by A. L. Knorr
"Just go in the sea," he said, pointing the neck of his beer bottle toward the water.
I balked and my mind went blank with embarrassment.
"I'll show you," Federica said as she walked up to the fire. "I have to go, too.”
"Grazie." I got up to follow her.
She walked ahead of me and I strode to catch up, but there were so many people on the beach that I almost lost her in the crowd. We approached the speakers and the bass thumped in my chest. A line of girls in bikinis and tiny dresses stood waiting for the outdoor toilets.
Fed stopped at the queue and turned to face me. It wasn't just my instinct before—she did look stressed. Her lips were pressed tightly together, the corners downturned.
"You okay, Fed?"
"I didn't know he'd take to you so much," she said. "I didn't think he even liked redheads."
I blinked. She'd said she didn't like Dante, but this sounded like jealousy.
"I just..." She shifted her feet. "Never mind." She shook her head and blew out a frustrated breath. Just then, one of the washrooms became available and she went to take it, leaving me bemused.
When I came out of the toilet, Fed was already back at the fire. I was making a beeline for her when a warm hand ran down my arm and clasped my fingers. Dante pulled me around to face him, and suddenly we were nose to nose. His almond shaped eyes sparkled down at me. Pleasure blossomed in my stomach like a rose.
"Dance with me," he whispered against my ear, his accent rich and warm.
Thoughts of Fed vanished as he pulled me toward the dance floor. The music enveloped us as Dante's arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me against him. His soft lips brushed the curve of my ear and I shivered with pleasure. Closing my eyes, I melted against him, letting the music sweep me away.
Ten
I woke as my phone chirped. I cracked open an eye. Bright sunlight streamed in through the lace curtains on my window and dappled across my bed. I was sweating, so I threw off the single sheet, clawing at it with my legs. It was going to be even hotter today than it was yesterday. Yawning, I put a palm to my temple. A dull thud throbbed there that matched my heartbeat. How much had I had to drink last night? I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table and guzzled the entire thing before picking up my phone. The screen told me it was almost eleven. I squinted at the blurry text message beneath the time.
Fed: Buongiorno. How do you feel this morning?
I rubbed my eyes and refocused so I could tap out a response: Someone made frittata with my brains. How do you feel?
Fed: Just sleepy. Glad it's Sunday. Have fun last night?
Me: I had a great time, thanks for taking me.
She didn't answer for a few minutes. And then finally, You are welcome.
Another text showed on my screen-not from Fed, but Elda.
Elda: Are you up? I need a favour. I'm sorry, I know it's your day off but I have an emergency at work. Cristiano is at a friend's house but could you watch Isaia? Just for a few hours?
I groaned. My head flopped back on my pillow. As much as I loved Isaia, the last thing I felt like doing was babysitting. I couldn't refuse just because I was hungover.
Of course. Be down in 15?
Elda: Thank you so much! I'll make it up to you, I promise.
I nodded grimly and got out of bed. The mirror caught my eye, and I grimaced. Mascara had left smudgy rings under my eyes, and my hair was a bushy disaster. I hadn't showered after swimming last night and I could feel the salt on my skin and in my hair.
I got into the shower, scrubbed myself clean and washed my hair thoroughly. I picked the tangles out of my wet curls, and then twisted my wet hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. Instantly, short spirals sprang out on my forehead and around my ears. My mom always said that my hair was a reflection of my spirit. If that was the case, then I was rebellious and uncontrollable.
I wrinkled my nose as I threw the dress I had been wearing the night before into my laundry basket. I put on a clean summer dress and went downstairs.
Elda sat on the marble step at the door, buckling the straps on her shoes. Her brow was deeply furrowed.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"One of my employees missed an important deadline. If I don't work today, we could lose an account that is almost half our business." She shook her head. "It's really my fault for needing so much one vendor, but they're a big chain we can't say no to. I don’t know how long I'll be gone but I'll call you. Isaia is playing in his room. Take him for gelato, he loves it. I left money on the counter." She apologized multiple times and was still saying sorry when she finally shut the door.
I found Isaia in his room doodling in a sketchbook. He had a glass of water and ice sitting on the floor beside him.
"Hi sweetheart. Looks like you and I get to hang out for a few hours." I sat down beside him and kissed the top of his head. "What are you drawing?"
He turned the page toward me. It was covered with doodles of fireballs, all the same shape.
"Wow, Isaia. Very nice." I was about to comment on the irony of his penchant for all things fiery, but I thought better of it. "Guess what? Your mom said we could go for gelato. What do you say?"
He smiled and nodded, which was the best reaction I was bound to get. I slathered us both in sunscreen, and found us each a sun hat. I filled a large bottle with water and tucked it into my purse. We stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of the Besaggio's home and into the stifling heat of an Italian summer day.
I used my phone to search for the nearest gelato shop and entered the address into my GPS. Taking Isaia's hand, we walked silently and kept to the shade. Thoughts of Dante made my stomach flutter, and I let myself relive the events of the night before. I barely registered that the streets were mostly empty. I could feel Dante's warm hands at my waist, his breath against my neck. I couldn't help but smile as I remembered him cutting my hair elastic, and his tilted eyes as my curls fell down around my shoulder. He was bold, that was for sure. Maybe a little too bold. But our chemistry... it was so compelling. I could forgive someone a lot because of chemistry like that.
The GPS directed us through an open courtyard. We crossed the little piazza, stepped into a narrow calle, and walked toward the sunlight at the far end.
As we approached the end of the corridor, the sound of breaking glass shattered my daydream. A screech of twisting metal echoed through the calle. I winced, the sound offending my eardrums.
"What was that?" I looked down at Isaia as he looked up at me, his black eyes wide. I peeked around.
Two men disappeared around a corner in a hurry. A flash of a bright green t-shirt with two yellow stripes across the back. Broken glass scattered across the stones in front of a tabacchi shop.
The metal security shutter had been warped and jammed up in its tracks. A dry desperate voice called out in Italian. Isaia and I clutched each others hands as we approached the tabacchi. We bent to look under the twisted shutter. The shop floor was a mess of smashed goods and broken glass. I gasped and my heart jumped. Behind the counter, an elderly man lay on the floor. I could only see his head and one arm. Sweat poured down his face and his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. He had a nasty looking cut on his cheek.
I looked around, readying a yell for help, but the piazza was empty.
"Hang on, I'll help you. Te aiuto, te aiuto," I said, hoping he could understand my horrible Italian. He opened his eyes. Blood dripped across the bridge of his nose and onto the floor. I swallowed down a wave of nausea.
Isaia tugged on my hand. He pointed up. A thin stream of smoke crept from the open door at the back of the shop, behind the man lying on the floor.
Fire.
I pulled out my phone, nearly dropping it as my fingers trembled. I looked up 'Venezia polizia.' Three stations popped up, but all of them were off the island, two in Mestre and one in Marghera. I hit dial for the closest one, my fingers trembling. The long dash of the Italian ring tone sounded in my ear and a ma
le voice answered.
"Ciao, uh..." I stuttered. "Is there someone who speaks English?"
The voice asked a question.
"I'm sorry, non parle Italiano. Parle Inglese?"
The voice answered, sounding annoyed. This was getting us nowhere. I shook my head in frustration. I spoke slowly. “There has been a break in, in Venice. There is an injured man. We are..." I looked around at the walls, scanning for a sign, "...at Calle Angelo. In Venezia."
The voice responded, "Sei al Calle Angelo? Calle Angelo?"
“Sì, sì,” I said, relieved. "Calle Angelo, aiuta me. There's a man in trouble. Un uomo in pericoloso. There might be a fire, too. Uh... fuoco, fuoco."
"Aspetta li," grated the voice. He asked for my 'numero di telefono,' which I gave him. After agreeing to wait, I hung up the phone.
Anxiety twisted in my stomach. What if the men who had done this returned? How long would it take for the police to get here? I peered into the shop to see that the stream of smoke from the back room had grown thicker.
I squatted in front of Isaia. "I need you to wait while I help the man get out." I spotted a cluster of benches in the center of the piazza. Leading Isaia to one directly across from the tabbachi, I guided him to sit. "Stay right here, on the bench, okay?"
He nodded, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"It's okay. I'm here." I touched his cheek. "I'm not going far. Just wait for me here, where I can see you." I kissed his head and hurried across the piazza.
I ducked under the broken shutter and crunched over broken glass and a mess of water bottles, packaged food, and candy. I knelt in front of the man. He cradled a bloodied hand against his stomach. He must have fought with the men who had broken into his shop.
He looked at me from under bushy grey eyebrows and my heart squeezed with empathy. Blood ran from his cheek where he'd been cut and pooled on the floor. A wave of dizziness washed over me and I gripped the counter. He pushed himself awkwardly up to an elbow and I helped him to sit up. I opened a package of handkerchiefs. While I pressed one against the cut on his cheek, my hand trembled and I tried to focus on something other than the blood.
"Thank you," he said slowly, his voice thick.
Anger boiled in me and I reminded myself to tell the police about the green t-shirt with the yellow stripes. Maybe they could catch the guys today if they acted fast enough.
Glass crunched behind me and I looked to see Isaia walk under the shutter. His face was pale. The smudges under his eyes had returned and his little chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
"No, sweetie, stay outside please," I said, pointing at the bench. "I'll be with you right away, okay?"
He shook his head and took another step toward me, grabbing his elbows. He didn't want to be alone, and no wonder. I wanted to take him in my arms, but I also wanted to get the old man out of the shop as soon as possible.
The smell of smoke hit my nose. I craned my neck, peering into the back room. Metal shelves piled high with boxes filled the storage space. But aside from a single shaft of sunlight coming from a small window near the ceiling, the room was dark. So where was the smoke coming from?
BANG! BANG!
A scream ripped from my mouth and my heart exploded into a gallop. It sounded like gunfire. Two flashes of bright light illuminated the rear of the shop and my vision peppered with spots.
"Firework, firework," croaked the old man, and resumed trying to stand.
Isaia began to cry. It was the first time I'd heard him make any noise. His little hands clutched against his mouth, a dry heave rasped though his fingers as his shoulders shook.
"It was fireworks, Isaia." I scrambled to my feet, gulping in air to slow my frantic heart. "Just fireworks. You're okay." My voice quavered. "We need to get out. Go back to the bench, Isaia. We'll be right out, okay?" I took a deep breath then gave a sharp cough as my lungs took in smoke.
I put my hands under the man's armpits. I grunted and heaved him upward none too gently. He and I groaned as one. Just as he got his feet under him...
POP!! POP!!! KSSSSSSSSSSS. BANG BANG BANG!
We both ducked our heads at the succession of screaming crackles and popping bursts. My ears rang, and the strobe effect of the fireworks flashing through the shop stole my vision for seconds at a time.
BOOM!
A blast of hot air from an explosion that was too powerful to be fireworks sent me sprawling across broken goods. I cried out as the man fell on my calves and something sharp cut into my knee. A fiery line of pain sliced across my left palm. The walls shook and dust fell from the ceiling.
"Isaia!" I screamed.
Dust and dirt fell in my eyes. I rubbed at them desperately, my mouth dry with fear. All efforts to pretend I was in control had fled. Isaia couldn't respond, and the answering silence froze my blood in my veins. I was faintly aware of a warm flickering light behind me, and a growing heat.
A high pitched metallic scream. A bang so sharp I winced and covered my ears. The shop went from mostly light to mostly dark as the security shutter slammed shut.
Eleven
The crackling flames of a healthy fire licked from the open doorway of the back room. The man let out of a stream of raspy Italian and reached for a cell phone sitting on the countertop.
Heat poured from the storage room in waves. Whatever was burning, it included chemicals and plastics. Dizziness washed over me as I sucked in a toxic breath and coughed. I rubbed at my eyes, blinking the dirt from them. Sweat sprang out all over my body as the temperature inside the shop doubled. Adrenalin flooded my body.
I stumbled to my feet. My left palm stung and felt wet and sticky. I put an arm around the man and pulled him as hard as I dared, away from the fire and toward the security shutter. My whole body tingled at the thought that there might be another explosion any second. My legs shook.
A soft dull thud. The crunching of plastic. I turned to the sound, gasped and nearly choked on my tongue. "Isaia!" It came out a croak.
He had collapsed.
I stumbled across the shop. I tripped and recovered twice. My ankles rolled as I stepped on things I wasn’t looking at. My eyes were glued to him. I dropped to my knees beside him. "Isaia? Isaia, can you hear me?"
In the wavering firelight, his eyes gleamed and flickered. I could have wept with relief. He was conscious, but his little chest heaved.
"Isaia, what's wrong?" I put a hand to his forehead and immediately snatched it back, cursing. His forehead was so hot that I couldn't touch him. Not again! I looked back at the shopkeeper. He cradled one hand against his chest and was holding his cell phone to his ear with the other.
I got to my feet and peeked through the small holes in the shutter. Putting my lips to one, I yelled, "Fire! Fuoco!" I rattled the shutter and tried to lift it, but there was nothing to grab. The warped metal had jammed in the runners and was locked down. I looked back. The flames in the doorway licked higher, and black smoke billowed across the ceiling. I redoubled my efforts and yelled until my head pounded.
A man appeared on the other side of the shutter. I almost collapsed with relief. "Oh thank God. Please help us, can you lift this shutter?"
My heart soared when he answered in English. "Are you okay? Who else is inside?"
"A small boy and an elderly man with a broken hand. The boy isn’t doing well. They both need medical attention, right away. Can you lift this shutter? I can't move it from the inside. There’s a fire in the back. Something in the storage room exploded. I'm worried something else will go off."
The man yelled at someone I couldn't see, and I heard the words 'vigile del fuoco.' The metal began to rattle and the man grunted as he strained at the shutter.
I looked down at Isaia and my heart stopped. His belly was glowing through his t-shirt. I dropped to my knees beside him. I took his hand but snatched it back, gasping as his heat burned me again. His black eyes were huge and filled with pain. "Isaia..." I fought to keep the panic from my voice and failed miserably.
>
The glow brightened and expanded. It spread wide across his abdomen, easily seen through his t-shirt.
Behind me, the old man babbled in Italian but then he paused and choked, "Madonna."
Isaia squeezed his eyes shut. Panic flapped wickedly like a bird in my heart. I forgot the growing fire in the back room as I watched the glow in his stomach move. It travelled into his chest and he made a choking sound. Helplessness and panic crashed like fighting rams inside me. I grabbed a bottle of water from a pile on the floor, fumbled the cap off and held it to his lips. His eyes opened, two glowing red embers.
Water spilled down the sides of chis face and into his ears, sizzling as it went. He spluttered and choked, unable to swallow. He coughed violently, and the glow in his chest split in two and began to crawl. One half moved out to his right shoulder and the other to his left. My fingers clenched and unclenched helplessly. My hand flew to my mouth in horror and I fought not to hyperventilate. The crackle of flames, the stench of burning plastic, and the yelling voices had all faded into the background.
The two glows in Isaia's shoulders traveled down each arm, flickering as they went. He wheezed heavily.
"Why can't you drink?" I cried. I poured a little water over his lips but it just ran down his face and evaporated into steam. His eyes rolled up in his head and back at me.
I squinted against the light. The white-hot glow traveled into his hands and stopped in his palms. His body began to shake. He turned his palms up, each as bright as a star and every finger glowing red. The light in his eyes faded slowly, and that scared me as much as seeing the glow appear in the first place. It looked like he was dying.
"Isaia," I whimpered. I had never felt so utterly helpless. "What's happening to you?"
He is dying. I could see death creeping up on him as surely I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Before I could register anything, he slammed his bright white palms flat against my stomach. The movement was so fast and so full of strength and intention that his body seemed controlled by someone or something else, like a puppet. A scream caught in my throat when he hit me. All that escaped was a wisp of breath, like a sigh. I did not feel heat against my stomach, but a sharp cold feeling instead, like dry ice. I coughed, and a wisp of smoke drifted from my mouth. Isaia's eyes closed, his head flopped back, but his hands were still locked on my abdomen.
