CapturedbytheSS, page 21
Deciding I’ll take a bath in a minute, I slip off the dress and the shoes. I leave the red dress, the matching shoes and the red wrap on the bed. I put away the extra dresses and shoes in his closet with his civilian clothes.
I would jump in the tub now, but I still have one more bag left to explore. It’s a pink pastel bag with a matching box inside. It’s actually quite large. After opening it, I find a few scraps of transparent fabric and lace. Lingerie. I gently dig through the large box. Hmm, lots of lingerie.
I actually lose track of how many bras, panties and teddies I find. I think he may have wiped out this particular store. I also find a lovely satin robe, dyed the color of champagne, and some comfy-looking nightgowns. I can tell everything in the box is brand new, but I smell a mild detergent and I also find a cleaning ticket at the bottom of the box. He had the garments laundered after purchase.
I’ve basically filled one nightstand already, so I decide to stow the lingerie in the other nightstand. I hate to use both of them, but the last time I checked they were both empty, though from time to time, he keeps his black interrogation case in the top drawer. I pull open the drawers of the other nightstand. All three are empty.
For now, I guess I’ll keep my lingerie in here unless he says something. Since I still have to get ready for tonight, I hurriedly put away the lacy garments. I use one drawer for panties, one for bras and one for teddies and nightgowns. I also find some garter belts and sexy stockings, which I put in the same drawer as the teddies.
I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be modeling some of this later tonight. I know him well enough to conclude he’ll probably want some kind of payment for my night out. I would pick out something for later, but I need to get ready. I do, however, pull out a cute pair of panties for tonight. Since it’s a formal affair, I really should wear underwear.
I don’t need a bra though since the backless dress has sewn in cups…which also match my body suspiciously well and even create some flattering cleavage. I can’t help but wonder just how thoroughly he must have examined me that first night.
I walk around the bed to the other nightstand and then retrieve some of the new bath products he bought me.
As I soak in the tub, I try not to think about just how much he spent. Everything, including the makeup and the bath products, were all from high-end stores, not to mention the dress was made by a designer…and then there was the jewelry.
I fiddle with one of the pink and gold bottles as I meditate. It’s the shampoo. Picking it up, I notice a partial price tag on the bottom of the bottle. Whoever tore it off missed a large piece. It’s priced at thirty-six credits. One German credit equals about two US dollars, give or take, depending on how our relationship with the Reich is.
When things are a bit tense, I’ve seen it go as high as seven dollars to one credit, which usually grinds business relations to a halt. But the basic rate is usually about two to one. So, by current and standard rates, this bottle of shampoo would be over seventy dollars in the US. To put it in some perspective, I usually spend about five dollars on a bottle of shampoo.
Again, I’m not impressed with his bank balance, but honestly, the man bought me things like nail clippers and bubble gum, not to mention a dress for spring and even pink sandals to go with it. Since the very beginning, there’s a part of me that’s been convinced that this is all temporary. He’s not going to keep me. I’m not stupid. If he wanted to, he could take me outside and shoot me! There’s not one law protecting me from anything.
Of course…I guess there weren’t any laws protecting me from anything back home in America either. A bit bitterly, I trace the scar hidden in my thick hair. Tears blur my vision as my fingertips press against the healed incision.
Pulling my hand away from my head, I go back to thinking about my relationship with my captor instead. If he was planning on killing me, why would he buy me bubble gum or a pink dress for spring or nail clippers or extra toothbrushes? Why would he spend thirty-six credits on a bottle of shampoo? There’s a tiny voice that suddenly pipes up in my head. Because you’re special to him.
I dunk my head underwater. Nothing good can come from foolish thoughts like that. I hurriedly finish my bath and make my mind think straight again. It’s best to think only about the present, and right now, the present is good. There’s no point in thinking about tomorrow.
I stand and drain the water from the tub. I smell like flowers. I pile a towel on my head and wrap another one around me. I like the scent of the pink and gold products he bought, so I retrieve the body splash and the matching lotion. I splash a little of the body splash on my neck and torso and smear some across each of my wrists.
Looking at the lotion, I realize it has a subtle sparkle to it. I wouldn’t say it’s glittery but it has a subtle sheen to it. After squeezing out a palmful, I coat my arms and freshly shaved legs with a thin layer. It gives my skin a nice glow, and it smells nice. Since it’s from the same line as the shampoo, I’m guessing the splash and the lotion were probably pricey as well. But I don’t even look for a tag.
Admit it, the little voice insists. You’re special to him, and you know it.
“No, I’m not,” I mutter.
Great. Now I’m arguing with myself. I apply some antiperspirant to my recently shaved underarms and try to quiet my mind.
I retrieve the small mirror he bought me as well as some of the makeup. I set the cosmetics and the mirror on the table by the window before sitting down. I study my reflection. I look rested.
I think I’ve gotten more sleep in the last couple of weeks than I have over my entire lifetime. Even the dark shadows that usually live under my eyes are gone. My skin has a nice, youthful glow to it.
I don’t feel I need a lot of makeup, so I decide to mix a few dots of liquid foundation with some facial moisturizer. I pass on the powder and the blush.
I take my time with the eyeliner before applying a nice bronze eye shadow. I finish my eye makeup with some mascara and then apply a dark crimson lipstick. Again, that annoying little voice keeps asking why my captor would buy all this if my days were truly numbered. I ignore the voice and stow the cosmetics back in the drawer.
I hesitate about stowing the lipstick though. I’m not certain if dinner is in my captor’s plans or not. If we eat, I’ll have to touch up my lipstick. I’m thinking we’ll probably eat, so I tuck the lipstick in the small, zippered pouch on the wrap.
After putting away the makeup, I retrieve the comb, the brush and the hair dryer. I pull the towel off my head and plug the hair dryer in. I drown my thoughts in the noise of the dryer. As I dry my hair, I make myself think logically.
Obviously, his position pays well. I’m confused and I think it means something because it seems as if he spent a lot on me, but it was probably nothing to him. This is foolish to think about any long-term plans. The only thing I should be worrying about is what I should do with my hair.
Since the dress plunges in the back, it would be better if my hair were up. After running the blow dryer for several minutes, I run the brush through my hair, which is softer than it’s been in days. Mulling it over, I decide to part my hair on the left and do a French braid down each side. Wanting my hair to be up, I twist the remaining length into a tight, low bun and secure everything with a few bobby pins. I use a little hairspray to keep everything smooth and in place.
I stand up and walk to the full-length mirror on the closet door. Holding another mirror, I turn around and study my work. It looks good. My eyes drift to the fresh flowers in the crystal vase on the table—red roses with some baby’s breath. He left them this morning with my breakfast. I snap off a few twigs of baby’s breath and use the flowers to dress up the braids and the bun.
Unfortunately, the flowers do nothing to quiet that annoying little voice that insists I’m special to my captor.
With my hair and makeup complete, I slip on the satin panties before gently retrieving the ankle-length gown. After I have the dress on, I slip on the matching shoes.
Dressed and in my shoes, I pull open the top drawer of the nightstand. I slip in the ruby earrings first and then secure the matching necklace. I’m a little surprised that the pieces have some weight to them, not heavy per se but definitely substantial. I try to put on the bracelet, but I can’t clasp it myself. I’ll need help with that. I set it on the nightstand instead.
I gather the loose hair products that are still out before neatly stowing everything in the nightstand. I leave some of the pink and gold products in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock, I see I still have almost an hour to spare. I spend the time walking back and forth in the shoes, trying not to wobble. After a little practice, I actually get much better walking in the spikey red shoes. Pacing up and down, I hear the door suddenly open.
“Oh.” It’s all he says.
I turn and meet his startled face. “Do you not like it?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes roam over me. I’m not sure what he thinks.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “I like the dress even more than when the designer showed it to me. He had a woman model it, but I like it better on you.”
Yeah, he likes it better on you because you mean something to him. That little voice is getting really obnoxious.
His eyes drift to my wrist. “I thought I bought you a bracelet.”
“Oh, you did. I couldn’t get it on by myself.” I retrieve the bracelet before walking up to him. “Could you clasp it for me?”
He takes it and then leans into me. “You smell nice.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. His gloved fingers deftly wrap the bracelet around my wrist before securing the clasp. He doesn’t release me but instead strokes my wrist with his thumb.
“You look really…good,” he murmurs. “I mean…I always thought you were beautiful, but…I’ve never seen you quite so made up.” His eyes study my hair approvingly, lingering on the flowers.
I can tell he’s a bit surprised by my appearance. When he arrested me, I didn’t have any makeup on that night nor have I worn any since. “Thanks,” I foolishly whisper again, not certain what else to say.
“I almost don’t want to leave now,” he mutters.
I guess something like disappointment shadows my face because he quickly adds, “Oh, all right, don’t pout. I’ll take you out.”
I force myself to smile. The way he’s looking at me is kinda freaking me out, and that annoying little voice is on the verge of saying, Told you so.
“Come on. It’s a little early, but we can drive around for a while.”
“I’d like that.” I’m actually eager to get out. I think I need some fresh air to clear my head. I quickly retrieve the red wrap from the bed.
Just before we step outside, he moves to his desk in the living room. He pulls out his holstered sidearm. A bit unhappily, he clips it to his belt. “I’m sorry. I don’t like being armed around you, but I’m expected to have my sidearm in public.”
I’m not mad that he got the weapon. Instead, I’m touched that he doesn’t wear it around me. “It’s okay.” I shrug.
Once we’re outside, I take a deep breath of the cool air and pull the heavy wrap tighter around me. It’s still light outside. After ushering me to his parked car, he opens the passenger door for me. I think he even had his car cleaned for tonight. I sit down and eagerly look around. It’s nice to take in my surroundings. He’s right. I’ve been cooped up for too long.
After starting the car, he turns away from the house and cruises down the gravel road.
He doesn’t say anything as he drives. I have the impression driving is something he enjoys. I take in the purple sky and study the stars coming out. I almost feel I’m back home, though I’m not sure why. There’s something familiar and comforting about watching the sunset.
We eventually merge onto the freeway. The car accelerates as he quickly takes the left lane. Once again, I sense he likes driving…specifically, driving very fast. We don’t talk. I think he’s focused more on the road. We drive for quite a while in one direction before he exits the highway, loops around and speeds toward Berlin. The car’s heater warms my feet.
“Is there anything I forgot to purchase for you? Would you like anything else?”
Startled by the questions, I turn and look at him. “No. You’ve been very generous.” And I mean it.
“If you require anything, just tell me.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
As we approach Berlin’s city limits, I vaguely wonder what opera we’re going to see. But I don’t ask. I’ll find out soon enough. For now, it’s just nice to be out.
His car cruises up to a lowered gate. Unfortunately, there are just as many checkpoints going into Berlin as coming out, and the guards often conduct random searches.
Back in my pre-captured days, the biggest challenge was sneaking my toolkit in. My contact usually stowed it in the trunk and hit it under the spare tire. Once, I had a guard find it. He even unrolled and examined it. My heart nearly stopped when he pulled out the lock scrambler and asked me what it was.
My superiors always told me to lie about my tools if discovered. But to me, a lock scrambler does not look anything like a broken MP3 player. So I told him the truth, kinda. I informed him that the device was a lock scrambler used to bypass ocular and fingerprint readers, but I also told him I was an off-duty locksmith and that I did a lot of contract work for the military. When he asked me why the case was hidden, I said the tools were pricey, and I didn’t want someone breaking into the car to steal them. I guess he believed me because he only nodded and then he let me pass. Miraculously enough, he even let me keep my tools.
My captor rolls down the window as he approaches the second lowered gate. There’s a waiting patrolman.
“Oh, good evening, sir,” the patrolman stammers in German. He looks nervous. I don’t think he knows my captor personally. I think he’s just a little surprised to see an SS officer. I kinda had the same reaction the first night I met him.
“Good evening,” my captor replies in German. He hands the guard two lamented cards. I blink at that. Surely he’s not giving the guard my fake ID. The patrolman takes them, but he studies the second one a bit longer. He looks confused. After several seconds, he hands back the cards.
“Here you are, sir. You’re clear to turn right.”
“Thank you.” My captor nods and slips the cards back in his breast pocket.
The patrolman backs away a bit and studies me before the car slowly turns to the right. He’s giving me a strange look. I have the impression there’s something odd about my ID. We cruise past several parking spaces that are marked for vehicle searches. Armed patrolmen watch us as we cruise up to another lowered gate. The gate opens swiftly before we cruise into what looks like an underground highway. I’ve never seen this road before.
“What is this?” I ask, looking at the tiled walls of the brightly lit tunnel.
“It’s a shortcut for military personnel and certain privileged civilians. This way, we won’t have to deal with the checkpoints. There’s another one leading out of Berlin.”
“I never knew about this.”
He chuckles softly at my comment but doesn’t say anything.
“What ID did you give that patrolman?”
“It’s your new ID. You had to have one of course. It was processed the same day I turned in your paperwork.”
I can’t stop myself from asking, “What does it say?”
He smiles. “The picture is actually from your fraudulent ID but instead of being listed as a native citizen, you’re listed as property. I’d show it to you, but it has my name on it. And you haven’t earned the right to learn my name yet.”
This isn’t the first time he’s referred to me as property, so I let that part go. But I am curious about his name.
“How do I earn the right to learn your name?”
“You trust me.”
“I…trust you.”
“No, you’re learning to trust me.”
I can’t argue with that. I think he’s right. There’s a part of me I’m still holding back. He’s claimed my body, yes, and he’s taken every secret, thought and memory I have. But I think he wants even more…and I’m terrified to let him in.
We cruise in silence. The road slants up slightly. We exit the underground road, and I blink at my surroundings. Several armed patrolmen watch us as we roll past them. We’re in downtown Berlin. The Hoheit isn’t far, but my captor turns down a road in the opposite direction of the opera house. I soon find out that dinner is indeed in his plans as he parks the car in a restaurant parking lot. I’m eager about dinner. I’m actually quite hungry.
We’re seated quickly and order our food. As we eat, though, disappointment settles around me. I’m accustomed to feeding myself when I’m alone while my captor is at work, but when he’s home…I sit across his lap and he feeds me. This feels kinda…wrong.
I look up at my captor and study his face. I think he senses it too because he’s frowning at his plate. Even the waiter asks if something is wrong, but my captor only smiles and tells him everything is great. I know what he means…it’s not the food. After our meal, I pop in the bathroom and touch up my lipstick. Renewed excitement courses through me as we cruise toward the Hoheit.
“Next time, we will eat at home and not out,” my captor declares as he drives. “I like eating with you in my lap.”
Next time? Again, long-term.
“Yes,” my captor mutters. “I will place a to-go order next time and bring the food home.”
“Okay,” I whisper, not certain what else to say. He’s already planning another night out?
As we near the Hoheit, traffic slows. Several people are crossing the street in front of us and walking toward the opera house. They’re all dressed in formal attire. Uniformed patrol guards direct cars and pedestrians. Several framed posters line a wall off to my right. I think the posters are advertising Madama Butterfly. My heart flutters. It’s still running! It actually started a few nights before I was arrested, which was why it was my cover story. I’ve always wanted to see it, but I never have.
