Voices came from the open door to Cell 18, indicating that a few guards were there. The older SS officer I’d noticed during my flogging stood outside the cell, alone, staring at the ground. Fritzsch forced me into the doorway, giving me an unobstructed view of the inside. Father Kolbe sat with his back against the wall. Despite the frailty of his tormented body, his face was serene, eyes as bright and kind as always. I looked from him to the guards, and I didn’t understand what was happening, why the guards were here, why Fritzsch wanted me here.

Not until I noticed the guard preparing the injection.

“Father Kolbe—”

When I started toward him, Fritzsch jerked me back, and my collar cut across my throat and silenced my gasping cry. This reaction was exactly what he wanted from me. I knew it was, and I shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was saying goodbye to my friend. All I wanted was one moment, just one final moment.

Eyes brimming with tears, I turned to Fritzsch, my voice hardly a whisper. “Please, Herr Lagerführer.”

As the plea escaped my quivering lips, his eyes gleamed with malice. Instead of acknowledging me, Fritzsch nodded at the guard with the injection, giving him permission to proceed.

I should have said something to Father Kolbe, especially since Fritzsch wouldn’t permit me to go to him, but I couldn’t find words. When I met his gaze, suddenly I felt as if my presence was enough. Somehow the suffering, dying priest was still able to comfort me.

Fritzsch had brought me here for his own vindictive pleasure, and even though despair wrapped its relentless hold around me, a small part of me was grateful. Every day, I’d feared coming to this cell and finding Father Kolbe dead, and once his fellow prisoners died I was afraid he’d die alone. Now he wasn’t alone.

Father Kolbe offered his arm to the executioner. The guard hesitated, clearly taken aback by the gesture; for a brief, foolish moment, I was convinced he wouldn’t carry out the sentence. Then he glanced at Fritzsch, swallowed hard, and proceeded.

As the tears streaked down my cheeks and I sank to my knees, the guard administered the injection, and Father Kolbe’s gentle voice lifted in one final prayer.

“Ave Maria.”

* * *

When Fritzsch tossed me from Block 11, it felt like coming out of a daze. The daze had been one of grief, raw and piercing, sucking up all my energy, but I emerged from it with a stronger clarity than any I’d ever known.