Flight Lieutenant Eggers turned over in his bed. “Steady there,” he said to the man. “You’ve had a rough time of it.” He looked around and spied Elise passing by in the hallway. “Nurse!”
Elise, still in her black dress from the memorial service, looked in. “Yes?”
“Oh, it is you—almost didn’t recognize you in civilian clothing.”
Elise wanted nothing more than to get to Gretel’s files, but she was nothing if not professional. “Yes, Lieutenant Eggers?”
Eggers pointed to the man in the bed next to his. “Our ‘Herr Mystery’—he’s awake!”
Elise walked quickly to Patient No. 1564, heels tapping on the floor. At his bedside, she checked the size of his pupils and how they reacted to light. “Hello,” she said in soothing tones. “You’re in Berlin, at Charité Mitte Hospital. You were in a plane crash and sustained a number of internal injuries. You’ve had two surgeries to repair them.” Nothing. Just a blank, almost panicked look.
She took his temperature; it was normal. Whatever infection he’d had, he’d fought it off. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked.
His eyes darted around, as though looking for the nearest escape.
“I’ll let the doctors know you’re awake now,” she said, tucking the blanket around him. “They’ll be so pleased. We all are.”
The man blinked, his eyes struggling to focus on Elise’s.
“Don’t let this one get you in any trouble.” Elise indicated Eggers with her thumb. “And I’ll be right back with the doctor.” She patted his shoulder. “Hold tight.”
His hand grabbed for hers, gripping it as his eyes searched hers. It was as if he recognized her. The two locked eyes for a long moment.
“It looks like he knows you!” Eggers was watching avidly. “Do you know him?”
Elise laughed, breaking the tension. “No. Maybe. At any rate, I’ll be back.”
At the nurses’ station, Elise called Dr. Brandt, to tell him that Patient No. 1564 was awake and alert, then hung up the receiver and made a few notes in the chart.
Nurse Flint, sitting next to her, looked up. “Can he talk?”
“No,” said Elise. “At least, not yet. But his temperature’s normal and he seems aware of his surroundings, if a little disoriented.”
Elise finished her notes and then put the chart back in a pile. She turned to Nurse Flint. “By the way, whatever happened to Gretel Paulus?” she asked casually. “I thought she was going to be released.”
Nurse Flint looked heavenward. “I can’t keep track of them all the way you can,” she said, organizing the doctors’ telephone message slips.
“Do you mind if I check her file?”
“You know that’s not allowed.”
“She was such a sweet girl. I just need to know what happened,” Elise said, with her most beguiling smile.
“Neugier ist der Katze Tod.” Curiosity killed the cat.
“Please?” Elise wheedled. “Na Bittchen?”
“The keys are in the top right-hand drawer.” Nurse Flint shrugged. “But I didn’t tell you that.”
Elise grinned. “Tell me what?”
The record keeping in all German hospitals was excellent and Charité’s was no exception. And that was why there were files upon files upon files, all in perfect order. It wasn’t hard for Elise to find the proper key and pull out the red file on Gretel Paulus.
She noted the treatments for chronic ear infections, lengths of hospital stays, medications prescribed. Nothing out of the ordinary. At the end of the file was the form Dr. Brandt had marked with a red X. Behind this form was a copy of a letter sent to Gretel’s parents.
Dear Herr and Frau Paulus,
We are writing to inform you that Gretel Paulus has been transferred to the Hadamar Institute, for assessment and possible additional treatment in a Special Section for Children.
We will keep you informed of her progress.
Heil Hitler!
Nurse Aloïsa Herrmann
Charité Campus Mitte
How strange, Elise thought. How very, very strange.
To the best of her knowledge, no one named Aloïsa Herrmann worked as a nurse at Charité.
Elise returned the key to the drawer. “What time is the next trip to Hadamar?” she asked Nurse Flint.
The woman didn’t look up from her paperwork. “There’s a bus leaving today, at five o’clock.”
The buses used to transport the children from Charité to the Hadamar Institute were dark gray, with white painted-over windows, like milky blind eyes. At five o’clock that evening, when the bus was ready to pull away from Charité, Elise—who’d now changed into her nurse’s uniform—slipped onto it.