Frieda hadn’t seen her brother in school all day after his brutal lashing, she looked for him in the infirmary shortly after dinner but he was not there. She ventured upstairs and found him asleep on his bed. She could see blood soaking through the back of his shirt. She slid into the bed with him, “Are you ok?”

“She lashed me 30 times.”

“Oh no,” she began to cry, “Why?”

“She wanted me to cry, and I didn’t give her the satisfaction.”

“You should have cried,” she placed her hand on his back and pulled up his shirt. The welts look horrible and for a moment she stopped breathing as she stared at his back. “Everyone knows you are supposed to cry.”

“It will be ok,” Hans closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the pain, “Better me than you right?” She laid back down next to him and watched him sleep uneasily, his face would wince every once in a while, even though she had not been lashed she swore she could feel his pain.

Frieda waited until it was dark, and everyone was asleep, she had work to do. She quietly made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a bread knife; she was going to stab the old witch. She turned around and was startled to find Helga’s cat staring at her, and almost dropped the knife she was holding. After her heart stopped racing she put the knife back and picked up the cat. Its name was Lucas she thought, and it was the only thing Helga truly cared for. She grabbed a nearby kitchen towel. The animal was very friendly, and liked being held so wrapping it in the towel was easy enough. The cat struggled as Frieda wrapped her hand around the animal’s throat and began to squeeze. Within what seemed an eternity, the old cat finally stopped moving and was now dead in her hands. She walked over to the cat’s bed and placed it in it. It would look as if the cat expired in its sleep. Helga’s mournful cries later that morning brought a smile to Frieda’s face.

The twins had just hit their fifteenth birthday in 1951. Hans was well over six feet tall now and his growth showed no signs of slowing down. Frieda on the other hand had filled out in such a matter that she had the undivided attention of most of the boys, including Wendell. “I want them watched,” Anna looked on from a tree as the twins got ready for sleep. They were now sleeping in different dormitories, at their age they were separating the children by gender. They seemed to be well of health to Anna, but her orders were clear. “The children of Himmler may prove as asset to the Bloodline.”

“How long do I have them watched?” Hulderich towered over the smaller woman.

“That will be your call underling,” Anna turned and walked away. “Just see it done. Gestapo wants them to join the Bloodline, but only if they show promise.”

“As you wish,” Hulderich bowed. Anna Schmid was not to be trifled with, she was after all Gestapo’s concubine and the second oldest member of the Reich Bloodline. Hulderich began making plans to observe the twins at regular intervals. Anna had not spoken the words, but he knew that he would be responsible for determining if they would be strong enough to be added to the Bloodline. He would need to be certain, or he would pay the price.

Despite what Anna initially thought, Hulderich discovered that the twins were not well at all. Frieda did not socialize well with the other girls; they found her odd and somewhat cold. Hans would tell her that the other girls were simply jealous of her because the older boys paid more attention to her than them. She was old enough to know what the boys wanted, but she inadvertently kept them at bay. Every once in a while one of the boys, most often Wendell would try to force himself on her. She would always end up screaming for Hans, and her brother never failed to rescue her. She had a lingering feeling that one day he would not be there, and then that day finally came.

1953 came and it marked Hans and Frieda’s seventeenth birthdays. They would be able to leave the orphanage soon, and Frieda couldn’t wait! The last two years had been awful for her. The other girls continuously spread rumors about her being promiscuous, when she had never even kissed a boy. Hans had lost all of his friends by this time and was getting into fights on a nearly daily basis. Sometimes against two or three boys at a time, and there was always Wendell. The boy had become a charismatic leader and a skilled manipulator. He was pulling all the strings now, and even had Helga on his side, two things that made him a dangerous adversary in the orphanage.