I grasp the collar of his coat for a shake, only to note the unnatural heaviness of his body. I probe his neck for a pulse. Where is it? Blast it, why can’t I find it? Past a merciless wallop of shock glares the unconscionable:

Arie is gone.

My hands fly to my mouth, fending off the screams erupting in my head. My lungs are shallow. My brain is pounding.

This isn’t happening.

It can’t be.

I squeeze my eyes closed, needing this all to be a dream. Another nightmare from which Arie will wake me. At my bedside, he’ll sit with me in the dark and spin stories until we tire. Then we’ll find peace in the silence before drifting off, and a new day will start with the rise of the sun.

Though how could it? How will it ever? Without Arie on this earth, the world can’t possibly keep turning.

A noise cuts in, and my eyes snap open. For it must be Arie; I’d simply made a mistake.

But it’s the door shaking. A person trying to enter.

Evelien stirs beside my leg.

Vaguely I recall why we’re here and the dangers lurking outside. My breath catches as the caller, abandoning the door, peers in through a dusty window.

Yet I know that face, the tweed cap. Willem came to help after all.

Oh heavens…

That’s precisely what we’ve been waiting for: help for Arie. Maybe it’s not too late, if only we can find a pulse.

Any doubts about Willem no longer matter a whit.

Gently, swiftly, I swoop up Evelien. She’s confused, drowsy with sleep. Her cheek rests on my shoulder. Her doll remains in her arms even as I hurry to unbolt the lock and usher Willem inside. He’s barely closed the door when I launch into my plea, quietly in English to prevent frightening the girl.

“He needs your help, Willem—” My voice breaks. “Please.”

His gaze slides to Arie, and all bemusement drops away. He hustles over and crouches before the tied-off arm.

“Under his jacket,” I urge, “by his waist.” As Willem investigates the hidden wound, I keep Evelien facing the other direction and feverishly battle back tears. “If only he’d told me…before Ziegler’s, after getting Nel out…or during the air raid or…” I’m rambling, wrested by fear and guilt and hope. I need to stop, allowing Willem to better listen; he’s pressing his ear to Arie’s chest.

At the sight, an old scene flickers back: folks after the stampede trying to resuscitate those lined up on the floor. Some attempts even successful.

Still, I barely keep myself from interceding. I want to burst into shouts, order Arie to wake up, forbid him from leaving me.

And Evelien.

Us.

Willem turns back. Following a grave pause, he shakes his head.