The legacy

by Quelli di ZEd

  That woman was Simone.

  His face was the same one that was still firmly ingrained in the memory, although he was aware of how the contours within a few days they would begin to blur and lose consistency, as happened after the death of his father. The only difference from Simona who had loved that damn green glow emanating like a macabre lamp and that's floating like a reflection on the water surface, ready to disappear at the first ripple of a wave.

  And the other women had seemed familiar because all remembered in some way and also Cristina Simona, who had taken much from his mother. A couple had the same nose, another was even an almost perfect copy of his beloved wife, and others, sharing in the shape of the face and mouth. Roberto knew it had to be distant relatives of his wife, great grandmothers and various ancestors. This brought him again to the possibility that she was dreaming, despite the concreteness of the images that came to his brain left deep doubts.

  Simona! cried, feeling the blade of the longing soul pugnalargli under a thick layer of terror that had cloaked. Then he realized he'd just thought the name, his mouth was paralyzed as the rest of the body except the head, moving autonomously move from one end of the bed surrounded.

  Simon seemed to feel it anyway. His expression, hitherto undecipherable, as a neutral sheet of uncut paper, took on a tinge of melancholy, with a bright green eyebrows drooped at the ends and thin lips slightly parted, as if about to say something and had stopped at the last minute. It was a face longer true , his own, more human than all the others, who continued to stare sternly Roberto, as evil spirits ready to take him to hell.

  Love, what happens? What do you want? asked again, now sure of being able to communicate telepathically with her.

  The sadness on the faces of Simon became more pronounced and the mouth was again about to move and respond, but Robert felt a quick movement of his eyes to the other figures, which seemed to force her to stay. The impression he gave was that of a prisoner who wanted to ask for help but was aware of how, in this case, his jailers would be punished and tortured. That thought caused to Bob a sense of anger and helplessness, which were joined by the horror and disbelief for what he was witnessing.

  Her face moved again, without his wish - he would never look away from Simon, though what he had before his eyes was not just an eerie stump of the person with whom he had spent twenty years of his life - and moved on other figures. The severity was transformed into something more akin to hatred, and Roberto feared for himself, as a rational part of his mind he wished to awaken from the nightmare terrifying and very realistic.

  Then they talked. All, at once, like a macabre chorus in perfect sync. His lips moved but uttered no sound: the bedroom remained shrouded in deep silence, not a buzz, not the slightest noise from downstairs by the chambers of the boys, just that annoying green and ghastly figures to populate it. Repeating a single word, like an army marching in an orderly and without rest.

  Kill them!

  Even Simon was involved in quell'angosciante ritual. Roberto wished with all his heart to die, that you can leave in any way from that room and flee, to run until fatigue had erased the memory from that terrible experience, or had killed. He felt crushed, raped by those shapes and their incomprehensible command, repeated like a mantra, silently yet echoing in his head like fireworks fired at close range.

  Kill them!

  Who? cried in desperation, turned to Simon, even though at that moment his eyes had turned to a woman who had at least twice the age of his ex-wife. Kill who?

  But as late responding to his plea, the green light began to lose intensity and the figures became less visible until it was lost again in darkness. They did not stop to repeat their command even while faded and Roberto continued to hear him for a few seconds, a prey to utter despair, until everything went black even in his mind, and sank back into sleep from which he had been brutally torn.

  ***

  The next morning, Robert awoke in a bad mood, as on the rare occasions when she quarreled with Simon and he could not get over it, because he loved to distraction and was not conceivable that they argued and strillassero against each other. Then, feeling the bed and finding it empty, he returned to the truth that for a long time his mind had struggled to accept. At the same time, the memory of the frightening nightmare of that night came back as a justification for the state of mind where he was.

  He was sure he had dreamed, seeing the light of day come from small cracks in the shutters and the singing of birds that Friday morning that he could for once over noise of the few cars on the road. One dream, one of those bastards, where you thought you were dreaming and you answered that it was not so, because otherwise you would have even thought, and so on. Not only that, but he was sure he had already done the same nightmare at least one of the previous nights, because some of the images were spontaneously before my eyes as deja-vu .

  Still felt the chills to think back on those figures around his bed, like the ghosts of A Christmas Carol Dickens, only far more terrifying and with less noble intentions, staring at him with hatred while he was immobilized, helpless. He hoped with all his dreams of Simon, but his troubled state of mind for the great loss had turned into a disturbing presence, was already a well, however, that the magazine had her face torn by the accident .

  In any case, should not give importance to what he had experienced. Often his mother, especially in the years after the death of her husband, had repeated that dreams were the place of contact between the living and dead, who, though with great pain, sometimes unable to make contact with loved ones. But Robert had never been entirely convinced of this supposition, although Simon had found charming and romantic, and would not make exceptions even now. Also because Simon would never hurt a fly, so as to justify his call to kill someone?

  Kill them! Who could they be the ones they then? They had never quarreled with anyone, had known and loved in the country. Much more logical to think that the inability to conceive of a fatal accident Robert had resulted in the identification of possible "culprits" that Simon and the other figures had ordered him to delete. But then how to justify the expressions of the women, who ...

  Enough! prevailed Roberto, getting out of bed and heading toward the bathroom. No sense letting go those conjectures, any more than he had to ask why the protagonist of an action movie is not done a scratch while falling from the third floor. He had a difficult day before, the first real day "normal" without Simon. It had to be strong for himself, for Cristina and Matthew.

  ***

  Cristina was stirred under pressure, as if preparing a joint or a strip of cocaine in her kitchen. He was at home, yes, but in the study upstairs and at the computer. However, she continued to keep an eye on the stairs and listen carefully to find a sound that warned of the arrival of his father. He held his pointer fixed on the X to close the Internet browser window, moving quickly only to move from page to page, and index finger of his right hand and leaning hard to the left mouse button, ready to click in case of emergency. He remembered a boy intent on visiting porn sites and fearful of being discovered.

  On the monitor in front of her was the list of search results with Google. He had written "pregnancy symptoms". Menstruation had not yet arrived, and although he had a logical explanation, would remove any doubt. He could not wait another month with the fear of being pregnant. She was sure that if they had had an ongoing pregnancy, early signs have already been identified, so he wanted to get an idea of ​​what were the main anomalies to be monitored.

  He had already read dozens of pages forums or sites more or less specialized and had become an idea. The main symptoms of pregnancy were nausea and vomiting, fatigue, irritability, swelling of the breast and lower abdomen. They were good news, because when Cristina had not even one, if not a profound fatigue, which was, however, due to the terrible days that had elapsed, and a slight but persistent stomach ache. The latter was a constant even when the cycle was presented to him regularly and a site confirmed, adding that even a slig
ht breast enlargement was due to normal your period and often the symptoms of these correspond to those stages of pregnancy to initials.

  He found dozens of stories of girls in the same situation. Some were pushed even further, showing very careful to have sex safe and risk free, and still had no problems and everything was arranged after a delay a little 'more prolonged than usual. In conclusion, the present state could be considered quiet. Yet un'antipatica voice from a dark area of ​​her mind told her she could not be absolutely certain and that, conversely, was not unfounded possibility that it was really pregnant, as if this was a cruel twist of fate that wanted to increase his sense of guilt towards his mother.

  She closed the window, turned off the computer and the Internet. The feeling of doing something wrong behind his father was not, but was quickly replaced by anxiety. He decided that he should pull themselves together and buy a pregnancy test. In Parma, perhaps, in a break between classes the other. There did not know anyone and would have been easier. He asked for help from Daniel, if necessary, but could not resist well with that worm in the head.

  ***

  Roberto sat at the table in the living room. The atmosphere was pervaded by the scent of flowers: calla lilies, chrysanthemums and roses, arranged in four elegant bouquets, what remained of the many manifestations of affection of friends attended a final farewell to Simon. The remaining baskets were part of the cemetery and the church, as landmarks to define the sad path leading from life to death.

  Matthias was playing on the computer. He had not gone to school and had spent the morning watching TV, but Roberto gliel'aveva granted, just as was enabling him to sit in front of the PC monitor. Cristina came out recently, saying he was going for a walk. Probably had a date with Daniel, Roberto suggested, and was glad she could count on the moral of that boy, because he was not feeling very strong, despite so far if it fared better than he thought.

  Not to stand still and not be invaded by the memories and pain, had recovered from the kitchen table the various envelopes with the offers he had received the day before. He sent personal thanks to the families who had been kind enough to donate money - that would be donated to some association - and those who had made a participant in a telegram, but individually reach all the people who had attended the funeral would be impossible. Already the day after the funeral agency would seek to expose the posters of thanksgiving, in which it stressed the emotion that had resulted in the largest turnout of family Simona.

  Roberto casually opened the first envelope, registering at a glance the names that were written motions and feeling of gratitude that they tried to force their way in the storm of despair and longing that tore his heart. When he finished, one quarter of an hour later, he had counted nearly three hundred euros and had written down the names on a sheet to write to to express their gratitude. He was just about to retrieve the tickets from the cabinet near the table, when a memory hit him like a flash of a camera.

  Without thinking, he put his hand to his back pocket. The envelope of the wacky friend Simon was still there, where he had placed the day before. He hoped that Erika - that was his name? - Had given an address, because otherwise they would know how to track it down. She took the envelope and examined it, finding it completely white. The particular stranger, however, was another: inside there were no coins or banknotes but only one sheet folded in on itself. Roberto took it, just curious.

  It was a handwritten letter, in a neat handwriting and undoubtedly feminine, rounded letters and very fine line. Without a reason, read the first signature, confirming that the girl named Erika. Under the name he had given a telephone number with the prefix of the province of Parma, an element in accordance with his story about the close friendship with Simon, who was originally from Parma.

  But why state the number? Roberto began to read, with a strong suspicion that was taking shape.

   

  Dear Roberto,

  I would not give her the "you", despite Simona I have talked so much about her, in recent years, which I consider as a friend. He loved to madness, and he was fully reciprocated. He was happy. I can not believe that now is gone forever and I can only begin to imagine what she is trying. For this I want to preface that I write with difficulty, but I sure have to do it out of respect to the memory of Simon. I hope you can understand.

  Simona and I spent together many years of our lives, when we went to school in Parma. We have lived together many experiences, but one in particular has marked our relationship forever, making it solid and indestructible as a bond of blood. Of this I should and I would talk to her, because I know for a fact that Simon has never done, but now I realize that might be important. Not sure why, not yet, but it is a strong feeling. Excuse me if I get lost, but will understand if and when we can talk in person, calmly.

  I tried to call her a few days ago, but I was so out of desperation and fear that I expressed badly. I must have given the impression of a mentally ill and do not blame me for the phone slammed in my face. I decided to write to expose them more calmly and clearly the question.

  Simona was afraid that something would happen. I did not said openly, but I did understand. It was some time since we've heard and suddenly called me and took to do it regularly, every two or three days. He said he wanted to talk, to chat. At first it seemed to me that it was only that, but last week, Saturday morning, I explained that he wanted to blow off steam, because there was something that bothered her about your daughter Cristina. I did not understand, was very vague.

  Then he told me that he feared for a new understanding of Cristina, a guy goes out with a boyfriend who had passed the day before at home and that had upset Simon. Now I prefer not to write the exact words she said to me on the phone, so that just in the moment, have destabilized me. If you grant me the favor to meet me, in memory of Simon, I'll try to explain them.

  For now, the only advance that one of the biggest concerns was the possibility that Christine became pregnant with this guy. I do not know if your daughter had confided in Simon or what, this is what she told me that day on the phone.

  However, Simon was afraid. I felt from his voice on the phone, the confusion in his speeches, the tension was palpable, as if afraid of being intercepted. I'm not saying that he was aware of experiencing a fate as cruel as that which took her away, but it was quiet. The last time I called on Monday afternoon, just one day before the tragedy, I announced that it has made a drastic decision and wanting to talk to Cristina and greeted me by saying "I hope soon to resent, that everything is fine" . The next day, unfortunately, we know what has happened.

  My fear initially was that there was something or someone behind the death of his wife. But this would mean that, somehow, they were involved in your own Cristina and her boyfriend, which I refused and I refuse to believe even now. My idea is that Simon was in a mental state of deep confusion and fear and all these thoughts have cost a moment of fatal distraction while driving. Yet when I recall the phone calls I made, a part of me is convinced that there is something more. Maybe together we can find some answers.

  For now, please do not say anything to Christine, much less to her boyfriend, who has always already known. I hope that my words have convinced of my sincerity and good faith. Simon was a very important person for me. I await your response, his call, to talk together.

   

  Greetings and sincere condolences

  Erika

   

  Roberto folded the paper in anger, barely restraining himself from tearing. I tried to call her a few days ago . He remembered it well, that phone call, well enough to feel a deep hatred born to Erika and her stupid letter, he had finished reading quickly and carelessly. He could not bear the thought that there were people like her, exploitative and parasitic, ready to take advantage of others' pain without any scruples. He had no doubt that if he agreed to meet her, Erika would have pulled out assumptions and inferences about the real cause of the death of Simon, like any self-styled mediums, driven by the des
ire to show off and maybe earn a space in the newspapers: "Sensitive reopen the case, the fatal accident. "

  Christina pregnant? What kind of idiocy, there were no secrets in the family and his daughter was still smart enough to exercise extreme caution in those things. Erika, provided that this was his real name, he must have gathered information about their family and put them together to build this letter, to gain his trust. It had tried to generate curiosity, suggesting things to know that Simon had never told him to read between the lines, leaving the possibility of a conspiracy at the hands of Daniel and the same Cristina, perhaps.

  Robert felt a strong urge to call the police and give them the phone number that Erika had naively written down on paper. Then he stopped and threw the envelope, which fluttered in the air and fell on the floor, behind one of the baskets of flowers, where she would remain for days. Roberto put his head in his hands and shaking, she began to cry, this time not only pain but also of anger.

  ***

  "He started talking about her grandmother Isa?" Matthias was sitting at the table with little desire to eat and a lot of talking, as if to fill the silence that reigned in the kitchen.

  He, Roberto and Cristina were dining alone, as the survivors of a deadly disasters, head down. Even the TV was off, as always during meals, so you do not hear nothing but the clink of silverware against the plates and the noise of a few cars passing on the highway.

  "No," replied Robert, with his mind back to the six that Friday afternoon, when he went to visit his mother-in-law.

  Olga had received him, smiling and chattering as usual, with his Italian ungrammatical and a note of worry in her eyes. "Hello, Robert. How's it going? The lady is there, still not talking. I very preocupata, afraid that maybe one day is bad for his Simona dead. "

  "Quiet, Olga," he told him. "It was already very ill and this news has been hard, it will eventually be closed in silence. But I do not think they will have health problems in the coming days, you will see that slowly improves and begins to speak. Now his mind is confused, will not stand not understanding well what has happened. "