Biting Winds

by Shawna Ireland

  “Ok,” Jessie agreed, excited to hear, but apprehensive as well.

  "Let's sit down," Sangio suggested as he motioned for Jessie to sit down on the chaise. Jessie, who had been walking around for the better part of the day marveling at the interior and exterior of the mansion, opted for the comfortable bed, lying sideways and propping up on her elbow and holding her head in her hand. Sangio followed suit, lying across from her, facing her to tell his ugly story.

  Jessie laughed with Sangio as he told the stories of his father and brother, hung her head in sadness as he shared the story of his mother’s death, and smacked Sangio in the arm as he joked about the handfuls of ladies he courted for short periods of time.

  “I’m not surprised,” Jessie teased. “You are a very, very handsome man. You must know that. I’m sure, even by the standards of the 1800’s.”

  “Lucky for me, or I may have been stuck as an ugly man for centuries,” Sangio joked back, as he led into the night of his last birthday dinner, watching the smile slowly diminish from Jessie’s face.

  Jessie looked horrified as Sangio relived the attack by Lilly, and cried as she visualized his father and brother’s despair when they thought he was dead. She held her stomach and paced the floor when he described the agony of his affliction. She sat leaning forward with her elbows pushing in on her crossed legs, staring intently again as he revealed his conversation with Lilly, when he learned of his fate. She cried when he described his family being massacred by their own friends.

  “Jessie,” Sangio interrupted his own story. “It’s near dinnertime. Perhaps we should stop for now and feed you. I too, need to--,” he paused thinking of the right word. “Take my vitamins.” He laughed and explained the Polyheme pills to Jessie as he escorted her to the kitchen to show her the fresh meats, vegetables, and fruits he picked up while he was shopping. “Go ahead and fix something for yourself, and I’ll bring back a bottle of wine from the cellar.”

  Jessie was famished from the day full of walking as well as the emotional rollercoaster she just stepped off of. She was beginning to feel menopausal thinking about all the times she lost herself in tears the past two weeks. She laughed at herself as she cooked a chicken breast, sprinkled with olive oil and lemon pepper, then sautéed in mushrooms, garlic, onions, and a variety of bell peppers.

  She was sliding the chicken and veggies onto a bed of rice pilaf when Sangio came into the kitchen carrying a bottle of red wine. The backdrop on the wine label was the stone wall, whitewashed, and covered by the same seal she had seen on the various signs around the land, marking the Danvonne Estate. It was an intricate font, thick with wispy lines. Danvonne Estate printed across the top of the label, followed by “Established in 1789”. Beneath that was the word “Sangiovese”.

  “Sangiovese? What is this?” Jessie asked, biting into a crisp yellow pepper as she inspected the bottle.

  “It is my namesake,” Sangio boasted proudly. “Not many people can say they were named after a grape. It’s a grape we cloned after my distant relatives’ vineyard in Romanga, Italy. The Danvonne’s were the first to clone. I believe to date there are about 14 other clones of the same Sangiogheto grape. My mother loved the bitter-sweet flavor with hints of cherry, violet, and tea. Alone, the Sangiogheto grape is quite temperamental and gives off a more acidic flavor. If not handled just right, the juice would turn to vinegar. The grape had to be mixed with a sweeter grape, like a Cabernet, to create the fine balance.

  “My father often referred to my mother as the Sangiogheto of the family. She was the sweetest redhead, but if you didn’t handle her just so, she could burn you like acid. When I was to be born, my parents joked that with their personalities meshed together, I was either going to be bitter, or sweet, or bitter-sweet. If I were a girl, I was to be named Sangia.”

  “My parents, huge Springsteen fans, named me after the song, “Jessie’s Girl”. When I was about sixteen, I asked them if they realized Jessie was a man.”

  “Did they?” Sangio asked, amused.

  “Well, not when they named me. The song had just come out, and they hadn’t really contemplated the lyrics. Later, when I was a couple of years old, a family friend pointed it out. My parents said they hoped I didn’t figure it out, but they liked the name anyhow.” Jessie and Sangio had a hearty laugh.

  “My parents named my brother Drake, after the legendary Sir Francis Drake,” Sangio began, feeling nostalgic talking about his family whom he had not mentioned aloud in a century. “Both of my parents loved navigating the oceans, and found him to be an enchanting sea captain, not to mention a hero to the Europeans.”

  “I’m envious," Jessie admitted. “People these days don’t put nearly as much thought into naming their kids. Instead of finding meaning and history, they try to name their kids something no one else would consider. Hence the crazy names like Apple or Blanket, or even Audio Science.”

  “No, not Audio?”

  “Seriously! I could find much funnier things to joke about.”

  “Such as?” Sangio egged her on.

  “Ok,” Jessie bit. “How about Buddy Bear? Tell me that kids is ever going to get laid.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes the ladies are all over the sweet, cuddly names like that. Now, picture Buddy Bear trying to get sponsorship into the Hell’s Angels?”

  Jessie laughed so hard at Sangio’s response she nearly choked on a piece of chicken.

  “Stop! Stop!” Jessie begged for a reprieve. “Let a girl survive a meal!”

  “Technically, Jessica, you started it,” Sangio said, refilling their wine glasses.

  After cleaning the kitchen together, Jessie excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom, preparing for the transition from laughter into the somber story of Sangio’s death. She was ready to hear the rest of it.

  She came out of the bathroom and met Sangio in the library, where she pulled her knees up to her chest as she sank in the oversized leather chair. Sangio handed Jessie her wine, and sat down next to her.

  Sangio cleared his throat and started right in. “Lilly and I hid in the tree line of the forest behind the barn for at least an hour as we watched the last crackle pop from the final chip of wood that was once my father’s barn. When the townsmen had their fill of thievery and celebration, they made their way back down the drive and headed into town. Lilly and I rushed into the house, locking the doors behind us after putting out a sign warning people to stay out. To be honest, I wrote 'Those Whom Enter Are Guaranteed Not To Exit'. We drew the curtains, dimmed the lights, and found rooms away from any rays of sun. I paced for hours upon hours.

  “Slowly, our workers began showing up with their horses and carts. In all my years since I was born, a worker has never brought a cart to work with them. They intended to steal from us as if they had not taken enough already. The sign kept them out of the house, but I saw them loading their carts with tools, metal scraps, and anything else they could fit in. A few tried to open the door, but no one was brave enough to find out whom they would discover on the other side of the door. I heard them talking, trying to figure out who put the sign up. In the end, they assumed it was one of them, intending to come back and have the first pick from my family’s possessions.”

  “Disgusting!” Jessie scowled, fists balled up in anger.

  “Indeed, disgusting. As well as insulting, violating, and revolting. I wanted to kill them all, right then and there. Lilly kept reminding me that I would burn in the sun, and my rage would be for nothing. She assured me that when the sun went down we would wreak havoc on this little town until the last soul was released from its bloodless body,” Sangio said, noticing Jessie wince, and worried how she would react to the rest of the story.

  “I told her the vengeance was mine and mine alone. The townspeople had taken my father and brother; they took their bodies from me, so I was unable to bury them properly, next to my mother’s grave. So, as the sun set Lilly and I went our separate ways. She headed into the tree line, and I headed straigh
t for town. Our horses were gone, likely stabled in the barns of the thieves who came by day wearing the faces of our friends, but Lilly assured me that I was faster than any horse, and she was right. What took me 20 minutes by horse, took me less than five minutes by foot. Trees, vines, poles, fences, they blurred past me, yet they were so clear.” Sangio paused for a second to see if Jessie was really up for the story.

  “Go ahead,” Jessie assured him, resting her hand on his knee.

  “She wasn’t hard to find,” he said looking down at Jessie’s hand. “I knew she often worked alone at night. I didn’t even stop by her house. I found her at the doctor’s office, and coincidentally enough she was filling out the death record portion of the doctor’s logs. She didn’t hear me come in, and for a second I wondered if I were making a mistake. I knew the death records were holding the names of my father, brother, and in all likeliness, my name, as well.” And with that, Sangio delved back into his past as he had done multiple times over the past few days.

  Chapter 32

  The room was dimly lit with the flickering of only one kerosene lantern. Hannah’s small frame slumped over the stressed leather journal. Sitting back with a sigh, she swiveled slightly back and forth in the pine captain’s chair, rapping her pen softly on the walnut slant desk while contemplating what to write next.

  Hannah leaned forward and began writing fervently as if hit with inspiration. Sangio watched quietly, allowing her ample time to conjure the lies she was documenting in the legal documents.

  “I’m dying to read today’s entries,” Sangio said in the most amused voice he could summon, receiving the effect he sought as Hannah jumped off her seat, sending her chair rolling behind her, crashing into a set of file drawers and knocking a small potted plant to the stone floor.

  “Sangio!” Hannah exclaimed with equal parts of shock, fear, and confusion.

  Sangio continued as if he hadn’t noticed her display, or the fact that she was holding her heart as if to contain it in her chest. “Or did they make it in yesterday’s journal? Technically, Hannah, what was their time of death?”

  Hannah couldn’t even speak, but squandered an attempt to lurch forward and grab the medical journal before Sangio could reach it. She cried out when she saw the remarkable speed at which Sangio snatched the journals with, opening them to her most recent entries, the ink not even fully dried.

  “Ah, today it is,” Sangio remarked, answering his own questions. Sangio turned from Hannah and walked a few steps, reading the entry. Hannah tried to run for the door, but without even seeing him move, she stopped short as Sangio stood face-to-face with her.

  “Going so soon, my love?” he teased. “I just got here.”

  “Please, Sangio! Please, I wanted to come back . . .” she pleaded, having no real excuse.

  Sangio cut her off by placing his frigid palm across her mouth.

  “Hush!” he spat at her, with a wicked smile. “I’m trying to read.”

  Hannah, crying now, slumped down into her chair knowing that her time of reckoning was at hand for the part she played in the towns crime, and in her final attempt to cover their sins.

  “Read it!” Sangio demanded, pushing the book into her hands and pointing to his fathers name.

  “I can’t!” Hannah cried, looking away from the book.

  “Read it!” roared Sangio. “You wrote it. You wrote of my father’s death. Now read it.”

  “Accidental fire,” Hannah began reading.

  “No!” Sangio grabbed her by her jaw, lifting her face and forcing her to look into his eyes. “Read his name. Read the whole thing.” And he let her go, backing away from her and reveling in the fear that emanated from her head to her toes by way of shaking, stuttering, sweating, and turning a translucent pale.

  “Thaddeus Franklin Danvonne. Born on the seventh day of January, 1798, died at approximately eleven p.m. on September eighteenth, 1860, at the age of sixty-two. The cause of death,” she paused, but immediately continued when she caught the fierce glare of Sangio. “The cause of death was accidental smoke inhalation and immolation after attempting to extinguish a fire in the family’s barn after a kerosene lantern ignited after being kicked over.”

  “Keep going,” Sangio demanded through gritted teeth.

  “Also deceased in the fire is Drake Danvonne. Born on the twelfth day of December, 1821, and died at approximately eleven p.m. on September eighteenth, 1860, at the age of thirty-nine. The cause of death is also accidental smoke inhalation and immolation after attempting to extinguish a fire in the family’s barn after a kerosene lantern ignited after being kicked over.” Shaking hear head she pleaded, “Sangio, please! I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want it to be like this. I love you!” She lied.

  “Go on,” Sangio prompted. “I believe I interrupted your last entry.”

  Sangio stood, saying nothing waiting impatiently for her to read the final entry.

  “The townspeople rushed to the aid of the Danvonne men when they saw the smoke billowing into the sky. However, when the arrived it was already too late. The townsmen worked vigilantly for hours attempting to douse the flames with buckets of water from the wells to save what they could of the Danvonne property. That is it,” she said, closing the book. “Please forgive me!” she cried and reiterated her love for him.

  “You stand here in the wake of my father and brother’s death and profess your love to me? You have no right to speak of love, let alone try to use a false love to protect you from your fate! Lilly told me you were lurking in the shadows of the barn. You left my home knowing you would betray me. You, Hannah, killed my father. You, Hannah, killed my brother. When you made your choice, you also made your bed.”

  Sangio did not feel an ounce of remorse as he ascended upon Hannah, yanking her to her feet like a rag doll, noticing briefly her eyes bulging in horror. Her scream was short as he sank his fangs into her tender neck, and sucked the blood from her shaking body. He didn’t even feel remorse when he let her drop heavily to the stone floor.

  Sangio picked the journal up, crossed out the lies, and reset the record for the history books to accurately reflect the murders of Thaddeus and Drake Danvonne, at the hands of their thieving friends and community. Then he added an entry of his own.

  “Hannah Jane Marshall. Died September nineteenth, 1860. Cause of death-- justice," he read aloud before laying the book on the desk. He doused the kerosene lamp. Feeling fully satiated from the sweet, bloody taste of revenge, Sangio headed back home.

  When Sangio arrived home, he noticed the front door was cracked open, and lights flickering inside. Sangio ascended his tall staircase, slowing his pace as he approached the foyer. He heard men's voices coming from the library.

  Sangio stood in the door of his library, unnoticed, watching two of his brother’s friends, Daniel and Joshua, stuffing books into their satchels and then together trying to hoist the heavy chess set, encased in a glass display case. The pieces tipped over from the ungraceful movements of the newest thieves, who nearly dropped it as Joshua looked up to see Sangio in the doorway.

  “Jesus almighty!” Joshua cried out, then laughed nervously.

  “Can I help you with something?” Sangio asked, looking down at the books that spilled from the satchels as the men awkwardly tried setting the chess set down carefully.

  “Oh, they said you were--” Daniel began until Joshua elbowed him in the gut.

  “What he means is--” Joshua began, before Sangio interrupted him with no more than a look, daring him to further insult his intelligence.

  “Let me spare you the lies,” Sangio boldly stated. “You thought I was dead, and you intended to rob me. Is that correct?”

  “Sangio, you know me,” Joshua continued. “I don’t know what came over us. I’m usually an upright fellow. A man of honor.”

  “As am I,” Sangio concurred, rushing up to the men. He shoved Joshua fifteen feet backwards into the wooden book shelves with one hand and lifted Daniel by the throat with th
e other.

  “Jesus, my back. I think you broke my back,” Joshua wailed, unable to stand.

  “That’s the least of your concerns. Did you not see the sign on the door warning you that you would not exit if you chose to enter?” And with that Sangio drained his second victim of blood and life, tossing him aside as he ascended upon his third.

  “You die with shame!” Sangio hissed, pointing to Joshua’s soiled crotch on his trousers, and relieved the man of his life, and further humiliation.

  Sangio carried the bodies to the center of town where he dumped them for the residents to see as they rose for their morning coffee. While he hoped it was a deterrent to further attempts to steal from him, he also knew that it didn’t guarantee the safety of any man in the town. Sangio intended to vindicate his father and brother, and along the way he planned to take back every last bottle of wine, container of scotch, tool, and horse that was rightfully his. If they already consumed the alcohol he was willing to barter, if he didn't rip their drunken livers out first.

  Unfortunately, not all the townsmen wanted to believe the three dead bodies they found that morning had anything to do with the Danvonne murders. Most people shrugged off the connection, not wanting to face the reality that they brought a darkness into their town with their own actions. They laughed at those who pointed out the correlations and suggested they had active imaginations.

  Puffing out their chests, three of the self-proclaimed strongest, toughest, and drunkest men from Ruthie’s Bar boasted about how they were going to get their hands on some of the fine merchandise at the abandoned Danvonne residence, before more Danvonnes started coming out of the woodwork to lay claim to the estate.

  However, as dawn approached, the three men did not return home and their wives were running through town, looking frantically in the bars, alleys, fields, and even banging on the doors of some local ladies with known loose morals.