The Pieces We Keep(51)

Audra moved over to the kitchen table. She opened her laptop and launched an online search. This time she would be more thorough.

Using anything Jack had mentioned, she entered a series of keywords. They led to a wide range of sites: historical time lines, military tributes, veterans’ memoirs, memorabilia collections, World War Two reenactments, and more.

She had no idea there were so many people these days who enjoyed dressing up as Nazi officers, accessorized with authentic Lugers and even German shepherds, to spend their summer weekends playing war.

Shaking this off, she reworked her keywords. She added, deleted, and changed their order, seeking the right mix of ingredients for a recipe that worked. She skimmed numerous accounts of saboteurs and spies. They were men and women on both sides of the war, including Nazi agents captured on the East Coast. This one piqued her interest, especially since many had been sentenced to the electric chair for their crimes. A disturbing link to Jack’s drawing.

In the end, however, there was nothing her son couldn’t have gleaned from a PBS documentary. More important, there was nothing connecting the combination of words with the crash of a plane.

Once again, she reviewed her search.

WWII aircraft German U-boat Nazi spies New York Florida electric chair

She reinserted Himmel, this time at the front. Upon her pressing Enter, the top of the screen restated all of her words but with a question: Did you mean: Hemel?

The search engine was suggesting she had misspelled a name. A slight tremble settled in her hand as she clicked her agreement, refreshing the results. Jakob Hemel jumped out in snippets from the content of two different sites. She followed the first link.

After a good amount of sifting, she located the name in a long list of servicemen. He had served in the German air force! But ... during the First World War. There was no relevance she could see to Nazis or swastikas. No indication he was killed in action.

She reversed to her prior search. Breath held, she clicked on the second link, only to face a message: Server cannot find the page.

“You’re kidding me,” she said.

She tried again, and again, but her efforts failed. She sought out the home page of the site with the link, to no better result. A separate search for Jakob Hemel produced nothing remotely related.

Frustration piled inside, layer after layer. She was probing for other options when a muffled scream jarred her.

Jack. Another nightmare.

For a moment, she had forgotten their grueling routine. At least she was already awake. She hurried down the hall and found him thrashing around on his mattress.

“We’re gonna crash!” he hollered.

“Jack,” she ordered, “you need to calm down.” She grabbed hold of his wrist and cast. “Listen to me. You’re just dreaming. It’s not real.”

“We gotta get out!” Eyes open, unseeing, he shook his head with vigor. What she wouldn’t do to take his fears away, gather them in a ball, store them in her own soul.

“Wake up for me, buddy. Just wake up. Please.”

“Help me!”

He fought against her, and she did her best to maintain her strength. But after two weeks of nights like this, she was tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. How much longer would this go on? Months? Years? What if he only got worse, no matter where they chose to live?

Hit by a spate of exhaustion, she felt tears mounting behind her eyes. “You’re all right, baby. You hear me?” Her voice cracked. “You’re safe in here, Jack.”

That’s what she had intended to say. Yet instantly a calm swept over him, like a power cord had been disconnected. The stillness was so sudden, so shocking, that she reflected on her own words.

The name she had called him was Jakob.





24


A noise yanked Vivian from the depths of sleep. Something tapped the window. The room was dark and curtains blocked her view. A branch must have brushed the pane.

No-no, that wasn’t possible. She lived in a brownstone, a corner room on the third floor, not a single tree within reach. Oh, these thoughts were too straining. Her skull felt packed with sand. She glanced at Luanne’s bed lying empty and disheveled. The girl must be sneaking in late, using the fire escape to avoid a lecture from the landlady.

But wouldn’t Luanne be taking the train soon? She had made mention to that effect while Vivian was getting dressed for—

Where had she gone tonight?

More taps came, growing loud as a hammer on nails. She pressed her pillow to her ears, but not fast enough to prevent her head from throbbing. She envisioned a woodpecker assaulting the glass. The need to cease the sound crushed any other thought.

She pried herself from the cocoon of her sheets and rounded Luanne’s bed. When she pushed away the curtains, sunlight blasted through the glass. Her headache bloomed in full. Squinting against the rays, she discovered ... Luanne’s brother?