Finalmente era partito. Ce l'aveva fatta. Era una settimana che ci rimuginava sopra. anche quando era in tutt'altre faccende affaccendato, il pensiero tornava sempre lì: al punto di partenza, o di arrivo, ciò era ancora da stabilire. Sperava e temeva, allo stesso modo. si era preso un giorno di riposo, tanto ne aveva accumulati così tanti, nel corso degli anni di servizio, che avrebbe potuto anche starsene a pancia all'aria per un bel pezzo. Era salito sulla sua ammaccata utilitaria bianca ed era partito alla volta del suo paese natale. direttamente in bocca alle proprie origini. Un viaggio breve, ma che aveva il potere di coprire la distanza di decine d'anni. non voleva ammetterlo, neanche con se stesso, ma era emozionato come un bambino il primo giorno di scuola.
Uscito dal Grande Raccordo Anulare, si immise sulla Statale Flaminia, la via che preferiva. La più tortuosa, vero, la più lenta, niente a che vedere con l'autostrada, o la Cassia, molto più veloci e agevoli, ma volevi mettere la bellezza! Sarebbe comunque arrivato in paese. Il suo paese. O, meglio, non più il suo, visto il tempo che aveva passato lontano. Ormai era, a tutti gli effetti, un cittadino, anche se non proprio un romano de Roma. Piuttosto uno dei tanti burini trapiantati nella capitale del mondo. Quindi, tirando le somme, non più un paesano e giammai un cittadino puro. In pratica senza radici e senza futuro. Un bel cazzo di risultato, c'era di che vantarsene! Il viaggio scivolò via come l'olio. Tenne accesa la radio per fargli compagnia. Il vantaggio della radio, rispetto alle cassette, già, perché lui ancora faceva affidamento su una di quelle anticaglie che si cibavano dei nastri, faceva fatica a disfarsene e ci era affezionato. Il vantaggio della radio, tornando al discorso, era che lei non ti costringeva ad ascoltare. Era una compagna discreta. potevi tranquillamente continuare a pensare ai cazzi tuoi, senza prestarle attenzione, non si offendeva mai.
Giunse all'Arco di Porta quasi senza accorgersene, potenza del riflesso condizionato. dicono che, in ultima analisi, la guida non sia altro che questo. D'ora in avanti, però, avrebbe dovuto procedere con i piedi di piombo, cercando di dissimulare quel fastidioso senso di nausea che lo stava avvolgendo come un putrido sudario. Il maresciallo Giovanni Ferri parcheggiò la sua affaticata autovettura in Piazza del Castello a si diresse, a passo deciso, verso il bar lì vicino, con la speranza... con quale speranza era un mistero anche per lui. Era quasi mezzogiorno, il valzer dei campari, secondo i suoi ricordi, e come da consolidata consuetudine, doveva già essere iniziato. O mancava poco.
"Buongiorno a tutti!" Disse aprendo la porta del locale, lo disse con troppa enfasi, troppa giovialità. Era solo, nessun altro cliente. "E buonanotte al cazzo!" Pensò subito dopo. "Che entrata da coglione. Anzi, peggio, da carabiniere." E pensare che stava in borghese. Per non dare nell'occhio, aveva rinunciato anche a portarsi la pistola, ma appena aveva aperto bocca, si era fatto riconoscere. Coglione! Si insultò ancora mentalmente. Che entrata di merda! Dalla porta del bagno, fece capolino un ragazzotto magro, rasato a zero. Un bel tipo, non tanto alto, magro come un chiodo del dieci, sguardo sveglio e intelligente, e sfoggiava una maglietta dei Clash.
"Buongiorno a lei. Posso esserle utile?" Disse cortesemente il ragazzo.
"E tu chi sei? E che fine ha fatto il sor Francesco?" Domandò il maresciallo, guardandosi intorno per la prima volta. Non era il bar che ricordava. Non era quello della sua adolescenza. Era stato stravolto. Chissà perché siamo portati a pensare che alcune cose non potranno mai cambiare. Soprattutto quelle legate alla nostra infanzia. Soprattutto se questa infanzia si è vissuta in un piccolo, immutabile paese. E non solo le cose, anche le persone, cristallizzate nella memoria come in un incantesimo.
"Non so chi sia il sor Francesco, ma io lo so chi sono: sono Alessandro, faccio il barista, per questo mi trovo qui." rispose sorridendo il giovanotto.
"Scusami, ti devo essere sembrato un coglione. Ma giuro che non è così. Il fatto è che sono moltissimi anni che manco dal paese e, vai a capire per quale stupido motivo, ero convinto di trovare tutto come lo avevo lasciato."
"Niente affatto. Sembri soltanto uno con dei bei ricordi. Non è poca cosa."
"Puoi darmi un Campari corretto con il prosecco, per favore?"
"Sono qui per questo" rispose il ragazzo, iniziando ad armeggiare con le bottiglie.
Buttò giù d'un fiato, pagò ed uscì in strada. Sarebbe tornato più tardi. Ora aveva voglia di fare un giro sulla macchina del tempo. si addentrò pigramente nel dedalo di viuzze, in cerca di visioni, odori, suoni a lui consueti. non riuscì a fare a meno di passare anche davanti alla sua vecchia casa. Quella dove era cresciuto, insieme a sua madre e a quel dettaglio trascurabile che era suo padre. Si fermò, imbacuccato nel suo cappotto di nostalgia, a cercare qualche segno del suo passaggio. Un muro scrostato, una macchia di vernice, una vecchia scritta sbiadita dal tempo, niente, come se non fosse mai esistito. Avevano ridipinto la facciata dell'edificio da non molto, di un orribile giallo smorto, c'erano panni stesi al balcone, di certo non erano suoi, si sentì come sa avesse subito un torto. Era come se fosse stato scippato della sua giovinezza. Salutò con un cenno del capo la sua vecchia dimora e proseguì nel giro di perlustrazione. Incrociò in tutto una decina di persone, non di più. non riconobbe nessuno. Non avrebbe potuto, sette su dieci erano stranieri, il carabiniere, a volte, prendeva il sopravvento sull'uomo. anche qui, in questo buco nero di paese, chissà cosa ci stavano a fare visto che di lavoro neanche l'ombra. Soltanto una decina di anni prima sarebbe stato impensabile. Gente che andava lì a cercare fortuna, cazzo, non fosse stato tragico, sarebbe stato davvero comico. Controllò l'orologio, l'una meno un quarto, era tempo di tornare al bar. sicuramente avrebbe avuto più fortuna, o almeno sperava. fu fortunato, la speranza non fu disillusa, non dovette neanche entrare per constatarlo, Tonino, il suo vecchio amico Tonino, stazionava davanti alla porta godendosi un aperitivo in compagnia di altre tre persone che immaginava di conoscere, ma che non riusciva proprio a riconoscere.
"Ciao, Tonino, come va? Posso unirmi alla compagnia?" Disse emozionato, arrivandogli alle spalle.
Tonino si girò di scatto, era il ritratto dello stupore. Rimase col bicchiere appoggiato alle labbra, sgranò gli occhi, ma non riuscì ad inghiottire neanche un sorso. Squadrò da capo a piedi il nuovo arrivato, per un tempo che sembrava non avesse fine, poi: "Guarda chi ti capita tra capo e collo," Disse "Qual buon vento, Bomba? O preferisci essere chiamato maresciallo Ferri?"
"Cosa? Maresciallo?" Chiese uno degli altri due. quelli di cui proprio non riusciva a ricordare i nomi.
"Già, il nostro amico è un maresciallo della benemerita."
"Uno sbirro!" Disse sempre l'altro, facendosi scuro in volto. Sputò per terra, buttò giù d'un fiato il suo Campari, consegnò il bicchiere al barista e: "Io con gli sbirri non ci bevo!" Grugnì allontanandosi seccato.
"Ti do ragione, neanch'io ci bevo!" Gli gridò dietro il maresciallo, ma l'altro neanche si voltò.
"Complimenti! Sei appena tornato e già hai trovato un nuovo amico. Complimenti vivissimi!" Lo prese in giro Tonino.
"Non è che la cosa mi turbi particolarmente. Può andare a farsi fottere dove vuole."
"Non farci caso, è sempre stata una testa di cazzo! Ordinati da bere, piuttosto." Disse il terzo, mostrando un sorriso privo di parecchi denti.
"E tu, Orco, che ne pensi? Neanche a te piacciono i carabinieri?"
Lo aveva riconosciuto non appena aveva aperto bocca. Quella dentatura fantasiosa e quel vocione sgraziato e cavernoso erano il suo marchio di fabbrica.
"Non particolarmente, Bomba, me se non ce l'hanno con me, facciano pure il cazzo che vogliono. Te compreso."
"Dai, facciamoci un altro giro, offro io. Dopo, se è possibile, se non hai troppo da fare, vorrei parlarti in privato. " Disse ancora il Maresciallo rivolto a Tonino.
"Perdi tempo, fratello, sono pulito!"
"Pulito è una parola grossa, diciamo che ripulito suona più veritiero."
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Pandora ch. 3 (RE-WRITTEN)
Pandora (1st/2nd of re written ver uploaded): FF l Wattpad l Quotev
Rewritten and updated on 15/10/2016
A/N: I’m sick - been sick for few weeks and got worse this week. Hopefully I’ll get better so I can focus on my stories.
Her morning started at five am. She would call her mum, speak about how she was doing and how they were doing and briefly reply to Bella’s texts, then leave by bus toward Pontedera where Jessica boarded a seven am train to Florence. Then she would head back to Volterra and arrive at her inn around midnight. Before she came to Volterra, she already visited the mainland and other tourist places. Florence had been the last of her list to visit.
The next day, she headed to the main street and toward the castle. The castle was always bustling with tourists and locals passing through to their work. In few days, she had taken up a habit of hanging out on the top where she could see the surrounding nature of Volterra. She had not seen Alec since the incident with the drunken man and he had made it clear that he hoped this would be the last that they meet. Everything about him – his posture, appearance and clothes – exuded indifferent detachment. Just like the Cullens’. But while the distance she felt from the Cullens’ were the kind people from well-to-do circles sometimes projected, from the designer clothes they wore, the expensive house they lived in and the fancy cars they drove, Alec appeared to be made to linger on a rainy day in grey November weather without being noticed.
Some locals said the vampires still live here. As in this castle.” A girl, few feet away from her, said to her boyfriend.
Jessica’s ears perked up, the Volterra’s past history with vampires were so embedded within its identity that, to this day, was still a subject of fascination to the locals just as it was for the tourists. Finding herself curious about the local legend, she tuned in to the conversation.
“Too bad vampires don’t exist. At least in real life anyway.” Her boyfriend mused as he took a snap of the picture of the scenery with his phone.
“But it’s really interesting though. The old lady at our villa said that vampires had red eyes and beautiful appearances. Some even had supernatural gifts. She told me that her great ancestors even met some of them! This group of vampires came to Volterra long time ago and promised to not harm anyone living here. It was said there was three leaders and guards that were gifted. One of the ancestors said there were even young vampires who looked like they were thirteen or fourteen!”
“Please don’t tell me you believe it those stuff!”
“Still, it’s so interesting!” She reasoned, “Do you know how to tell if they are those Volterra vampires?”
Although skeptical, the boyfriend was equally curious, “How?”
Jessica tipped the water bottle back, welcoming the cooling and satiating sensation down her dry throat.
“She said they all wore a unique golden V pendent necklace and a hood to shield their skin from the sun because they sparkle like diamonds.”
The water jetted out from her mouth and into evaporating bubbles as it floated down the tower. She broke out into a coughing fit as her throat chocked with the regurgitating liquid and her chest tightened as if she was drowning and were resuscitated back to life.
The girl and her boyfriend jerked toward her, startled for a second before the boyfriend returned his gaze to the girl with an absurd look in his face.
“Oh come on! Sparkle? Like diamonds? Even the girl over there thinks it’s so ridiculous she spat out her water. Sarah, I think you had too many wine yesterday.”
“It was vodka, you king kong!” The girl retorted, “The only reason why I drank so much was because you couldn’t!”
“I just didn’t feel so well yesterday. I usually have a much higher tolerance.”
The girl simply rolled her eyes, blew her paper cup and took a small sip of what it seemed to be a black, bitter coffee.
It can’t be that V necklace I saw few days ago right…? Jessica thought before she shook herself out of absurd thought that was forming in her mind, Come on, vampires? What is this? Vampire Diaries? Maybe I should cut back on alcohol…
As her cough resided, she took a careful nip of water again. Another thought snaked its way through her head. But why would he wear those winter coats in summer heat like this? And not get sweaty? Few times he touched me, his skin felt so cold…almost like a..corpse…
“Oh my god, Jessica, what the hell are you thinking?” She muttered, eyes widening at her own ridiculous speculation. Her mind seemed to be writing its own dramatic novel transcending rational and logical thinking.
Come on; think about it…the Cullens’ are ridiculously pale, even for people that live in a town where sun avoids to shine…maybe it’s just a family trait…they’re freakin adopted..maybe they’re a family of vampires…oh Jessica, what the fuck are you thinking? Are you that stupid? Wearing a hood and a V-necklace must mean they must be a vampire pfft, better get my tinfoil hat on.
The couple turned to leave and Jessica repeated to herself not to follow and ask them more about the vampire stories they heard from some old woman. It was a laughable notion to her and more so to them when they realise someone seemed convinced by what could have been said as jest.
Don’t follow. Don’t follow. Just leave it be. Leave it be!
“Excuse me!” Jessica called after and her legs were already moving, DAMN IT JESSICA!
The couple stopped mid-stairs and glanced over their shoulders as Jessica hurried to catch up to the pair.
“So sorry..um but can I ask from who you heard the vampire stories about?” Her cheeks heated red with embarrassment as the couple shared a look with each other before looking back. ‘Someone actually believes it?’ their eyes seemed to accuse.
“I’m really sorry for listening in on your conversation but..I’ve heard people saying this castle used to belong to the vampires and I really want to know more about it.” She babbled nervously, unable to meet their eyes.
“Oh..um..” The girl started then paused then spoke again, “Well, this old lady that owns the villa we’re staying at told me during the dinner. I can tell you the name of it and you can go and try to ask her about it..”
“Um, yeah, that would be great. Thank you so much.” Jessica mustered a smile.
“It’s called Villa Porta all'Arco. It’s literally like ten minutes’ walk from here.” She revealed with arm pointing behind her.
“Thank you so much again!” Jessica said as she made it down the flight of stairs. The girl and the boy looked at each other once again, thinking to themselves ‘Someone’s been watching too much vampire shows’.
Villa Porta all'Arco.. Jessica repeated the name over and over in her head. With the help of street vendor, she was able to find the place at the outskirt of the ancient city walls. The three-story townhouse stood in the middle of the surrounding forests, curtained by the large fronds in each side like nature’s columns.
She stepped forward then stepped back. Would she think I’m..a weirdo? What do I say? ‘Hey I overheard from couple staying at your house about your ancestors meeting the Volterra’s vampires, can I hear more about it?’ Jessica inhaled, trying to muster up the courage.
Why would I even think of vampires being real in the first place?! Jessica asked herself. Her mind answered with series of flashbacks with what was just a simple casual observations of Cullens’ weird behaviours and later, Bella.
They’re beautiful. Inhumanely so. No one can be that perfectly looking or sounding. Their hair was always soft and voluptuous as if every morning they had the professionals take care of their styling, their skin was flawless like a blank canvas waiting to be painted and their voice had such an alluring proponent that she often wondered how all of them were able to attain them. Was there a surgery for it? Heck she Googled them and turns out such procedure actually exist. It couldn’t be a passed on trait from parents, they were all adopted, so how were they all so perfect and beautiful?
They never ate. Ever. She always thought that the cheap, mass produced, over-processed cafeteria food was below their cultured taste. Their school foods weren’t the best, that she agreed wholeheartedly. But she had never seen them eat anything, even things they probably could have packed from home.
They never drank. Anything. Na-dah. How they can go eight hours without drinking was beyond her. Even if they did drink something away from prying eyes, they never did try to disappear from the centre of the attentions. The only time they did was when they went to hiking with their parents. In the rare time the sun did shine in Forks.
Sun. They always disappeared when there was a sun. Ergo sunshine was a rare occurrence in Forks; she tried to think of the time when they did made an appearance to school when the sun was up and she couldn’t.
Oh no... Jessica groaned, for all she know it could have been some gross, misled imaginations her mind decided to make while a sixth sense of sort in her said otherwise. Shaking her head, this isn’t right. Let’s just go back.
She turned to leave when a door opened and a soft, low voice spoke, “Are you going to come in, piccolo?”
Jessica slightly jumped and twirled to see a perennial woman. She saw that she was much older than she originally thought. Perhaps in her late 70s given wizened lines in her face, deep and saggy–– like the skin slipping down the skull underneath and her loosely tied powder-white hair was thinning and her smile showed that her teeth were rather yellow. Along with this, it could be seen that the lips, once beautifully full, were dry and cracked. Her eyes appeared milky in certain light and angle but they were gleaming with energy and while her face appeared world weary at times, she was active and alert.
“Uh…hello, I’m Jessica Stanley.”
“Ciao, you can call me Giada. Would you like to come in?”
“Oh, uh, nah, I was just looking around…” Jessica shook her head apologetically, “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
“You look like you have something you want to ask.” She sharply noticed and opened the door further, “Come in, child.”
Jessica was startled by her insight before approaching the villa and entered the house as Giada closed the door.
“Would you like any drink?” The old lady asked as she guided her into the drawing room.
“No, thank you, it’s fine.” Jessica smiled as took a seat in the sofa across Giada.
Once settled, Giada looked at Jessica expectedly, “How can I help you?”
“Um, well, I was wondering if you could tell me more about the…um, Volterra’s vampires.” Jessica started and quickly added, “I overheard the conversation from this couple that was staying here that you told them about the legend of vampires and umm…”
Giada stilled and stared into Jessica’s eyes as if searching for something in her.
“People may believe it’s a mere legend but they are real.” She revealed as she carefully studied the change of expressions in Jessica’s countenance, “My ancestor have met them. Very civilized and adhered to strict laws they have created. It was said their beauty was so god-like that human men and women who saw them would fall in love with them.”
“I heard that they also had guards that were gifted?”
“Yes. Very gifted. Very powerful that one should not judge them by appearances.” Then she stood up to retrieve something from the locked glass cupboard. When she came back, in her hands were thickly bounded tattered book covered with dust and mites.
“My ancestors wrote accounts of their arrivals and of their chasings by St. Marcus. Although they suspected they were not chased away but went into hiding underground for the fear of the local’s reprisals.” She gently pushed the diary toward Jessica and she picked it up with great care.
It was written in cursive Italian, which she did not understand and she perused the pages when something loose fell out and onto the marble floor. Picking up, she realised it was various sketches of portraits. The first one was of two young children, about fourteen or fifteen, and they were angelically beautiful. The boy, whose lip was not as full as the girl but just as lovely, was significantly taller than the girl. Although it was hard to make out, they shared similarities one would see in biologically related siblings or twins.
“Ah yes, the youngest vampires in the coterie.” She said, noticing Jessica’s fascination with them. Something about the boy was familiar. His piercing, cold eyes were a stranger but his nose and lips sparked a forgotten memory.
“Do you know their names?” She asked without looking up, still fascinated by the drawing.
“No. Only the leaders.”
“Can I ask how your ancestors knew them so..well?” Jessica’s hand hovered above the boy’s face and as Giada spoke, “One of my ancestors, a woman named Valeria, was a lover of Francesco Solimena, the painter who drew these.” Jessica horizontally twisted her wrist so that her hand covered the top part of his face. Shiver sparked down her spine as she took in the newly formed picture and realised why she seemed to think she saw him before. It was Alec.
Jessica sweep to the next page and almost dropped the old, frail parchments. Had she been standing, her knees would have gave out and collapse on the ground. The familiar and unique crest stared back at her mockingly as it gleefully confirmed her greatest fear. It was the same V crest that was hung on Alec’s neck.
“W..what is the leaders name…?” Jessica whispered weakly. The third and final parchment showed three men sat on the thrones as equal rulers. The one in the centre and on the right could not be any older than in their mid-twenties while the man on the left, looking utterly depressed, seemed to be in his forties. What shocked her was how beautiful they all were. God-like, Giada said and Jessica agreed. It was unnerving to see such perfections when the nature despised perfections.
“Aro, Caius and Marcus…and their friend,” Giada closed her eyes as if she was searching for the final name in her mind.
The fourth man, dressed just as aristocratic as the leaders, was standing nearer to them than anyone by the side. Rather than as their right hand man and confidante, it seemed to convey favour and friendship this man was bestowed. The parchment in her hand seemed to move and appear in two dimensions like seeing through a kaleidoscope tube and realised it was her own hand that were shaking uncontrollably.
“Carlisle I believe his name was. A doctor, he said he was.”
Giada studied the fear and dread on Jessica’s face wordlessly, even when her tan skin became pale as a paper, stood up and rushed out of the house.
Her legs continued running, ignoring the stares from the people she had pushed past unintentionally and the burnings she felt spreading through her body from below. Closing the door behind her loudly, she slid down to the floor in shock.
It can’t be. The old lady must be senile and she must be crazier to even believe her. There was no such thing as vampires. They could have been Carlisle’s ancestor. A great-great-great grandfather that just had scary resemblance to Dr. Cullen she knew. Vampires only existed in TVs and movies and fictions and the necklace she saw Alec wearing must have been some sort of homage to the legend. She let out a breathy, empty laugh and shook her head, “Yeah that must be it. Gosh what was I thinking. Vampires. Yeah right.”
Her phone that had escaped her pocket when she ran inside, tinged as a text popped up on screen.
Bella: What are you doing? :)
With shaking hand, she picked up the phone. She gulped. Then deep breathe then out. Sliding the text, she pressed the call button and heard the dialing tones.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Bella.” Jessica greeted, voice slightly wavering.
“What’s up? You okay?”
“Yeah, guess what I found out about today?”
“What?”
“Did you know there’s this local legend about these vampires of Volterra?”
A dead silent. Then stutter, “U-uh, n-no, really? Woah, that’s so interesting!”
Jessica imagined Bella biting her lips from the other side of the phone. She had always been bad at hiding and lying. Not that she was better, but she was more efficient and aware.
“Yeah, apparently there were these three vampire leaders.” Jessica continued and when Bella said nothing she added, “Their names were apparently Aro, Caius and Marcus. It’s crazy…but I saw a painting of them and there was a man who looked a lot like Dr. Cullen.”
The pause was heavy and palpable. The whole world seemed to have died. If one were to drop a pin in the next door, she’d hear it.
Please laugh and say ‘I’m crazy’ and that it’s all just a weird coincidence, Jessica prayed.
“That sounds cool.” Bella managed at last.
“Edward might know, you know probably heard it from Heidi or something. Or Dr. Cullen, that might be his great-great grandpa or something.” Jessica let out a vain chuckle.
Another pause. Shorter this time.
“Yeah, he might have.” She said.
“Hey, Bella, I gotta go.”
“Jess––“
She hung up and the phone cluttered on the floor. Jessica stood and limply fell on to the bed. She didn’t want to think anything else. After hours of tossing and turning, she finally fell into a restless sleep.
In her dream, she imagined the angelically beautiful vampires and the leaders coming to life and their crimson eyes boring into her blue ones. Behind them, stood Carlisle; melancholy look in his eyes.
The next day, she had been spending all her mornings on Googling what probably was the most bizarre and comical questions. On her phone, popped up a message saying she had seven missed calls from Bella.
‘help, I found out someone I know is a vampire’
‘what to do when you know a vampire’
‘vampires real?’
‘vampire history’
‘how to tell if they’re a vampire’
‘vampire weakness’
‘vampire’
There were so many myths and legends about vampires, each positing different weakness, strengths, characteristics and its origin. But most seemed to agree that vampires were unnaturally beautiful, pale, drank blood and had heightened strength and senses beyond human capabilities. And undead.
It was said that they could be killed or harmed by garlic, holy items, wooden stakes, silver and sunlight. Which sounded a bit silly. Because if, and if, Cullens and Alec and Heidi were vampires, which Jessica had her doubt, most of weakness written here didn’t seemed to affect them at all.
She knew Alice and Rosalie loved to wear gold and silver jewelries and Alec didn’t seem too bothered by the sunlight. And Dr. Cullen worked in a hospital as a doctor for heaven sake ––which was not a wise career to take if your diet consisted of only blood. Jessica was beginning to think they were as reliable as child’s fairytale. But Giada said that the Carlisle in the painting was also a doctor. Either Dr. Cullen was lying or he had an impeccable control over his..uh, hunger?
She’s been treated by Dr. Cullens ever since he and his family arrived in town. The first time they met was when she nearly died after slipping on a dog biscuit in the kitchen, did a somersault in the air and fell face flat on the marble floor, broke her nose and busted a lip bad that by the time she arrived in the hospital her hair, face, legs and white PJ dress were covered in blood like she had just came out from the murder scene. Dr. Cullen simply laughed and treated her. She never gotten the feeling he wanted to eat her then.
But would her finding out that the Cullens’ were vampires change her views toward them? They were weird and unjustly perfect but would that make her go and buy herself a cross, silver and a stake to protect herself if they did turned out to be vampires? Turn her back on them and be scared and afraid when she hadn’t before? If they were a vampire, they had so many chances to kill her and others but they didn’t. In fact, other than the weird serial killings of people by some wild animals or something, the Forks didn’t have any fresh bodies turning up at the morgue weeks after weeks. If they were responsible for those deaths, why then, why wait few years to start killing?
Does the fact that they were vampires mean everything they were before meant nothing? Can she let it defined them? ‘They’re vampires, so that mean they kill people and are dangerous and are monsters’? When they drank human blood, did they kill them or do some memory wiping magic and let them go their own way?
Jessica massaged her aching temples, groaning as her phone buzzed once again. If Alec were a vampire, why didn’t he kill her before?
Because they don’t kill those within these walls. She remembered the lady’s words. The last thing they want was vampires going around recklessly killing people in sight and flaming people’s ire. Because humans, no matter how powerless they may be against vampires, won’t just idly stand around and wait for their turn. They’re gonna die trying.
So did that mean as long as she stayed within these walls, Alec can’t do anything? Or Heidi? Would she be fucking stupid enough to try? Test out her little crazy, wacky theory of hers’? Sometimes she wondered where she gets this confidence from while sober. They say that there’s no confidence utterly foolish and inane than the drunks’ but she might have topped that level of insanity.
What if Alec isn’t a vampire and when he hears what she tried to do, he’d laugh at her? Call her crazy and a fool, as he liked to say. But as she glanced at the phone vibrating on her bed and the notification showing she now had ten missed calls from Bella, why was it that everything seemed to be pointing to this absurd, ridiculous notion of hers’?
Please let this be not true.
Grabbing her phone, the bag and closing her laptop screen, she left her room.
Her footsteps were languid and burdened with mix of emotions; trepidation, apprehension, nervousness with a touch of foreboding sense of catharsis. Her heart palpitated painfully against her ribcage as she arrived in front of the gate that would presumably lead to the castle.
‘Hey, it might sound crazy but I still gotta ask: are you a vampire?’ She repeated the script over and over in her head. Then a quick yes or no would be more than enough.
She waited for him to come. Like a prey waiting for its predator’s arrival to face the inevitable. He always seemed to know she was here and there doesn’t seem to be any CCTV around for someone to tell Alec, ‘Alec, the crazy girl is here, again. Kick her out would you?’
“Was my previous warning not enough?” The musical voice said from behind her.
She turned, slowly, to face the mystery boy in dark hood in a Midsummer Day. The boiling heat doesn’t seem to affect him and she could almost feel coolness emitting from him.
Okay, Jessica, start with ‘Hey, it might sound crazy…’ Her mind calmly began.
She opened her mouth and asked, “Are you a vampire?”
JESSICA STANLEY, I SAID TO BEGIN WITH ‘HEY, IT MIGHT SOUND CRAZY’, YOU DON’T GO HARDCORE STRAIGHT!
But the water has been spilt. The boy was still like a statue, and then glided toward her, closing the gap in two long strides. His movements segued smoothly that she could not call it a walk.
“What make you think I’m a vampire?”
“Well, they say vampires have different coloured eyes or something, right?” Jessica ventured.
He did not answer her.
“You always have your face covered.” Jessica reasoned wearily, “Show me your face.”
He was close enough for her to see the corner of his lip twitch upward, “You’re treading on a dangerous line here.”
Final warning, he was telling her. Turn around and walk away before you have a chance, it was saying. She had a chance to go back to her usual musing of him being a mafia or a cult member or an assassin. She might be happy and glad deluding herself with these theories instead of supernatural ones.
Jessica wanted to run, quickly mutter out ‘sorry, I’m drunk!’ and go on about her life in Volterra and leave quietly, treasuring her meeting with Alec and Heidi as one of those nice but insignificant people that’ll have little impact on her in the future as she lived. They could be those forgotten memories. The forgotten faces of the strangers she had walked past in a random, foreign street.
Her arm reached up, hesitant whether he’ll let her do what she wanted to do. When he made no move to stop her, she grabbed the edge of the hood.
“It’s your very last chance.” He said in a low voice that was too unfamiliar to her. It was strange hearing him speak like that. She was so used to his friendly tone.
Gulping down her fears, she slowly pulled down the hood until it rested on his neck.
Jessica blinked against the still ones.
Blue met red.
Jessica wished it was coloured contacts. A very expensive, realistic contacts. Heidi had her purples ones and Alec had red ones. Just a unique individual’s taste. She wished.
The face that stared back at her was the very same one in the drawing that she had seen next to the girl. Even after all these years and times, his delicate face remained unchanging and forever lovely than the finished painting in the Vatican. One would think he was an ordinary young boy were it not for the sharpness in his eyes that could only come with time. His eyes were striking colour of crimson glided with long, thick dark lashes. She thought the drawing did not do him justice because he was so much more complete and deeper than the elaborate strokes on a paper.
“…Am I going to die now?” It came out in a hoarse whisper.
“I can’t let you live now that you know who I am.” His arm reached out toward her. The same arm that saved her from the drunken man now bore out its claws to kill.
“W-wait!” She stepped back, “You can’t kill me. Not at least when I’m still in these walls.”
He stilled and tilted his head, “Where did you obtain that information?”
He might try to kill Giada.
“..B-Bella!” She lied, “She said you don’t kill people here.”
“That law doesn’t apply to those that know our identity.” He stepped forward and she stepped back until she could feel the solidness of the wood on her shoulders and rear.
She felt the tear gathering in the corner of her eyes. You’re such a suicidal idiot, her mind told her. It was all her fault. She could have walked away when he gave her the chance but she needed to know. She was so tired of wondering, wondering what the Cullens’ were hiding, wondering why Bella was acting so weird ever since she got involved with Edward, wondering why the cycle started again with Alec and Heidi.
And she got her answers that she sought out. With a price. Her life. Was she satisfied now? Happy? Or is it the ‘I told you so’ case?
“Is Alec even your real name?” She asked for what was probably her last.
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Vampire age.” She clarified.
He smiled and although she had seen him smile before with half of his face hidden, her breath hitched at the sight.
“I don’t keep count.”
“You’re not gonna believe me even if I say I’m not gonna tell anyone that you’re a vampire.”
“We don’t take any risk.”
We. That meant he wasn’t alone. There were others. Other vampires. In Volterra. The vampires of Volterra.
“Give me a chance. Please...please.”
“We do not give any chances.” His arm grabbed her neck, the other her shoulder. Tear slipped down her cheek in silent mourn as she felt his breath hover above the crook of her neck.
“Do you think…you can have my body sent to my parents?” She asked, staring at the large, mature tree over his shoulder.
“Your body will be destroyed.”
She felt the strength leaving her body as she surrendered to her inevitable death. Closing her eyes, imagining her parents’ reaction to the daughter that vanished and will never be found gripped her heart painfully.
“It was nice meeting you, Alec.” She said before becoming limp in his arm. The phone buzzed frantically in her pocket.
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Margot Forrester
Alle cinque in punto la sveglia era suonata, il suo braccio ancora molle dal sonno agitato si era abbattuto sul pulsante di spegnimento.Neanche mezz'ora ed era già nella hall, aveva restituito le chiavi e salutato caldamente Hans.Il treno delle sei lo aveva portato prima a Berna, dove aveva fatto in modo che le telecamere non lo inquadrassero. La TGV era arrivata in orario, avrebbe avuto ancora qualche ora di viaggio prima di sopraggiungere direttamente nella centralissima Gare du Lyon.
Una volta a Parigi si rese conto che lo stomaco stava esigendo del cibo, così ne approfittò per andare a trovare un vecchio collega, ormai ritiratosi a causa di un'orribile esperienza.John prese la metro e scese alla fermata Champs Elysées Clemenceau, riemerse sul colossale vialone che dal Louvre conduceva direttamente all'Arco di Trionfo. A qualche centinaio di metri dalla gigantesca opera si fermò di fronte al bar del vecchio collega e si accese una sigaretta.Non si era neppure posto il problema si camminare avanti e indietro evitando di essere un bersaglio fin troppo facile, poiché era quasi certo che Margot non fosse nemmeno minimamente in grado di capire dove fosse."La mossa della canzone però dovrebbero segnarla nelle azioni più epiche compiute sul lavoro. Impiegato della settimana. Anzi no, della vita." pensò mentre controllava le notizie sul suo smartphone.Entrò al bar, si sedette al tavolo più remoto e attese che una cameriera si avvicinasse per prendere l'ordine.«Bonjour madamoiselle, j'aimerais avoir une petite conversation avec Monsieur Didier. Et, bien sur, un croque monsieur avec une salade. E du vin, s'il vous plait.»La cameriera sorrise e si allontanò a passi spediti. Poco dopo Didier in persona si presentò sulla porta, con l'ordinazione. Aveva cambiato subito espressione, John non era sicuro se fosse gioia o panico.«Ciao Didier.»«John.»Quando John si era alzato in piedi Didier si era avvicinato, aveva posato il vassoio e solo dopo qualche istante i due si erano scambiati un fraterno abbraccio.«John, da quanto tempo. Come mai da queste parti? Anche tu sulle tracce dei terroristi forse?»John aveva storto la bocca scuotendo la testa.«Purtroppo no, Didier. È un viaggio di piacere. Anzi no, in realtà sto facendo credere a una novellina che deve fare un test d'ingresso e che deve riuscire a colpirmi con un proiettile di vernice.»Didier aveva un'espressione scettica, come se si aspettasse una battuta, ma poi si era messo a ridere.«Vedo che non sei cambiato, mi fa piacere. Soprattutto dopo che...Mi dispiace John, per tua moglie.»
Jonathan Wick
Alle cinque in punto la sveglia era suonata, il suo braccio ancora molle dal sonno agitato si era abbattuto sul pulsante di spegnimento.
Neanche mezz'ora ed era già nella hall, aveva restituito le chiavi e salutato caldamente Hans.
Il treno delle sei lo aveva portato prima a Berna, dove aveva fatto in modo che le telecamere non lo inquadrassero.
La TGV era arrivata in orario, avrebbe avuto ancora qualche ora di viaggio prima di sopraggiungere direttamente nella centralissima Gare du Lyon.
Una volta a Parigi si rese conto che lo stomaco stava esigendo del cibo, così ne approfittò per andare a trovare un vecchio collega, ormai ritiratosi a causa di un'orribile esperienza.
John prese la metro e scese alla fermata Champs Elysées Clemenceau, riemerse sul colossale vialone che dal Louvre conduceva direttamente all'Arco di Trionfo. A qualche centinaio di metri dalla gigantesca opera si fermò di fronte al bar del vecchio collega e si accese una sigaretta.
Non si era neppure posto il problema si camminare avanti e indietro evitando di essere un bersaglio fin troppo facile, poiché era quasi certo che Margot non fosse nemmeno minimamente in grado di capire dove fosse.
"La mossa della canzone però dovrebbero segnarla nelle azioni più epiche compiute sul lavoro. Impiegato della settimana. Anzi no, della vita." pensò mentre controllava le notizie sul suo smartphone.
Entrò al bar, si sedette al tavolo più remoto e attese che una cameriera si avvicinasse per prendere l'ordine.
«Bonjour madamoiselle, j'aimerais avoir une petite conversation avec Monsieur Didier. Et, bien sur, un croque monsieur avec une salade. E du vin, s'il vous plait.»
La cameriera sorrise e si allontanò a passi spediti. Poco dopo Didier in persona si presentò sulla porta, con l'ordinazione. Aveva cambiato subito espressione, John non era sicuro se fosse gioia o panico.
«Ciao Didier.»
«John.»
Quando John si era alzato in piedi Didier si era avvicinato, aveva posato il vassoio e solo dopo qualche istante i due si erano scambiati un fraterno abbraccio.
«John, da quanto tempo. Come mai da queste parti? Anche tu sulle tracce dei terroristi forse?»
John aveva storto la bocca scuotendo la testa.
«Purtroppo no, Didier. È un viaggio di piacere. Anzi no, in realtà sto facendo credere a una novellina che deve fare un test d'ingresso e che deve riuscire a colpirmi con un proiettile di vernice.»
Didier aveva un'espressione scettica, come se si aspettasse una battuta, ma poi si era messo a ridere.
«Vedo che non sei cambiato, mi fa piacere. Soprattutto dopo che...Mi dispiace John, per tua moglie.»
John aveva abbassato lo sguardo sul proprio piatto.
«Beh, grazie mille Didier. Vuoi sederti a fare due chiacchiere? Non credo che la novellina abbia la minima idea di dove io sia, quindi ho tempo.»
Margot Forrester
« Quando tutta questa storia sarà finita, me lo presenterai, vero? »
« Manhita, concentrati, per favore. Da che parte devo andare adesso?»
« Uhm, una volta che avrai svoltato a destra, alla fine della via, dovresti trovare la destinazione esattamente di fronte a te. A quanto pare si è fermato ad un bar, non riesco a leggere bene il nome dalla cartina, è troppo consumata. A giudicare dalla zona, deve avre gusti costosi il tuo amico. »
« Beh, credo proprio che se li possa permettere. Ok, vedo il bar, credo di essere arrivata. Il GPS cosa dice, sono nel posto giusto? »
«Affermativo, capo. Lui com'è? »
« Una spina nel culo... » aveva risposto Margot distrattamente, mentre osservava la scena all'interno del bar con il piccolo binocolo che le pendeva dal collo.
« Mi piace. Per te ci sono una persona di polso. » aveva commentato in risposta Manha, dall'altro capo del telefono.
« Devo andare, chéri, grazie dell'aiuto! »
Non aveva nemmeno attesa la risposta della ragazza, prima di chiudere la chiamata. Margot frugò nella tasca della giacca per recuperare una sigaretta. Fumare l'aiutava a sciogliere la tensione e serviva ad occupare il tempo, intanto che decida come agire.
Aveva fatto appena in tempo ad accenderla che un uomo in completo gessato color melanzana e fresco di lampada si era avvicinato con una certa curiosità e si era abbassato gli occhiali da sole sul naso per poterla osservare meglio.
Margot aveva sfilato la cicca dalle labbra e aveva voltato lentamente lo sguardo con la stessa meccanicità di un automa. Sbuffò una nuvola di fumo in faccia allo sconosciuto in un commento silenzioso sull'invasione del proprio spazio vitale.
L'uomo si allontanò tossendo e scosse l'aria di fronte al suo viso per dissipare la cortina.
« Posso aiutarti? » gli aveva domandato Margot con tono a metà tra l'ironico e lo scocciato. Lo sconosciuto allora si era sfilato gli occhiali e l'aveva indicata con una delle aste attaccate alla montatura: « Non ci siamo già visti? »
L'assassina scoppiò a ridere: « Fai sul serio? È così che vuoi giocartela? » ma l'altro non diede segni di tentennamento, anzi, rincarò la dose: « Ma sì sì, non sei quell'attrice? Come si chiama? E se non lo sei, beh, dovresti. Hai mai pensato di entrare a far parte del mondo dello spettacolo? Hai la faccia giusta. Deve essere proprio il tuo giorno fortunato perché vedi, io lavoro per un'agenzia di moda. Recluto nuovi volti, sai, modelle. »
« Ma non mi dire... » aveva commentato la donna con aria annoiata scrollando un'abbondante blocco di cenere sulle scarpe tirate a lucido del suo interlocutore.
L'uomo infilò una mano nella giacca per recuperare un biglietto da visita dalla tasca interna e l'aveva allungato verso Margot: « Ti dico, bella. La vedi quella pubblicità laggiù, su quel cartellone? Con il mio aiuto, la tua faccia potrebbe essere la prossima a finire lì sopra. »
La donna gli rivolse uno sguardo penetrante: « Senti, BELLO, se non sparisci immediatamente, sarà la tua di faccia a finire sul quel cartellone. Letteralmente, spiaccicata come una mosca sul parabrezza.» e per far capire che non scherzava, aveva volutamente portato l'attenzione dello scocciatore sul calcio della pistola che portava al fianco. Sortì l'effetto desiderato e non appena il damerino in viola si fu dileguato, spense la sigaretta e rimase sul ciglio opposto della strada rispetto al bar per raggiungere l'entrata secondaria, senza farsi notare.
Approfittò del momento di distrazione dei dipendenti, impegnati a scaricare la merce dal camioncino delle consegne e con nonchalance entrò dalla porta semi chiusa. La stanza in cui si era ritrovata era costituita da una piccola cucina dotata di forno in cui stavano cuocendo dei dolci. Un ragazzo impegnato ad impastare una nuova infornata le dava le spalle, silenzioso e concentrato. La donna gli si avvicinò con circospezione e gli avvolse un braccio intorno al collo, premendo sulla trachea per impedirgli di urlare. Quando la prolungata mancanza di ossigeno gli ebbe fatto perdere i sensi, Margot posò il suo corpo sul pavimento con delicatezza, nascondendolo dietro all'ampio bancone al centro della stanza. Si affacciò sulla sala principale e individuò il tavolo a cui era seduto John. Tirò fuori l'arma giocattolo e mirò a livello della nuca. Prese un lungo respiro per rilassare le spalle e sparò. Lo avrebbe colpito se solo la sua vittima non si fosse sporta verso il tavolino attiguo per recuperare una confezione di tovaglioli, in quel preciso istante. La cartuccia esplose quindi in faccia all'uomo che era seduto esattamente davanti a lui.
Margot si picchiò il palmo sulla fronte e fece scorrere le dita tra i capelli. Si appoggiò allo stipite della porta e rivolse gli occhi al cielo: « Questo è perché ho deciso di ribellarmi, vero Padre? È il tuo modo subdolo di farmela pagare, lo so. »
Jonathan Wick
I due stavano discutendo amabilmente, cercando di recuperare tutto il tempo durante il quale non si erano visti. Didier gesticolava molto mentre raccontava di vip, attentati e persino dei suoi due figli.
John lo ascoltava con un sorriso rilassato contornato dalla barba incolta, dai peli argentei in punti differenti.
«Credo che Parigi sia una delle città in cui verrei a vivere, però ormai sono abituato agli americani e al loro stile di vita.»
Didier aveva annuito, si ricordava molto bene del tempo trascorso in America, quando erano ancora colleghi.
«Hey John, è proprio vero che sei rientrato allora?»
John aveva annuito, mentre tagliava il croque monsieur con forchetta e coltello.
«Pare di sì, non per mia volontà. Avrei voluto starmene tranquillo a elaborare ciò che è successo a Helen, ma-»
Aveva infilato un boccone caldo tra le labbra, ma un po' di formaggio era colato, così aveva dovuto allungarsi verso il tavolo attiguo per prenderne uno. Aveva sentito un rumore sordo e quando si era voltato Didier aveva la faccia completamente rosa e stava realizzando solo allora cosa era successo.
«Vuoi scusarmi un secondo?»
John si era alzato in piedi e Didier si stava massaggiando la parte colpita con qualche gemito. John aveva recuperato dal bancone un post it, aveva scarabocchiato sopra una faccina sorridente e si era diretto silenziosamente verso la cucina. Aveva il passo felpato di un felino, si era appostato proprio dietro allo stipite, dopo di ce aveva teso un braccio e le aveva appiccicato il foglietto molto probabilmente sulla fronte.
Per rallentarla un po', aveva chiuso la porta usando una sedia come ulteriore intralcio.
Intanto con tutta calma si era avvicinato di nuovo al suo tavolo, aveva impacchettato il suo pranzo usando un paio di tovaglioli e aveva picchiettato la spalla di Didier con fare piuttosto desolato.
«Scusa Didier, devo andare ora. Ti manderò un regalo da New York per farmi perdonare. Passa a trovarmi quando puoi.»
Era uscito a passi piuttosto svelti e si era infilato di nuovo nella metro, mangiando il suo croque monsieur direttamente con le mani.
Una cosa che non avrebbe mai fatto in condizioni normali, ma quella era un'emergenza.
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