heightened senses. The man was operating on her with no anesthetic and it looked as if he was opening her uterus, examining its function and comparing it to the textbook.
The man made another cut with the scalpel and looked into the deep wound, packing it with surgical sponges to contain the bleeding. Putting down the knife, he reached in with gloved hands and pulled out the woman’s uterus. She arched against the straps holding her down, howled into her gag and then her head lolled back, unconscious with pain. The man cut away the organ and carried it to another bench. Ignoring the woman, he started to dissect it, pulling open the membrane to examine what was inside. Blake felt the world wrench as he witnessed the tiny fetus within, a life snuffed out before it had even begun. The man began to probe at the tiny figure with his scalpel, cutting matchstick limbs and opening the chest in a miniature autopsy. As he worked, the man wrote into an oversized journal that was next to the bench. It spotted with red as blood dripped from his fingers, but he continued scratching the lines, inscribing his findings in neat handwriting. Finally he seemed satisfied, the last full stop an emphatic black mark.
The man barked an order and two women came in, faces pinched and starved, eyes blank and unseeing. They wheeled the gurney with the mutilated woman out of the room and the door swung back behind them. Blake wanted to disconnect but he felt that the emotion imbued in the figurine from this time wasn’t finished yet. He needed to know, so he waited. The doctor moved the figurine from the book, turning the pages to a drawing of twins, conjoined back to back. The doctor looked closely at the figures, tracing them with his fingertip as he examined exactly where the organs were attached, as if pondering how two bodies could be bonded this way. He hummed something, a jaunty tune that made Blake’s breath catch.
The doctor turned and called to the next room. The door opened again and the women wheeled in two gurneys, each carrying a young boy, strapped down firmly. The boys were awake and alert, eyes darting around the room in fear, both gagged. The man motioned for the women to turn the boys over onto their fronts and cut away the clothes from their backs. They did so with an attitude of detachment, as if by swift obedience they could avoid being next on the experiment bench.
The man then stood between the boys and began slicing into the back of one of them. The boy’s screams were high pitched and audible through the gag but the man kept cutting as he began to hum the tune again. The other child turned a deathly pale and froze, his stillness a primeval survival mechanism. Blake wanted to bear witness to the horror even as he knew he couldn’t stop it, for these crimes were committed many years ago and it was too late to help the children. He started pulling away from the scene as the man reached into the first boy’s open wound, his hands covered in gore.
***
Jamie watched as Blake’s physical presence became stronger in the room. His skin tone paled, beads of sweat appeared on his brow and he took deep breaths to control his nausea. His eyes were wide as he struggled to return to full consciousness. Jamie reached out across the table and touched his scarred hand with gentle fingers. His hand grasped at hers and held it like a lifeline as his breathing finally slowed. After a moment, he let go and Jamie felt a moment of loss, as if the room had dimmed. Blake took a sip of water.
“I think the figurine belonged to Mengele,” he said, meeting Jamie’s eyes, an intensity of horror in his hoarse voice. “The Angel of Death.”
Jamie frowned. “The Nazi doctor? You saw him?”
Blake nodded. “I saw what he did to a woman and then to a set of twins. It was horrific. He treated them as if they were lab-rats, to be mutilated and killed as he desired. There was something about to happen, something grotesque
The man made another cut with the scalpel and looked into the deep wound, packing it with surgical sponges to contain the bleeding. Putting down the knife, he reached in with gloved hands and pulled out the woman’s uterus. She arched against the straps holding her down, howled into her gag and then her head lolled back, unconscious with pain. The man cut away the organ and carried it to another bench. Ignoring the woman, he started to dissect it, pulling open the membrane to examine what was inside. Blake felt the world wrench as he witnessed the tiny fetus within, a life snuffed out before it had even begun. The man began to probe at the tiny figure with his scalpel, cutting matchstick limbs and opening the chest in a miniature autopsy. As he worked, the man wrote into an oversized journal that was next to the bench. It spotted with red as blood dripped from his fingers, but he continued scratching the lines, inscribing his findings in neat handwriting. Finally he seemed satisfied, the last full stop an emphatic black mark.
The man barked an order and two women came in, faces pinched and starved, eyes blank and unseeing. They wheeled the gurney with the mutilated woman out of the room and the door swung back behind them. Blake wanted to disconnect but he felt that the emotion imbued in the figurine from this time wasn’t finished yet. He needed to know, so he waited. The doctor moved the figurine from the book, turning the pages to a drawing of twins, conjoined back to back. The doctor looked closely at the figures, tracing them with his fingertip as he examined exactly where the organs were attached, as if pondering how two bodies could be bonded this way. He hummed something, a jaunty tune that made Blake’s breath catch.
The doctor turned and called to the next room. The door opened again and the women wheeled in two gurneys, each carrying a young boy, strapped down firmly. The boys were awake and alert, eyes darting around the room in fear, both gagged. The man motioned for the women to turn the boys over onto their fronts and cut away the clothes from their backs. They did so with an attitude of detachment, as if by swift obedience they could avoid being next on the experiment bench.
The man then stood between the boys and began slicing into the back of one of them. The boy’s screams were high pitched and audible through the gag but the man kept cutting as he began to hum the tune again. The other child turned a deathly pale and froze, his stillness a primeval survival mechanism. Blake wanted to bear witness to the horror even as he knew he couldn’t stop it, for these crimes were committed many years ago and it was too late to help the children. He started pulling away from the scene as the man reached into the first boy’s open wound, his hands covered in gore.
***
Jamie watched as Blake’s physical presence became stronger in the room. His skin tone paled, beads of sweat appeared on his brow and he took deep breaths to control his nausea. His eyes were wide as he struggled to return to full consciousness. Jamie reached out across the table and touched his scarred hand with gentle fingers. His hand grasped at hers and held it like a lifeline as his breathing finally slowed. After a moment, he let go and Jamie felt a moment of loss, as if the room had dimmed. Blake took a sip of water.
“I think the figurine belonged to Mengele,” he said, meeting Jamie’s eyes, an intensity of horror in his hoarse voice. “The Angel of Death.”
Jamie frowned. “The Nazi doctor? You saw him?”
Blake nodded. “I saw what he did to a woman and then to a set of twins. It was horrific. He treated them as if they were lab-rats, to be mutilated and killed as he desired. There was something about to happen, something grotesque
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