Obsessed Read online

  He had to kill Braun.

  He swallowed. What was he thinking? He had to kill Braun? He had to run! With Esther.

  “But . . . if we kill him, aren’t we becoming like him?”

  “No. We’re doing what Ruth and Martha would have done if they had the chance.”

  “Okay. Okay, then maybe we should kill him.” Hearing his own words, Stephen felt dizzy. Would he actually kill a man? Should he?

  “Just like that?” Esther asked.

  “I won’t let anybody hurt you. Never again.”

  She walked up to him, eyes searching. “Are you a dream, Stephen?”

  “No.”

  She was putting on a brave face, but he could see the fear in her eyes. She didn’t know if she could trust him. Yet he was giving her no choice. Dear Esther, what have they done to you?

  She suddenly turned and hurried for the sanctuary.

  “Follow me.”

  43

  THE BELL TOWER ROSE HIGH ABOVE THE CHURCH, AND BY THE looks of the aged bricks that lined the bell housing, it had been built long before the war. Stephen stood against one wall, staring at Esther, who scanned the street over an old hidden rifle she’d extracted from the back of the tower’s only closet.

  “No sign of him,” she said.

  Her voice rose just above a contralto, impossibly sweet. He knew what was happening. Now that the truth of her identity had settled fully in his mind, the fixation he’d had with the Stones of David had been transferred, heart and soul, to Esther. He felt like a puppy in her presence. He’d followed her up the stairs, lightheaded as much from the scent of her perfume as from the climb, and listened as she explained how she knew the rifle was there. Something about having smuggled it there years ago during a lapse in her captors’ attentiveness, but he was more interested in her.

  “Stephen?” Esther turned her head.

  She’d caught him staring? He jerked his eyes from her, aware of his flushed skin. Could she read his thoughts? No, how could she know his mind by looking at him? He was overreacting, which explained the hot and cold waves that spread over his skull and down his neck.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes, of course I’m okay. What are you doing?”

  “I’m waiting for Braun—what do you mean, what am I doing?”

  “Of course. What I meant was, why? Or . . . what are you thinking?”

  Stupid. Stupid question!

  Esther turned back to her study of the street without betraying any problem with his question. “I’m thinking that the moment this pig shows himself, his life is going to end.”

  “Sure. Of course. Makes perfect sense.”

  Did it? He hadn’t been able to think clearly enough to imagine actually killing a man. The whole plan—coming up here to pick Braun off— seemed surreal.

  Was he thinking straight?

  Another thought occurred to him. How could a preoccupation that impaired his reasoning be a good thing? If God had created man to obsess, had he also created him to trade reason for intuition? Or worse, sacrifice reason for emotion? The rabbi would never agree. Not even Gerik would agree.

  Stephen watched her as she peered over the rifle. Her lips were parted slightly, but she was breathing through her nose. A wisp of dark hair rested on her cheek. Her right hand, tender and white, gripped the trigger. This was the image of God before him. He was staring at a piece of God, and he could hardly stand the wonder.

  Chaim had often preached passion for God. In this moment, Stephen thought he understood what the rabbi meant. If man could be as obsessed with God as Stephen was with Esther—what a thought.

  And if Chaim was right, if man’s emotions were only a dim reflection of the Creator’s emotions, wouldn’t God also have feelings like Stephen had? Was God obsessed? Was he preoccupied with an extravagant love for man?

  How reasonable was dancing naked in the streets, as King David had done? How collected was Noah in building his huge boat in the desert? Or the prophets, being fed by birds or crawling around like an animal for years? Whatever had motivated those great shapers of history had been sparked by a moment of the deepest conviction and passion— maybe not so different from his own.

  The entire line of reasoning took no more than ten seconds, and Stephen felt his confidence surge as a result of it.

  “Are you really going to shoot him?” he asked.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “It just seems so . . . illegal.”

  “How can you stand there and talk to me about laws? This man kills. His father killed your mother. He will kill you too. And me. What he’s done to me is illegal. Foul!”

  She straightened and walked three steps to the still bell, then back to the window, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Foul?

  Rage blackened Stephen’s vision. “What . . .” No, not now. He took a deep breath. “You’re right; I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What am I supposed to do? You can run; I can’t. He’ll hound me!” For a moment, Stephen thought she might cry.

  “No, I was wrong,” he cried. “Kill him! We’ll kill him for sure!” He took two steps toward her, sick that he’d hurt her again. What was his problem?

  Chaim’s words were burning a hole in his soul, that was his problem. This obsession business is dangerous, Stephen. You can’t break laws in the name of love.

  Esther’s eyes darted about the room and briefly settled on his face. She looked like a child caught between terror and hopelessness.

  “Esther . . .”

  She spun to the window and froze.

  “What?”

  She leaped forward and crouched at the sill. “He’s here!” she whispered.

  Stephen sprang forward, saw the black car roll to a halt across the street. How Esther knew it was Braun, he didn’t know, but neither did he doubt. One glance at her face, and he knew this man was a living demon to her. Her lips quivered with fury.

  Esther brought the rifle to her shoulder and angled the barrel toward the car. She was breathing hard, and the gun wavered with each breath.

  The car’s rear door swung open. Braun stepped out.

  Stephen bent behind Esther, beating back panic. How could he stand here like a mouse while she fought off the beast?

  Esther began muttering under her breath. Bitterly.

  Stephen stared at the unfolding scene, aghast. Foul, she had said. Roth had abused her.

  He lunged for the gun; grabbed the barrel. “Wait! I’ll do it!”

  The gun boomed in the enclosed tower. Stephen jumped back, rifle in hand. Below them, Braun ducked and ran across the street toward the church’s entrance.

  “What are you doing?” cried Esther, jumping up.

  “I should do the shooting,” Stephen said.

  “You made me miss!” She gaped at him, and he wanted to explain, but words seemed inadequate.

  Esther clamped her mouth shut and ran past him. “Hurry, we’re sitting ducks up here!” She disappeared through the tower door.

  “Esther!”

  From the corner of his eye, Stephen saw the driver’s door fly open. Lars dived out.

  “Hurry, Stephen!” She was calling him.

  His lover was calling his name.

  “Esther!”

  He worked the bolt, pivoted the rifle out the window, lined the sights in the man’s direction, and jerked the trigger.

  Boom!

  Lars staggered.

  Stephen ejected the spent cartridge and shot at the large target again. This time, the man turned and hopped back toward the car. He’d hit him! He’d shot at a man through his leg! Or maybe his hip.

  Stephen whirled and raced for the stairs. “Esther!”

  She was running straight for Braun! Stephen took the stairs three at a time, rifle flailing overhead. His foot missed one of the steps and bounced over the edges of three more before finding purchase on the fourth. The rifle sailed free as he grabbed at the air. It clanged down a
flight and came to rest on the floor directly below him.

  “Es—” He cut the yell short. Braun would hear him screaming! The thought sent him flying down the stairs for the gun. He had to get into the sanctuary and cut Braun down before the man found Esther, assuming she didn’t find him first.

  Stephen reached the rifle, grabbed metal, and came up in a run.

  The blow came out of nowhere, a sledgehammer that crashed into his head and sent him reeling back to the floor.

  Braun, he thought vaguely. That was Braun. But his vision had clouded over, and he couldn’t make sense of his surroundings. The gun lay on the floor to his right. He was sitting down. Maybe he’d run into the wall.

  No, he’d seen movement. He tried to stand, but his muscles weren’t cooperating.

  Hands grabbed his collar and jerked him to his feet. “Where is she?”

  The stench of the man’s breath buffeted his face. Stephen’s world cleared. He was standing just inside the sanctuary, supported by Braun. The man’s white knuckles gripped a fistful of shirt and pressed against Stephen’s nose. He nearly opened his mouth and bit the man’s fingers but quickly decided that angering Braun more would only make matters worse.

  “Where is she?” Braun said.

  She’d eluded him! Esther had eluded this monster and, fortunately, Stephen had no clue where she could be. Hopefully halfway up the hill headed for Hamburg.

  A hand slapped his face. “Where?” Braun dragged him into the sanctuary.

  “She’s gone,” Stephen said. “She ran away when I told her about Martha. I told her Alaska would—”

  “Jews don’t run. They wait obediently; don’t you know your history?”

  “You’ll never find her.”

  Braun dropped him to the floor by the altar and stepped back. He held a pistol in his right hand, angled casually at the ground. But there was nothing casual about the man’s grin. Sweat wet his flushed skin, and his nostrils pulled at the air.

  He pulled out the red scarf Stephen had found in the safe and wiped his face as he glanced around the sanctuary, searching the dark corners by the confessional and the doorways.

  “She’s gone,” Stephen said. If he could keep the man occupied long enough, Esther could make her escape. Surely she would know to run. Without a gun, she would never confront Braun, no matter how much she despised him.

  “I know what happened to the Stones of David,” Stephen said. “Esther doesn’t, but I do.”

  The man cast a sideways glance at him. He wasn’t buying it.

  Stephen cleared his throat and tried again. “She doesn’t know because they belonged to my mother, not hers. You think I would tell her? I’ve been searching for them my whole life—I’m not about to confide in someone I hardly know.”

  Braun turned to Stephen and watched him for a moment. Slowly his face settled with a cold determination. “You’ll tell me where she is,” he said.

  “Aren’t you listening to me?” Stephen demanded. “She’s out of this! Me, I alone, have what you want.”

  “The city inspector has what I want?”

  “You think I would lie with a gun to my head? I didn’t even know she existed until you told me. I’m after the same thing you are.”

  Braun’s left eye twitched. “I doubt it.”

  Stephen was pushing—maybe too much.

  “I’m just saying that we need each other,” Stephen said. “I have what you want, and you have what I want.”

  “What do I have that you want?”

  “My life! Obviously. You’re standing over me with a gun. You let me live, and I’ll split it with you.”

  “The Stones of David. Split them. You are more stupid than I thought, inspector. You think I would share the Stones with a Jew?”

  “If you kill me, you’ll never find the other four Stones.”

  A grin nudged the big man’s lips. “I do not live for the Stones.” Braun glanced around the room again. He dropped one end of the scarf so that it hung from his fingers. “I love games. Shall we play a game?”

  He walked forward and held the red silk out so that it hung above Stephen. “You’ve become useless to me. The only reason you’re still alive is because there’s a slight possibility that the girl is as stupid as her mother. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Braun dropped the scarf. It spilled over Stephen’s shoulder and hung down his chest. “My father selected your mother, Martha, to die. It seems fitting that I should select you. Unless your guardian angel sweeps in to take your place, I will put a bullet in your forehead. Ten seconds.” His voice rang throughout the auditorium.

  “Let me live, and you can have it all,” Stephen said. “I’ll show you exactly where the treasure is, and then you can kill me if you want.”

  “Seven!”

  “She’s gone! Kill me, and it’s over. I have the information.”

  “Five.”

  Stephen knew that his prodding had probably sealed his death, but he couldn’t just sit here and die. Dear Esther, what have I done?

  “Three!” Braun raised his revolver.

  “Okay, you win,” Stephen said. Panic swarmed him. He was going to die. A bullet was about to punch a hole through his head. He sat up, furious. “I said you win! I’ll tell you everything!”

  “Stop!” Esther’s shrill cry echoed through the chamber. Stephen turned toward the sound of her voice. She stood at the entrance to the stairwell, arms limp at her sides, feet together.

  44

  STEPHEN FELT HIS HEART SINK TO THE FLOOR OF HIS STOMACH.

  “Leave,” he demanded. “Get out! Run!”

  Esther regarded him with a casual glance and then stared at Braun. “There’s an exit behind me,” she said. “If you kill him, I will run, and you should know that I have a way out of this village that no one knows about. You’ll never know what I know; I can promise you that.”

  “I don’t need anything you know,” Roth said. “And I don’t think hiding will be so easy.”

  “Then let him go, and I’ll cooperate.” Her voice held a tremor.

  “Esther, please,” Stephen pleaded.

  Esther ignored him. “Let him go.”

  Braun could hardly hide his excitement. “Like mother, like daughter. Take the scarf, and I won’t kill—”

  “I know how your disgusting game is played. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “Did my father kill Martha when Ruth took the scarf?”

  Esther shifted her gaze back to Stephen.

  “Please, Esther, don’t do this,” he said. “He’ll kill me either way.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, I’m finished.” She looked at Braun. “You hear that, you pig? I know that my life is worth something to you. If you kill him, I’ll run, and you’ll have to shoot me. I don’t know what you have planned, but if I had no value to you, you’d have killed me long ago.”

  Braun tilted his gun up to the ceiling. “You have my word. He’ll go free.”

  “I don’t trust your word,” Esther said. “Throw me the scarf.”

  “Come and take it.”

  “Do I strike you as a fool? You need me alive, so throw me the scarf.”

  Braun eyed her, clearly caught off guard by her audacity. But she was right. Braun wanted her alive.

  Why?

  Braun snatched up the scarf and flung it at Esther. She caught the material, looked at it for a moment, and then casually draped it around her neck.

  “Stand up, Stephen,” she said calmly.

  He scrambled to his feet.

  “You’ll find another exit through those doors behind you,” Esther told him. “Walk out.”

  “No.”

  “Then my own life will be in vain,” she said.

  “He’ll kill you,” Stephen cried. “I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “He’ll kill me anyway,” Esther said.

  “If you run now, you can still make it. He probably won’t kill me. I’m an American citizen, and the distric
t attorney in Los Angeles knows I’m here with Roth Braun.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him until he said it, but this did present a potential problem for Braun. Assuming the man cared.

  Braun chuckled. Evidently not.

  “Why are you arguing with me?” Esther asked, eyes now moist with tears.

  “I’m not arguing—I’m trying to help you!”

  “Why would you risk your life for me?”

  “You’re . . . you’re Esther,” he said.

  “I am. I’m Esther, and no one has ever loved me.”

  Stephen took a step in her direction before remembering that Braun was in the room. “That’s not true. I love you. I love you more than anything I can imagine.”

  “You don’t even know me.” Tears began to slip down her cheeks.

  “I was made for you,” Stephen said.

  “Enough,” Braun said.

  Stephen ignored the man. Esther was offering to give her life for him, not because she loved him so dearly, but because she saw her own life as worthless. The few minutes of tenderness he’d shown her were more valuable in her mind than her life.

  Dear Esther. My dear Esther! You are willing to throw your life away for a moment’s love.

  “Don’t you see, Esther? Our hearts have been beating together for thirty years. The truth is, I don’t think Martha hid the other four Stones of David. We’re the Stones of David. I . . . I don’t think I can live without you. Please, just run.”

  “I can’t just—”

  Boom! Stephen jumped. Braun had fired into the air.

  Braun waved the gun at Esther. “Come here, please.”

  “Not until Stephen leaves,” she said.

  “You think you can outwit me at my own game?”

  “Shoot me,” she challenged.

  The quiver in his fingers told the truth. Their ploy had stalled him. He couldn’t kill Esther, not yet.

  Braun twisted his head toward the door. “Lars!”

  Lars?

  It occurred to Stephen that Braun could easily stop Esther. A simple shot to her leg, and she would be powerless. He was either lost to this fact, or he was playing another game altogether.