29. Danner

TWENTY-NINE

Dachau, Germany

Waking up to thrashes from what feels like hundreds of serrated knives, each slicing across every hair on my flesh, is enough to make me question whether I’m truly alive. If I’m dead, I’ve been thrust into the depths of hell, despite not believing such a place exists. But my mind has been catapulted into a sleep-like state. I’m not dead but I’m not sure I’m alive either. I can’t speak or move, imprisoned within my body.

I distinctly recall stepping into a tub of ice-cold water, a decision formed by spite, heartache, and despair. Regardless of the degree of torture, I had no say in the matter, aside from choosing an execution instead. I preferred the darkness I’d slipped into before reawakening in this state. Now, the torment is unbearable as I burn on the outside while my bones remain frozen inside. My breaths are running away from me at a pace I can’t catch up to, and my heart is pounding like fists against a locked door that won’t open in time to save my life. My vision is nothing more than a blur, leaving me to the crux of my imagination—where I am, if I’ll get out alive. Every hint of sound seems distant yet obtrusive. Nothing is clear aside from the high-pitched squeal piercing through each nerve-ending.

I saw her, though. At least I saw her before I ended up like this. This must be my punishment for receiving the gift of her presence when I should have been experiencing nothing but torture.

Hands attack me, shoving me every which way, my body slamming against metal, back and forth.

“His temperature is still dropping. We’re getting too close to our bottom line.” The first clear words I make out are not the ones I would want to hear, but they are hers. I know this much. “Turn up the temperature.”

“You may not be second-guessing my theory of body heat now, are you?”

I’m not sure who else is here speaking to Emilie or whoever, but the sinister tone doesn’t give me a sense of optimism.

“No. That’s ridiculous,” another person says. “Body heat won’t work fast enough.”

Body heat. Papa taught me about skin-to-skin contact when I was younger. He was teaching me survival skills for when we would go camping in the mountains. I never had to use that technique because we were never lost or stranded.

“What if it will help?” Emilie shouts.

“It won’t!” The response is clear, and I know it’s Otto now. The two of them have been working here together, she for one reason, he for another—or so it seems.

If only I could scream for the release of this agony that’s ravaging my body, but instead I remain still like an inanimate object, left to spectate the result of extreme opposing temperatures.

Strong hands lift me out of the tub before swinging me onto a solid surface. Each touch might as well be blades stabbing through my core. The clothes I was forced to wear are torn from my body, leaving a freezing dampness behind. The wet, heavy materials fall to the floor, sounding like a body is still inside of them. The exposure to air stings like salt in an open wound, and the time between losing the clothes and feeling a dry sheet of fabric settle over my body feels like an eternity. The aggressive hands return, shoving me around, attacking me from every side.

“You’re going to make it,” she says. “You need to slow down your breaths. One breath every five seconds…” Her last words form in a hush of a whisper. I’ve heard them from her before, but I can’t control the air coming and going from my lungs this time. It’s hard to imagine the hands all over me belong to Emilie. I’ve never known her to have anything but a gentle touch. Yet, the force against me is great enough to push me off this surface. “Help me, Otto!”

“I am,” he replies. “Any more pressure and I’ll end up breaking his bones.”

Weight bears down on top of me and hair flutters over my face, a tickle rather than a piercing sting.

“What are you doing?” Otto shouts.

“He needs more heat,” she grunts in response.

“Maybe you should take your clothes off,” another voice suggests.

The hands that were knocking me around disappear, a breeze left in their place, garnering pinpricks, a thousand at a time on the left side of my body.

Another hand presses against my face. “Danner, can you hear me?” she whispers.

A thud on the floor shakes the table and the sound of wallops against flesh tell me what’s happening to the man who spoke out of turn.

“What are you doing?” Emilie hisses.

“That soldier has served his purpose here,” Otto replies.

“Can you focus on what we’re trying to do right now?” she replies.

“He’s just another volunteer. Why are you so concerned about this one?” another unrecognizable voice says.

“The—uh—post-trial data is imperative for completion of the report on this subject,” Otto says.

It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to protect me or protect himself.

The searing pain begins to subside at a gradual pace, giving me hope that I won’t feel like I’m being mauled by knives soon.I don’t know how long I’ve been pulsating in pain, but my vision is beginning to clarify. Though it feels as though my eyes won’t remain still within my head, I’ll accept the double vision when I spot Emilie.

“Your temperature is rising,” she says, her eyes trying to fixate on me, but with the lines of her forehead dipping between her brows, I can read the concern that says I’m not considered remedied yet. I want to tell her I know why it’s rising. I want to tell her a lot of things. I’ve gotten good at keeping my thoughts to myself though. “How’s the pain level?”

The sharp burn has subsided, just a hair, but enough to convince me the pain will continue to lessen. I’m able to stretch the muscles in my legs, giving me hope that I might regain proper sensation as well. “Nnn-not a-a-s ba-ba-bad,” I stutter, between chattering teeth and a numb tongue.

She places her hand on my cheek and gives me a small smile. “Good,” she whispers. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

I knew someone would find themselves the lucky patient left in her caring hands someday. For this one moment that may be short lived, like myself, I can rest knowing my journey was worth something. I’d left everything else behind with a promise to bring my family back together. I failed.