EXCERPT From “Mistress to the Devil” the memoir from
Claudia Dietrich.
I wasn’t supposed to be that kind of girl. I was raised
during the financial boom of the 30’s, my father was a postmaster for the
Frankfurt am Main unified township, a kind and gentle man who admittedly didn’t know
how to relate much to me after my mother died on account that my resemblance to her was brutally uncanny. Heidi,
my stepmother, was a marketing director for the Church of the Light. Very poised
and void of any sense of humor, she raised us girls to exude class and elegance.
My half-sister Kirsten and I weren’t even allowed to wear skirts until we were eighteen years of age. “Schlampen zeigen Haut, zeigen junge Frauen Klasse!” Heidi would
yell every morning as she dressed us, those words roaring with the fury of the
Berlin Hyperloop during takeoff. Kirsten and I headed her caveats, and even
long after our 18th birthdays, still chose to dress in pants, grown women unable to shake Heidi’s menacing words.
I thought of Heidi the night I lost my virginity. That cold
February night when those three thugs held me down and took turns ramming themselves
into me, all I could think was, “Schlampen zeigen Haut, zeigen junge Frauen
Klasse,” over and over again. I had been wearing a skirt that night, only my
fourth or fifth time doing so… It was the winter of ‘44 and the war had left
the streets of Frankfurt low on policemen and high on degenerates. The rape only lasted twelve minutes but it
felt like an eternity. After the last thug finished inside me, he collapsed
on top of my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. For some strange reason that I
still don’t understand, I stroked his dirty blonde hair and told him, “It’s
alright. It’s my fault.” I didn’t hate those thugs, I hated myself. I had disobeyed
Heidi’s warning and here I was pinned against the cold pavement of a dank
alleyway, the taste of blood in my mouth, the bubble of mucus clogging one
nostril, with the smell of unwashed vagabonds and urine soaked dumpsters in my
other nostril, reminding me that I was still alive. I know now that it was the
self-loathing that drove me to the Opirion addiction, the sexual orgies, the
child I gave up for adoption, and finally into the arm of the devil himself.
I met Dr. Kaiser
during my third suicide attempt. It was the spring of ‘46 and the German civil war
had only ended a few months earlier. The war for Germany’s future had taken so
much from the German people, and in the aftermath nothing seemed to matter.
Frankfurt was crumbling and the nation’s pride had reached a level not seen
since the last century’s Second World War. No one cared about anyone but themselves,
which made it incredibly strange when I felt the hands of someone pumping my stomach
attempting to rid my system of the Opirion pills I swallowed in an attempt to
end my miserable existence. Dr. Ebba Kaiser had been rushing home trying to
beat the night curfew when she spotted my shoe a few feet away from my limp
body. Dr. Kaiser wasn’t a physician, but a scientist of some sort, yet she had
the compassion to stop her car and rush to my side as I lay fading in Grünburg Park.
Dr. Kaiser saved my life that night, and in typical fashion, I repaid her by
ruining her life in the months to come.
Dr. Kaiser’s husband was a member of the rebels that had
overthrown the Bundestag and executed all federal leaders. Calling themselves
The Kreuzzug, the rebel leaders were more like splintered tribes than a central
government force. The ones I screwed or partied with were about as bright as
midnight, but Dr. Kaiser’s husband was the exception. Heller Kaiser was an intimidating
man to say the lease, standing well over six feet, with broad mountain like
shoulders, his face scared from his time on the front lines; I wondered what
the soft and petite Dr. Kaiser was doing with such a brute. My question was
answered the first time Heller came into the guest suite to check on me after a
coughing spell. I was recovering from my suicide attempt in the home of the
Kaisers, and while I had said hello to the Kreuzzug soldier, we never engaged
in a conversation until that night. Heller brought me warm milk to clear my cough and talked to
me about the importance of life, and how it must be cherished. Strange words from a man who was part of a
political movement that were said to have murdered the pregnant wives of parliament
members. Heller, as it turned, out had known of Heidi, and was once a
member of the Church of the Light. We talked of old Frankfurt, God, and better
times for our country. He was a gentle soul in a monster’s body. I enjoyed his company
and asked him to come sit more often while I regained my health. Visit he did.
After a week of pleasantries with Heller, I confessed my sordid life and finally my rape. This revelation enraged Heller, it went beyond mere sympathy from a
stranger, this genuinely wounded the brooding soldier. For the first time I saw
the side of him that must have made the Bundestag army quake with fear. Early
the next morning Heller returned to my guest room and demanded that I get
dressed. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he barked for me to hurry. I
put on my clothes and was lead out to a black van in the rear of the Keiser home.
Andes Stein, exited the driver’s side of
the van, draped in the colors of the Kreuzzug rebellion. I had known Stein
years ago, before the war, he was a scrawny thing, rumored to be homosexual, who
would constantly hang around my sister Kirsten like a lost puppy. I assumed a
pitiful thing like Stein died in the war, but here he was rebuilt into a
hulking soldier of the rebellion. He must have recognized me, but he didn’t let
it show, he pushed by me and Heller and opened the back of the black van. As
the doors slid open, there he was, the Dirty Blonde who had penetrated me last during my
rape. I stepped back, losing my balance at the sight of my attacker. Heller
caught me before I hit the ground. “Is this one of them,” Heller hissed. I didn’t
want to answer but he yelled again, “Is this the bastard who took you!” I
nodded quickly, petrified more of Heller than the memory of the thug.
Heller looked at Stein. Without a word, Stein pulled the Dirty Blonde from the van.
The Dirty Blonde pleaded that he was a changed man, he had
found God and he supported the rebellion. Stein removed his revolver and
slapped the Dirty Blonde across the face, silencing him. Heller went behind the
now bloody thug, and demanded that he look in my eyes and apologize. The Dirty
Blonde stammered, “I’m sorry miss,” but that wasn’t good enough. Heller kicked
the knees out from under the scrawny thug and made him repeat his words while
he kneeled below me. Once again he stuttered, “I’m sorry miss, please forgive
me.” I nodded sincerely, as if I had forgiven him years ago. Heller looked at
me and smiled. Suddenly the Dirty Blonde’s
throat opened up like a packet of ketchup, blood gushing down rapidly.
Heller kicked the Dirty Blond to the ground and watched him bleed out. I wanted
to turn away, but I couldn’t. I watched my attacker struggle for several
minutes before the life finally vanished from his body... it was a beautiful tragedy.
Dr. Kaiser had been out of town that week, so I ventured to
their bedroom for the first time to repay Heller for his act of justice. No
words were exchanged, but the energy was combustible. That was the first night
I made love to the Devil, and the last night I would ever have a soul.
Henceforth I will tell you of my affair with Heller Kaiser, the disgusting ease with which I
betrayed Dr. Kaiser's trust by sleeping with her husband right under her nose,
the rise of The Kreuzzug and the new war that would ruin us all. I stood next
to the Devil and I know the true horror that occurred once my lover became
obsessed with Unobelium and the Americans… This is a story you won’t read in the
National paper or view on the world news. This is the true story of the Devil’s
Mistress.
EXCERPT From The Washington Post
Washington DC, May 4th
2055: The nation’s elite came out in full to pay final respects to Claudia
Dietrich, the recently deceased German refugee who was given amnesty when she gave the United
States government insider information on the Kreuzzug. Ms. Dietrich’s brave act
allowed US Naval forces to brace for what was to be a surprise attack on the
island of Hawaii by General Heller “Burner” Keiser. History now remembers the
battle of Hawaii as the turning point in the Unobelium War, but without Ms.
Dietrich history may have resulted in a different victor. Ms. Dietrich passed
suddenly while on a book tour for her tell-all memoir, “Mistress to the Devil”.
Authorities have refused to speculate on if foul play was involved, but an
investigation remains open. Some of the notable attendees at Ms. Dietrich’s
funeral today were legendary soul singer Blue Carter, Toronto Jaguars
Running Back James Renaldo, Senator Joe Kennedy the fourth, and former Vice
President Clinton Gladstone accompanied by his teenage daughter Loel…
The Story Continues In The Pages of LOEL...
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