was out on the front porch, slowly going through a couple of cigarettes. Markus was in the library, sitting with his head in his hands, and Moffitt was still in the backyard. When Dietrich finished his second cigarette, he pondered what to do next. He opened his cigarette pack to have a third, then decided against it. He closed the pack and slid it back in his pocket. Sitting here is not going to do anything. He sighed, stood, and peered into one of the living room windows to see Anselm was still sitting on the couch, looking more aimless than he had in the last few days.
Dietrich went around to the backyard, and found Moffitt sitting on the steps to the kitchen. A grayish-brown smooth snake covered in dark markings was woven between his fingers, lazily exploring his hands. Dietrich cleared his throat. "Am I interrupting anything?"
Moffitt glanced up at him, then returned his attention to the snake. "No, not really."
"May I sit?"
Dietrich expected Moffitt to refuse, but instead, he shifted to give Dietrich room. Things were quiet for a few minutes, save for birds chirping in the trees and shrubs surrounding them. Moffitt kept watching the snake in his hands. He waited for it to be completely around his left hand before taking his right away. It wrapped around his knuckles, looking content. Once the snake stopped moving, Moffitt looked at Dietrich again. "I'm sorry about blowing up in there. I didn't want to sound like I was trivializing what you and Markus went through."
Dietrich bit his lip. "Moffitt, you actually had the courage to call us out when we stepped out of line. There is no need to apologize." Even though I should have expected you to do so, given your terrible habit of apologizing for damn near everything.
"Still, I—"
"Stop. Just accept it and move on. You are not the problem here. Markus and I are." Dietrich let out his breath. "You were right. We were just dumping our old pains onto Anselm, and that is not going to help. I just… cannot fathom anyone thinking my mother was a 'strong lady.' That was not what I saw, growing up. I can understand everyone's ability to parent is different, but I cannot excuse how Konrad, Markus, and I were treated."
"No one should. That wasn't parenting." Moffitt went back to the snake, then looked out at the yard. "I don't think shouting at Anselm and telling him all of that at once is going to help. He doesn't know the truth. He might not believe you."
"If he did not believe us, I would have thought he would have begun arguing right away."
"That could still happen, but you're right—I expected him to become defensive as well. He seems… very tired, not just physically, but emotionally. I can't say I blame him." Moffitt focused on the snake for a few moments. "He's been through a lot of shocks over the last few days alone, and who knows what's been happening for the last few months, up to and including his mother's death. You and Markus adding yet another shock on top of that…" Moffitt shook his head. "It worries me a little."
Dietrich nodded in agreement, then sighed. "I let my own problems get the better of me, and I should not have."
"What are you telling me for? Go talk to Anselm," Moffitt said.
"I should probably talk to Markus first." Dietrich stood. "Are you coming back inside?"
"I may as well." Moffitt got up, and went over to a flowering bush to crouch by it. He gently placed the snake in the dirt. "Thanks for the company. Goodbye. Safe travels."
The two went inside, finding Markus was still in the library, looking both frustrated and frazzled. Dietrich reckoned it was a good thing they went in when they did, as he wondered if Markus was going to start pulling his hair out, which wasn't going to do anything for anyone.
Markus looked up when Dietrich and Moffitt came in, and said nothing for a minute or two. He then sighed and shook his head. "We can't do this, can we?"
"Do what?" Dietrich asked.
"Help Anselm."
"We can. We just need to not throw our own baggage on him."
Markus went back to staring at the table. "I thought I dealt with mine."
"Sometimes it can sneak up on you and drag you back for a little while. My… My depression can be like that."
Moffitt looked hesitant to speak, but eventually said, "I won't lie, I've been in similar positions, and it's not easy to untangle yourself and try to keep moving forward. What you both went through was inexcusable. I'm not saying you're lying. Normally, I would say not to bring it up until Anselm's ready, but it's a bit late for that now. He knows just about everything and now you all have to pick up the pieces."
Dietrich had known Moffitt long enough to say that it was rare for him to be in this sort of position, but he was handling it as well as he could. He was being much more upfront than Tully would be, but Dietrich had a feeling it was because Moffitt knew what happened when things like this were left to fester for too long. It was best not to delay, so Dietrich and Markus left the library and returned to the living room. Anselm was exactly where they left him. Dietrich exchanged a nervous look with Markus, then approached Anselm. He wasn't sure what to say at first, then let out a quiet sigh. "Anselm, Markus and I would like to apologize for our behavior earlier—"
"Save it," Anselm said, his voice wavering. "You're not wrong."
Dietrich paused. "Alright. I… still—"
"It didn't take a genius to see Mother was delusional sometimes." Anselm went quiet. "Granted, she was not always like that, but we never really talked about anything 'normal,' or what you here in West Germany would consider normal. If she wasn't complaining about how East Germany was being run, she was talking about Father, and how life was better when he was alive. When I got older and spent more time outside, with other people, I… I started wondering if she had a point, or if she was just spouting nonsense. At times, I never really understood why Mother did certain things, or why she seemed to spend more days scared than not. We had some sympathetic neighbors, but even they kept us at a distance. Mother had moments where she was more vocal than she probably should have been. It was difficult for her to hold a job. I was sixteen when… things really started changing. I actually had the courage to say that we would be able to get by if she would just pretend to be happy with what we were stuck with. I said that it does not look like anything is going to change. I was struck across the face with a belt for that, and told never to step out of line like that again."
Dietrich resisted an urge to tell Anselm that wasn't a shock.
"She told me the day would come when we would have to leave, and that it could come at any moment, so she would… kick me out at random times, day or night, telling me to figure out how to survive in the woods on my own. I didn't question it, especially since it would happen even if she was in a decent mood. I thought it was genuinely helpful. In a way, it was, especially since those changing things were becoming more obvious. We started receiving strange things in the mail. Strange phone calls at all hours. We noticed things going missing or being rearranged in the house. I wondered if we were being haunted by something, but, magic and the supernatural were not considered 'acceptable' by the government. Eventually, they started a campaign to convince everyone that neither were real, or ever were real, despite the several hundred years' worth of evidence stating otherwise. Basically, it meant we had no help if that was the case. Then again, people like us, and especially Mother, were not to receive help anyway."
"That does sound like the work of a ghost or something similar," Moffitt said.
"It wasn't, though. I can't decide if that is better or worse." Anselm looked down at his lap again. "The day I left, I remember clearly. I had been kicked out of the house for about a day, you know, for survival practice, and returned in the evening. Mother was at work. I went to retrieve a key buried by an oak tree, and found the key was missing. I saw there were lights on, and saw a strange man in the upstairs hallway. I went inside, took a large knife from the kitchen, and confronted him. He was shocked, which made me think he was some casual burglar. The way he fought, though… something wasn't right. Like he was properly trained. I ended up knocking him out with a chair from the kitchen table, and I wasn't sure what to do next. Mother came home in a panic, and seeing that in the house did not help. She told me she thought she was being followed again. I say 'again,' because she had moments going to and from her most recent job where she was being followed by cars driven by people who gave her a suspicious feeling. They would usually disappear. This time, they didn't. A black vehicle pulled into our driveway about ten minutes after Mother came home. She told me we weren't putting up with this anymore, and that I needed to run. I was to get to West Germany, and stay with my grandparents, or Uncle Markus."
The mentions of strange things happening reminded Dietrich greatly of when he figured out his apartment had been bugged by the Gestapo. He sat down, not planning to say a word until Anselm finished his story.
"We were confronted by two men in plainclothes. When they saw their companion lying unconscious, they told us to come with them with our hands up. Mother told me to retrieve our papers in the living room. That was her quick code of telling me to get out of the house and run. I didn't want to leave her behind, but… I also didn't have time to think about it. I got out through one of the windows. It did not take long for them to figure out what actually happened, and… it was as I was sprinting into the woods that I heard gunshots, and saw some of them hitting the trees. One flew way above my head, followed by one more that I couldn't see, then they stopped. That was it. There was no turning back. I went with nothing by the clothes on my back. No food, no water, no contacts."
"Good heavens, and this was, when, all the way back in February?" Markus asked.
"The time of year did not matter. Mother told me to go live outside, regardless of the weather, in order to prepare for something like this. I was already used to being hungry, but I tried to find little things to eat along the way. I could not have meat because there was too much of a risk of someone seeing or smelling the smoke. No matter how remote the area was, I refused to take that risk. The only thing I took to carrying was this big pine branch to sweep away my tracks, unless it was snowing. I spent countless days and nights trying to find a spot to cross the border. I can't fully remember when this was… definitely toward the end of the month… but I was caught while trying to find food in a village. Someone asked me a lot of questions, because I was a stranger. When they figured out I was trying to flee, they… turned me in." Anselm began staring into the fireplace. "I was brought to some local office for the border guards. These three thugs were demanding to know what I was doing, or they were going to turn me over to the Stasi for more 'proper' questioning."
Dietrich noticed Moffitt approaching the corner of his eye. He knew all of this was about to hit very close to home for the Englishman, given his experience with torture, but instead of shying away, Moffitt had sat near Anselm and offered his hand, whispering, "You don't have to talk about what they did to you if you don't want to."
Anselm was thinking about it, but chose to continue. "It started with beatings. N-Not much different to Mother whenever she was angry, except these were men. They hit harder. They kicked, too. Somehow, I never broke. I think that just made them angrier, so… it just got worse." He didn't blink while still staring at the fireplace. "One of them took a poker after the others pinned me, held it in the fire while telling me I could stop all this if I would just tell the truth. I said nothing, and… he jabbed me several times with the hot poker."
"How in the world did you escape this?" Markus asked.
"Honestly, I still don't quite believe it myself. I managed to get out of the grips of the two guards holding me, and fought with the third over the poker. I don't… even know why I kept fighting. I had no reason to keep going, other than… I just didn't want to die. I wasn't ready."
Dietrich finally broke his silence. "Logically, you should not have come out of this situation alive."
"Feels like luck."
"I doubt it was."
Anselm looked like he wasn't sure how to respond to that. "However it happened, I wrestled the poker from the third guard, and moved to stab him with it. He panicked, moved backward—right into the fire. One of the others went to help, his companion went after me, trying to get his gun from his belt. I threw the poker into his leg, busted through the window, and made a run for it. After that, no more towns or villages. I managed to cross into northern Bavaria after weeks of searching for a spot that wasn't well-guarded. Once I was over the border, I started running and didn't stop for a while, even though it hurt. I wanted to get as far away as I could. I didn't have any money for a train or bus ticket, so I kept walking. I found the address that Mother drilled into my head, but there was someone else living there, so I came here."
Markus stared at him in surprise for a moment. "So, this is really the first time you have sat down and rested in months."
"I did sleep in the woods, but it wasn't good sleep." Anselm glanced at his two uncles and Moffitt. "Alright. I told you what happened. Are you happy?"
"I would not necessarily say 'happy,'" Dietrich said. "Satisfied, I suppose, but I wish you never had to go through that in the first place."
He expected Anselm to respond similarly to how he did a few days ago. Instead, Anselm was quiet, looking drained. He sighed before saying, "What happens now? You know everything."
"Now? We help you heal. The question remains, are you going to let us? We are, apparently, your worst enemies. Me, a coward. Moffitt, an Englishman. And Markus, whom you thought was like your father, but is no longer such."
Anselm shifted, tightening the blanket around him. "You and Uncle Markus are nothing like how Mother described. She said the English were vile and would have bombed us into oblivion." He glanced at Moffitt. "You haven't been vile at all."
Dietrich wondered if there was more to Anselm's story. It seemed strange that in the span of a few days, Anselm had gone from repeating whatever nonsense he had been taught by his mother, to being somewhat more open. Dietrich glanced at Markus, remembering that he had been in the process of changing even during the war, but dared not behave differently in front of his parents. He wondered if the same was true for Anselm. "You have a choice now," Dietrich said. "A lot of choices. We will not force you to do anything—except take your medicine. And eat. Hopefully, we will not have to do that."
Anselm went back to looking at the floor. "Can I be alone for a bit?"
Dietrich, Markus, and Moffitt left the room, and stood together in the kitchen. They were quiet for several minutes, then Markus spoke first. "I was not expecting that. Were you?"
"I wasn't expecting that. You?" Moffitt said.
"Nope," Dietrich replied. "Perhaps what we said got through to him."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No, but it did something. If that was it."
"I am more surprised that he seems open to change," Markus said.
"Like he said, none of us have turned out the way he expected, and I find it curious that he does not think it is a trap or a lie," Dietrich replied.
"I am not going to think too hard on that. I prefer this to the alternative."
"Agreed. We can work with this."
Markus's expression was more nervous than hopeful. "I just hope this isn't too good to be true."
"If you do not mind me being brutally honest, I thought you were too good to be true when you showed up at my doorstep claiming that you changed," Dietrich said.
"I have said I don't blame you for thinking that."
"Do you see my point, though? I took a big risk with you. I am willing to take the same risk with Anselm."
"I just hope we get the same results."
