Part 4


Justin leaned over the railing, watching the water hitting the side of the boat. The cold air felt good on his cheeks after being in his cabin for a night. He breathed deeply, the salt air filling his lungs as his mind marveled at how different this voyage was from his first to Europe, during the war.

And certainly, it was vastly different than his return voyage to America after the war.

Even as he attempted to tamp down the memories, the doctor’s words echoed in his mind. Don’t be afraid of the memories. Don’t fight them. Don’t let them win. Easy for the doctor’s to say things like that, Justin thought. They didn’t have the memories he did.

But he was going back to France to face those memories. Everyone had been against it. His family, his friends, his doctors. It’s one thing to hide from your memories, they all said. But why would you want to relive them?

He gripped the railing as the memories flooded back…

*************

It had been easy hooking back up with the American army. The British troops that Francois and the others had brought him too were actually attached to the 42nd Infantry, K Division. And even though Justin was Airborne, not Infantry, he was ordered to stay with K Company until his unit and theirs met up. So, Justin became and infantry officer, a simple enough thing.

A harder thing was trying to explain to his commanding officers why he needed to check the official records when the took a village or a town. Why he demanded to see the manifests captured with each train. Why he interrogated prisoners after hours. He finally confessed to his CO's that he had been helped by a man in the French Resistance who had been taken, and wanted to find out what had happened to him. His CO’s were understanding, but firm. No more interrogations. No more record searching. Besides, they told him. They weren’t even in France anymore, but had crossed over into Germany last week, headed for Munich.

Justin accepted this news with outward calm, but inner panic. He was getting farther and farther away from Joshua, and wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to find him. No, he thought, it wasn’t hopeless. He’d find Joshua. Besides, he probably escaped already…Joshua was clever like that, he remembered with a smile.

He rode on top of a truck transport as K Company left Munich, headed for the Austrian border. He heard the advance scout on the radio, indicating a compound ahead. Justin looked to the distance, seeing the smokestacks on the horizon. He hoped whatever troops or defense was in the factory gave up without a fight.

Gunfire could be heard before Justin’s transport arrived, then an “all clear” was given. He jumped down from his truck, heading toward the gates with the rest of his squad. He looked at the wrought iron work, the words “Work will set you free” inscribed over the gate in German. Then he saw them.

Hundreds of them.

Thousands of them.

Ghosts.

No, not ghosts.

People.

“It’s a death camp,” someone said to his left. Justin turned to see Colonel McInnis, the 42nd Infantry’s superior officer. “They said we might run into them, but I’d hoped…”

“A death camp?” Justin was unable to comprehend. Who were these people?

Col. McInnis nodded. “For Jews, mostly,” he said. “But political prisoners, resistance prisoners, all kinds.”

At his words, Justin’s breathing became shallow, his heart beating rapidly. No no no no, he thought, looking at the thin, sick prisoners being helped by the infantry soldiers. Nonononononono

“Timberlake?” Col. McInnis called to him. “Are you okay.”

Justin heard his voice as if from a great distance. He looked at the prisoners…seeing Joshua in each face…he couldn’t speak…couldn’t move…

“Colonel,” an aide said. “It’s worse than we thought.”

“Smith, I doubt that,” McInnis said with black humor. “But what did you find?”

“Sir, Major Rodney reports there are gas chambers here, sir. And the smokestacks? They’re crematoriums, sir.”

Crematoriums….gas chambers…Joshua…no…

Justin collapsed to the ground.

**********

Justin had finally regained his senses on the boat back to America, two months later. He was strapped to a bed, being fed by a tube in his nose. The doctor on board told him he wasn’t surprised that Justin couldn’t remember what had caused his catatonic state, and that they’d help him back at a hospital in the States.

Help is a subjective word. He had fought against remembering, fought against knowing what might have happened to Joshua, fought against the realization of Joshua dying like that. But the doctors were convinced it would help.

So he remembered. He cried about it, he talked to his doctors about it, and they’d finally released him from the hospital to his family.

But he never told them everything. They thought he’d just snapped at the sight of Dachau, at the sight of such horror. They didn’t know about Joshua. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t share that with anyone.

Which was why he was going back to France. No one would understand. No one would have realized what he’d seen, what he’d felt. So no one really knew what he’d lost.

His love. His life. His soul.

******************

Justin spent a week in Paris, searching through files of documents held by the Red Cross, looking at the rolls of people listed as “displaced persons.” No Joshua Chasez could be found on any record, in any official office. The only record anyone found was his army discharge, due to extensive wounds to his leg, in 1940. Justin looked at his army file, smiling with pride as read that Joshua had received the Coeur de Guerre, France’s highest honor for bravery.

“It was never delivered to him, you know,” the clerk said to Justin. “With the war and all…we kept it here for him.”

“May I see it?” Justin asked.

She moved to another file drawer, withdrawing a dusty blue velvet box and handing it to Justin. It opened with a squeak, but inside, the brass medal and blue, white and red ribbon were still as bright as new. Justin wished he’d had known about the citation, but then realized he didn’t need to know of official recognitions of Joshua’s character to know what kind of man he’d been.

“Would you like it?” the clerk asked.

Justin raised questioning eyes. “Why would you give it to me?”

“Because you loved him,” she said. “I can see it in your face.” She shrugged. “You say he has no family, no records except this. Why not give it to someone who cared for him?” she mused.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers shook as they touched the medal. “I’d be honored to receive it for him.”

************

The house looked almost the same. A bit more worn, a bit more paint peeling from the shutters, but nonetheless almost exactly as it was the last time Justin had seen it, the night Joshua had been taken. Justin slowly opened the door, the creaking hinges sounding loud in the silent yard. Justin walked inside, smiling at the site of the rough table, still in the center of the room. He walked to the bedroom, tears stinging his eyes at the sight of the bed, the memory of holding Joshua, of loving Joshua so clear in his thoughts. He left the bedroom, walking to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of the knives and pots and vegetables on the counter.

Vegetables.

Fresh vegetables.

His gaze moved to the stove, finally taking notice of the pot simmering on the stove. Oh, God, Justin thought. Someone lives here now. A sound from behind registered in his mind, and Justin turned, an apology to the new owners of the house freezing on his lips at the sight of the man standing there.

Then Justin saw nothing as his head hit the floor.

****************

Justin came to slowly, the soft French words echoing in his brain.

Quand il me prend das ses bras
Il me parle tours bas
Je vois la vie en rose


His eyes flew open at the sound of Joshua’s voice.
“Joshua?” he said, struggling up from the bed.

“Oui, Justin,” Joshua smiled tenderly. “C’est moi.”

“But…but…” Justin swallowed. “I looked everywhere. You weren’t listed, you were missing, I couldn’t find you!”

“Shhh…” Joshua said, reaching out and pushing Justin gently back to the bed. “You hurt your head when you fainted, Justin, you must take care not to injure yourself more.”

“Fuck my head!” he yelled, sitting back up. “How are you still alive? They took you away.” Justin’s eyes filled with pain. “I saw them. I saw the camps. I couldn’t find you!”

“Justin!” Joshua’s voice was stern. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

Justin shook his head. “No…”

Joshua took Justin’s head in his hands, stilling his movement. “Yes, Justin,” he said, leaning in close, whispering against Justin’s lips. “I’m alive.” He pressed his lips against Justin’s, holding him close.

Justin whimpered at the feel of Joshua touching him again. His hands lifted to hold Joshua close as his mouth opened to the other man’s kiss.

The months disappeared as they melted against each other, sharing a kiss as sweet as wine, as lovely as a promise, as strong as steel.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Justin whispered. “I thought…oh, god…Joshua.”

“You’ll never lose me, mon coeur.” Joshua lowered Justin down, kissing him again as the desire built between them.

***********

“Close your eyes.”

“Justin, what are you up to?”

“Just do it!”

Joshua laughed, closing his eyes. “I’m not huge on surprises, Justin.”

Justin snorted. “Big on surprises, not huge, Joshua.”

“Huge, big,” Joshua shrugged. “Either way, I’m not…what’s that smell?” Joshua opened his eyes, spying the candles in front of him. “What’s this?”

“Happy Bastille Day!” Justin proclaimed. A cake with blue, white, and red icing was placed in front of Joshua.

Joshua looked up at Justin’s face, happy with love and contentment. It was, indeed, July 14th, the day recognized as France’s independence day. Joshua remembered he did the same for Justin two years ago, as he recovered from his wounds. “Justin, you’re adorable.” He pulled Justin and kissed him soundly. “And you’re delicious.”

“Blow out your candles,” Justin murmured. “Before I melt.”

Joshua laughed. “Before you melt?” he mocked, pulling Justin into his lap. “Now who is the one bad with words?”

They shared laugh filled kisses as the candles melted into the small cake. In the six months since they’d found each other again, the love between the two men had grown into something beyond what either of them had ever imagined. And though both realized how fleeting some things in life could be, neither one could ever imagine a world without the other in it.

Justin had soon discovered the reasons why no trace of Joshua could be found in the official records. Joshua had been sent to Bergen-Belsen, a transient camp just across the border in Germany, under his mother’s name, Montfort, which, he told Justin, was his legal name since his parents had never married. “Even though I use Chasez for everything, the Germans insisted I register with my legal name when they took control of the province,” Joshua had explained.

“I have another gift for you,” Justin said after they’d devoured the cake. “This is yours, I believe.” He reached into a bag on the floor, handing Joshua a blue velvet box.

Joshua looked at Justin with puzzled eyes. He opened the box, an expression of wonderment coming over his face. “How did you get this?” he asked.

“A very nice lady at the Department of War gave it to me,” Justin explained. “We both thought you...were…and she said I could have it.” He looked at Joshua with shy eyes. “That it should go to someone who loved you.”

Joshua leaned in and kissed Justin. “Merci, mon coeur,” he said against his lips, lifting a hand to pet Justin’s curls.

Justin grasped Joshua’s hand, kissing the sensitive cords in his wrist, lips moving down the slender arm. Justin raised his head as he reached the faint tattooed number in Joshua’s skin, paying special attention to this mark of bravery. “I was dead until I saw you again,” he murmured. “I never want to lose you.”

“Justin, we are together now,” Joshua affirmed. “We’ll be together always,” he continued, moving up to seal his mouth to Justin’s.

The kiss they shared was indeed a pledge of their love, of their life, of their souls.

THE END



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