Sofie
It was still dark when Felix tugged at my hand. I cracked my bleary eyes and found him standing against the bed, his face pressed right against mine as I slept.
“Mama,” he whispered, then hopefully, “Television?”
“You’re surely joking...” I groaned, and I looked at the alarm clock. It was just past 5:30 a.m.—the worst possible time for him to wake me. It was too damned early, but I also knew it was late enough that he’d never go back to sleep. I pushed myself into a sitting position, groaning.
“What’s wrong?” Jürgen mumbled beside me.
“Felix wants to watch television—” I started to say, but my words turned into a scream.
We’d left the drapes open a little the night before, and now, in the gap between the drapes, a face stared back at me. Someone was looking through the window.
I grabbed my startled son, instinct forcing me away from the window and out of the room. Jürgen was shouting behind me—what is it? Sofie? And then he must have seen for himself. I heard him shout, “Oh my God!”
“Mama?” Felix called out.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, my voice shaking as much as my knees. I took him into Gisela’s room and all but threw him onto the bed.
“Mama?” she mumbled, even as she opened her arms to her brother.
“Stay here,” I said fiercely. “Stay here and stay away from the windows.”
I ran toward the back of the house—I could tell from the cool breeze coming down the hall that the laundry room door was open. I surmised that Jürgen had gone out that way into the backyard. Had it been Lizzie Miller’s brother staring through my window? I thought so, but couldn’t be sure. It all happened so fast in the predawn light.
I’d just stepped out of the laundry room into the yard when I heard an explosion—so sudden and so loud that dogs began to bark, and the birds in the trees squawked as they scattered into the silvery sky. My instincts told me to run away from it, but I wasn’t sure where Jürgen was, so instead I ran toward the sound. As I rounded the corner of the house, my footsteps stalled. Jürgen was on the ground, in a heap against the wall.
A dozen or so feet away from him in the middle of our small yard, Lizzie Miller’s brother was standing with a handgun dangling limply from his hand, an expression of shock and disbelief on his face. He released a low whimper when he saw me. Then he dropped the gun and leaped over the low fence in the back of our yard.
The instant Henry was away from the gun, I ran to Jürgen. He was alive—his eyes wild as he stared at me. His hands were clutching his abdomen. The bloodstain on his nightshirt was spreading fast, and he was sucking in deep, desperate breaths.
After everything we’d survived, I couldn’t lose him like this.
“Jürgen—” I whispered. I pressed my hands over his, trying to stem the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be fine.”
“Sofie,” he gasped.
“Gisela!” I shouted. “Gisela, call for help!” Could she even hear me from her bedroom? She certainly would have heard the gunshot, but my daughter was smart. That sound probably drove her to hide. “Someone help us!” I called, and then I went weak with relief when Klaus appeared at the fence next door.
“Sofie? My God! What’s happened?”
“Please help us,” I said. “Jürgen’s been shot.” I was dry-eyed and my voice sounded stiff, almost emotionless. My hands, over Jürgen’s at his abdomen, were quickly becoming numb. I could hear my pulse in my ears—thud, thud, thud. It felt surreal, like I was watching a film.
Jürgen was still panting, but color was rapidly draining from his face. He was losing too much blood. My thoughts were muddled, but one suddenly seemed clear.
I had to keep him calm. I had to reassure him.
“You are going to be fine,” I said quietly, staring into his eyes.
“Love...you. The children,” he panted.
“Save your breath now and tell me later,” I said.
It felt like the ambulance took hours to arrive. I was vaguely aware of Klaus in the yard with us, but it sounded as though he was speaking from a distance as he told me that Claudia took our children to their house to keep them safe. Other neighbors were peering over the fences at us, but when I tried to look at them, my vision swam. I stopped trying after a while, and simply focused on Jürgen.
“You’re okay, my love,” I told him. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe that was why it was so hard to speak and to concentrate. “Everything is going to be fine.”
The sun was on the horizon when I finally heard sirens in the distance.
Jürgen fell unconscious then, his eyes panicked as his lids fluttered closed, his hands growing limp beneath mine.
That was when the panic my shock had held at bay came rushing in at me.