Even if the officer doesn’t believe her, I must assume he’ll still take me in, and likely separate me from my chaser. Being detained is not an option. I must stay free. So while his attention is momentarily on the woman, I lunge through a narrow gap in the crowd.
A few of the bystanders try to grab me, but most jerk away as if I’m diseased. Those that do get a hand on me are easy enough to shake off, and soon I’m in the street running for my life.
There are several shouts behind me, but I keep my focus on my path ahead, and cut through the traffic, then duck into the crowd moving along the opposite sidewalk.
The shouts continue as I push through the crush of pedestrians, and soon the voices are joined by the shrill blast of a whistle.
I turn down the first street I come to. It’s at least as crowded, if not more so, but instead of forcing my way through, I slow my pace a little so that I can blend in more and not draw as much attention. Unfortunately, it’s not working, as many of those I pass still look me up and down.
My clothes. Most of the men here are wearing button-down shirts and slacks or uniforms. My bloodstained jeans and dark T-shirt must make me look like I’ve escaped from some kind of hospital.
I hear the whistle again, but it’s farther behind me now, and sounds as if whoever is blowing it — the officer, I assume — is still on the street where I originally arrived. Whether he is or not, I can’t afford to ease up, so at the next street I turn right.
Every few blocks after this, I randomly change directions again. I have long stopped hearing the whistle when I reach a park and finally allow myself to rest on an empty bench among several trees and bushes. In the grassy area at the other side of the park, several women are gathered together watching their children play. Except for an older couple walking down the stone path, there is no one near me.
When the beat of my heart starts to slow, I look at the chaser. The date is July 23, 1939. I’m still not sure if that’s before any fighting has begun. I just know it’s a few years prior to when the United States will join the war.
So what is Lidia doing here? Killing their leader?
I think for a moment. Hitler. The guy with the small mustache.
From all the accounts I’ve read, ridding the world of him would be a great thing. Though that would definitely change history, in Lidia’s current state, I can’t see her doing something that might improve the time line. So what then?
My mind explodes with dozens of different possibilities, all of them equally horrendous, but there’s no way for me to really know the answer right now. I tell myself I need to focus on what is in my control and note as much about this reality as possible so that once I do figure out what she’s done, I’ll have a familiarity with this time that will help me when I come back and fix things.
I check my chaser for location information, and discover we are in the city of Berlin — the capital of Germany in both this time line and mine.
I close my eyes and try to remember what I’ve read about this era, but it’s really only been overviews, with little specific information about Berlin, other than this is where Hitler ruled from. The little I know continues coming back to me in dribs and drabs. If I’m remembering correctly, at this point Hitler has been in power for several years, and has basically turned the country into a military state.
As my eyes open again, my gaze falls on my bloodstained pants. I’m in need of another change of clothes, and it would be best to do it soon for my own safety. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to find any washing machines sitting outside like I did in Lone Pine.
I look beyond the park, wondering where people of 1939 Berlin buy their clothes. Not that I have any money, but it will be easier to take from a business than to break into someone’s home.
Stone buildings surround the park. Perhaps there’s a store in one of them I can sneak into. I scan the area to make sure there are no military or police around and then head off in search of a new outfit.
I discover a handful of clothing stores and two tailor shops down a side street four blocks away. Unfortunately, one of the tailor shops is locked up tight, while the other shop and the clothing stores all have several customers inside. Fewer people will give me a better chance of getting away.
I slip into an alley with the intention of waiting until one of stores is less busy, but then I spot something white fluttering from a back window three floors above me. A shirt. I scan the rest of the building and spot hanging in a higher apartment window several dresses and a couple pairs of pants. There are other windows where clothes are drying, but these two straddle either side of an iron fire escape that runs up the back of the building, making them much easier to reach.
I loathe the idea of stealing from another residence, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up.
After tucking my shirt in and sticking my chaser inside it so I can use both hands, I maneuver an empty barrel below the fire escape and use it to reach the ladder sticking down from the second-floor landing.
My leg throbs as I jump up to grab the lowest rung. I need to attend to my wound soon. If it becomes infected, it could derail what I need to do. It’s a problem for later, though.
I head up to the third-floor landing, making as little noise as possible. The metal structure isn’t designed to be silent, though, and the best I can manage is to minimize the intensity of the clanking. Every few steps, I glance over at the building across the alley, convinced that I’ll see someone staring out a window at me, but so far my presence has gone unnoted.
I move to the railing along the right-hand edge of the third-floor landing. The window I’m interested in is three feet away, and the shirt one foot farther. I lean out over the rail, stretching my arm as far as I can. My fingers touch the shoulder of the shirt, but I’m unable to grab on to the material.
Propping myself on my good leg, I raise my bad one higher. This helps me to extend my length by a few more inches, and I’m able to clamp my thumb and first two fingers over the shirt and give it a pull. It easily slips from the nearest wooden clip holding it to the wire across the window. The other clip, though, isn’t so eager to give up. When I give the shirt a hard yank, the clip pops off the shirt and flies into the air.
I curse to myself. If the clip falls inside the house, I’ll be discovered. But instead of flipping through the window, it hits the stone outside it and then tumbles through the air to the alley below.
Careful not to let my new possession touch my bloody pants, I pull myself back onto the landing, then head up one more floor. The window the pants hang in is closer to the fire escape, and the pants should be easier to obtain than the shirt. As I reach for them, though, I hear a shout behind me.
A woman is leaning through a window of the opposite building, pointing at me. She continues to yell at me in German, and though I can’t understand her words, I get the meaning well enough. More people look through their windows, and a few join in with shouts of their own. I see a man on a lower floor duck back inside, and I’m sure he’ll be in the alley in moments.
I reach for the pants, intending to grab them and then make my way up to the roof. There should be another way down, which will allow me to avoid those who’ve already spotted me. But as I’m pulling the pants free from their clips, a hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. It’s old and small, but squeezes tight like a vise. I hear a door open down below, and see the man who’d been looking out his window rush into the alley.
I give my arm a yank, but the hand does not let go. Realizing that my best option is no longer to go up, I swing one leg over the rail that surrounds the landing and then the other leg, and jump through the window into the apartment.