The One Who Stole the Sky

Extra! Extra!

It was only two days ago when the incident happened, and now it was plastered on the front cover of every newspaper. In every storefront and mailbox, Max's scandal was exposed. Someone had taken a picture of the kiss he and Charlie shared over a week ago, and used the picture as the cover page for the articles about them being activists and standing up against Communism. None of it was true, but Liesel saw copies by the dozen flying off of the racks on every street corner. Now, she was on her way to the publisher's office to talk over money and other printing opportunities, but what was supposed to be a lighthearted day turned into something unexplainable. She was embarrassed, enraged, upset, and disgusted with Max's decisions throughout the past few weeks. She was overcome with jealousy and malicious intent after the first time she saw the picture of her dear friend and Charlie kissing. Was Max lying to Liesel all this time just to keep the waters calm between the three of them? What made it worse was that she saw the image everywhere she looked: on the racks, in people's hands, and blowing around in the streets. Everyone seemed to take interest in the heinous events of the banquet and spare their thoughts on any decent news.

With itching curiosity, she just had to grab a copy and glaze over what the reporters had to say. Up the street, on the corner, there was a stalky paperboy in need of some company Liesel would be more than willing to offer him.

"Hallo, one copy please." Liesel in turn handed over some change to the starving boy with an appreciation for his help in clearing her mind. The image struck her precisely in the heart with a heated jab. She flipped over the article where it ran onto the back and down an additional page. Another picture, smaller and rectangular, produced a hearty pump of blood through Liesel's heart. It was an image of her and Max walking down the street in a lovely daydream. What twisted lies did the article hold? Liesel took to a wooden bench outside of a shoe store and violently flipped back to the cover. She skimmed the text faster than her brain could process the information.

"'. . . Max's mistress, a woman born from pro-Communist activists must feel desertion from her lover as he mocks her very livelihood. . .'" Her lungs were heavy and hard to expand inside of her tightening chest. She gripped the papers until the edges went soggy. Ink smeared on her hands but she could not care any less right now.

"'. . . Max Vanderburg's sudden hypocritical, nationalistic take on denouncing a rising power can do Germany no good. As Soviet spies infiltrate borders around the world, we can only hope. . .'" Pressure continued to squeeze Liesel's frail organs as panic enveloped her face. She did not feel safe anymore, not here, not while people believed her to be a traitor to her family's political standings. The paper practically egged on Russia to come defeat Germany, and it was all because of Charlie Schnetzer. Liesel folded up the dampened paper and decided to keep it after an elongated confrontation with the trash can. The shop was on the left, tucked away beside a dentistry and an Italian restaurant. The bell chimed above the door to wake the slow, dust-covered waiting room. Nothing about this office was beautiful. It was ancient, outdated, and painted with a hideous shade of light blue. For some reason it was unsettling in Liesel's eyes because it was a step back in time to the thirties when she was only a small child. It uprooted the strife her parents brought on to her and her family.

"Hallo, Liesel. Your book is doing wonderfully now, hmmm." A man with a brown mustache interrupted her flashbacks.

"Herr Zimmerman! Yes, I believe. I haven't stopped by a bookstore just yet, but I do plan on it." Caught off guard, Liesel fumbled with her speech and her movements. The smile that was incessantly plastered on Herr Zimmerman's face never deteriorated, even now, in Liesel's recovering embarrassment.

"What is it you would like to discuss, hmmm? The copies you've sold? The print itself?" Herr Zimmerman spoke fast, and at times the sentences blurred together into a form of unknown gibberish.

"I'm leaving Munich for good." Liesel paced the shop without so much as making the crooked floorboards beneath her creak.

"Oh, you are leaving so soon? You are so well-known now. You are another attraction Munich holds residency to." The brown, bushy mustache furled above his dark pink lips.

"I'm afraid I have become associated with infamy. Have you not seen the papers?" Before Herr Zimmerman could muster a word, Liesel had already placed the rolled up, thinly printed newspaper in his hands. His eyes chased the black words and searched the images tossed in occasionally throughout the article. When he lowered the paper from his sight, he raised his eyes to Liesel in astonishment.

"This may be another number you may reach me by, but do not call it until you receive a call from me. I must go now, there is nowhere safe for me in this city right now. Maybe one day I will come back." A small pad of paper with a telephone number written in ink was exchanged for the newspaper.

"Where are you to go?" Herr Zimmerman followed his client to the door, where she let her hand rest on the doorknob.

"I do not know, but I thank you for all you have done for me. Whatever percentage of money I have already collected from each book sale is enough to get me a train ticket to somewhere." Both of them stood there, staring into each other's blue eyes, before Liesel made her next move.

"Goodbye. You must tell no one, else you may end up dead." Liesel had to tell at least the printer why she was moving because she needed someone to make the next decisions for her. All of the banking and finance work that still needed to be done now rests on him.

"Liesel, be safe now." The last three words did not settle nicely in Liesel's heart. She would try to be safe after making herself known in nearly every newspaper the public reads. With her head bowed and stiff shoulders slumped, Liesel walked back to the apartment to pack up her belongings at once. Max was out somewhere, but Liesel did not care enough to know where. This morning was the first time she heard of his apparent relationship with Charlie, but more importantly she was upset by the banquet that caused an uproar of embarrassment. Indeed, someone bought the bold painting. It was an Englishman, a Thomas Trevail or some name of that nature.

But the spies and Communist supporters were here, not in England, to condemn anything that denounced their beliefs. For all Liesel knew, she may be dead by tomorrow or years from now, but either way someone was coming after Max and her. As life was starting anew for Liesel in the brightest way possible, it was over casted by Max's ignorance. For Liesel, there was no such thing as a happy day, or peaceful life, or even a normalcy everyone craves. She made it back to the apartment to begin packing at once. Clothes, shoes, and any other object that was hers and could fit in her suitcase was crammed inside. Rudy. She could never forget to pack Rudy's picture. How was he handling this, up in Heaven? His best friend, stuck in the mortal world, like a fly stuck to sticky fly traps, thought of him now. Before becoming too emotional, Liesel tucked away the picture gently on the top where it would not get wrinkled. One last time Liesel looked around the room that had become hers for years. This was it. This was her decision to leave, but she did not know if it was right to leave without telling Max. To avoid confrontation, it may be easier to leave now, right away, and catch an afternoon train ride to Heaven knows where. Liesel made her way to the door with watering eyes. The door opened up before her and stoved her fingertips with an aggressive force. Liesel pulled back and nursed her hand. Max was there, in the doorway, with raw eyelids. He knew that she knew about all of the toxic things that had happened. What was he to do now?