Chameleon by Cidney Swanson

“He was even more clever than that. Unlike the other children, Pfeffer never revealed what he could do. I was the first in whom he confided, once he trusted me.”
    “Sir Walter,” said Mickie. “Back to the ‘why did some kids ripple’ question—Pfeffer said something once.”
    “Yes?”
    “He said that Will would not be who he is without the way our dad treated him while he was still under the age of eight . When I asked Pfeffer about it, he seemed upset that he’d spoken aloud and tried to make nothing of his statement. I’ve been thinking, though, what if the numbness–producing response changed to an invisibility–producing response in individuals traumatized prior to a certain age, say, eight years of age?
    “As an adaptation, this could exist to give an individual a greater chance for survival. It’s well–documented that kids’ brains go to a lot of trouble to protect them from the full experience of abuse or torture; kids will report retreating into a mind–space where they ‘leave’ their bodies while their abusers harm them. When I asked Pfeffer, he wouldn’t comment, other than to say it was dangerous to try to learn what I wanted to know.”
    “Fascinating,” said Sir Walter. “Yes, I think perhaps … this is most interesting, and disturbing, in light of what we know of my cousin’s activities.”
    “It’s true for Sam, too,” Mickie said quietly. “She had trauma prior to age eight.”
    She was right. And some days I still felt like I was recovering from the day I saw my friend and my mother killed.
    “Of course, some of the children upon whom Helmann experimented never made it to eight years old. But, yes. Perhaps my cousin intended to traumatize the children with the experiments.”
    The sun sank behind a thick band of clouds upon the horizon as it hit me what Mickie and Sir Walter were suggesting. All the children upon whom Helmann had experimented, the ones he had traumatized, had abused—they were all his offspring. His own children.
    This was beyond wrong. My stomach roiled at the thought, and I could not pull my mind back from the horrors of the black book. Once more, words and images from the dark tales rose before me. Hunger. Fighting. The desperate cold. The bowl of poison. All while Helmann stood by, invisibly, taking careful notes.
    “Sir Walter,” called Will. “Hold up. I think Sam’s going to yack.”
    I barely made it off the sanded path, behind a row of manicured bushes. I fell, gloved hands smacking onto the cold, hard earth, gravel imbedding itself right through my jeans and into my knees. Mickie dropped beside me, holding back my hair. I heaved until my stomach emptied, and then my eyes poured out what liquid remained while Mickie passed tissues to me. It was all too much: the Lebensborn children; the experiments in the black book; the cruelty and determination of our enemy.
    For the first time, I began to see the full force of what we were up against. How could we possibly hope to prevail?
    At last, with Mickie’s help, I stood. Before us, the sun settled for the night, a bloated red ball that hovered ominously over the horizon of Paris before giving up at last and vanishing.
    “Earliest sunset of the year,” said Mickie, quietly.
    “Perhaps we have dwelt enough for one day upon the darkness in this world,” said Sir Walter, looking sorrowfully my direction. “If you have no objections to the consolations of the Holy Church, we might attend a sung mass.”
    “We’re Catholic,” Will said.
    Mick made a small noise that might have been a laugh, but she raised no objection.
    “My family doesn’t really go to mass,” I said. “But it sounds fine by me.” I thought I could use some Lord, have mercy right now.
    “Sir Walter, I just have one last question. Sam, do you mind?” Will turned his dark eyes upon me.
    “No problem,” I murmured. Like I could say no to him.
    He turned back to Sir Walter. “The black book, those experiments? It seemed