Whispering Bones

by Rita Vetere

  “Not at all, Signore Ramirez,” the woman replied. “I will make sure he gets the message.”

  “Thank you.”

  Anna led the way back downstairs and stepped out into the overcast morning, disappointed they’d not been able to learn anything more about the island.

  “It might be just my imagination,” she said to Alejandro, “but I got the impression Falcone’s assistant was holding something back. Nothing she said, just the way she avoided looking at us after I asked about the hospital.”

  “Yes, I picked up on that,” said Alejandro as they headed in the direction of the dock. “But she did say she’d check with the city for us, and maybe we can find out more from Falcone when he calls me tonight.”

  They wound their way through the pedestrians and Anna realized she was actually nervous about the prospect of returning to Poveglia. She mentally chastised herself. She had a job to do, an important one that had the potential to propel her career to new heights. Whatever qualms she had about returning to Poveglia, she’d have to find a way to get over them.

  They spotted their driver in the distance, standing next to the waiting boat, and hurried toward him.

  The dour-faced Romanian clambered in and got behind the wheel of the vessel. He looked no happier to see them than he had the previous day.

  They traveled in silence for a while until they hit open water. Anna kept thinking about the way the concierge had reacted when she’d asked about Poveglia, and how reluctant Falcone’s assistant had seemed to talk about the hospital, as if they knew something, but weren’t talking.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Anna smiled, but her voice turned serious when she said, “This morning, before I left the hotel, I asked the concierge about Poveglia, thinking he might be able to give me some information.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, as soon as I mentioned ‘Poveglia’, his whole face changed. He seemed, well, frightened.”

  Alejandro looked long and hard at her. “Anna, I know you’ve got some negative feelings about the island, and I’m not trying to discount them, but I don’t want you to worry, either. I’ll stay close by today. If you notice anything strange, anything at all, I’ll be right there.”

  Alejandro’s reassurance left her feeling less on edge and, for the next little while, the talk turned to other things. When the boat entered the inlet leading to the island landing, Anna heard the beep of her cellphone. She chuffed in annoyance after pulling the phone out of her purse. “It’s out of service again.”

  “Yes. Mine too.” Alejandro frowned. “Unless there’s any way we can get reception out here, I’m going to ask Falcone to arrange for a boat and driver to remain with us. I don’t like the idea of not being able to make a call, especially since we’ve no way to get back to the mainland in case of an emergency.”

  “Yes, not very practical.” Anna turned to the driver and called out, “Excuse me.”

  When the man looked back over his shoulder at her, Anna said, “Any possibility you could stay on the island with us today? Our phones don’t work out here, and—”

  “No. Impossible.” He faced forward again.

  Anna looked at Alejandro, whose complexion had turned beet red. She could tell he was seething at the man’s rude manner.

  Alejandro spoke to the man. “Listen here, we would arrange for payment of course—”

  The driver turned around, an angry look on his features. “No. You listen,” he said. “I don’t stay. Take it up with your boss.”

  Before Alejandro could reply, the man had pulled the boat up to the stone steps of the landing and quickly tied off. Anna could not believe it, but he actually appeared to be glaring at them as they disembarked.

  “Six-thirty. No later,” he reminded them.

  The second she and Alejandro stepped off the boat, the driver untied the vessel and gunned the engine, speeding back out in the direction from which they’d come.

  “Don’t worry,” Alejandro said to her, taking her arm, “I’ll be speaking in no uncertain terms to Falcone about this tonight. If there’s no way to get phone service out here, I’ll insist he arrange for a driver to spend the day tomorrow. A different driver. I’ve had enough of that fellow.”

  “Yes, me too,” she replied. Now that she was back on the island, her uneasiness returned, and the dark clouds now scudding overhead only seemed to echo her mood. At least she was with Alejandro, she reminded herself.

  * * * *

  An hour after their arrival, Anna stood on the north shore, on the other side of the grove of poplar trees bordering the field. Alejandro had just moved out of sight with his equipment to the west side of the island.

  She had taken great care to avoid the open field in the island’s center, walking the perimeter to get to the north shore. After what had happened yesterday, she’d no intention of going anywhere near the field again. So far, everything appeared normal, save for the same strange silence and absence of wildlife she had noticed the day before.

  No wall separated the water from land on the north shore. Anna snapped several pictures of the surrounding area to complete her photographic record. Every so often, she glanced nervously over her shoulder at the trees behind her, about twenty feet in from the shore. The phantom she’d seen lurking on the other side of the woods yesterday sprang to mind. Could she have imagined it? The heat of the previous day had been intense, and she’d been jet-lagged. It might explain why she passed out in the field and felt disoriented afterward. Perhaps her mind had played a trick on her. Besides, nothing had happened today.

  Anna finished up, intending to return to the trailer to make some notes, but lingered for another moment, wanting to examine the soil, which was moist here from the water lapping at the shore. After placing her camera on a nearby fallen log, she moved to the water’s edge and picked up some of the wet earth, rubbing it between her thumb and fingers. The white mud felt gluey, not grainy like sand, and stuck to her skin. The dry soil in the field yesterday had appeared powdery, ash-like, as Alejandro had said. Strange. The results of the samples Alejandro intended to collect today would no doubt tell them more.

  She rose from her crouched position and turned to retrieve her camera. Something crunched beneath her boot, and she bent down to see what she’d stepped on. The cracked edge of a smooth, white object protruded from the ground; a seashell, probably. She wiped away some of the moist soil from it. Not a seashell, she decided. Too large. Curious, she continued swiping at the wet earth until she’d uncovered a good portion of what was buried, something about the size and shape of half a melon. She tried yanking on it, but the object was firmly lodged in the ground and too smooth for her to get a good grip. As she continued brushing away the surrounding earth, a cavity appeared on one side and she managed to insert two fingers in the opening. She yanked hard, and the thing gave way.

  Her mouth sagged in surprise and for a second she stared at what she held in her hand. Then she dropped the skull in a hurry and scrabbled away from it, knowing in her gut it was human.

  Disgusted, she scrubbed her hands on her jeans to remove any traces of what she’d just touched. She got to her feet.

  “Alejandro!” Her heart thudded as she stared again at the skull lying on the shore. She’d had enough of this strange place. Her gaze traveled back and forth between the skull and the grove of trees behind her.

  “Alejandro!” When he did not answer her second call, Anna found her feet and hurried off to look for him, following the direction she’d seen him take earlier.

  Chapter 17

  Poveglia Island

  1927

  Isabella could feel her being shift and alter as she rested beneath the forest floor. Giant tree roots and fecund earth, well-nourished by the dead buried on the island, surrounded her. Over the past several years she had spent more and more time in her underground sanctuary, ever since they had arrived. The intruders.

  When the first wave of boats had pulled
up and the men began construction of what had turned out to be a hospital on the island—her island—Isabella’s fury had known no bounds. Enraged, she had immediately commanded the island spirits to drive the men away. She snickered, recalling the terrified faces of the workers as they’d dropped their tools and run screaming at the top of their lungs back to their boats. One look at the dead men and women who roamed the island was all it had taken.

  The game had amused her for a while, but when more and more men arrived to replace those who were driven off, the diversion had eventually grown tiresome. The hospital had been built. An asylum, as it turned out.

  Those who tended to the insane were not able to see Isabella or her subjects unless they chose to show themselves, and Isabella deemed it wise to remain hidden from them. The insane patients, however, were another matter. She and her army of dead had taken to amusing themselves with the mad in order to pass the time while she awaited her next victim, the next fulfillment of the curse. Isabella felt no pity for the unfortunate residents of the asylum. After nearly four hundred years of evolving into the demonic entity she had become and the taking of so many lives, no vestige of human emotion remained to her. She was ruled by her one focus of being, the fulfillment of the curse she had inflicted almost four centuries ago.

  Many had died over the years at her hands. Not a single one of Tomaso’s descendents had escaped her, save for the seven who had been born dead and the four who had taken their own lives before she could claim them. Isabella treasured the taking of each life, assigning every kill a special place in the dim recesses of what served as her memory, to be recalled at will. None of the deaths for which she was responsible, though, had ever satisfied her in quite the same way her killing of Tomaso had—until now, perhaps.

  The next in line was special. For one thing, she had not needed to seek him out. Instead, the man, Alberto Rossi, had come to her. He had arrived of his own volition on the island mere months ago. From the moment she’d seen him, Isabella’s appetite for blood had been whetted. For the past several months she had observed him, remaining hidden. Her next victim bore an uncanny resemblance to his ancestor, Tomaso. And, after studying him closely, Isabella knew Rossi had also inherited Tomaso’s evil nature. Although he kept it well hidden, she’d been able to discern the darkness he carried inside him. She could smell it on him.

  A surge of black desire rose in her, blotting out all else. Soon it would be time. The hour of the next fulfillment approached. And this kill, she knew, would be a most satisfying one.

  * * * *

  Venice

  1927

  Serafina snuck a sideways glance at her husband, noticing the thunderclouds that had gathered in his eyes. She took care to give him a wide berth as she cleared the dinner dishes and watched him pour another glass of wine, his fifth since sitting at the table. The meal she’d spent all afternoon preparing remained mostly untouched on his plate.

  “Can we go play now, Mamma?” her daughter Julia asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, “you and Vittorio can go to the playroom. I’ll come up before bedtime.” It would be best if the children did not witness their father’s drunkenness, his usual condition of late.

  Julia and Vittorio scampered from the room. She heard their running footsteps as they chased each other up the stairs.

  As Serafina glanced at her husband, who remained brooding at the table, regret suddenly welled up in her, an emotion she rarely allowed herself to entertain. Her marriage to Alberto at sixteen had been arranged, and one that had never been filled with much warmth. Only two good things had come out of it: her children, Julia and Vittorio. They made up for everything else that felt wrong, including the loneliness she so often experienced over the past six years following her marriage to Alberto.

  Her husband had always been a stern and authoritative man, but for the past month or so, Serafina had watched him turn into an angry, cold-hearted stranger, and a drunk. She suspected his new position as head surgeon at the asylum had proven more stressful than he’d bargained for. Even so, the profound changes she’d observed in him recently, the prolonged silences and unpredictable moods, as well as his newly acquired taste for alcohol, did not bode well. If he kept on drinking like this...

  “You spoil them.”

  His voice startled her out of her reverie. “What do you mean?”

  “The children. You’re too soft. They walk all over you.”

  Serafina opened her mouth, about to tell him that he would do well to pay more attention to Julia and Vittorio, who had seen little of their father since he started working his new job on the island, but she held her tongue. The look in his eye told her it would be better not to engage in an argument with him. She turned back to the sink to wash the dishes.

  “I’m speaking to you. Don’t turn your back—”

  “Mamma, Mamma!” Little Vittorio came running back into the kitchen, his sister close on his heels. “Julia’s being mean.”

  “No, I’m not! It’s his fault,” Julia cried.

  “Children,” Serafina called nervously to the two of them. “Stop fighting. I—”

  “Silence!”

  Alberto’s voice boomed through the kitchen. Serafina watched as her husband pushed his chair away and staggered over to where Julia and Vittorio stood. In the next second, his belt was off and wrapped around his hand.

  When she realized what he intended to do, Serafina bolted across the room, but before she could get to the children, Alberto swung the belt at Julia. A loud whap sounded as it struck her daughter’s face.

  “Alberto, stop! For the love of God, what—”

  Another whap as the next blow struck little Vittorio across the legs.

  Serafina reached her children, who had erupted into hysterical tears, and pushed them behind her. Alberto continued to lash out at them with the belt, trying to circumvent her.

  She turned to her children. “Go upstairs.” Whap. The belt caught her across the side of her head. She raised her hand to shield herself from the next blow but continued speaking. “Lock yourselves in your bedroom. Don’t open the door to anyone but me.”

  Vittorio turned and ran for the stairs, but Julia hesitated.

  “Julia, do as I say!”

  The belt struck Serafina again, and she pushed her daughter out of the room. “Go!”

  When she was certain Julia was out of harm’s way, Serafina turned to face Alberto. Her fear rose when she observed the way he shook with rage and the wild look in his eye, but unable to control her own anger, she shouted, “How dare you!”

  Her husband raised the belt again and she reached out to stop him. He blocked her with his free hand and brought the heavy leather belt down, striking her across the face with it.

  “I’ll teach you to interfere!” Another blow landed on her neck.

  She twisted out of his grip and circled the table to get out of reach. Rossi chased her, lashing out at her with the belt as he went, hitting her back, her face, her arms and legs. Serafina bolted from the room, but he caught her before she got to the stairs and dragged her by the hair back to the kitchen. Suddenly, she was on the floor, the belt rising and falling, rising and falling.

  The blows stopped. Barely conscious, she looked up through swollen eyes to see Alberto rubbing his shoulder, as if his arm had become sore from the effort of using the belt on her. A second later, he dropped the belt and walked away, entering his study and slamming the door shut behind him.

  Serafina stumbled to her feet and worked her way to the cupboard. From the drawer, she grabbed the large deboning knife, carrying it with her to the staircase. Blood ran down the front of her dress from her nose and mouth. She touched her swollen face and winced. Although she couldn’t bear the thought of her children seeing the condition she must be in, she was also terrified the madman who had once been her husband would try to harm them again. Once upstairs, Serafina called through the locked bedroom door and Julia opened it. Her daughter stopped snuffling and burst into frig
htened tears when she saw her.

  “Shhh, it’s all right.” She put the knife on a nearby dresser and pulled her daughter close after locking the heavy door behind them. Vittorio sat on the bed hugging his knees, his eyes wide with fear.

  “You’re bleeding, Mamma,” Julia said.

  “I’m all right. Listen to me.” She crouched to get at eye level with her daughter. The raised red welt across Julia’s cheek caused her anger to surge again, but she kept her voice level as she said, “For tonight, we will stay together here, with the door locked. After your father is gone tomorrow morning, we will leave, and we will not be returning.”

  Julia nodded in understanding and Serafina brushed the child’s tears away. She called Vittorio to her and the three of them huddled together, comforting each other. Then Serafina put her children to bed. After they were tucked in and no longer crying, she retrieved the knife from the dresser and dragged a chair next to the door. Serafina sat, holding the large knife in her lap. She intended to stand guard all night, until Alberto left in the morning. And if he tried to enter the room to hurt them again, she would find a way to stop him.

  * * * *

  The front door slammed shut and Serafina woke with a start. Something was wrong with her eyes. She couldn’t seem to open them more than a sliver and her head throbbed mightily. The memory of what had happened the previous night flooded in, and she jumped from the chair where she’d fallen asleep during the night. Daylight had broken. She moved to the window, pulling the curtain back a fraction, to see Alberto walking down the street in the direction of the docks. In his hand, he carried a large valise.

  Thank God! She would gather what she could, and while her husband was on the island, she would take the children and leave.

  Julia and Vittorio still slept and she left them for the time being to get their things together. As she passed the mirror on the bedroom wall, Serafina caught her reflection and stopped in her tracks. The face staring back at her was a pulpy mess of swollen eyes and unrecognizable features. One side of her face had begun to turn purple and dried blood encrusted her nose and mouth. She swallowed hard, telling herself she would get to a doctor once she and her children were safely out of the house. Where they would go, only God knew, but she would not risk their lives by staying under the same roof as Alberto for another minute.