Whispering Bones (9 page)

A rasping sound as the vessel scraped up against something. Isabella awoke to the smell and feel of the rotted flesh upon which she was lying. Bile rose to her throat, preventing her from uttering a sound. Through the slits that were her eyes, she could see the strands of clotted blood that dribbled from her mouth and landed on her arm.

A stone wall next to the boat towered above her—a landing. They had arrived at the
Lazaretto
. Hope surged in her again. Even if she died, there was the possibility Roberto might be here, that she would see her brother once more before leaving this world.

The
pizzicamorti
moved quickly, tying off the barge. Two of the masked men took their places on the landing to receive the corpses, which the others began to offload. Isabella closed her eyes against the sight of the bodies being tossed carelessly from the boat, afraid she would witness her parents’ corpses being treated like so much garbage. Suddenly, she was lifted and passed into the hands of one of the men on the landing. The masked face was terrifyingly close to her own, but she summoned what was left of her strength and finally managed to speak in a weak voice.

“How far...to the
Lazaretto
?”

She felt the man holding her jump when she spoke.

“
Ma,
questa
e
anchora
viva
... Tomaso. This one’s still alive.”

She heard a muttered curse from one of the men on the boat. “What are you talking about?”

“The girl. She’s still alive, Tomaso.”

“She’s as dead as the others—put her in with the rest.”

The next thing she knew, she was tossed onto a wheeled contraption among a pile of stinking corpses. “No... No...” She tried to protest, but the intense pain running through her from being so carelessly handled stopped the words in her throat. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

The cart bumped along the uneven ground, causing more pain to course through her every time the wheels ran up against a stone, and she could only moan softly. When, moments later, the cart came to a stop, Isabella turned her head. At first she could not make sense of what she saw. The ground seemed so far away. Why? She looked around and understood: an excavation in the ground. A pit... An enormous pit, already half-filled with what looked like hundreds of disease-ridden corpses.

Her mind reeled at the terrifying sight. One of the
pizzicamorti
spoke. She recognized the voice as belonging to the man who had cursed earlier.

“Let’s get on with it. It’s the last load. I want to get back.”

The men began emptying the cart of its gruesome cargo, jostling her. Terrified, she listened to the sickening thuds as corpses were thrown into the pit, colliding with the bodies already there. Suddenly, shockingly, Isabella was lifted up. “No... No!” She felt herself falling. Then, the blinding pain of impact as she landed among the dead.

The stench, the slimy feel of rotten flesh... Death surrounded her. More bodies landed beside her, on top of her. Panicked, she screamed, “Take me to the
Lazaretto
... please! It cannot be far, I beg you.”

The cloaked and masked monster towering above the pit said as he grabbed a shovel, “There is no place at the
Lazaretto
for the sick any longer. It already overflows with the dead and dying. You have been brought to Poveglia.”

Isabella moaned in despair. Poveglia was a disposal site, nothing more.

The other man spoke. “Tomaso... We could try on our way back to the mainland. Perhaps the
Lazaretto
will take her. She is but a child—”

“Shut up. I’ve no intention of stopping there, only to be turned away. Then what? Return here to do what we should have done in the first place? No. Look at her. She is already dead.”

The cruel words struck Isabella like stones. Although close to death, a smoldering rage began to build inside her. She looked up at the
pizzicamorti
, leaning on their shovels at the pit’s edge. Her gaze slid back and forth between the two men and came to rest on the dark form of the man who had refused to help her.

In that moment, something happened.

Her delirious mind cleared. For a split second, Isabella perceived her situation with complete lucidity. She could surrender herself to God’s will. Accept her fate, knowing her immortal soul would soon be reunited with Mamma and Papa in the afterlife. Or she could choose another, darker path—one which had opened before her as a result of this outrage. Isabella heard a sinister whisper.
Take revenge
. The callous man showed no mercy, no remorse for what he was about to do. She could go unforgiving into the darkness, her soul be damned.

Perhaps if the evil man had not chosen that exact moment to fill his spade and send a shower of dirt over her; perhaps if he had not acted at that precise second, Isabella might have followed the path of light. Perhaps. But the man made his choice and Isabella made hers. She opened and allowed the dark entity which had spoken to her to slither inside.

When the earth struck her open sores, Isabella’s rage exploded. A powerful force surged in her, a roiling, dark energy that breathed life into her once again. Lifting her head, she spoke directly to the man, the one called Tomaso, who had condemned her to be buried alive.

“A curse on you...and on your house... You will be made to pay for this deed... With a death worse than that which you have decreed for me... All of you. Until the very last...perishes.”

Isabella fell back onto her deathbed. The knowledge dawned that she had only been a vessel for the dark power which had risen in her, causing her to speak the words. She found she did not care. A cold satisfaction took hold of her when she saw the masked man hesitate before lifting his spade again. For a moment, instead of the stink of corpses surrounding her, she smelled only his fear. Suddenly, spade after spade of earth rained down on her as the man began to rapidly shovel. He carried out his execution, cursing as he buried Isabella alive.

Isabella could no longer move. Layer after layer of dirt covered her. It entered her nostrils when she tried to breath. It covered her open eyes, blinding her. Earth filled her mouth. It tasted like death, but her heart was cold now and she welcomed it.

Venice, Italy

Present Day

Anna made her way back along the path to the landing. She intended to have a complete photographic record of the entire island to take home with her. After snapping several shots to capture the water views, she turned and took some pictures of the existing structures. This was where the hotel was to be constructed, roughly where the old hospital stood. Her photos of the complex would provide a handy frame of reference. The bell tower, she thought, was quite lovely, tall and rectangular, with arched openings near the top where the bell rested. Except, she realized, looking through the camera lens, there was no bell. Most likely it had been removed after the place closed down. She zoomed in on the top of the tower and photographed it.

As she passed by the main doors of the old hospital, she stopped and, on impulse, climbed the steps and pushed against the doors to see if they would open. They were locked. She turned and continued back along the path, taking pictures of the vine-covered building as she went. When she got to what she now knew had been the crematorium, she gave the open door a wide berth. She certainly didn’t want to go back in there again. She quickly snapped a few shots of the exterior and moved on.

At the last structure, the one nearest the field and the construction trailer, she remembered having seen a desk and other furniture through the window earlier and her curiosity got the better of her. She tried the heavy wooden door and it swung open on creaking hinges. Anna stepped across the threshold into the single room inside.

Layers of grime covered the stone floor and the furniture, which appeared to be expensive antiques. Dust motes danced in the grey light pouring through the yellowed windows running along the walls. The place must have been an office. An old-fashioned mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, with a seating arrangement off to one side. Bookshelves lined the walls, holding dusty, leather-bound volumes. A hand-carved bed rested in the far right corner. How odd. Why would such fine furniture have been left behind after the place closed down? Perhaps it had proven too cumbersome to transport it back to the mainland. Still, it struck her as unusual.

Anna moved to the large desk in the center of the room and picked up a framed photograph resting on it. She blew some of the dust off and wiped the glass with the bottom of her shirt to have a better look. A stern-looking man peered back at her. He wore round spectacles and stood ramrod-straight next to a lovely young woman and two children. The clothing worn by the group in the photo told her the image had been taken in the nineteen twenties or thirties—at any rate, before the forties, judging from the woman’s hairstyle and dress. She looked again at the woman in the photograph. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. Anna thought she resembled Mary Pickford, the early screen starlet.

She replaced the framed picture on the desk and moved to the bookshelves. All the old volumes appeared to be medical books. The office must have belonged to a doctor, not a hospital administrator as she’d first thought. A closer inspection of the titles revealed the subject matter dealt almost exclusively with theories and diagnosis of mental illness. Had the hospital actually been an asylum? That would explain the reinforced glass in the windows of the main building. She made a mental note to ask Falcone about it next time they met.

Anna wanted to continue her exploration of the old office, but knew she was wasting precious time in here. Reluctantly, she left, closing the door behind her. After photographing the office exterior, she turned toward the open field beyond the construction trailer and waded into the heavy underbrush, grateful she had packed her sturdy hiking boots and jeans. The brambles went past her knees in some places and would have ripped any uncovered skin to shreds. She worked her way through the brush to approximately the middle of the field where a boulder poked up through the growth.

Sitting on the large rock, she intended to take photos of the circumference of the field from her central position. Alejandro was nowhere in sight. He must have started setting up his equipment at the north end of the island, on the other side of the grove of poplar trees backing onto the field.

As she looked around, the absolute silence of the place struck her anew. There she sat, surrounded by trees, bushes, all manner of greenery, yet no sound penetrated the air. The eerie stillness, the absence of the sounds of nature unsettled her, and more than just a little. Where were the birds, and the other animals one would expect to see and hear? For that matter, she’d not yet even spotted a single insect—no spiders, not even an ant. The place felt so barren, despite the lush vegetation, as if everything on the island was...

D
ead
.

The word popped unbidden into her head and the peculiar thought sent gooseflesh rippling along her bare arms. The memory of her nightmare suddenly returned. The image of the dead child burned brightly in her mind, causing her to shudder.

The bruised sky overhead threatened rain and she told herself to hurry and finish with the photos, but the camera remained in her hand, unused. A strange lethargy snaked through her, making it hard to move. Her eyelids became heavy. The tall grass nodded all around her. She gave her head a shake, but the desire to close her eyes and sleep became overwhelming. The camera slid from her hand and landed in the bushes at her feet. Her eyelids drooped. No matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to stay awake.
What’s happening to
—

* * * *

Anna came to with a start, lying flat on her back, surrounded by tangled vines and bushes, and staring up at the sky. Disoriented, she tried to remember what had happened. She’d been in the field, sitting on the rock, about to take photographs of the area when... What? Somehow, she had managed to fall asleep in the field.

She got on her hands and knees, feeling around on the ground for her camera, and found it next to the base of the rock. At ground level, she could see the front of the rock was smooth. Lettering had been etched onto it but, eroded by the passage of time and the elements, it was no longer legible. Looking at the marker made her uneasy. More than uneasy. For some reason, it made her afraid. This field, the entire island in fact, suddenly felt oppressive.

She got to her feet, glanced at her watch and almost jumped in surprise. It was after six o’clock already. That meant she’d been lying in the field for, what,
three hours
? That was impossible... She couldn’t have been out for so long. But her watch appeared to be working and she noticed the thin afternoon light had faded considerably.

She was about to head back to the construction trailer when she glimpsed something moving in the trees beyond the field.

“Alejandro?”

Her voice echoed back to her.

“Alejandro, is that—”

The apparition stepped out from behind one of the trees nearest the field, and Anna’s heart landed in her throat, blocking her scream. It was the thing from the night before.

She took in the tattered dress, the diseased flesh, the decaying face, and—
a
child, it’s a child, and it’s dead
.

She watched in disbelief as the apparition’s rotting mouth widened into a hideous parody of a grin, its filmy black eyes trained directly on her. Icy terror shot through her; her heart clenched and then began to pound madly.

Anna turned and ran. Moving through the heavy brush was like trying to run underwater. She willed her leaden legs to move faster, but tripped on a vine and went down, cutting her bare arms on the thorny brambles. Clawing her way to her feet, she glanced over her shoulder in panic, convinced the nightmarish apparition was chasing her.