What Doctor Gottlieb Saw Read Free Page B

own. More silent drinking.
    Osterhagen smacked his lips. “They do it in the forest near the battery lab. The executions, I mean. Sometimes I hear it.” He burped. “My advice? Don’t beg. It only makes them angry.”
    â€œNot as angry as trying to leave the farm.”
    That happened once or twice per year. Some staff members couldn’t handle the sight of deeds that should have been—in a properly ordered universe—impossible. Those who tried to leave eventually ended up in the forest. Those who stayed eventually found their way to Gottlieb’s office.
    â€œTrue,” said Osterhagen. “So what really happened yesterday? You must have a theory by now.”
    â€œNo theories. Many suspicions.” Gottlieb lowered his voice. “I think it was Gretel. Can’t prove it, though.”
    â€œAh. That one.” Osterhagen took a long sip. A long, careful sip.
    â€œWhat do you know about her?”
    Osterhagen shook his head. “Nothing. I know very little about any of the test subjects.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œThe men in the battery lab avoid Gretel. More than they avoid the others. They leave it up to me to deal with her.” Gottlieb gestured for him to elaborate. He did, but only just: “She makes them uncomfortable. Me, too.”
    They spoke of sons and fathers, electromagnetism and psychotherapy. When he departed, Osterhagen took the lamp but left the bottle.
    *   *   *
    Gottlieb woke when the rising sun cleared the forest, high enough to stream through the office window and spear him in the eyes. Sleeping at the desk had made for terrible posture, so now his headache throbbed in time to the carpenters’ hammering. Each blow reverberated in his skull.
    As the last vestiges of sleep abandoned him, Gottlieb remembered fragmentary dreams of snowflakes and avalanches, butterflies and hurricanes, corn poppies and ravens.
    He’d slept through breakfast, but it mattered little because anxiety had shot his appetite in the temple. The fortifying fire of last night’s drink had become a heap of cold ashes in his stomach and bitter despair on his tongue. Dr. von Westarp would return from Berlin today, but Gottlieb was no closer to staying his own execution. No closer to unraveling Gretel’s actions.
    He had to know what had happened to Klaus’s battery.
    Rudolf arrived at the office, yawning and rubbing bleary eyes, just as Gottlieb was stepping out. He frowned when he saw Gottlieb locking his office.
    â€œOh, come on,” he said. “I really need to see you.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Gottlieb. “I’m quite busy. We’ll have to reschedule.”
    â€œWhen?”
    Gottlieb squeezed past him. Over his shoulder, he called, “Find me this afternoon.”
    Look hard, though. I might be buried in the forest.
    He had to skirt the training field on his way to the battery laboratory. Reinhardt stood in the center of the field, frowning at moist piles of hay until they sprouted violet flames. Gottlieb retraced his path past the generator station (still more cursing and banging). The hammering grew louder as he passed the carpenters at work on the new building.
    â€œGuten Morgen, Herr Doktor .”
    Gretel swung out from behind a wall stud. Gottlieb jumped. He hadn’t seen her chatting with the foreman. She leaned in his path, a buttercup tucked behind one ear.
    Her eyes, darker than overripe plums, searched his face. She said, “You look troubled.”
    His heart thrashed inside his ribcage, seeking escape. She’d frightened him on purpose, to play with him, to keep him off-balance. But Gottlieb didn’t need to wait for the panic to subside before he could craft a suitable response. His professional training took over. He turned the question back on Gretel.
    â€œI’m sad about Oskar. Aren’t you?”
    â€œYes.” She jumped down beside him. It fluttered the