Love of a Captive

When the truck finally stopped, some two or three hours later, Malachi blinked the sleep from his eyes, noting muzzily that Adrian was already climbing out of the truck. Not sure if he should follow, or if he was supposed to stay where he was until the other man told him to, Malachi remained seated, watching Adrian.

The blond turned at grinned at him, making a brief hand motion, and Malachi stood, heading for the back of the truck. Adrian reached up his hands to lift him down, but Malachi snarled at him. The soldier just shrugged, still grinning, and turned away from the truck, leaving the boy to jump out on his own.

Once he was firmly on the ground, Malachi took the time to look around. He assumed that his view of the house was currently being blocked by the truck, so instead, he looked down over the Nazi encampment. It was dusk now, and tents loomed everywhere, with soldiers milling around all over the grounds. Malachi couldn’t tell exactly how far the encampment stretched in the dimming evening light, but he swallowed hard, realizing that it had to even larger than what he could see.

There were a few soldiers wandering around the by the truck, which was, Malachi realized, parked somewhere in the middle of a whole row of military vehicles. The men paid him no mind, a few of them giving him a quick once over before continuing on their way, and Malachi relaxed a little. He was only just now realizing that Adrian’s veiled threats had been bothering him a lot more than he thought they were.

“Come along now, boy!” Adrian barked at him, and Malachi spun around to face him, surprised at the change in tone. But even Adrian’s face had changed, aloof and cold as the soldier stared at him mercilessly. Swallowing, Malachi took a step towards Adrian, and the Nazi spun on his heel, walking smartly off. Malachi, seeing no other options when surrounded by so many soldiers and still bound, followed him, struggling to keep up with the other man’s pace.

More focused on keeping up and not losing sight of Adrian through the crowd of soldiers than on his surroundings, Malachi only had an impression of size. The house was more like a mansion, and could probably fit several families inside of it. Once a brilliant white, the home had since fallen into minor disrepair – probably from a lack of servants, Malachi realized once he walked inside.

The mansion was empty, the only sound to be heard that of his and Adrian’s boots tapping along the marble floor. They appeared to be in a foyer of some sort, and Malachi took a few seconds to glance around, seeing several rooms branching off from the hall they were in. Guessing by the furniture he managed to catch a glimpse of, there were several lounges, a large kitchen, and a few bare rooms that had probably had a purpose once.

Malachi stopped abruptly as he almost walked right into Adrian, who had stopped and was staring at him again. As soon as he realized that he had Malachi’s attention, his face thawed out and his eyes regained that amused glint that had been present in the back of the truck. Malachi blinked, disconcerted. Which one was the real Adrian?

“There are a lot of soldiers out there,” Adrian murmured. “Fortunately, they’re all lower ranking than I am, and so I am not forced to house them within the walls of my family home. However, the fact that I brought you here, instead of to one of the prisons, is cause for concern to many of those men out there.” He didn’t bother to ask for Malachi’s forgiveness, and the boy knew that he really couldn’t care less what he thought about him. He had probably just explained himself as a courtesy, to give Malachi warning that depending on where he was, he would be treated differently.

Of course, now Malachi had more questions for him. Such as why had he been brought here instead of to a concentration camp? What rank was Adrian, exactly? Why were the Nazi soldiers using his ancestor’s land for their camp? Adrian had said that there weren’t any soldiers higher ranking than him right now. Did that mean that there were, sometimes? And if so, when? And for how long?

Adrian turned around, not giving Malachi time to voice any of his questions. Not that he would have answered anyway, probably, Malachi fumed. Adrian was proving to be a stubborn bastard, dropping hints and clues but never actually coming out and telling him anything.

“Follow me,” he commanded, and Malachi followed once more, trying to keep track of the distance they had traveled, and where the rooms were that might contain furniture useful for hiding. He still intended to leave here, but he might need a place to hide for a little while, or at least a room he could duck into until any pursuers had gone past him. “Searching for an escape isn’t going to do you any good,” Adrian cautioned, “although you’re more than welcome to try,” he invited, grinning.

Malachi just scowled at him, keeping his gaze straight ahead so as to not make his intentions so obvious. Up the staircase, and down a hallway, they eventually came to a door at the very end of the hall. Inserting a key into the lock, Adrian opened the door, beckoning Malachi inside and then following him, locking the door behind him.

Refusing to be intimidated, Malachi ignored Adrian as he looked around the room. It appeared to be the master suite, judging by the abundance of antique, well-cared for furniture, and the huge bed that lay in the center of the room, underneath a set of bay windows.

A push to his back, and Malachi moved forward. A few more prods, and he stood in front of the bed, confused. Turning around to ask Adrian what, exactly, the man thought he was doing, Malachi was caught off guard when his legs were kicked out from under him, sending him toppling onto the bed, the chains on his wrists and ankles keeping him from being able to control the fall.

Trying to twist around and get his knees under him, Malachi was jerked by the chain on his wrists to the top of the bed, where, he noticed, another chain lay ominously. With a deft movement, Adrian flipped the boy over and chained his shackles to the headboard, then backed away from the bed.

Malachi debated for a moment, before deciding to hell with his pride and flipping back over onto his stomach. This allowed him to get his knees under him, so that he could at least kneel on the bed. Once this was accomplished, he turned to glare at Adrian. He wanted to demand that he be let go, and to know what the hell Adrian thought he was doing, but he bit his tongue, waiting to see if Adrian would speak first. It seemed that the man was more prone to be open when Malachi kept silent.

Adrian just grinned at him. “Try to get some more sleep, why don’t you? You’re not going anywhere, after all. I’ll bring up some food for you later.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Malachi called after him, twisting his body around uncomfortably to face the door, suddenly desperate. Adrian paused and turned back towards him, those cobalt blue eyes staring at him curiously. “Why am I here? Why aren’t I with the others?” he asked, not even entirely certain which others he was talking about, or why he cared so much. After all, it’s not like he actually wanted to be in a concentration camp, enduring the horrors that he had only heard rumors about.

Adrian smiled at him, but there was nothing reassuring in that grin. “You are here for entertainment,” he answered bluntly, cruelly. “With only one Jew captured, there was no need to waste a trip to bring you to prison, when I could just as easily imprison you here, and keep you for myself. And my superiors,” he added callously, and Malachi felt a chill run down his spine. He really, really didn’t like the sound of that.

With that, Adrian turned and walked out the door, locking it behind him again. This time, Malachi didn’t try to stop him. Instead, he stared blankly out the bay windows, fear trying to drown him. He truly was a prisoner, and it didn’t matter if his parents had abandoned him, or if Adrian had lied and they had been killed. He was on his own, in a world that he no longer recognized, and he didn’t know if he’d ever escape.

A tear made its way down his face, and he swiped at it angrily, furious with himself. He would get out of here, no matter what it took. Because, he acknowledge, he couldn’t live with himself if he just gave in here. He was still alive, and as long as he was alive, he would not give up hope. After all, he thought bitterly, settling more comfortably on the bed so he could watch the soldiers outside, hope was all he had left.