A Promise to My Sister: A completely heartbreaking and unputdownable World War Two novel by S.E. Rutledge

Author:S.E. Rutledge [Rutledge, S.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-08-29T00:00:00+00:00

A man’s voice reaches me, again and again demanding the same thing: “What were you doing?” The familiarity of the voice slowly draws me back from inside my mind, first registering the inside of the block, then a green uniform blocking the gateway to the horror outside.

“What were you thinking? Were you going after them? Is that what you were doing?”

They’re gone! He took them! They were well and healing and he took them!

My heart burns, aching deep at the core as I gasp for air. The world seems to spin, blurring here and there, and suddenly my legs are gone beneath me.

My fault! My fault! I brought them here! I knew how dangerous it was and I brought them anyway! They’ll be killed and it’s my fault! He took them, but I killed them, just like I killed Noam!

“I killed them!” I sob, the last glimpse of their ruined, beautiful faces, the lingering memory of his terrified, innocent eyes all haunting me. “Please, forgive me!”

But how can they forgive me if they are dead? God cannot forgive man’s sins against man, only they can forgive each other. But if only the dead can forgive their murderer, how do they forgive? Are people worthy of heaven not bound to forgive even their murderer? If it is only who we do unto who can forgive us, then by what right does God decide who must still be cleansed in Hell? If all those Mengele has murdered forgive him, even if he doesn’t repent, would God forgive him as well?

“Hodaya!”

Does God care at all? Why watch the genocide man inflicts knowing only they can forgive each other? Why give sentient beings the free will to do this kind of evil unto each other at all? If it is the almighty Creator who gives us the ability to commit evil, does that not mean He also has the ability to do evil?

“Hodaya!”

Obergefreiter Engel’s arms as he kneels before me are a stiff prison around my limp body. I struggle from his grip, shuddering in disgust, the places his touch has burned me stinging like salt rubbed in an open wound.

“Did you really mean to follow them? To what end? What purpose would your death serve for you and your sister?” he asks, gently and not so accusingly as before.

Nails biting forcefully into my palms, I scramble to my feet, desperate not to be below him. He doesn’t react to my reckless move, allowing me to look down on him, his face a fox’s mask of regret and sadness.

“What does it matter to you? How many have you killed?” These words that will surely be my death sentence are spat before I can stop them, and my heart drops.

He stands with a bit of difficulty. “Many… but that was war, this… this is…” he rasps, a faraway glaze over his eyes. “There are none that I don’t wish I could take back, but I have killed no prisoners here, no one innocent.”

“What?” The word is less than a whisper, a stunned, doubtful breath.

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