OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 20

Claire and her aunt stepped into a small room off a narrow hall. Carsten hung in the doorway while the women perused their new quarters. The ocean blue walls cast a somber mood on the space, damping the wary occupants. He shut the white door behind them, then the lock slid and clicked into place. Carsten's muffled German resonated through the door panels. Boots scraped and something dragged along the wall. Claire explored their new prison cell. She opened a narrow white door and found a closet.

Aunt looked to Claire, biting her lip. "What are you doing?" Aunt asked in a harsh whisper.

"Looking around," Claire replied.

"Not that! Him." Aunt gestured erratically.

"What do you mean?" She still felt him creeping up her arm and into her brain.

Claire found another door on the opposite wall and opened it. Behind the panel hid a small, white tiled bathroom. Some of the tiles were loose and others lay broken on the floor. Tiny octagons laced the floor in odd little clusters. She pushed them with her toe, wondering at all the damage. It wasn't just wear and tear.

"You're flirting, for one," Aunt said, frustrated.

"Aunt," Claire sighed. "Why would I flirt with such an insufferable wet blanket as that man? I'm only exhausted, just as you," she said yawning. "I can barely stand."

"Wet blanket?" Aunt chuckled. She sat on the edge of the bed smiling. "You sound like your mother. Don't change the subject," she added more sternly, realizing her niece had shoved her off course.

Claire walked in a slow circle inside the bathroom, giving it the once over. She then sat beside her aunt, resting her head on the woman's shoulder and placing her arms about her ample girth. Aunt stroked Claire's hair and smiled softly. She didn't speak, but the sentiment said a great deal. Claire recalled the unspoken reprimand from days long gone. She saw through everything, which made it useless to try and hide a thing. Claire decided to change the subject anyway. There was no use discussing it. The words to describe how she felt still eluded her and thus it was still safer in hiding.

"What should we do now?" Claire asked, sounding drowsy. "Can't exactly bathe and put on these old threads again."

Claire held the dirty cuffs of Carsten's jacket up to see how bad they had gotten. She had folded them to free her hands from the long sleeves, but the thing still hung on her like a bag, making her feel small and helpless. She pushed the collar to her face. It no longer smelled like him, but held the scent of the sub, diesel and sweat.

Aunt didn't respond to her question. Instead she smiled to herself, combing Claire's hair with her fingers. Claire rolled her head to see her. Aunt looked a touch older than when they'd left. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes sparkled, but she was marked by weariness and worry.

"Sarry was right, wasn't she?" Aunt whispered, not giving up.

"About?" Claire asked, pretending not to follow.

Aunt glanced sideways, letting her know it was no use to avoid the question. A knock shook the door to the room, saving Claire from having to answer. The women trembled in their seats. They sat up straight and regarded the door. The lock flipped and it burst open. A line of uniformed Germans entered with bags. The soldiers were mere boys, and one of them spoke, but Claire and her aunt only blinked at him, confused. He frowned when he understood that neither spoke his language. He grumbled under his breath and marched out with the others. They closed the door and threw the lock in place.

"Who's first?" Aunt said, forgetting Carsten. Claire opened her mouth to reply, wanting to give up any claim on the bath just to lay back on a real bed for a while. "You go ahead," Aunt said to her, before Claire spoke.