The Truth About Us

“Nope. Just a bunch of junk—some toys, an old VHS player, kitchen stuff, receipts in one box, and old bills, but that’s it. What I did see from the paperwork confirms this storage unit was used by your grandparents since their name is on some of this stuff.”

“Yeah, same.” Abby fidgeted with the pile of old books in front of her. “There’s got to be something in here. I mean, why bury the key if there wasn’t something one of them didn’t want people to have access to? If my grandfather found a clue, something to lead him to the truth and put it here, I could understand him keeping a secret. But at what length? Burying the key is a little excessive, unless there’s something absolutely jaw-dropping. Same goes for my grandmother. She said she didn’t even have enough evidence to out the secret. But maybe she hid what little she did have here? Gah! I wish we knew what we were looking for.”

Kaden glanced over at her, his mouth a firm line. “I know, but old people do weird stuff. My grandmother has a detached garage, and she’s convinced people are going to go in there and steal her stuff. All she has is an old mower that doesn’t even work, a radio, and some rusted out plyers, but she locks that garage up every night. And every time she goes in there for something, she’s convinced something new has been stolen.”

“There’s something here though. I can feel it.”

Her gaze surveyed the unit with fresh eyes, stopping on a dark object in the corner of the unit, surrounded by boxes and ancient stereo equipment. Lifting herself off the floor, she dusted the grime off her pants and picked her way through the boxes toward the object. She squinted at the item, still unsure of what it was with the mass surrounding it. An old rocking horse, a giant duffle bag, and what appeared to be an old set of dry-rotted drapes hid it from view.

“Hey, help me move this stuff,” she said.

Kaden came to her side and pushed some of the junk out of the way, so she could remove the old stereo equipment. Once they had a hole in front of the object cleared, Abby readied herself. She stood in front of it, her shoulders squared and jaw set, and lifted the yellow drop cloth.

Her stomach clenched as she stared.

“A chest,” she whispered.

Something ominous about it pricked her nerves. She needn’t be an expert to know the chest was old. Very old. The large oak trunk was stained a dark walnut and covered in metal details and carvings with casters on the bottom and huge metal hinges along the back of the lid. There was no lock.

Her fingers tingled with anticipation as she placed them under the lip of the lid. With a deep breath, the chest creaked, mingling with the hum in her veins as she lifted.

A moment passed as she drank in the contents staring back at her, then gasped. Stumbling back, her heart hammered her chest, a bone-shattering rhythm.

Next to her, Kaden stepped closer. “Holy. Crap.”

Raising a shaking hand toward the chest, she reached inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Abby’s hand trembled, fluttering over the grey-green fabric. Folded with the utmost care, the uniform jacket lay below a matching cap. A black band roped the hat, with a silver skull pin and eagle above it, wings spread, mid-flight.

Several medallions adorned the thick material of the coat, including a black cross at the neck and a pin—another eagle—but at his feet hung a round medallion adorned with a symbol Abigail knew well. Even if not for her family’s heritage, she would’ve known the symbol anywhere. Most would.

A chill crept up her spine. She blinked to clear her vision, but the contents remained the same. The uniform decorated with black swastikas on both the pin and on the bright red armband over the sleeve stared up at her.

“Do you think it’s real?” Kaden asked, his tone disbelieving. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not in real life. Maybe in a museum.”

Abby tried to speak but couldn’t find her voice. Her stomach clenched as the possibilities ran through her head.

She read about WWII in history books, had learned about it in school, and her family had spoken of it over the years, considering their connection to the Holocaust. But she had never seen anything like this in person.

Her hands trembled as she reached out and picked up the uniform, almost afraid to touch it, like it might bite or the evil it represented might somehow soak into her veins. Setting it aside, she revealed a handful of books, the covers tattered and worn, revealing years of use, including a copy of Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler’s name emblazoned across the cover.

Swallowing, she shoved them aside to uncover a mass of yellowed documents, along with several photographs. Her pulse pounded in the silence of the storage unit, so loud she thought Kaden might hear it.

She lifted one of the black and white snapshots. Though the photo was grainy, there was no doubting the man in the center of the photograph she held.

The image shook like a leaf in her hand as she held it up.

“Is that...” Kaden asked, staring.

“Hitler,” she whispered as though she was afraid even the reference might somehow conjure him. His dark eyes stared at her from the old piece of litmus, reaching into her soul.

She dropped it, then turned to Kaden. “Wh-wh-what is this stuff doing in here? Why would they have it?”

She shook her head, trying to understand.

Kaden got to his feet, running both his hands through the sides of his hair and grasping it by the roots like it might provide the answers. “Your father was a victim of the war. Maybe he somehow acquired this memorabilia and—”