by Jaxx Summers
After several minutes had passed, the woman let out a sigh and rushed through the door. Her slippers pounded against the pavement. Stefano followed in full pursuit. He trailed close by, eventually ending up at her side, adjacent to the main docks. She stopped at the edge, briefly teetering. It was all on purpose.
Is she looking to end her life? Though Stefano had come to appreciate his situation, he would not wish it on anyone. Being stuck between life and salvation was a lonely place.
The woman started sobbing. Anguish vibrated through the wavering air. Stefano wanted to be of comfort, though his normal stance was typically the exact opposite. He understood the guttural cries of rejection. His entire existence was based on it. And as she cried, he joined in her pain. Stefano could relate to this poor lonely woman. He created a friendship, a binding need. He was lost and alone, even depressed. The same could be said of his new friend.
She eventually backed away from the edge, plopping down on the stony ground. Stefano had become so fixated on her that he didn’t realize they were no longer alone.
“Byanca?” a baritone voice sounded from behind Stefano.
She immediately rose, using the sparkling material of her gown to hide her tears. The stranger helped her from the ground. Her rose drifted to the pavement.
“Were you crying?” the man asked.
“Carlino . . .” She fell into his arms.
“Why did you leave, mio amore?” Carlino towered over Byanca. He was a burly fellow that could potentially swallow up the woman, though she was sizeable herself. “I could not leave Violletta without making her suspicious. A change of my mask alone would not suffice. She would know my deceit.” Carlino patted and drew attention to his potbelly.
“Very well. You are with me now.” Byanca threw her arms about his large waistline. They swaddled against one another.
Stefano was initially confused. When his stalking victim had first rushed into the arms of this intruder, Stefano had stared in disbelief. His sadness momentarily subsided while he sought to make sense of their conversation.
She . . . Byanca, is supposed to be like me.
We are lonely souls.
She wanted to take her life.
Is that not her reason for standing at the edge?
When Stefano finally stood up, the couple was suckling like animals. He paced around them, frustrated in their happiness. The man had taken away his companion. The woman had jilted him, much like the way Anastasia had done so long ago. And with each step, Stefano’s feet began thudding. He didn’t believe in taking advantage of his ghostly abilities to spook anyone. That was never his hope, but today was different. Byanca had used him, and apparently for a married man! How dare she cry on his shoulders, only to plunge back into this cheater’s arms? And although Byanca was not aware of this unspoken friendship and unseen occupant, she was already tied to the spirit’s madness.
As Stefano’s stomp came to life for the pair, they halted.
“Did the pier shake?” Byanca asked.
“Impossible.” Carlino placed her behind him, looking around in search of an explanation. With the exception of the celebrations in the distance, the muffled sounds could do little damage. “Stay here,” he commanded. His gaze stretched from one end of the canal to the other. He inched forward, hands spread along his sides. A costume of brass only made him a spectacle, Stefano considered. And the longer he stared at this disturbance, the greater Stefano’s disdain.
“Bastard!” Stefano yelled, placing his hands against the cheater’s lower back and shoving Carlino out into the water. He became swamped all at once. Drenched and fighting desperately to stay afloat, Carlino gurgled. His hands splattered against the top of the waves. He struggled in vain. Unable to swim, he tried looking around for a gondola. Not a single one was in close proximity since he was well into the canal.
Byanca screamed into the chilly night air, rotating between her love’s position and the path they’d taken to end up on the pier.
Carlino grunted. Eyes widening, he prompted Byanca. “Be-beside . . . gho . . .”
The more he struggled to remain above water, the more determined the underground forces became. And with the addition of wet fabric clinging to his portly frame, his fate was inevitable. Carlino’s body sank quickly, while a plump finger pointed to the side of Byanca’s head. As death tagged him within seconds of hitting the waters, he entered an in-between realm, allowing him to see his murderer.
Byanca landed on the ground, desperately sobbing and reaching toward her lover. Stefano happily comforted her by stooping at her side. Though his countenance now shone, he gladly welcomed her sadness once again.
*****
Time could not rid Stefano of Anastasia’s beauty, nor of her delicate essence and melodic tone. No matter where his spirit roamed, he would be confronted with even the slightest of memories. The images never ceased, the triggers remained ever-present.
Stefano chose to overlook the dreaded reminder of their earlier fate so long ago. Instead he held out hope. Just as he had returned, Stefano hoped that someday Anastasia would as well. Every now and again, a figure would present itself. Be it when he strolled along the many alleyways and portals, contemplating that fated day, or even when he frequented the busy venues of carnival. Her pleading blue irises he’d always find. Similarly, curly blond tresses he’d trail behind. Her gently swaying figure, presumably unknown to many men, would taunt. And upon bursting through with sadistic urgencies, disappointment would present itself time and again.
*****
Another year, another Carnem Levare had begun. This annual celebration held promise, as well as a reminder of that dreaded night. Stefano, however, used it to mark the day his life became unworthy, unholy and inhumane. As the festivities triggered his return to the location of his wrongdoings, Stefano wept.
This time, things were no different. His crimes remained entrenched in his mind, forcing him to relive every deed during his sleepless nights of carnival. And no matter how he found the urges, his initial lust remained.
The night’s air was enticing. Lowly sounds, whispers of love, easily overpowered the brash noises of carnival. His journey was tainted amongst the living. He constantly scorned their happiness and cursed them.
As with any other time, he hunted the paths. A pair stood nearby, holding hands. While the man playfully ran his palms along the lower half of his belle’s exposed wrists, she giggled. With each sound, Stefano grew angrier. The torture was too similar to Anastasia’s. He would even draw into the woman’s face, too close to really truly see her. Yet no matter how he presented himself into her space, she would never be able to acknowledge his existence.
Stefano had spent ages seeking out replications of his once beloved fiancée. He would shoot explicit words into the open air; wrap his arms around his target’s waist and cry for all the ages. But none of this mattered because they never heard him and certainly never felt him, at least not under normal circumstances.
His anger had manifested to the height of bitterness. So while partaking of this couple’s private moment, Stefano experienced something that had eluded him since death had changed his life: Electrified human contact. During his course of taunting, his nails happened along the young lady’s chin, drawing along the edges. She jolted. Her eyes widened. She reached upwards, touching the very same spot. Apparently unsatisfied, she removed her gloves to again caress the spot. Stefano reached forward as well.
There . . . again.
“Can we leave, Bastiano?” Her voice quivered. She quickly gazed around, then removed the mask that had covered the top half of her face.
Stefano gasped. She was the splitting image of Anastasia. Tears immediately filled his eyes. He placed his arms around her. She swatted.
“Are you ill?” Bastiano asked. As Stefano’s spirit cuddled from her side, this man bypassed the invisible stranger. In the land of the living, Bastiano was oblivious to timeless occurrences. “Speak to me, Anastasia.”
Anastasia?
Stefano could not believe what he heard and saw . . . his true love. He did not know how to accept hearing her name, knowing that after searching, she was finally in his presence again. But as the man continued speaking and reassuring his Anastasia, offering his support for her ailment, Stefano’s emotions turned dark.
My Anastasia promised eternal love . . .
He couldn’t determine how, but finally Anastasia was alive. She was breathing, moving amongst the living. He was dead, trapped in an in-between world. This was perhaps an eternal punishment for his sins, although the punishment only allowed him to grow darker.
As Stefano continued to cuddle Anastasia, Bastiano did the same, the unknown element refusing to retreat. And so, Anastasia grew wearier. She shivered and weakened with each passing moment.
Bastiano started to direct her away. Stefano had no choice but to unhand her. The couple maneuvered through the crowds, pausing from time to time only momentarily. Everyone was jolly, celebrating the season, unaware of the heartbreak.
“Come back to me, Anastasia!” Stefano shouted behind them. It was more difficult for him to follow, as tears quickly blocked his sight. The patrons piled on, filling the streets and killing any hope of reaching her. His abilities could have transported him nearer to them, but today was different. He was thrown into remembering a mortal existence. He’d forgotten what it felt like to care, to love and even to breathe. Seeing Anastasia, however, after a lifetime of emptiness, Stefano’s emotions flowed again. Tears plummeted down his face, and although life had not existed for far too long, he could almost feel a heartbeat. Moreover, there was a paining, much similar to the time when he had first lost his soul mate, Anastasia.
He still pursued on, although it would be in vain. And as he became unsettled in this fruitless pursuit, the crowds exasperated him. They were everywhere, all at once. Everyone was a bother. Their colors were distractions. Their very presence was speedily causing him to become unsettled. Frustration rode him as death now kept him from mortality. Circumstances . . . anger . . . flesh . . . blood.
His head swayed. Refusing to give up the pursuit, he pressed on. The many variations of carnival, the brightest of colors and deepest of darkness stifled. And just when even the slightest of hope had completely disappeared from sight, Stefano cursed into the air.
“Blast it!”
*****
Annabelle Soranzo could see heartache when heartache was the furthest thing from her mind. The entire family knew this. Her parents were not at all pleased that she had been born with a veil. It allowed her to communicate with some of the darkest spirits imaginable. The more she rejected this “gift”, the stronger her ties with the spirit world. She thought that in fleeing the beauty and comfort of Venezia, she would somehow be free of what she believed to be a curse. Annabelle had temporarily found peace in some of the South American countries, amongst the Amazon’s inhabitants. She’d even found solace in the deepest regions on the African continent.
Then family called on her. Annabelle’s cousin Anastasia, who was two years younger, had found a way to potentially break the curse.
“I never wanted this. People say I’m clairvoyant. It sounds good, no? Do you understand what it means for me?” Annabelle had shouted at Anastasia. “Twenty eight years of this nightmare. More than fifty countries. I even speak several languages fluently.”
“That all makes you special . . . at least to me.” Anastasia knew how the family felt. They called on Annabelle for those touchy subjects, yet in all actuality, they were nervous in her presence. Outsiders, on the other hand, worshiped all that her elder cousin was capable of. “I asked you to return home, in hopes of ridding you of this burden.”
“Anything that has worked has been a temporary fix. I need this lifted entirely.” Her cinnamon-shaded irises glassed over.
“Like you, Belle, I’ve been part of this torture. Our distant cousin, from who knows when, has been plaguing my dreams. I have somehow taken on her life at night. Since I turned nineteen, I’ve dreamt about being drowned by some kind of madman. In the dream, I was never able to completely die. My soul remained in my body, only to experience what this hateful man was doing.”
“Ana, why haven’t you told me of this before now?”
“I didn’t want them to send me away.” Anastasia lowered her head and tossed it from one side to the other. Several strands of golden spirals rocked about her face. “It wasn’t until Bastiano woke me one night as I pled with my torturer. My husband was beside himself. He wanted to know who this Stefano was. I’d been begging Stefano for mercy.” At the memory of the scene, her body quaked. Annabelle, who had been seated on a cream chaise, rushed over to rest at the edge of the love seat next to her mother’s youngest niece.
“What made you reach out to me now?” Annabelle asked, capturing her younger cousin’s palms.
“I’m sorry Belle . . .” she mouthed through pursed pink lips.
“For what, Ana?”
“I could relate to your condition. I saw what you saw.”
Annabelle immediately released Anastasia’s hands, feeling the sting of deception.
“And yet you allowed me to face it alone? Those who embraced me did so of their own selfish desires. Those who rejected me . . . out of disdain.”
“I didn’t want to be shunned.”
“So you joined the others in shunning me?”
“I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“I’m sure you are, Anastasia.”
Neither moved from this less than comfortable seat and position. The enlightened one turned to gaze over the balcony, trying desperately not to present a defeated façade. While the desperate one freely sobbed in shame.
*****
Stefano’s emotions were conflicted. He found solace in hope, fury in pain, and emptiness in rejection. He was taken back to that first awakening, when the annual torture thrust him out of the dark world. Anastasia was ever present: a reminder of how he’d lived and how he’d died.
His gaze passed around the open streets. The pavements were filled with celebrations. Everyone sated, thrilled, sloshed and happily unaware of Stefano’s devastation. His eyes roamed from one to another, and another still. Unsure of what he was looking for, he finally settled on a couple. The woman wore one of the brightest of gowns, trimmed with silver outlines. Her reins had been pulled, so much so, that her waistline equated to a mere plank. From his angle, a mere five footsteps away, the woman’s chin bore through the lower part of her white mask. The object was meant to shade her entirely, but the protrusion of her chin couldn’t be easily covered. Moreover, she appeared to be in constant communication with her companion. He was covered in similar manner—white and silver. The major difference was his silver mask fully covering his face.
Their happiness was apparent as Stefano now stood directly in their presence. The man gently careened his fingers along her, and even fluffed at her gown. He treasured, perhaps even worshiped her.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
Stefano cringed to hear the man’s profession.
The response she offered was a mere giggle. Stefano’s pores steamed. The sounds from behind her mask infuriated him. To him, there was little sincerity in exchange for this doting man. Stefano could almost envision himself similarly.
“Come with me,” the man encouraged his woman.
“Where to?” she asked, raising gloved hands to pat her chest.
She’s teasing you! Stefano shouted.
No one heard and no one cared to hear. After all, he didn’t exist to any of them.
“Up the path,” the man pleaded, capturing her finger. He paused momentarily, allowing his hand to rest against her slight peaks.
She contemplated, standing there as if it were the biggest decision she’d make in life.
“Come with me,” the stranger encouraged.
You will only get hurt by this woman, Stefano warned. He marched amongst them, pacing in circles, not stopping
until the woman nodded.
They moved from their spot just off the Grand Canal, up and around a dark, silent passageway. The lights were dimming the further they drew away from the docks. The woman gazed back. Stefano mournfully followed. The man prompted his lover.
“We can have privacy,” the man’s voice dipped. There was a wavy shyness to his tone and words.
When they arrived at the edge of the waters, he pulled the reins on a lone gondola.
“Would you like to go out on the water?”
“In these clothes?” the female responded, giggling as before.
“We could always take them off.”
“I could never,” she offered.
Releasing the vessel, he approached her. His legs pressed inward. There was very little leverage, as her gown simply wouldn’t accommodate.
Stefano observed, impatiently pacing. He would pause from time to time, looking from the man to his woman.
The man then raised the woman’s mask, and golden brown curls cascaded about her shoulders and high-necked dress. She tossed about, drawing out deeper sounds; her behavior now marked of ecstasy. A dusting of illumination extended from a distant streetlamp. Its intrusion showed off a delicately freckled nose that was nearly as pointed as her chin. And even with those slight imperfections, Stefano became mesmerized. His anger subsided momentarily.
“I could love you forever.” Her suitor had taken off his gloves. He was now rubbing bare palms against her hair, fluffing and patting, revering and worshiping.
He moved his lips to hers, initially brushing them against hers. Their kiss deepened. In the distance, muffled melodic sounds did very little to disturb the couple as their hands trailed along heavy clothing. Her fingers rested at the nape of his sandy-brown plastered hair. His felt through the heavy silk material surrounding her breasts. They greedily exchanged moisture through panting mouths. Sensually charged moans and grunts filled their space.
