“No he’s not.”
“Adelaide – he’s gone.”
That’s not right. He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s too full of himself and – well frankly I don’t think he has the audacity. But no, I don’t even need to think about that because he didn’t do it. I’m hearing his voice right now, so he can’t be dead. He’s on the television for goodness sake.
Well, I guess that’s not him on the television. It’s a picture of him. I can’t really hear what their saying, but it can’t be “he’s dead”. People are cheering, but people always cheer when he’s around. The people love him. Although, after the last few months I’ve had, I’m not entirely sure why.
Okay, here we go. They’re showing more than just his face. It’s just a pile of rubble, though. I don’t understand the correlation. Isaac apparently senses my confusion. Or it’s just written all over my face like usual.
“It’s the Berghof, Addie.”
“No it’s not.”
That’s not my house that’s been bombed. Sorry, that’s not my father’s house that’s been bombed. But then I guess if he’s dead it is mine. Nevertheless, that’s not ours. Our house is not being set on fire by our enemies. His enemies. This is so confusing.
“Are you alright?” Isaac looks concerned. And weary. I haven’t seen him in almost three months and he really looks terrible. His cheeks are sunken and his arms and face are covered in bruises and welts. Though, I can’t imagine I look much better.
“It’s over, Addie. Everything is over. We’ve been liberated. Your dad killed himself because he knew they were coming after him. The Americans bombed your house and the French have now set it on fire.”
I look back at the screen. My bedroom is nonexistent. Grandmother’s living quarters are now ablaze. There’s nothing left.
“So that’s it, then. It’s over.”