“What?” Samantha demanded.

Ilse just repeated the gesture, the motion, and the intonation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even though, sitting bound and gagged, the fear, the panic, and, oddly, the silliness of it all was wearing thin.

“What?” Samantha demanded, growling. She reached out and yanked the gag down.

One step forward. Ilse could talk now.

Ilse grabbed the nearest question she could, hoping that by engaging, the gag wouldn’t be returned to its place. She breathed slowly as she did, refusing to display any sort of distress.

“What are you doing this for?” Ilse said.

“Really, little sister? I thought you were supposed to be some big bad head shrink. Imagine my surprise, just a year ago, when I read a magazine—at an airport no less. And there you were, page thirty-three, standing next to a man with a big white beard. I recognized you instantly, Hilda. But the name; that I didn’t recognize. Ilse Beck. Strange,” Samantha said, conversationally, shifting again. “You changed your name. You’ve changed your accent too. No one could even tell you’re from Germany, not if they didn’t know you from before.”

Ilse swallowed, trying to track. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”

This, clearly, was the wrong question. Samantha’s eyes narrowed beneath her dark fringe, fury etching across her features. “Seriously? You don’t remember me? You don’t remember your own sister, Hilda?”

Ilse strained, her memory fluttering back. She winced, shaking her head, trying to focus. But there were so many swirling thoughts and old recollections. So many buried secrets and forgotten horrors.

“I wish I did. I really do. Is your name Samantha?”

“Heidi Mueller.” She said it with a roll of the R, flourishing the words as if presenting a gift. Again, it was clear she expected a reaction. But if Ilse was supposed to remember that name, she simply couldn’t.

“You were back in Germany with me? In,” her voice trembled, “in that basement?”

Heidi Mueller was frowning even more deeply now. She seemed put off by Ilse’s reactions. “Twenty years ago now. But yes, I was there. There were seven of us. Don’t you remember, Hilda? Please say you remember something. I know you do. I hid my accent too. You’re not the only clever one. But you’ve hidden your memories, it seems. Not me—I remember everything.”

Ilse winced, trying to think back, to distract her attacker another moment longer. Desperately, she struggled to recollect. But her thoughts returned to a blank. It was like trying to study a painting with her eyes closed or trying to watch a movie through a gray sheet.

“I don’t remember nearly anything from back then,” Ilse murmured softly. “I remember it was horrible. I remember him.”

Heidi sneered now, her face twisting into an expression of rage. “We all remember him. But you should remember me. You promised you’d come back for me. Or did you forget that part too? Conveniently forgot it, didn’t you? For three weeks we waited. Three weeks we suffered while you took your jolly old time to send help. That wasn’t the plan!”