Free The Secret of Lions by Scott Blade

glanced back at
Heinrik as if to acknowledge him. He wiped the lenses of his
glasses with his tie.
    A strand of blond hair fell across Heinrik’s
face, obstructing his vision. He reached up and moved the strand.
The bald man returned his gaze toward the front of the car.
    Heinrik could not hear the words exchanged
between the driver and the guard at the gate. He moved closer to
the car. His hand slid along the butt of the rifle until the
trigger was near his fingertips. He was prepared to respond quickly
if there was an altercation.
    “Who are you here to see?” the guard asked
while looking at their identification papers. “Mr. Schneider?”
    “We are here by permission of Dr. von Ortan,
your warden,” the bald man leaned forward from the backseat and
answered. The driver produced a writ proving this claim. He handed
it to the guard, who studied it carefully.
    “I don’t doubt that you are authorized to be
here; just tell me whom you are here to see,” the guard said. He
leaned against the driver’s side door, handing the writ back to the
driver.
    “We are here to see Adolf for his birthday,”
the balding man leaned forward again and answered.
    “I will open the gates,” the guard said.
    The black car drove off to the innermost
checkpoint. Heinrik saw that they’d brought with them large, blank
canvases resting along the passenger seat. As the car drove farther
away, he noticed small paint canisters lining the inside of the
back window. They’d brought Adolf art supplies for his
birthday.
    28
    Another day came and it was lunch time.
Heinrik was on duty guarding his prisoner. Adolf paced underneath a
cluster of trees on the western side of the yard. He walked around
all afternoon with a sketchpad and two pencils in his hand. He
never actually stopped to draw anything. Normally, he was peaceful
and calm. Today, he acted restless.
    Heinrik noted the change in Adolf’s
behavior. With Adolf, Heinrik had learned to be ready for anything.
Although he was normally calm, the guards were well aware that
Adolf’s mood could shift at any moment and without warning. Very
quickly, he could become belligerent. Adolf was prone to unexpected
outbursts.
    Heinrik didn’t care about Adolf—most of the
guards didn’t. He was not afraid of Adolf, not physically, but
there was something else about him, something terrifying.
    At this moment Heinrik only wanted to see
his wife. She’d said she was going to bring him lunch today. She
snuck up behind Heinrik. He almost didn’t notice her because he
watched Adolf so closely.
    “Good afternoon, darling,” she said.
    Surprised, Heinrik turned to face her. Gracy
wore a green, flowing dress. He liked her body’s combination of
curves and slimness. She looked like a sculpture of a goddess. The
image of her engraved into him as if God himself had chiseled it
into his brain. She was beautiful.
    Heinrik was not the only one who stared.
Adolf’s gloomy eyes traced her every step.
    “Afternoon, Frau Kessler,” Heinrik snorted
in such a way so that the other guards and Adolf could hear him. He
enjoyed reminding them that Gracy was his wife and that he went
home to her.
    “I hope that you brought me a delicious
turkey sandwich.”
    “I did,” she said. He motioned for her to
follow him. The two of them walked to a nearby dirt mound. A dead
log lay on the ground next to it. It made a perfect bench, so they
both sat on it.
    For the moment, Heinrik forgot to watch
Hitler. Instead, he enjoyed the lunch Gracy had brought.
    “How has your day been? Any excitement?”
Gracy asked. Her eyes revealed her eagerness to hear an
entertaining story.
    Gracy complained that her days were rather
banal. She needed his stories for the excitement. The truth was his
days were very routine. Still, he indulged her with stories of
prison breaks, fights, or mysterious visitors, anything to
entertain her.
    The only terrifying story he had was the
night he’d witnessed Adolf in his murky, dank