Whispering Bones (6 page)

She cursed herself for having fallen asleep earlier. Had she remained awake, they might have been spared. Perhaps the men who had sealed off the house could have been persuaded to take her parents to the
Lazaretto
, where they might at least have a chance of recovery.

Isabella moved to the other side of the bed. Unlike Mamma, her father did not appear to be breathing. Heeding some instinct that rose in her, Isabella did not touch him. Papa was dead. She just knew.

She stood at the end of the bed, inhaling the foul stench of disease, mesmerized by the dim light of the candle glinting off fresh blood at her mother’s mouth. She listened to the low death rattle coming from her mother’s throat.

A strange numbness penetrated Isabella. When finally she left her parents’ room, she moved like a phantom, instinctively heading to her own bedroom, where she crawled into bed. Isabella curled into a tight ball, consumed by the horrific images of her lifeless father and sick mother, knowing that within hours her mother would also be dead. The understanding reached deep into the marrow of her young bones—she was alone. Alone in this house of death.

Venice, Italy

Present Day

Anna floated up from sleep toward awareness. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment as she took in the red digits of the travel clock she had placed on the nightstand before turning in last night. At just after three in the morning, she shifted to the other side of the bed. In the dark hotel room, she found herself staring at...

What the fuck!

Her heart leapt into her throat. She tried to scream, but her paralyzed brain seemed unable to send the proper command to her vocal cords. She gasped, taking air into her lungs and releasing it, but all that came out was an “
eee
” sound, like a door opening on a rusty hinge.

At the foot of her bed stood a...
Oh God, what is that
?
...
A child
?

No
. Whatever the thing with matted hair and rotting flesh standing next to her was, it couldn’t possibly be human.

The apparition stared at her with its terrible waxen eyes. The decomposing flesh of its face hung in tatters on one side so that Anna could see teeth where its cheek should have been. The thing opened its black maw as if trying to speak and took a step toward her, pushing her over the edge of fear into the realm of terror. As the creature advanced, Anna noticed the frayed and threadbare remnants of a dress hanging from its rail-thin body. It lifted an arm in her direction and a dangling section of putrid flesh slid off, revealing glistening white bone beneath. The slimy tissue made a wet, plopping sound as it hit the floor.

Anna opened her mouth and screamed—loud this time—an earsplitting cry that cut through the silent room like a siren. She scrabbled backward and crouched against the wooden headboard. Her head snapped toward the door.
Escape
. She had to escape from this hellish thing. But when she looked back...

Nothing. There was nothing there.

Anna blinked in surprise. Then she leapt out of bed, one shaking hand clamped over her mouth to stop the screams that wanted to keep coming.
It’s gone
.
It’s gone
... She clamped down hard to keep herself from shrieking again, knowing if she started, she might never stop, and...
What was that terrible thing
?
Dear God,
it
...

She raced around the room, turning on all the lights, scanning every corner as she went, her heart still pounding painfully, her breath ragged. When all the lights were lit, she stood in the center of the room, trembling, waiting to see if anything else would happen. After a few minutes, she moved to the foot of the bed where the creature had appeared. She found no trace that anything had been standing there mere seconds ago.

An insidious voice spoke inside her head. It
was
a child.
Your
child
...
your daughter
.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump and she had to swallow another cry that rose to her throat.

“Who is it?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“
Sicurezza
. Security. Please open the door.”

Anna rammed the deadbolt back and opened the door to two uniformed men holding up plastic photo security cards.

“We had a report of screaming coming from your room.” One of the men poked his head in, taking a quick look around. Anna stood aside and allowed them to enter after checking the security cards they held up.

She pulled her flimsy nightgown around her and hurried to the bed, snatching the courtesy bathrobe and wrapping it tightly around her. Turning to face the men, she said, “I, I’m sorry. Of course, look around, but I must have had a nightmare, that’s all.” A nightmare, yes. It had to have been. But it had seemed so
real
.

The men conducted a cursory sweep of the room, bathroom and closet. One of them nodded to Anna before speaking in Italian into the walkie-talkie he held in his hands.

When he was done, he asked if she was all right, whether she needed anything.

“No. Thank you,” she said in a weak voice. “Please apologize to whoever made the complaint.”

The two men filed out and Anna slid the deadbolt back into place.

She walked over to the bed and sat heavily, covering her face with her hands. Unable to stop herself, she wept as the memories rushed back.

She’d only been fifteen. Fifteen when that faceless man had held a knife to her throat and defiled her. She remembered everything, the smell of his sweat, his ragged breath on her face, his heavy weight crushing her. The way she’d thrashed beneath him when she realized what he intended to do, one hand unzipping his pants, the other holding the blade firmly against her throat. Blood, as her struggles caused the blade to penetrate the skin of her neck. The sound of ripping fabric as he tore her shorts open and pushed her underwear down. Stinging, burning pain as he thrust into her, tearing her flesh. The awful, moaning sounds he made as he forced himself deep inside her, over and over. She knew he was going to kill her—would have killed her had it not been for the dog. The arrival of the dog had saved her. It had been off its leash and the monster lying on top of her must have assumed its owner to be nearby, because he had fled into the woods when the animal approached them. But not before he finished planting his seed in her, she thought bitterly.

Only fifteen when, in a cruel twist of fate, she discovered she was pregnant, the by-product of the brutal rape she had survived. For nine long months she had carried that child inside her, even though she’d been not much more than a child herself.

She remembered the look on Nonna’s face when the doctor confirmed her pregnancy. Nonna, who refused to give permission to abort the fetus, fearing Anna’s soul would be forever damned. The Catholic Church did not permit abortion. Instead, her grandmother had taken her out of school, out of the city, up north to a convent where the nuns had arranged for an adoption.

There she suffered through six more terrible months of waiting while her body underwent drastic changes, worried sick about what exactly would be involved in birthing a baby. And not just any baby—the child of a rapist. Her shame had left her depressed and suicidal. It had been the darkest period of her life, worse than anything that had happened to her before or since. There had been times during those lonely months she thought she would not be able to carry on, days when she had contemplated how best to end her life. But somehow she had managed, with Nonna’s help, to survive. Nonna had remained by her side throughout the entire ordeal, pulling her through the worst of it with every ounce of her considerable determination.

Finally the day arrived. The pain associated with the birth had been much worse than she’d imagined, but she got through it. Anna had seen her newborn daughter only for a few seconds before the infant had been whisked away by the nuns.

Several weeks later, she had returned to the city with her grandmother. From that day forward, neither she nor her grandmother brought up the subject of the daughter she had birthed. No, they had never spoken of the matter again, but Anna remembered. She remembered it all. Now she felt sure all the years of suppressing her emotions had manifested itself in the terrifying nightmare she’d experienced tonight. Even though she’d pushed the memory of her daughter far back into her psyche, it had lurked there, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

A sudden weariness overcame her, an exhaustion that drained her. She crawled into bed, leaving all the lights burning. For the next two hours, she remained awake, not daring to close her eyes, in case the nightmare returned. Sometime before sunup, unable to stave off sleep any longer, she drifted off.

* * * *

At eight in the morning, the
blat-blat-blat
of her alarm sounded and Anna started awake. Immediately, the memory of what had happened the previous night rolled through her. She shuddered as the image of the corpse-like child loomed in her mind. After a few moments, though, the daylight filtering through the curtains brought with it the reassurance it had only been a nightmare, nothing more. The awful dream seemed to lose some of its potency in the bright light of day.

She tossed back the covers and headed to the bathroom to shower. The steamy water rolling over her dissolved the remnants of her nightmare, and she concentrated instead on her meeting with Falcone.

An hour later, Anna stood in front of an old, three-story building with grey stone walls that had observed centuries of comings and goings on the narrow street where it was situated. Falcone’s office was on the second floor, and she opened the heavy wooden doorway and entered a dim foyer. It smelled a bit musty but felt blessedly cool after the sticky morning heat. Straight ahead was a stone stairway, flanked by a wrought iron railing. The steps were worn down in the middle by countless trudging feet. At the top of the landing, double entry doors bearing the name of Falcone’s company faced her. She entered a classically-decorated reception room, and a well-dressed young woman who spoke in accented English greeted her and ushered her into Falcone’s office.

“Anna. Have a seat.” Falcone motioned to one of the armchairs. “I trust you had a comfortable night.”

“Yes,” she lied, as a vestige of the nightmare reared its ugly head again. “Very comfortable. The hotel is lovely. And I enjoyed the walk over this morning as well.”

“Good. Well then, here is the package for your review. There’s an empty office in which you can look the material over. My assistant will accompany you there.” He used the telephone to summon the woman, who appeared at the door a moment later.

“Thank you. Mr. Falcone—”

“Please, call me Paolo.”

“Paolo, then. I was hoping to have a look at the site later today. Would it be possible for me to do that after I’ve looked over the material?”

“I can certainly try to arrange it for today,” he said. “There is a construction trailer set up on the island in anticipation of your arrival, although it may be difficult to arrange water transport on same-day notice.”

“Oh, I’m more than willing to take public transport, no need to arrange a private boat.” She didn’t want him to think she expected special consideration.

He skipped a beat before saying, “I’m afraid that’s not possible. There is no public transportation to Poveglia.”

“Oh. I noticed the boats going to the Lido yesterday, so I thought—”

“Unfortunately, no. Access to Poveglia entails certain...arrangements. The city must provide special dispensation to those requesting permission to visit the island, for the time being, at least. I will, however, do my best to make those arrangements and have a boat and driver lined up for mid-afternoon.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” she said, wondering why the island was not accessible by public transportation. Up until a few weeks ago, when Falcone’s company had taken ownership, the property had belonged to the city and been under its jurisdiction.

A man spoke in a baritone voice from behind her. “Good morning.”

Anna turned around to see a ruggedly handsome man entering the office. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a powerhouse of a fellow with thick waves of black hair and a Mediterranean complexion. His hazel eyes locked with hers, and Anna felt something jump inside her.

“Alejandro, come in. This is very timely. Alejandro Ramirez, meet Anna LaServa, the design architect for the hotel. Alejandro is the man in charge of the hotel’s construction,” Falcone explained.

“A pleasure,” Alejandro said without taking his eyes off her.

Anna picked up a hint of a Spanish accent in his deep voice. She extended her hand, which got lost in Alejandro’s large one, and felt an undeniable spark travel through her as they shook. In a rare moment of being caught off guard, she blushed and broke eye contact with him. She decided on the spot she liked this man, with whom she would need to consult frequently during the course of the project.

“Alejandro, I’m making arrangements for Ms. LaServa to visit the island today. I assume you will wish to accompany her.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed.

“I would accompany you both as well,” Falcone said, looking down at the papers on his desk, “but unfortunately, I’m expected elsewhere today.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine.” Anna cast a sidelong glance at Alejandro, who she noticed continued to stare at her.

Falcone returned his attention to Anna. “Very good, then. My assistant will show you to the office now. She or Alejandro should be able to answer any questions you may have. And I will send word as soon as arrangements are in place for you to visit the island.” Falcone looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I must be off now, I’m already late for another meeting.”

After they said goodbye, Falcone’s assistant escorted Anna and Alejandro to a nearby office. There they set to work poring over the documents. As she immersed herself in the paperwork, slightly distracted by her proximity to Alejandro, all thoughts of the unsettling dream of the previous night faded away.