Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch

by Stefano Pastor

  «The drawer you asked for is here».

  «Let him in», I answered.

  I could have no more news until the day after, Brandi should arrive in Seoul in the first hours of the morning. But I would not be amazed if before then he would have been able to put things in motion. He was a man with one thousand resources and one thousand acquaintances.

  I could not stay in the office. I had refused to talk with Franzi and declined Giovanna’s help offer. Now they would lose themselves in endless theories about the bizarre occurrences they had attended. But I could not make it, I truly lacked the strength. I should have lied, as usual, because my story could not be shared with anyone. And I wished to stay with Laura, spend some time with her, try to talk with her.

  Minji’s death had been a strong lesson, it had made me realize how important spending time with people I loved was. Poor Jin, my dreams to make him study and make him go to the university. So many pointless worries vanished forever. Who knows what I could have done for him, if he had ever been able to gain his happiness back.

  Laura had lied to me, or perhaps she had not been able to resist. I found her home, sitting in the garden, on a bench. She looked at the blooming flower beds, a jubilation of life in front of her. I approached her and caressed her shoulder. This time she did not pull back, she grasped my arm and made me sit next to her. She hugged me and we stood there, next to each other, without talking. I gave her lots of kisses, and she curled up me, as if looking for protection.

  «What’s dying like?», she eventually asked. «Do you ever wonder?».

  I could have told her, I had already died hundreds and hundreds of times, but I doubted my experience could give her some solace.

  «You’re not alone», I murmured. «I will never leave you, I will always be at your side».

  She caressed my cheek.

  «What are you going to do when I’m gone?».

  I could not accept it, she still looked so beautiful, so perfect, and it seemed impossible that she was ill.

  I soon had to change my mind, because as soon as we entered our house Laura felt sick and vomited, and her vomit was as red as blood.

  The day after I did not go to my office, I stood in bed with her and held her close the whole morning. Only when I went to the bathroom I secretly called Brandi. Everything was going fine, he had arrived and my sons were still alive.

  Perhaps the worst had gone.

  I’m

  Esther Dickerson

  I was fifty six years old and I was a high school teacher. The subject I had been teaching was philosophy.

  I had never gotten married but I had had two significant relationships. The first one when I was still a young lady, with a married man older than me, and it had lasted for four years and he had left me devastated. I was older when I had the second one, with a colleague of mine, and it had gone on for eight years. Our mutual interest had eventually dried out with no drama.

  I was slightly overweight, but not too much, and I had enough care of my physical appearance. I spent all my free time with concerts and performances, seminars and conferences. I tried to keep myself up to date with everything and I loved classical music.

  I was not a bad teacher, as my students were satisfied of myself. I was renowned for being absent-minded, but I thought there was no justification for it. I did not consider myself like that.

  I lived in Sherbrooke, almost at the border with the United States, and despite my name being English, I spoke French. My little house was picturesque and in Summer my garden was full of flowers.

  Was my life a good one? It was a full life, yes, a life which deserved to be lived. But it was too late, already. Even though I did not realize it, it was too late.

  I was in the principal’s office, chatting about fool things, waiting for the lesson to start. I happened to look out the window. I felt no feeling, no foreshadowing, just a chance. I saw him get out of a car, right in front of the school building.

  The car was an anonymous cab, but the passenger was unmistakable. I had not a second of uncertainty. It was the man who had killed me only the day earlier in Korea.

  I froze. The fact he was already there was incredible, he must have caught an airplane for Canada right after the slaughter. But how could he knew about my existence? It was impossible.

  I had little time left, very little time to run away, I feared it was too late. I especially did not want him to find me there, nor in any other room of the institute, since I knew well that he would spare no witness. That school was my house, and I loved every student. I didn’t want to endanger them.

  I abandoned Catherine, the principal, with no explanation, and I ran out of the office.

  She ran behind me, afraid.

  «What’s going on, Esther? What did you see?».

  I could not stop, there was no more time.

  «Call the police!», I yelled. «Make them come, quick!».

  Then I began running.

  A single idea in my mind: twenty seconds!

  I’m

  Marcello DeRenzi

  I was in Laura’s room when the transfer began. She was preparing her luggage to go to the hospital. A maid was helping her. It was a disheartening moment for me, I felt pointless.

  Laura had accepted that I accompanied her. I had sworn I would have never left, not even for a second. When I saw the killer come to the school I froze, but Laura and the maid noticed nothing.

  I should have reacted, but fear of extinction was too strong. I executed the transfer.

  The maid was the first to notice it.

  «Sir…», she murmured, amazed.

  Laura startled and stared at me.

  «Marcello, what’s up? What’s going on?».

  I could not answer. Esther’s life was flowing inside me, all her personal memories as well as the ones she carried. An endless mass of feelings and emotions. It was overwhelming. I began sorting them, dividing them, choosing the truly important ones, because I was not able to contain all of them.

  «Oh my God! Oh my God!», the maid began shouting as Laura ran to hold me up before I fell down.

  «Help me!», she yelled before shocking that incompetent who could only complain.

  They made me sit on an armchair.

  I counted the seconds. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Esther must have fell down right during the transfer, and she was completely defenseless in that moment. Would I make it? Had I done anything wrong? Had I surrendered too soon, perhaps I was still in time to escape? But the man was a professional, there was no way to escape him. How had he found her?

  «Don’t stay frozen! Go and call a doctor!», Laura yelled.

  She held me close and was upset.

  «No, not you, please. Don’t get sick, don’t leave me!».

  It must be a bad scene, but I could not answer. The transfer required all my senses, and thinking was hard.

  Nineteen. Twenty.

  I fell down on the armchair, and Laura yelled louder: «Quick!».

  I was overwhelmed by memories, defeated. I was still dividing them, and this would have frozen me for a few more minutes. But there was no time, not at all.

  «A phone», I managed to murmur. «A phone, quick!».

  Laura did not understand or deliberately ignored my request. She only increased her voice.

  «So? Did she find it? Tell her to come now!».

  I grasped her arm with the only strength I was left with.

  «Give me a phone!».

  It was there, on the desk, a few steps from me, but I had no way to reach it.

  «You’re not able to», Laura murmured.

  «Please».

  She went and took it, but she was confused, and she looked so slow, too slow, to me. It was late, I would not manage to it. It was to happen again. I was to be killed.

  I’m

  Esther Dickerson

  I had fallen on the ground, and many people stood around me. Too many. Even Catherine had come, disregarding my request to call the pol
ice.

  The killer must have entered, by then he was in the building. He would have enacted a slaughter in order to reach me.

  I tried to get up, but I was very weak. My memories were safe, and this was the most important thing. I stumbled, trying to send away all those hands trying to help me.

  God, it was full of guys and girls, my students.

  «Miss Dickerson, are you feeling sick?».

  «What happened?».

  «Call the infirmary!».

  «Esther, what’s up, how are you feeling?».

  Catherine would not let me go, she had grasped my arm. I stared at the hallway, because that’s where the assassin would come from. It was too late, I had no way to escape from the building, and every hallway was crowded.

  «Let me go!», I yelled as I set myself free from their hands with rage.

  The backdoor exit. I would have to pass through the whole building to reach it, but I could do no else. I stumbled as I got away from them, giving no explanation. Catherine and one of the janitors followed me through.

  «Esther, you should let the female nurse look at you. Perhaps…».

  I ignored them and kept looking around me. Where was that bastard, why hadn’t he arrived yet? Had he understood my game? Would he be waiting for me in front of the secondary exit?

  I passed through the building without slowing down. Catherine’s words were lost far away, I passed from a hallway to the other, but lessons had not started yet and students wandered about everywhere.

  When I reached the stairs I froze.

  Up or down?

  My assassin was probably waiting for me at the end of the stairs. Climbing up the stairs I would trap myself and I would have no way out. But I could hide, waiting until the police’s arrival.

  My life was at stake. A full life, something I did not want to give up. I decided and began climbing up.

  I’m

  Marcello DeRenzi

  I slowly put the phone down, my heart in my throat, and raised my eyes to Laura. She had sat down too, on a chair’s edge, and new wrinkles had shown up on her forehead.

  «I did not know you spoke French», she told me.

  She did not understand, I was certain of it. Perhaps a few words here and there, but not enough to understand the phone’s core. I had called Sherbrooke’s police, warning them that an armed fool had burst into the school. I had described it accurately. I said I was a teacher, I had given the name of a professor who truly existed and was very well renowned in the area, so to be certain they would take my call seriously.

  «How are you now?».

  «Better», I answered, but it was not true, I was still exhausted, I had no strength to stood up, and right then an unknown killer was about to kill me, in the other part of the world.

  «Do you need… I can fetch you your pills, if you wish. Did your headaches return?».

  It took me a few seconds before I understood what she was talking about, then I recognized her tense face.

  «No, no!», I hurried up to reassure her.

  «Your doctor said they might come back».

  Was that her fear, that I had cancer too?

  «It was just a cyst, Laura. Not a real tumor. Keep calm».

  We had experienced a bad time, two years earlier, when we were afraid a tumor had hit my brain. I had been operated, but everything had eventually gone well, and the peril had been reduced.

  «It’s not that», I said again.

  Laura was living it, the cancer, and she was very sensitive about certain things. I tried to reach her to grasp her hand, but it was too tiresome.

  «I’m sorry I’m giving you these worries right now. But I assure you it was just a weakness. Nothing important».

  «Have someone visit you, anyway», she answered. «You can’t feel sick now, not now!».

  I got to stand up and I hugged her. She leaned herself on my shoulder and began crying.

  I so much wanted to console her, but right then I couldn’t. I was running to save my life, high, even higher.

  I’m

  Esther Dickerson

  I had reached the point of no return. I could go no higher. I was on the building roof.

  There was a wide terrace, surrounded by the sloping roof and encircled by a railing. Even though the last tract of the stairs was forbitten to every student, I found four of them smoking. When I caught them a guy began cursing. I wasted no time and spoke with my most authoritative voice.

  «Throw them away and go to your classrooms!».

  They obeyed, but they were slacker in doing so. Every second of delay might cost them their life. If they were still there at the killer’s arrival, they would have faced the same end as mine.

  «Move! Move!», I yelled, and I almost pushed them with violence.

  As I saw them enter I sighed with relief, before I looked around looking for a hideout, but I found none. Climbing up the roof would have been pointless, because I would not be able to do that. My body would not be, at least. I was too old and fat, unable to use all the memories I had amassed.

  What was I living to the world? I had no one who was important for me, not even a pet. I would only leave memories to those who had known me. Pleasant memories, hopefully. Was my existence reduced to that? It had not been a great life, void of anything relevant. With years my memories would have worn thin, and I eventually would have been just one of the many lives without blame or praise, completely unproductive.

  I grasped the railing and wondered how I had reached that point. Why didn’t I have a husband and children? Why had I only made by choices? Thousands of experience had been of no help, the human being was still fallible, always.

  Perhaps in that moment it was better like that. Knowing that no one would suffer for my death, no one would despair was less painful.

  The pain for my three children was too strong, and so it was for the wife I had lost. It was better that no more added.

  I did not turn when I heard the terrace door open, I already knew he had arrived. I thought it would be easier not to see.

  «You failed, you know?», I said. «You still won’t be able to completely kill me. I’m already safe».

  No answer, then I had to turn around.

  It was him, and he towered over me. He was so tall, imposing, frightening. He wore the same dress I had seen him with in Korea, or a very similar one. He had no briefcase, but that damn pistol had shown up in his hand.

  «Tell me why you do it», I asked.

  He would give me no answer, I knew that. Yet he spoke as he aimed his gun.

  «One», he said in English.

  I did not understand.

  «One?», I repeated, and asked in his language: «What does it mean?».

  His words overwhelmed me.

  «Jung Park, Esther Dickerson, Miguel Figueroa, Amy Benson, Dominic Ferri and Marcello DeRenzi».

  I stared at him, my eyes wide open, and he smiled.

  «Does it mean anything to you? He wanted me to tell you before».

  «But… but…», was all I could say.

  Then he pointed his gun between my eyes and shot.

  HOUSE OF THE DEAD

  Thriller Novel

  PLOT

  By now life seems settled and done. Reduced to a caregiver of the old and moribund, plagued by a drug-addicted daughter who can’t stop. There’s no future. But one day, by chance, she finds a false wall in her bedroom, a wall that hides two corpses. That’s what happened to her partner, who had oppressed her for years with abuse before disappearing. That’s what happened to her son, who she believed ran away from home. They have always been there, with her. Someone killed them. She cannot call the police. She’d be the prime suspect. The only suspect. She can’t do anything but hide the bodies. She’d like to forget, but cannot. Because in this building there are other faux walls and other hidden corpses, and several people have disappeared suddenly. She just has to try to find the truth.

  EXTRACT

  1

  It
was already five o’clock when I got home.

  Two duffel bags, no suitcases, this was my life. Everything was precarious at that time. In my entire life, really.

  Third floor, no elevator. It was an old house, it would need maintenance, but every time I came back I did not notice any difference.

  I was tired. In the morning there was the funeral. Then right away I left, not even one more night. Maybe they were afraid that I would have made them pay me. Or they wanted to keep their distance, perhaps they feared that she had left me something. They do not know her.

  In fact I was the first to talk about leaving, but they could have asked me to stay. I hoped they would. I was counting on it. I was tired. The last days had been hell. It is never easy to die.

  There was musty smell here, but I hadn’t set foot in the house for three months. When her health had worsened I had to give up my days of freedom. They had paid me, fortunately. Others might not have. At least there was that.

  There was no joy back here in my den. There was nothing to look forward to. No personal link, not even a plant. Maybe in the past I had a cactus, but I was able to kill that too.

  It was my job, I was helping people to die. In the beginning it was different. I was a nurse, a true caregiver then, but now I was only called for desperate cases, when there was nothing left to do. Jobs were a few months at most and hardly ever lasted longer. I don’t complain. They’re the highest paid jobs, those others do not want to do. Even in our profession there are those who cannot stand death.

  I’d had no other life, for many years now. There was this house, but I would have to leave it eventually. It was so unnecessary. Uninhabited for most of the time, it was just a haven for those few days that separated one job from the next. One death from the next.

  I was undone, and I knew it. I floated, trying not to look back. Because what I had left behind me was not pleasant.

  I was fifty, I said. In fact I was only forty-seven, but saying fifty was easier. I proved myself to them. There was not much feminine about me, though in a distant time I was beautiful. Instead I was now sturdy, strong, and that was important. Death likes to have strong people around. The fight is more exciting, though in the end it always wins.

  Ten kicks to the duffel bags to get them through the doorway, then I closed the door with a push. I should eat, but at home and I had nothing. I did not stop in the supermarket, how could I with the luggage? They would have turned their noses up, thought I had come to steal. I had a look of despair about me as well, having not slept for three days. There had not been time.