Free Hidden Away by J. W. Kilhey Page B

breathing sped up, and my stomach tightened. It was not the same as when I was near to Peter. This was an entirely different sensation of fear. I knew what came next.
    He struck me with the back of his hand. While the blow twisted my body, I remained upright. Many years had passed since he had the ability to knock me to the floor with a smack. However large I had grown, the discipline still had the same effect. As soon as I straightened back up, keeping my eyes lowered, I threaded my hands together in front of me and apologized. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Your smart mouth will be the end of you,
    Kurt. You barely have skill as a musician. You cannot bake bread for the life of you. You are inept at all forms of socialization, and you have nothing. Nothing I haven’t provided for you. You’ll do well to remember you are much more tolerable when you don’t speak.”
“Yes, sir,” I said when he’d finished. It was expected.
    His feet retreated, and I breathed a bit easier knowing he was no longer so close to me. “Now, what gave you the idea to attend a club?”
    I found my voice. “Peter Waldenheim asked me to go. He’s very influential, and some of the others say he has connections to the Party in Berlin. I only went because I thought it would please you for me to be social with Peter and his friends.”
    I knew I had made the right choice in telling him this when he cleared his throat. “Peter Waldenheim is well connected.” My uncle paused. When I heard the chair creak, I looked up and found him sitting. “If Herr Waldenheim is interested in helping you succeed, then I approve of you spending time with him. I should just like to know about it before you’re several hours late returning home.”
    Although he said he approved, the tension in my body would not abate. It would not until I was safely in my room. “Tomorrow he would like us to practice later, if that is acceptable to you.”
“Yes, of course.”
     
I stood there for a long moment before he said, “You may go to your room now.”
    My cheek smarted where he’d hit me. I was always grateful to leave his presence, even when he’d not struck me, but tonight, I was eager to clear my mind of anything other than Peter.
    Leo’s assurance that Peter liked me gave me an overwhelming sense of hope and excitement. Remembering Peter’s hand on my leg sent shivers coursing through me. I imagined what his hand would feel like against my cheek, how different a caress would feel compared to my uncle’s fit of violence. I fantasized about Peter’s hands running down my chest, over my abdomen, sliding around to my back.
    My skin would rise in gooseflesh. I would barely be able to breathe. My heart would pound against my chest. I would gasp as his hand moved lower, curving over the rounded flesh of my backside. His mouth would attach itself to my neck, and he would press his body tightly against mine.
I had never been in a position like that, but I knew I wanted to be.
     
Chapter 5
     
Berkeley, California
1951
    T
HE dreams have not stopped. In fact, they’re growing worse. The German is featured every night. Sometimes he’s a German soldier. Sometimes he’s an SS guard. Sometimes he’s a prisoner. Sometimes he’s an American.
But he’s always there.
    Tonight is no different. I am entering the camp. My mood is deflating, like I’ve just lost something big. Yet, there’s a sense of relief and peace as well. My uniform scratches my skin. It feels odd. Not my own.
    There is death all around me. There is death everywhere in the camp. Even though I am hardened by battle, I cannot believe what I am seeing. The feeling is different from all other times before this. It is devastating, as always, but there is something more. There is a deep shame. It feels as though I have just realized something bigger than ever before—as if I am part of the oppression that was forced upon the striped men.
    There are other men from my company here. They are my men. My