Violent Daylight

by Caroline Angus Baker

  “Excellent. The methadone I gave you…”

  “I have not been taking methadone or morphine for months.”

  “Excellent news.”

  “Is it? You wouldn’t make money if your patients weren’t wealthy addicts.”

  “I always could rely on professional sportsmen and their need for drugs.”

  “You’re simply supplying a market.”

  “And what a huge, lucrative market it is.”

  “I need shot of morphine.”

  “Why? Does it have anything to do with your limp?”

  “No, ignore that. Why do I need morphine? It’s none of your God-damn business.”

  “For what type of pain?”

  Canna closed her eyes and saw Claudio on the path outside the house, blood trickling from his nose. “The pain of owning a vacant heart.”

  “A poetic addict.”

  “Just give me a shot in the arm.”

  “Then that?”

  Canna screwed up her face. “What?”

  “If I give you a shot of morphine, you will be incapacitated. You can’t stay here.”

  “I have no intention of staying. Can’t you give me just enough that I can drive for a short journey?”

  “Intravenous morphine is strong, Catherine. It’s for patients who are in unbearable pain.”

  “I’m in unbearable pain.”

  “How is your bipolar condition?”

  “Look, I already have a therapist.”

  “Does he know you are trying score drugs?”

  “I don’t pay him to follow me around.”

  “I can’t just let you shoot up in my office. You could die. I don’t know about the current state of your kidney or liver function. I haven’t checked your blood pressure. I don’t know the efficiency of your intestines, or whether your heart has become enlarged from morphine usage.”

  “You didn’t care when you gave me methadone.”

  “Will methadone be enough his time?”

  “No, I want morphine.”

  “Will you be alone while you’re high?”

  “Why?”

  “In case you overdose and die.”

  “If I overdose and die, no one will give a fuck. Don’t pretend to have a conscience; you have drugs that get smuggled in with Romanian prostitutes. What does it matter about me?”

  “What if I refuse you?”

  “I will cause you a world of pain. Imagine being my enemy.”

  Salvatore Capelli sighed. “I could give you oral morphine.”

  “Those pills built a tolerance in my system.”

  “I have a liquid dose. You could have 100 milligrams, but don’t take it all at once! If you drink it, the effect will be as quick as an injection, so only take twenty milligrams at a time. But you would need to be lying down when you drink it, just in case of injury.”

  “I will drink it back at the hotel.”

  “It’s a strong dose, I can assure you. You won’t be able to drive. Do you have someone… a bodyguard, a lover, who could monitor you?”

  “I will take care of that, you just get the medication.”

  Canna watched Salvatore disappear into a side room where his medicine cabinet had been placed. She could swallow the morphine and then have the courage to call Claudio. The descent into madness had begun.

  CHAPTER 34

  LONDON

  Disorientation took over. Time became lost. Moments seemed to come to Claudio like short sharp flashes of white light. He didn’t remember going inside the house, but he did remember lying on the bed, crying to himself. He didn’t remember going into the bathroom, but he did remember finding the bloody razorblade. Claudio also couldn’t remember his parents returning, but he did remember his mother asking why he had blood on his chin. An answer may have fallen from his lips, but Claudio didn’t remember the lie he told.

  Canna Medici was a murderer. Yuri died in his own home, hit over the head. Claudio had stood with Interpol and defended Canna, been her alibi. In his bravado, Claudio had said that Yuri deserved it and that he didn’t care about his death. Now he knew Canna dealt the death blow. He didn’t feel brave anymore.

  The lies! So many lies! While Claudio had sung on stage, Canna had murdered a man. She had stood with them all night, knowing that a dead body lay in secret, and said nothing. Canna faked shock when the news of Yuri’s death reached them. She lied to the entire Virtuosi group about the situation. Every moment that he and Canna had been together, she had kept that secret. Now everything was a lie. Not just that, as he revelled in the joy of his son’s birth, Canna had continued to lie and betray him. Canna’s love affair with blades and pills carried on, without any respect for their real relationship. Lie, lie, lie.

  A self-preservation instinct kicked in; Claudio continued to function, but he was in hell. He found himself back at the hospital, though the drive seemed a blur. There was Veena, with baby Casamiro, ready to be driven home. Claudio had fitted the car seat into the Mercedes the day before, and good thing too; he wouldn’t have figured out the stupid thing in his state. Fortunately, the baby had a healing effect.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Veena asked.

  “Huh?” Claudio glanced up from the baby in his arms.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Drunk? I’ve come to drive you home, why would I be drunk?”

  “You seem confused.”

  Claudio looked back at the baby. He could swear Casamiro’s dark brown eyes stared straight into his as if to question his very being. “I may not have had surgery in the last few days, but I’ve had a lot to deal with, just like you.”

  “I gave birth and got dumped,” Veena replied. “My life has changed forever.”

  “Trust me; I know how you feel.”

  Veena frowned. “Where is Canna? Has she run out on you, like Michael ran out on me?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Not quite?”

  “Canna went home to Milan today.”

  “Wow, I thought you were the ‘perfect couple’. You left me while pregnant, to be with Canna. Was it just a fling after all?”

  “You were in love with Michael. Don’t pretend to be innocent.”

  “I was in love with Michael when I got pregnant to you. I would have given up Michael to stay with you, for the baby. You weren’t prepared to give up Canna.”

  Canna is prepared to give up on me. “I…” Claudio paused and took a deep breath. His chest ached, and his will to fight had died. He didn’t need to cry in front of Veena. “I don’t want to fight about Canna. We do that every time we speak. Please, give me a break from the hate. I’m here to drive you and Casamiro home. Hell, we don’t even have to talk.”

  “Can I ask one more question?”

  “No.”

  “Did Canna punch you in the mouth?”

  Claudio bit his split lip. His whole chin had swollen. “No.”

  A nurse appeared full of smiles. “Gosh, what a lovely family,” she said in her posh English accent. “You must be excited to go home.”

  “I am,” Veena said. “I need to sleep in my own bed.”

  “Are you sure Veena is ready to be discharged?” Claudio asked. “She just had surgery.”

  “Patients recover quite well at home.”

  “I will have a nanny to help, and my family,” Veena said. “I want to go home.”

  “Call us any time,” the nurse said, and held the door open for the family. “It seems your husband is going to be a very hands-on father.”

  Claudio looked at the baby in his arms. If the baby didn’t exist, Canna wouldn’t be using again. If Canna hadn’t been using, this whole situation would seem like a joyous occasion. He refused to blame Casamiro for anything. Canna needed to take all the blame for this wretched day.

  The drive was a welcome distraction. They sat in traffic, Claudio at the wheel, Veena and Casamiro in the back together. Rain poured over the car; the banging of heavy drops made him feel trapped. Claudio liked it; the world n
eeded to stay away for a while.

  “Do you think you’ll forgive him?” Claudio asked at random.

  “You mean Michael?” Veena asked over the seat.

  “Sí.”

  “I don’t think he wants forgiveness. Michael told me that he couldn’t handle me having your baby after all. Michael wants out of this arrangement.”

  “He’ll change his mind. If he loves you, he will.”

  “I don’t think I can forgive him. Suddenly, I’m so cold toward him. It happened in an instant.”

  Claudio nodded, and didn’t speak as he inched the car forward to another red light.

  “What’s wrong, Chachi?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know something is wrong.”

  “I have no idea what’s going on right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Years of mistakes led up to this moment. They’re all my mistakes. We shouldn’t have had a child together. But it happened… and I wouldn’t take it back.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I can raise this baby alone. Everything I have ever done seems pointless compared to having this baby. If I have to be single to do it, so be it. Being single might do me good.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Veena. I promised that.”

  “But we’re not together.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Do you think we could have been happy together?”

  Claudio looked at Veena in the rear-view mirror. “I wasn’t happy. I’m sorry. If we were happy, then we wouldn’t have taken lovers outside our marriage.”

  “I know.”

  Claudio heard Veena sniff. She had begun to cry. “Veena, I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. I’m hormonal, just ignore me.”

  “I’m not going to ignore you.” He felt Veena’s hand on his shoulder as he turned the car onto her street. Inside, their families would be excited to see them home, and tears sprung to his eyes again. He felt so alone.

  Claudio stopped the car, and looked up at the place that used to be his home. Veena’s mother, Ana, stood at the front window. “Do you need me, or should I just go home?”

  “Your parents are here, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but I don’t feel in the mood.”

  “I need you.”

  Claudio turned in his seat and looked at Veena. Her blonde hair seemed limp and oily, her skin very pale. Under Veena’s eyes, heavy bags weighed down her face. Veena had plenty of healing to do. “I’ll help you.”

  More moments came and went like blinding flashes of light in an otherwise dark world. Claudio felt trapped under a murky weight that wouldn’t dissipate. The sleeping child got handed from relative to relative, but Claudio didn’t notice. He sat in an armchair on the side-lines and thought of Canna. I did it. I killed Yuri. What happened? Had she been scared? Had Yuri done something vile to provoke her or was it pre-meditated? Canna had the guts to kill someone. Claudio had murder on his mind when it should have been his son. He hated Canna for that alone. She was right, love could turn straight to hate.

  What the hell was going on in Italy? Canna would be in danger, not just from the vicious Caraceni dynasty, but from herself. Canna could kill herself with her demonic behaviour. Claudio understood one thing for certain – he had no desire to go after Canna.

  ~~~

  Pain and grief exhausted anyone, and Claudio felt the need to sleep. Morning only brought him more pain. He opened his eyes and realised the broken world hadn’t died in the darkness. His veins throbbed with each breath, as if he hadn’t nodded off at all. His head pounded, his throat was dry, his eyes sore. Like a hangover with no lively night out. Canna was still a murderer, and it weighed on Claudio’s conscience. Her tearful face as she drove away – for a moment Claudio swore he could see remorse. Canna wanted to be good; she just couldn’t achieve it. Maybe their happy relationship was a fantasy, and Canna killed Yuri Dementyev in cold blood. If she didn’t kill Giorgio Savelli, maybe she had someone do it on her behalf while she faked happy smiles in London. The world no longer made any sense.

  Claudio got up and sighed. At his feet was his leather jacket. He scooped it up to fetch his phone from the inside pocket, and paused. Against the fabric, he could smell two things, Canna’s perfume and the delicious newborn baby smell from holding Casamiro. It seemed like enough to break his heart again. He turned on his phone; the brightness of the screen burned his eyes. One message. Blinky. Received 03:46.

  “Oh, Chachi…” Canna began with a sigh. A long pause followed. “I’m lost… I thought you were here with me, but you’re not. I don’t even know where I am now. Where are you?” Another long pause. Claudio heard the sound of a glass fall onto a hard surface, but not break. “Shit,” Canna hissed down the phone. “Sorry,” she pleaded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t break the glass.”

  Claudio frowned. Canna was drunk. Or worse. He listened to her breathe into the phone a few times.

  “I’m sorry, my darling. I’m lost again. You love me conditionally, so I don’t think you love me anymore, because I can’t follow your rules. I love you unconditionally, but you can’t give me that back. You have too many rules.”

  Being sober and drug-free wasn’t an impossible task, except for Canna. Claudio felt a pain in his chest he listened to Canna sob down the line. The line he hadn’t answered when she called.

  “It’s so noisy here. I can hear your voice. I saw you. You and Dane were in the pool. Giuseppe was coming, but I don’t think he saw you. Marino will tell you where to hide from Giuseppe. Giorgio can distract him, I think. Giuseppe loves Giorgio. Please don’t let Yuri into the room. Giuseppe is allowed to hurt me, but Yuri isn’t.”

  Claudio shook his head as he listened to Canna rant. She seemed convinced by her words, but clearly she had a hallucination at some stage. All her ghosts were speaking.

  “I have a dead heart, Claudio,” Canna sobbed. “I live only in the night. The daylight… it’s too violent for me. You have to leave me here. We are all going to die in the daylight. I have to go back into the night. Night doesn’t want to forget anymore.”

  Claudio sighed; Canna was high again. Night wanted to fight once, but not anymore. Canna was alone somewhere in the night, high and confused. She had no idea how she continuously broke his heart, or if she did know, she didn’t care.

  “They are coming for me, Claudio,” she whispered. “I can hear so many voices. I’m going to die soon. You need to forget about me. You need to call the accountant. He can help you.”

  Okay, that made no sense at all.

  “I have to disappear now, before the voices find me,” Canna whispered. “I love you, but I can’t poison you. You have to leave me alone. I am a murderer. I deserve to suffer, but you don’t. Please, run far away from me.”

  Just like that the love of his life had gone. Claudio looked at the screen for a moment; the photo was of his newborn baby, in Canna’s arms. He had taken the photo, and she hadn’t noticed. With an angry growl, Claudio threw the phone across the room, and it smashed against his heavy wooden dresser. Claudio pounded his fists on the bed and fell back onto the pillow. Canna Medici could go to hell.

  CHAPTER 35

  MILAN

  Blood; a familiar taste. Canna lay face down on the floor long enough for her teeth to cut into her lip. Despite the plush antique rug, the floor seemed hard and cold. Her frail body slumped in a heap, paralysed as her mind weighed her down, like a balloon tied to a rock. Canna had thrown up in the bed some time ago, and rolled off the edge to escape her own mess. It had been a while since she had consumed all the morphine. Now she had lost all capacity to function. Several days must have passed, and now the desire to wipe the foam from her mouth had even dissipated. Canna didn’t care.

  Claudio had been walking by, but now he had disappeared. Dane and Marino had been laughing in the next room, but she wouldn’t respond. Giuseppe had kicked her twice, and Giorgio and Yuri had found it hilarious. Was any of that real? Moments of lucidity told her no, but i
t felt real. The pain felt real. The humiliation felt real. Painful nights and violent daylight came and went, but Canna remained on the floor of her hotel room. Movement seemed impossible. Too much agony. Too much reality.

  A wave of movement poured over her body. Canna rolled over; her bones ached when they moved from their now-familiar position. She fell onto her back and opened her eyes. Canna’s stomach churned, her mind churned, and her eyes burned with dryness. Her throat let out a cough. She wasn’t alone anymore.

  Giancarlo leaned over her, his eyes searching her own for life. Canna watched him pull a cloth from his jacket pocket and wipe her mouth. “Catherine,” he said. “Let me know if you can hear me.”

  Canna lifted one hand and pointed back at him.

  “Bene,” he muttered to himself. “Non preoccuparti, amico mio.”

  Canna almost raised a smile. Don’t worry? She didn’t have the capacity to worry. She watched Giancarlo glance over his shoulder. There was another man in the room. Fear stabbed into the pit of her stomach. Canna’s mind shot to what she wore – she couldn’t be sure. A hand to her chest reminded Canna of the blouse that covered up her body. She recognised the tightness of her trousers. Thank God.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine,” Giancarlo said. Canna could see tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t save you this time.”

  Canna’s gaze defined the other figure; Silvio. He looked afraid. “Catherine?”

  “What?” she whispered. Her voice wouldn’t awaken.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why is everyone sorry?” Pain struck Canna’s chest. “What happened?”

  Silvio stood to one side as Giancarlo helped Canna to sit. Her voice found its power when she moved; the pain in her body forced a desperate sound from her throat.

  “I’ve done all I could,” Silvio said as Canna looked up at him. “But I’m afraid I can’t control the police, not without Giuseppe’s help.”

  “What’s going on?” Canna coughed a few times and her throat burned like the fires of hell.

  “The police are on their way up,” Giancarlo said. “They are going to arrest you.”