identity | reus + lewandowski

"Stay quiet," I whispered, stepping out of the closet. I had Thomas covered with a pile of clothes, and he had to suck on his thumb to keep himself from sobbing out loud as he stared at me in confusion. Why wasn't I hiding with him?, his eyes asked. I simply gave him a look of assurance and closed the door before listening as Chris cried out.

I rushed to his room and listened as the officer downstairs spoke, still so loud and belligerent. "Who's upstairs?"

There was a confident response from Robert; he must've heard my footsteps as I rushed to Chris' room. "My son and my wife."

His—the officer, that is—footsteps grew louder and harder as he trudged up the stairs and bursted into the room I was in. Calmly, I held Chris to me; he had been silenced, only because he was breastfeeding. I let out an exaggerated gasp of shock. "Do you mind?!"

"Oh!" The officer turned around and shaded his eyes, certainly blushing. I let out a loud scoff and called out.

"Robert! Marco! what's going on? Who is this man? He just bursted into—"

"Miss, please excuse me! This is all a mistake—"

"No, are you one of my husband's hideous friends? How dare you just barge into my room while I'm—"

"What's going on in here?" An unmistakably familiar voice, belonging to a man who's name I couldn't quite match it to, sounded as he entered the room and instantly froze.

I froze, also. My face reddened. It had to have been two, three years since I'd seen him; and even then, it was just a brief encounter. We didn't know one another, but he'd made it fairly obvious that he was keen on me. Like the admirer and the celebrity. "Julian," I spoke, quietly.

His face lit up. "Scarlett Lewandowska! You remember me!" His eyes shifted from my chest to my face before he smiled and blushed.

I smiled, politely. "Would you just be kind enough as to explain what all is happening? I'm very confused." I lied, forcing my eyes to gloss over.

"Oh," He waved his hand. "Some idiot really tried to tell us that a Jew lived here. Honestly, it was unbelievable from the start. I mean, come on, you want to tell us that a Jew lives with the commander of Auschwitz and the most beautiful German woman on the planet?"

I smiled a little. "Preposterous."

"Exactly. Come on, Bastian, let's go." Julian motioned to his partner, who still had his back turned to me.

"Wait," I spoke. "What exactly was this daft, simple-minded person attempting to say? In detail?"

"Well, you see, there's this Jewish school for boys in Warsaw. When we invaded the city, the Nazis raided the school and we took the files on each boy in attendance. We've been searching for each of those boys ever since. There was one, a Thomas Bardot, and somehow we ended up with this address, that's all." Julian shrugged a shoulder. I felt my heart leap, jump, and skip; every action possible.

They were searching for my brother. But, whoever had tipped them off and stated that my brother was here, with me, was wrong; it was Robert's son—the other Thomas, who was widely known as just Tom—that they were really searching for. Which was why, of course, I kept him in the closet. I could pass for a non-Jew, but having brown eyes and dark brown hair, he couldn't.

"Oh." Was all I responded, my face unfazed. "Well, this one right here is the only child in the house." I motioned to Chris, but instantly regretted it; my chest was practically fully exposed to Julian, who had eyes the sizes of saucers.

"Of course. So sorry to have disturbed you." He finally spoke, after I awkwardly cleared my throat. He looked to his partner. "Bastian, let's go."

I sent Julian a wave as he shyly gave me one last glance and apologized yet again. I heard their footsteps, quieter and quieter, until the door opened and closed; instantly, Marco ran into the room and widened his eyes at Chris and I. "Margaret, you're a genius."

Robert entered the room afterwards and placed his un-crippled hand on his heart in relief, and before he could rush up to the two of us, I spoke. "They weren't looking for me. They were looking for your son. He's in the closet at the end of the hallway."

Robert's face flashed with an unreadable emotion before he went to go retrieve his eldest son, leaving me with Marco, who sent to sit at the foot of the bed. "You have no clue how frightened we were, Margaret."

"And I as well." I responded, my face reddening as I quickly pulled my shirt up the moment Chris removed his lips from my chest.

Marco's cheeks mantled a pink color. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"By chance, I knew one of the soldiers." I responded, watching as Robert entered the room. Thomas was crying, softly. I clutched Chris onto me, but Robert and I swapped as I welcomed Thomas with open arms and Robert took his smaller son into his one able arm. "Julian Draxler. I believe it's Draxler, at least. That's what his name tag said."

"Yeah, I've seen him around. At the camp." Marco noted, letting out another breath of relief. We all knew that things had gotten way to close and, yet again, we'd gotten lucky. "He seems a little immature, but from now on, I guess that's a good thing."

"If it weren't for Chris and his cries, I never could've pulled it off."

Robert beamed down at his son and, again, began speaking in Polish. I couldn't understand, but Chris—Robert was back to calling him by his birth name, Krzysztof, which was still way too complicated for me—could, as he was giggling. I let out a shaky breath and stared at Thomas. "I'm proud of you."

He could only sniffle. Sighing, I spoke again, hugging him briefly. "Were you ever friends with another kid named Thomas?"

This Thomas smiled a little, glancing up at me. "Thomas was my best friend. They called me Tom so that no one got confused. I didn't like it."

I drew in a small breath, feeling my eyes burn as a slight, nostalgic smile found my lips. I yearned to hold my brother in my arms in the same sense that I held my stepson, even though Robert and I had never actually been ceremoniously married. "What was he like?"

"He was really smart. But sad all of the time, because his mother died. So did mine, so we both knew what it felt like. He lived with my grandmother and I."

My smile fell, as did my heart and my stomach. No, I thought. Not my mother. Thomas searched my broken expression with eyes of concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Did he, by any chance, talk about how?" I finally uttered, quickly blinking away at the tears that flowed down my face as I spoke, my voice shaky.

Thomas had to think, long and hard. Marco placed a hand on my shoulder while Robert stared at me, his eyes filled with empathy and pity. Chris was the only one smiling, as he didn't know what was going on. Thomas finally spoke, certain. "If I can remember correctly," He began, standing up. He was fairly well-spoken; for a ten year old, that is. At least I thought he was ten. That's how old my brother should be. He glanced at me and spoke, the lightbulb in his head going off as he did so. "She was sent to Auschwitz."