“Bugger,” he whispered and slid down the wall into a crouch.
His knees cracked, echoing around the little canal. He took a sip of water from the first bottle. It tasted stale and reedy.
Once he felt more stable, he climbed the steps again and entered the island. The smell became more pungent with each step. It was the stench of rot and death—the stench of decay and isolation. The pathway at the top was littered with weeds. The island was being taken over by nature. Greenery seeped through countless cracks. He wandered along the path, taking occasional sips from the water. Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine, between his buttocks and down his legs. He felt dirty and uncomfortable and began to regret his decision to come to the island.
He came across the shell of a building. It was crumbling and decrepit, as dangerous as any condemned property, but inside, there would be blissful shade. He entered the property, passing an almost illegible sign which proclaimed it to be the “REPARTO PSICHIATRIA”.
He knew the history of the island, that was what had drawn him here. It was a place of death and destruction, a place of pain and suffering. He felt very much at peace there. It was still, silent and safe. He was away from the hustle and bustle of his everyday world, and as much as he felt anxious about being stuck there, he also relished the idea.
Inside the building, there were broken hospital beds, desks and chairs: the detriment from its abandonment in the 60s. In the 90s, the addition of graffiti had appeared from illegal raves, most of it surreal, invented through a haze of psychedelic drugs. He entered a room that was blissfully cool and filled with green shadows from the light coming through the vegetation covering the broken windows. There was a bench tipped on its side, but it looked sturdy. Luke set it back on its feet and sat down. The bench had a faded tapestry seat which was exceptionally comfortable considering the age it must have been, so he lay down, his feet hanging off the end, to take a moment to cool down.
Luke opened his eyes and his first thought was that the building was on fire. The room was lit with a brilliant glow from the setting sun, the oranges and reds that slipped between the fronds hanging in front of the empty windows. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat. He felt sick and shaky. He sat up slowly and picked up the little pack he had rescued from the kayak. After the first sip of water, he started to feel a little more alive. He looked around him, taking in the desolate scene. Standing in the doorway to the next room was an elderly woman. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Oh, hello,” he said. “I thought I was alone.”
She smiled but did not speak. She turned away and walked into the room behind her.
Luke gathered up his sparse belongings and quickly went after her. If he wasn’t alone, perhaps there would be a telephone or radio he could use to contact the mainland.
In the next room, the space was much darker. Black shadows haunted the corners and created hallucinations of people watching him. He could not see the lady. She had been wearing a long dark skirt with a dark blouse, so he thought that perhaps his eyes simply had not adjusted to the change of light.
“Hello?” he called. “Hello?”
Laughter, wheezy and broken, drifted back to him from the maze of rooms ahead. In typical style of the area, the property was long with interconnecting rooms throughout. He couldn’t believe that the woman’s shuffling had taken her as far as the next room before he had arrived, but there was every possibility that she was quicker on her feet than he had accounted for.
A flame flickered in the entrance to the next room. It hovered around five and a half feet from the ground, so he guessed that someone was standing there holding an old lamp.
“Hello? Can you help me?”
“Inglese?” came the reply. The voice had a beautiful, melodic tone to it. Gentle and sweet.
“Sì, sono inglese. Non parlo molto l'italiano.” It was the only Italian he had bothered to learn, and he pronounced it with a distinct English accent.
“Sì, sì,” the woman said.
There was a moment of silence and then the sound of heels clipping as they crossed the stone floor towards him. The lamp bobbed up and down. As she came closer to him, he could see her features. She was stunning, completely taking his breath away. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform and her glistening black hair was tied up in some kind of fancy loop giving her a look of elegant authority.
She took hold of his wrist in the time-honoured manner for pulse checking. Her fingers were frozen. Despite it still being warm, her touch made him feel as if he would turn to ice. She then placed the back of her hand against his forehead before holding the lamp up to his face so she could peer into his eyes. All this seemed to satisfy her in some way.
“Come,” she said.
Luke, a natural born follower, did as he was told. He trotted to keep up with her energetic stride as she walked deeper into the derelict building. He felt sure that she would take him to a phone so he could call the villa or the police. He did not think to question why an old lady and a young nurse were on a deserted island off the Venetian coastline.
The woman opened a door onto a room bathed in light. The electrics were dated, so there was a classic yellow tone and flicker that you no longer achieved with energy saving bulbs. It gave the room a cosy and comfortable feel, as if he had gone back in time. The room was large and contained nine hospital beds, most of which were occupied by grey-skinned men. The old woman who Luke had first met stood next to one of these beds, gently spooning dribbles of a steaming liquid into the patient’s mouth. She looked straight at Luke, as if she knew he was watching and grinned. Her teeth were rotten and black, crumbling over her lips. Luke nodded his head in a naturally polite acknowledgement, but inside, snakes slithered around his bowels.
The nurse he had followed was having a hurried conversation in Italian with a doctor sitting at a desk in the corner of the room. The doctor, for he had to be a doctor as he was wearing a white coat and had an old-fashioned stethoscope slung around his neck, kept looking over at Luke then firing off a rally of incomprehensible sounds at the nurse. He looked tired and defeated, as if he were fighting a battle that he knew he would never win. Eventually, he stood up and approached Luke, holding out his hand in greeting.
“English, yes?” he asked as he vigorously shook Luke’s hand.
“Yes. Little lost. May I use your telephone?” Luke replied.
“We have no telephone Signor. I am Doctor Georgio Crimella, and you?”
“Luke Archer, not a doctor though. More of a creative,” he replied.
“Creative… Creative… Ah yes! Painter!” The doctor smiled at Luke for the first time, and it shed the haggard look from his face in an instant. “You are very welcome to be here Signor Archer. Very welcome. We need healthy people.”
Luke frowned. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him. The nurse who had been standing behind the doctor appeared to fade and then become solid again. It was as though she wasn’t there for a moment. He decided not to question it too much as really, it was just lovely to discover he was not alone.
“Now, this is Nurse Chiarina Gavazzi. She does not speak very much English, but she will be your guide. I am sure you will find communications. Hungry, yes?”
“More thirsty, really,” Luke replied. He was looking directly into Nurse Gavazzi’s eyes and had lost his way a little.
She gave him a demure smile and turned away from his gaze. She seemed to shimmer as though she were full of light and good things.
“Chiarina will take you to the canteen and ensure you have all you need. Tomorrow, we will set to work.”
“Work?” Luke asked.
“Yes Signor. This is a hospital. The healthy must work.”
“Right ho. Well, until I am rescued of course.”
“You will not be rescued,” the doctor said. “People do not come here anymore.”
Over the next few days, Luke was gainfully employed assisting the doctor with his ‘experiments’. Although Luke was esse
ntially an intelligent man, he was so used to following orders that it did not cross his mind to question the doctor’s activities. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of patients available for trial and error attempts at curing them of whatever illness they had. The strange thing was that on the Thursday, he saw a young man die as part of one of these tests, and then on the Friday, someone who looked just the same appeared for more assessment.
He spent his free time with Chiarina, teaching her English while she taught him Italian. She was a much faster learner than he was, and so soon, she was conversant while he was still struggling with simple phrases.
Days turned into weeks, and at some point, it became autumn. Luke was sitting in the warm sunshine in the garden listening to the birds in the trees in an attempt to block out the screams in the asylum. Chiarina came to join him. She picked up his hand and examined his fingers. He had to be honest, they were beginning to look a little worse for wear. His skin had taken on a grey tinge and his nails were ragged and pale. She shook her head, entwined her fingers with his and gently kissed the back of his hand.
“You are one of us now,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“When you came here, you were pink and beautiful. Now you are faded like us.”
“I’m sure I just need a jolly good rest,” he replied.
He realised his heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach was filled with flutters. He had never had a physical reaction to another human being like he did with Chiarina. Every time he was near her, he felt content and comfortable. He felt urged to kiss her, to hold her hand, to put his arms around her and pull her in tight to him.
“You have a choice amore mio. You have been here for seven weeks. Tonight, the old lady, she will come to you and give you a choice. Do not make your choice for me, make it for you.”
She kissed him passionately, as if it were her final goodbye, and then scurried away. He did not see her for the rest of the day. He was kept busy with his now friend and colleague Georgio designing new and inventive means to cure the patients within the hospital.
That night, he went to bed in his little cell. It was slightly separate from the wards, but not so much that it drowned out the wailing and the crying. He had been studying the plants in the garden and looking up their properties in some ancient tomes he had found in the library in the hopes he could create a calming solution for the poor people who never seemed to get any better.
In the dead of night, when even the patients were sleeping, there was a knock at his door.
He awoke with a start, leaping from the bed like a much younger man caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t.
The door flew open, banging against the stone wall with a crack that echoed. Instantly, the room, which had been a comfortable hidey-hole with his bed, his desk and chair, his books, all changed. Instead, the floor was rotten and a hole in the centre showed a long and deathly drop to the room below. The bed was little more than a rusty frame, the books, just dust. On the wall where he had pinned the paintings of his patients (for he thought of them as his now), there was decaying plaster with intermittent graffiti proclaiming a love for ecstasy and the year 1993. He felt sick as the putrid smell of destruction overpowered his every sense.
The old woman stood in the doorway. She started cackling as Luke’s fear grew into absolute terror. Where were his friends? Where were his patients? Where was his love, Chiarina?
“You boy have a decision to make. There are two worlds here. Two realities. You are close to being a part of the Other.”
Luke tried to understand what she was saying, but her voice grated and rumbled making it almost impossible to hear the words. He looked into her eyes, squinting at the bitter light that shone out of them. The room around him disappeared and instead, he was in a hazy limbo, a blank emptiness.
“Two realities, Mr Archer. Your choice. In one, you will live an endless life as an infermiere, achieving no peace until the patients do. In the other, you will have a human life, with the family and friends you have always had. Which one Mr Archer? Do not think. Which one?”
Luke knew instantly the choice he needed to make. He had always been a selfish soul, always a loner with no thoughts for others, loved ones or not. His weeks on Poveglia Island had changed his perspective. He wanted to help.
Not for himself, not for Chiarina, not for Georgio, but for the patients who desperately needed peace and tranquillity, he said, “Poveglia Island.”
The space became his little bedroom once more. The paintings on the wall depicted the pain and anguish of those who had painted them. The books were strewn over his desk and littered with odd leaves and flowers that he had procured from the grounds.
This place was a place of torture. It was a place of pain and misery and death. He intended to change that. His bedroom door slammed shut. He felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He got back into his bed, tucked his sheet under his chin and closed his eyes, falling asleep in seconds.
The next morning, he took his breakfast into the grounds and sat watching the sunrise, surrounded by screams and fear. Chiarina came out through the side door and dropped the tray in her hands as soon as she saw him. The tinkle of breaking china echoed around the complex. He did not take his eyes off the beauty of the dawning day.
“You chose me?” she asked.
“Not exactly. I chose me. The right me.”
“I am glad.”
“Me too. Come sit with me for a while.”
Chiarina joined Luke on the ancient stone bench and he put his arm around her, pulling her closer. He kissed her forehead and then returned to staring at the horizon.
“How will we get married without a Chaplain?” he asked.
She giggled with a freedom from fear that he had not heard from her before. It was throaty and sexy, turning the butterflies in his stomach into something much more carnal.
He leaned forward and plucked a leaf from a small plant that he had not noticed before. He crushed it between his fingers and was hit by a fresh lemony smell. He held it out to Chiarina to share.
“Ah, cedronella. Beautiful.”
He pocketed the crushed leaf as the bell tower tolled for the morning shift to start. A new day began with new possibilities.
Chapter One
Her lips felt warm against my skin, and I woke from a deep, peaceful sleep. I still marvelled at the effect this girl had on me. In the short time we had been a couple, she had shown me what it was like to love again. She gave me warmth and peace, and I rarely experienced the raging thirst that had dominated my existence for so many centuries. My witch had truly worked her magic, and I loved her for it.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I murmured, returning her kiss and pulling her close against me, desperate to feel her warmth all over.
Samantha giggled and squirmed against me, her hands roaming over my body, her knee sliding between my legs as she tormented and teased. I growled in response, rolling her over so that I was on top, kissing her lips ferociously, taking care not to nip her with my fangs. She moaned happily, her arms now wrapped around my back, holding me as close as she could while I made love to her.
Eventually, I moved away, feeling my natural instinct grow strong. Samantha saw my expression and her smile faded.
“Go and feed, Meredith,” she instructed softly, “while I have breakfast.”
I nodded, unable to speak; fighting the urge to bite her neck. She immediately called up a magical shield of protection, and the shimmering bubble of light blinded me momentarily. I shrieked in alarm and reared away, grabbing my clothes from the adjacent chair as I left.
It was a bright, fresh morning with spring giving way to summer and tourists once again returning to Blackpool. I used to hate the summer season—the only benefit being the easy prey in large numbers—but now I found myself smiling as I surveyed the sunshine, although I took care to wear dark glasses and a hat. I wouldn’t melt beneath the rays, but it weake
ned me physically, rendering me all but human as I went about my business. Now, I was desperate to feed, bombarded with scents and heat from all directions. I tried to walk normally as I moved away from Samantha’s apartment building. I tried to feed in places that were not so familiar to her out of respect for my lover.
A while later, I returned to her home, refreshed and fully in control of my senses. She met me at the door—a beautiful vision and happy because she finally got a day off work and we could spend some proper time together. Her shifts at the hospital were long and frequent, and she was so involved in her work that sometimes it made me angry. I wanted to be the centre of her attention, but I had to allow for her lifestyle. Besides, I was busy with other projects, not least the guidance of my latest vampire child. Ryan James was a vampire hunter when I met him, and he came to Blackpool seeking to destroy me. Admittedly, I was a little wild back then. I had been lonely and bored, so I took out my frustrations on whichever humans crossed my path. The witch soon tamed me, bringing me under her spell. She helped me to defeat the hunter, and when he tried to kill himself during our final battle, I gave him the ultimate death sentence.
Ah, those memories! It had all happened the previous Autumn, during the Blackpool Illuminations season. We’d played cat and mouse, I led him a merry dance around the town, leaving a trail of corpses in my wake and he found me at home on the North Shore. That house was destroyed during our battle, more’s the pity, but I found something very similar close by.
Samantha was not yet ready to move in with me, and I tried very hard to respect her decision. She had never dated a vampire before, and her coven certainly did not condone our union. They asked her repeatedly to leave me, they threatened to destroy me and they had even tried magic not so long ago. Their spell had the opposite effect, however, and only brought us closer together. Samantha was young, but she carried the wisdom of her ancestors, for which I was grateful. She brought out the best in me, and I was happy.
Key to My Heart: An Anthology of Sweet Romance Page 3