by A. L. Knorr
Elda: Are you up? I need a favor. 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 and 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 up 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 do some damage control, we could lose an account that is almost half our business." She shook her head. "It's really my fault for relying so heavily on one vendor, but they're a big chain that we can't say no to. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone but I'll call you later. Isaia is playing in his room. Take him for gelato or something, he loves it. I left some 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. I took Isaia's hand and we walked silently, keeping 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 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.
My stomach clenched. 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. The long dash of the Italian ring tone sounded in my ear and a male 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. "If you can understand me, 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?"
"Si, si," 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. I led Isaia to one directly across from the tabbachi. "Sit here, on the bench, okay?"
He nodded, his obsidian 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 gray 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 my blood 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 h
im 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.
Chapter 11
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. I rubbed at my eyes, blinking the dirt from them.
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 shutter. I was terrified there would be another explosion. Sweat sprang out all over my body as the temperature inside the shop doubled, and adrenalin flooded my body. My legs shook.
A soft dull thud. The crunching of plastic. I turned to the sound and nearly choked on my tongue.
Isaia had collapsed.
"Isaia!" It came out a whisper. My lips trembled.
I let go of the man and stumbled across the shop. I tripped and recovered. My ankles rolled over the mess on the floor. I dropped beside him. "Isaia? Isaia, can you hear me?"
In the wavering firelight, his eyes gleamed. I could have wept with relief. He was conscious, but his little chest was heaving.
"Isaia, what's wrong?" I put a hand to his forehead and immediately snatched it back, cursing. His forehead was so dry and hot that I couldn't touch him. Not again! I looked at the man. He held his cell phone to his ear.
I leapt to my feet and peeked through the tiny holes in the shutter. Putting my lips to one of the small holes that dotted the metal, I yelled, "Fire! Fuoco!"
I looked back. The flames licked higher, and black smoke billowed up across the ceiling. 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.
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 wrist or hand. 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 here. Something in the storage room exploded. I'm worried something else will go off."
The man yelled at someone else I couldn't see, and I heard the words 'vigile del fuoco.' The shutter began to rattle and I heard grunting.
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. He looked down at his own tummy and back up at me, his expression urgent, his black eyes terrified and filled with pain.
"Isaia..." I fought to keep the panic from my voice and failed miserably.
The glow increased. It spread wide across his abdomen and I could see it easily through his t-shirt.
Behind me, the old man babbled in Italian but then he paused and muttered, "Madonna."
Isaia squeezed his eyes shut, wincing. 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 increase in size. It moved up into his chest and he made a choking sound. Helplessness and panic crashed like fighting rams in my chest. I looked around and grabbed a bottle of water from a pile on the floor. I fumbled with the cap and held the bottle to his lips and tilted it.
He spluttered and coughed, seemingly unable to swallow. He opened his eyes and they glowed red like two embers. 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 on the other side of the shutter all faded into the background.
The two glows in Isaia's shoulders traveled down each arm, flickering as they went. He wheezed heavily. The red in his eyes turned yellow, then white.
"Why can't you drink?" I cried. I poured a little water over his lips but it just ran down his face, sizzling.
Isaia's elbows lit up like two torches, the glow traveled down his forearms. His arms were white hot at the center and a bright glowing red on the outer edges. His eyes rolled back in his head.
I squinted against the light. The white-hot glow traveled into his hands and stopped in his palms. His body began to shake.
"Isaia," I whimpered. I had never felt so utterly helpless. "What's happening to you?"
His eyes closed, but the light penetrated his thin eyelids, giving them a pink glow. He turned his palms up, the centers of each hand as bright as stars and each finger glowing red. His hands shook.
Then he opened his eyes again and something changed, ever so subtly. The white began to fade slowly from his eyes. They refocused on me, as though he had passed out and came too again. The muscles on the sides of his jaw clenched. He looked me in the eyes and I gasped in shock at what I saw there. His focus faded in and out.
He was 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 turned his palms toward me and slammed them flat against my stomach. A scream caught in my throat. All that escaped was a wisp of breath, like a sigh. I did not feel heat against my stomach, but a sharp cold feeling, like dry ice. I coughed, and a wisp of smoke drifted from my mouth. I knelt there, unable to react. Isaia's eyes still held mine, his eyelids drifted down, the light dimmed, dimmed. My eyes dropped, they were all I could move. The white-hot glow traveled through his hands and i
nto the bowl of my pelvis as it passed through my skin and into my organs.
It was then that I felt the heat.
The scream that had been trapped in my throat ripped out of me.
There was a flash of apology from Isaia's eyes. He took his hands away and fell back into the mess of broken goods.
I collapsed with my forehead to the ground. The glow was now in my own belly. I gagged. First only smoke and bile came up, and then I retched and lost my breakfast. I spat and struggled for breath. I retched again and flaming embers spewed out. I sucked in air and coughed hard. An ember the size of a pebble came up to my tongue. I spat it sideways, away from Isaia, and watched with horror as it skipped across the floor like it had been shot from a gun, leaving a smoking black gouge. It lodged in the stone wall. I blinked, unable to register what I saw. The ember flickered and cooled to black. Surely, it hadn't come from me? Not possible.
My stomach and throat burned like I had swallowed a cupful of magma. Recovering the power of my limbs, I fumbled for water and found the bottle on the ground. My guts screamed for something cold and wet. I opened my throat and downed the whole bottle. The liquid sizzled as I swallowed it down, instantly soothing my seared insides.
I dropped the bottle, panting. My eyes felt hot and hard. I looked down at Isaia. He coughed, but he actually looked much better. He pushed himself up into sitting, and looked up at me. His eyes traveled from my eyes to my belly and back up again, blinking and wide.
I looked down. The glow was gone, but the fire was there—I could feel it. It was banked and waiting.
"Isaia!" I croaked. I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was rough. Scratchy. Burnt. "Isaia." I put a hand on his forehead. He was damp and much cooler. It was the first time I had ever seen him sweat. "What have you done to me, Isaia?" I whispered.
His eyes were full of urgency. He tried to get up. He coughed again. A violent cough behind me brought me to myself. I remembered where we were. We were still in danger.
Another screaming firecracker went off behind us and I pushed Isaia down. Smoke rolled across the ceiling. It filled the space over our heads and slowly drifted down toward us. Voices yelled outside and the shutter rattled. The metal screamed and the shutter moved a half inch. Light streamed in through the crack at the bottom.
