These I Know By Heart by Brian A. Hopkins

Author:Brian A. Hopkins [Hopkins, Brian A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2013-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

These Are the Moments I Live For

He was part of my dream, of course — but then I was part of his dream, too.

— Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

Eternities of darkness...

...and then, she dreams, and I'm alive again.

As the sun strikes the Bavarian Alps, it erases the last of the morning's blue shadows from Elaine's raven hair. Rebounding from the windowpanes of Kehlstein House behind us, its rays spark amethyst in her eyes and copper on her lips. She watches in silence as the lakes and chasms below come alive, one by one surrendering their phantom cloaks to the cleansing onslaught of light. The cobalt blue waters reflect the white-capped majesty of Zugspitze, the highest peak in all of Germany, and miniature copies of us perched on the summit of Zugspitze's neighbor, Kehlstein. On the slopes, a thousand shades of that singular ignoble color, rock, are born. The salt mines in the Salzbergwerk Valley reveal their hoards like bright diamonds, a scattering of brisance against the rock. Elaine's eyes take it all in—while I watch her.

"Elaine," I begin.

"Go away. I don't want you here." She doesn't look away from the magnificent view.

"Then why do you summon me?" The question is rhetorical, and she doesn't bother to answer. We've had this discussion before.

Long moments pass. Daybreak widens to a searing seam. In its pure intensity, I find the courage to try again. "Elaine—"

"Quiet!" she all but screams. "Can't you just enjoy the sunrise?" Then, as if to compensate for scolding me, she plays, as always, the tour guide, pointing out sights on the horizon. "Hitler, Goering, and Borman all maintained chalets here. Once they were connected by a network of underground tunnels and bunkers, but very little remains today. Only Hitler's Eagle's Nest remains intact." Her face echoes another place and time as she speaks of these things, for the moment clean of the emotions with which she continually wrestles. It's always this way, the magic of the tourist sights occupying her completely. I've never determined whether she's actually visited these places to which she brings me or merely dreamed of them, but I choose to believe the former. The details are too exact to be a fantasy. She knows the places we visit. "It's easy to see why Hitler built here," she adds. "The view alone is worth what it must have cost him to bring the materials so high."

I wonder if she includes in that figure the cost in human lives. From here, it's easy to see Munich and the town of Dachau with its infamous concentration camp—Nazi Germany's first. I've no idea how many perished in its shower-disguised gas chambers, how many souls were consumed in its belching crematorium. But then, I don't know how I know any of these things. I don't know who I am. Or even where I am when she does not dream of me. Memories to me are deja vú hauntings in the back of my mind, nagging premonitions and wraith-like suppositions.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.