Gestapo

11

"Let the boy see the girl," the voice came from next to him, from a thousand miles away. It did not matter to Peter. Rebecca was dying, but he would hold her.

Not a moment passed before Rebecca was lying across his lap, her entire body blue, but for her eyes. Those were deep and filled with pain, but Peter willed it away, and Rebecca must have felt it because, just before she took her last breath, she reached up for Peter's face.

"Max," she whispered, and Peter's heart broke. "You came," and Peter's heart broke again.

"Kill me," Peter knew that there was at least one officer watching - they would be enjoying this. "Kill me," but when he turned, he saw an officer lowering his gun. He had been about to kill him - why did he lower his weapon?

"No." The guard sneered. "I think this will teach you a lesson - back to your cell!" Of course, no German would do what Peter wanted now. He was not a Jew, so they could not create an excuse to physically torture or kill him - but they still hated his guts. They would make him suffer, and they would do nothing but watch.

Peter refused to cooperate. Rebecca had died tonight, and so would he.

Jumping up from the quicksand-like ground, Peter ran. He would have said he was running for his life, but he was running for his death. He knew that the guards had no choice now, and, in fact, those were the last words he heard, gruff in his ears.

"No choice," the guard, who had caught up to Peter so easily, grunted before placing a gun to his head.

Rebecca, Peter thought before the guard pulled the trigger. He thought of Rebecca a lot.