Intrigued, I stared after him, but I pushed the encounter aside for the time being and hurried to Block 11. During the past two weeks, I’d visited Father Kolbe’s cell every day to empty the waste bucket, even though it had been dry for days. Thirst had driven the men to desperation, prompting them to drink its contents. Each time, I’d found Father Kolbe standing or kneeling, lifting his voice in prayers and hymns. The tranquility that filled his cell never ceased to astound me, but not even his efforts could prevent death from claiming his fellow captives.

How Father Kolbe had survived immurement for two entire weeks was beyond my comprehension.

The moment I entered Block 11 and closed the door behind me, a familiar voice echoed down the empty hall.

“Prisoner 16671.”

He stood near the stairs to the basement, and I couldn’t bring myself to move away from the door. Above his head, the yellow lightbulb flickered, lending an eerie gleam to the vicious smile that spread across his features. That smile meant he had something terrible planned for me.

Fritzsch’s boots thudded against the concrete floor as he closed the distance between us. I stood still, hoping he believed I wasn’t intimidated, but in reality it was fear, not courage, that rendered me immobile. I was alone. Alone in the death block with the most wicked man in Auschwitz.

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said as he reached me. “You’ve saved me the trouble of fetching you.”

Something hard collided with me and forced my back against the door. The impact reignited the agony of my flogging injuries, and I cried out and looked down to find Fritzsch’s pistol pressed against my chest.

“That priest is a stubborn bastard, isn’t he? Two weeks without food or water, and he’s still alive.” Fritzsch grabbed the back of my collar, and I shrank away, but he pulled me close. “Well, I have something special planned for you and Prisoner 16670.”

Even if I could have found words, I didn’t have time before Fritzsch shoved the gun between my battered shoulder blades and dragged me downstairs toward the damp, dark cell. I bit my lip against the pain, but every time I stumbled, Fritzsch dug the barrel into my back, forcing me to move more quickly to alleviate the torment.