To keep me in.
I continue down the hall into a luxurious living space and gaze around. Recessed lights provide a soft, ambient glow. We refer to this place as ‘the cave’. It is clean, modern and fully-stocked. Adrian sees to that.
One wall houses an entire rack of wine. The other consists of shelves and shelves of books and has a couple of leather reading chairs situated in front of it. A third wall is covered in expensive, original art; as well as several television screens. Each of them reflects the center of the English Maze from a different angle as reflected by the hidden cameras there. We always know if someone approaches.
The fourth wall is different.
A large bed is pushed against it, secured tightly to the floor so that it cannot be moved.
Chains protrude from the wall, heavy and metal, winding through the iron headboard. Thick padded handcuffs are attached to the chains and are resting right now on the thick pillows.
I know that if anyone happened upon this place, they might draw the conclusion that I am a depraved sex fiend, that this is my sex nest and that I bring women here to commit freakish sexual acts upon them.
That couldn’t be farther from the truth and I know that no one will ever ‘happen’ upon this place. This cave was designed for me, for my great-great-great-grandfather who was just like me. It was designed to be perfectly hidden, completely impenetrable, and to protect the women of Malta from me, from the Minaldi men.
The chains are archaic and painful to wear, but I wear them because I deserve them.
Because I’m a monster, like my father before me and his father before him, and so on.
There is no help for me.
What I told Evangeline was true. She cannot help me.
No one can.
There is a sudden noise behind me and I turn, only to find Adrian approaching with a large box in his hands. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him. His blue eyes are at first shocked, then narrow in caution. He’s careful now. He knows what my presence here means.
“Luca,” he says, his eyes skimming over me. I know he’s checking for my presence of mind. “What are you doing here? Are you feeling alright?”
I shake my head in short staccato movements.
“No,” I rasp. “It’s coming.”
Adrian is alarmed and he sets his box down, approaching me cautiously, staring into my eyes. “It’s too soon,” he says.
I know and I grimly agree with him.
“I don’t know why,” I tell him as I stride quickly toward the bed, toward safety. “Nothing is different. I’m the same as I ever was. I’m not doing anything differently.”
I am just a few moments away from the precipice, from losing it. I know this, so I move faster. I grasp a metal manacle and wrap it around my wrist until I hear a click. I have enough slack in the chain to reach my other wrist and do the same.
I take a deep breath and try to relax, slumping against the headboard onto the bed. I made it. Everything will be fine.
But it won’t. This shouldn’t be happening, not so soon. I say that again to Adrian, although even now, my words are starting to slur and my thoughts are beginning to run together. Soon, everything will become visceral and I won’t think anything logical at all.
Adrian stares at me thoughtfully. “I haven’t wanted to say anything,” he begins uncertainly and then he pauses.
I stare at him through the thickening mental fog. “But?”
My lips are heavy and numb. It’s coming. My breathing quickens.
“But this is the way it usually happens, according to everything my father taught me.”
Maddeningly, he trails off and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He picks up his box and carries it to the cabinets next to the wine and begins to put supplies away. I don’t have time for this. Within minutes, I won’t be cognizant.
“Adrian,” I growl. “Tell me what your father told you.”
“I’m sorry,” he turns around apologetically. “I just hate to upset you. It might be nothing, so I don’t know whether I should worry you with it.”
“Worry me,” I growl again. Adrian looks pained.
“My father told me that the Minaldi curse continues to worsen with age. You have passed your thirty-year mark. You will continue to become more active, the curse more violent with each year. It will become worse when you reach thirty-five, worse still when you reach forty and so on.”
I feel suddenly and nauseatingly numb.
“My father,” I begin. Then I clear my throat. “How often was my father contained here at the end of his life?”
It’s difficult to speak now. I lick my lips.
“Before your father died, my father spent the majority of each month down here with him,” Adrian admits. “Nicolas was down here more than he wasn’t.”
It is a sobering thought. Before my father committed suicide, I had known that he was becoming more and more despondent. I knew the reason, obviously, since we share the same blood. But he didn’t speak of it. Not ever. Not to me, not to anyone, except for Adrian’s father, Benjamin.
Benjamin was the only one who knew the extent of my father’s illness, of the darkness that lived within him. Just as Adrian is the only one who knows the same of me. Our families are intertwined. They have been for generations. The Leopoldos have been our loyal companions for hundreds of years.
“I will not allow it to get to that point,” I say bluntly. Adrian knows exactly what I mean and he nods grimly.
“But we aren’t at that point yet,” he says. “We don’t need to consider anything right now.”
“Not yet,” I concede. “But when we are…” I trail off and Adrian nods.
“I know.”
I feel empty inside, although to be honest, I feel empty most of the time. It is a defense mechanism, something I perfected long ago.
My ‘curse’, as we refer to it, is undefined and undiagnosed by medical professionals. It is a genetic anomaly that has plagued the Minaldi men for hundreds of years. It is inescapable, it is dark, it is crushing.
I believe that is why Evangeline has intrigued me so. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have felt something besides the dark void that lives within me. Evangeline is a hopeful person, full of light. And being around her is invigorating. The attraction between us is undeniable.
If only I could pursue her as a normal man would.
But I’m not normal, so I cannot.
I strain unconsciously at the chains, pulling as hard as I can away from the wall. The padded manacles bite into my skin, even through the thick cushion that they contain. Even now, my mind is breaking away, doing what it wills, not what I will. The black clouds spill into my brain and I can no longer think as myself.
I am not myself.
I am not myself.
I am not myself.
I bellow like the beast that I am and Adrian closes his eyes. He will stay with me as he always does, but he can’t bring himself to watch the animal that I will become. The blackness closes in and then I know nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen
Eva
I should be working, but I’m researching instead. And I’m not researching anything work-related. I should feel guilty, but I don’t.
I can’t remember a life before the internet and search engines. It has truly revolutionized everything. Back in my mother’s day, you couldn’t simply plug a man’s name into the computer and pull up his history. And honestly, I can’t believe that I waited until today to do this.
After Luca told me that he wanted to see me the other night after my visit with his mother, he wasn’t there. He simply wasn’t in his study and none of the servants knew where to find him. It was so strange. He made a point to ask me to stop and give him a report, and then he wasn’t there. It’s true, he could have simply been called away on a business matter, but if that were the case, wouldn’t his staff have known? Wouldn’t he have been handling the matter in his study? Something felt v
ery odd, very wrong.
I type Luca Minaldi and push “Search” and a multitude of hits are returned. I sift through them with interest, staring at the various pictures of him. Luca is an intense figure, even through a camera lens. Always handsome and elegant, he poses in formal dress for various pictures at various events. There are also random and candid pictures of him captured by tourists and bloggers and posted online on gossip sites. But there aren’t as many as I would have guessed, not from someone from a family as affluent as his. And I know the reason.
Marianne told me that he is practically a recluse. He ventures into the city for only a few things, for library board meetings, for his company board meetings, and to sign documents at the bank. That is pretty much it, except for when he runs. He is pictured several times jogging along Maltese roads, his running shoes well worn, a testament to his dedication to the sport. He doesn’t compete, so it must just be a hobby for him, an outlet for stress, I would guess.
I do learn a few things that I hadn’t known, though.
Luca Minaldi is thirty-two years old. His birthday is October 15. He has two brothers, Christoph and Damien. He has never been romantically linked to anyone in particular, although he has been photographed with various dates at social functions, and never with the same woman twice. He attended Cambridge and graduated Magna cum Laude with a degree in business, then continued on to earn an MBA.
He is currently the Senior Vice President of Operations at Minaldi Shipping. His younger brother Christoph is the Senior VP of Marketing and his other brother, Damien, is the President and CEO. His brothers moved away to other Minaldi Shipping global locations years ago, while Luca stayed here because Valetta is where their main operations (shipyards and warehouses) are located. Damien is located at their corporate headquarters in London and Christoph works in their Abu Dhabi offices.
These things are the cut and dried facts that are easily accessible on the web.
I dig a little deeper and read through a handful of gossipy social Maltese websites. It seems that Luca has been the subject of fascination for years. He is considered mysterious, handsome and the most eligible bachelor of Malta, a title that doesn’t seem to affect him at all. He is unfazed by the attention and ventures into town as little as possible. He is gossiped about frequently, with speculations on whether he stashes mistresses around the world unbeknownst to the Maltese public or whether he is homosexual.
I can sense the latter is not the case. The dark, fiery stares that he gives me can attest to that. Sexual energy churns between us, something that warms my belly just thinking about.
Luca is certainly a mystery. I’ve known that from the beginning, and he only grows more fascinating as I learn more about him.
I stare at his picture, which stares back blankly from the computer screen. This is the only time I’ve been able to stare at him without feeling that intense energy that he brings when he is with me in person. Even now, his gaze is intense, even though I am safe through a computer screen.
Safe.
I am startled at that word and I ponder it for a moment. Why would that thought occur to me? Do I subconsciously feel that I‘m not safe around Luca?
As a psychiatrist, I am a firm believer that we should listen to our subconscious, to our instincts. It is interesting that I should feel, even for a second, that I am unsafe around Luca. I think about it for a few more moments, turning it over and over in my head. I finally decide that I have simply been swayed by the fact that both Melina and Luca himself told me that I should feel that way.
But Melina is unbalanced and Luca is… tortured. That is the best way I can sum him up in one word. Something about Luca—something in his past probably, is torturing him. I can see it in his eyes, I can sense it in his presence. And the woman in me, the maternal side that wants to fix little children, aches to fix whatever it is that is hurting him.
The depth of my emotion concerning this is startling. I have very strong feelings about it. I want to help him and I don’t even know why. I barely know him. And certainly, I can’t help him until I know what it is that troubles him. So I decide to make it my mission to find out, a feat that will not be easy since it is widely known that Luca Minaldi is a secretive mystery. I smile to myself. Fortunately, I am very good at what I do.
I solve emotional puzzles.
I pull out my research and work for a while, before I realize that I haven’t eaten lunch. I glance at my watch and find that it is 3:00. Well past lunchtime. I put my work away and make my way to Marianne’s. She is happy to see me and we chat for at least an hour and a half while I eat lunch. She laughs and talks about Adrian, inquires about Luca and is surprised when I tell her that I’ve seen him again. I can’t divulge the capacity of our meeting, so instead I downplay it and make it sound as though we just bumped into each other.
Technically, it isn’t a lie. When Luca came to my house to ask me to visit with his mother, we did bump into each other.
“Well, bella,” Marianne laughs. “I won’t worry about you being alone quite so much. It appears that you’ve got that under control.” She lifts her wine glass and clinks it with mine.
I feel slightly warm and flushed, a by-product of the wine. I decide that I need some fresh air or all I’ll want to do is curl up into a ball and take a cozy nap for the remainder of the day. So I wish Marianne a good day, promise that I’ll be back tomorrow and make my way back out to the beach.
I take my shoes off and decide to walk for a little bit before I get back on my scooter and ride home. As I sink my toes into the soft sand, the breeze is cool and crisp on my face and it does wonders to perk me back up. I inhale the salt, the brine in the air and I know that I love it here. I may never want to return to the States.
I love this time of day, too, just when the late afternoon begins the slow turn into dusk. I have to laugh at myself. I’m feeling so content right now, with my belly full of pasta and wine, that pretty much anything would make me happy. There is still enough light that I feel safe out here since I am on my way home. And also, I promised Marianne that I would call when I reached my cottage safely. If I don’t call soon, she will send out search parties. Of that, I am certain.
I smile and hum a nameless, tuneless song as I walk. My feet sink into the foam lip of the sea as it slides to and fro against the beach. Life is good right now.
I walk a good mile and a half probably before I decide that I’d better turn around. I glance regretfully ahead of me, at the tree-lined coast, before I turn. I realize that I’m regretful only because that is the direction that Luca always goes into, the direction that houses Chessarae. I had been subconsciously walking toward it, toward him, hoping to see him.
This is getting ridiculous.
I turn and start my walk back to my scooter.
After a half mile or so, something in the water ahead catches my eye. Something silvery white in the late afternoon sun. I stare at it as I walk closer, and then as I approach it, a heavy feeling forms in my chest.
Whatever it is looks fleshy.
Oh my god.
I can’t help the ominous feeling of panic that rises in me and smothers the air trying to rise from my lungs. Visions from long ago flit through my head, of another time and place when I found something floating in the water. Someone.
My breathing comes in pants and I know that something isn’t right here today. Just like something wasn’t right twenty-two years ago when I found my little brother floating face down in the lake behind our house.
I can’t breathe and I have to force myself to move. I take a tentative step toward the thing in the water and I’m terrified to look even though I know I have to. Chills run down my spine and I glance around for signs that someone else might be near in case I need help with this thing. But there is no one. Only me.
My legs feel numb as I take another step toward it, then another.
Whatever it is has washed up onto the rocks that line the shore and it is covered in tattered fabric. I gulp, swal
low hard, and then walk the remaining twenty yards.
It’s a person, just as my instincts already knew.
I force myself to wade through the shallow water and stand over it, staring down, fighting the waves of nausea that are welling up in me.
It’s a partial person. Something… sharks, crabs, something, has eaten half of it. Of her. I know it is a her because there is a butterfly tattoo still on her shoulder. Her shoulder is one of the only things that I can see that is still intact and I am suddenly so very thankful that she is face down. She has no legs or arms left and there is seaweed matted into her short blonde hair.
I know, beyond any doubt, that this is Annica Rossi.
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t even realize that I am screaming until Marianne is pulling at my shoulders, pulling me away from this battered corpse. She sits me down on a piece of driftwood a short distance away, turns me in the opposite direction of the body and then pulls out her cell phone. The polizia arrive in less than five minutes.
By the time they arrive, I have calmed myself down. I take deep breaths and stare at the sand by my feet until I no longer feel panicky. I am slightly ashamed that I lost it in such a way. I’m a doctor. I shouldn’t fall apart simply because I see a dead, half-eaten body. But to be fair, I’m a psychiatrist. I’m not accustomed to coming into surprise contact with a mutilated corpse. I doubt anyone is, particularly someone who lost her own brother to a drowning.
Marianne holds my hand as we wait for the lead detective to come speak with me. As the person who found her, they have to take my statement. That’s fine with me, although I don’t have much to tell them. I was walking along, minding my own business and there she was. The end. And that’s what I’ll tell them.