The Secret of Highway House

Highway House is a name that, if things had been different, every one of you would have heard of, every one of you would marvel at and every one of you would know the story of. Why there might even have been a Highway House day, or a Lizzie McMorely day! But you don't and there isn't, and this is why.

Lizzie McMorely, newly graduated from Oxford, is recruited to train as an assassin at Highway House. But when sent out on her first ever mission; the assassination of Adolf Hitler, several factors Lizzie hasn't been trained for come into play: luck, betrayal and love.


24. The End

The cell was freezing. The cold penetrated her skin and clung to her bones. In front of her sat a desk, a sheet of crisp white paper sat on it, the pencil already resting between her fingers. It would make her a traitor she knew, but they had broken her and she had the cuts, bruises and burns to prove it. She would go to hell for talking, but hell couldn't be worse than the torture she had endured in the last month. She was barely recognisable; her skin stretched like parchment over her face, hair shaven, bones sticking out at odd angles particularly in her left arm which she was sure was broken; they had been careful to leave her right arm capable of writing. For her it was over and so she wrote. She wrote everything she knew about Highway House, her teacher's pasts, the bell in reception, everything down to the last rigged floorboard. When she was done she placed the pencil down, she had no energy left for tears; all emotion had been robbed of her.
She had one task left to perform and strangely it was one that she was happy to do, the thing she had been longing for the last four weeks. She picked up the one other object in the room: a gun. The gun in her handbag, the same gun she was now sure that she had had at the Houses of Parliament, the gun that most probably still had the tracking device imbedded in it. Scenes of the department store, the air raid, her first night in Berlin flashed through her head. Many would have said it was ironic how this same gun was sat before her again now, but it didn’t seem ironic, more like it was always meant to end this way. She pressed the gun against her temple and visualised Karl's face. She knew who he was and what he was, but right now she just needed him to be her Karl that she had danced with, dined with, loved with. She smiled at the memories that flooded through her mind, tucked her finger around the trigger and pulled.


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