by Rita Vetere
“Help me,” she cried at the empty room.
Her frantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy wooden door creaking open. Rossi stepped inside, followed by two attendants. Although he did not appear as disheveled as the last time she’d seen him, Rosaria thought he looked like the devil himself.
She listened in frightened silence as Rossi directed the two attendants to secure her and bring her to the surgical area of the hospital. When the attendants wheeled a gurney next to her bed and unfastened the leather straps at her wrists, she lashed out at them like a wild animal, scratching and clawing, while directing a stream of curses at Rossi.
The large men easily overpowered her and wrestled her onto the gurney. One of the attendants held her down while the other fastened a leather belt tightly across her midsection, pinning her arms. Another restraint was applied to her legs with practiced speed. A moment later, they wheeled her outside. Rosaria could only whip her head around as she continued hurling obscenities at Rossi. He led them along the path and through the back door of the operating room.
After depositing the gurney inside and receiving Rossi’s polite dismissal, the attendants left, ignoring her screams for help. Rossi shut the door behind them. He turned to her, his face an expressionless mask.
“What are you going to do?” she cried. Her hysteria increased by leaps and bounds as the image of the empty beds in the quarantine building flashed through her mind again.
“Shut up,” he responded in a deadly voice.
She watched in dismay as he grabbed a nearby towel and stepped toward her.
“No! Help! Get away from—”
He stuffed the thick towel into her mouth, effectively silencing her.
* * * *
Rossi looked down at the struggling woman. What he saw was a test subject, a lab rat or a guinea pig, nothing more. This might be his last chance to discover what he needed to know. If he continued disposing of patients as he’d been doing, it would only be a matter of time before someone raised an alarm.
As he readied his instruments, it occurred to him his chances of success might be greater if he dissected the brain before removing it, while the subject was still alive and the brain functioning. He glanced at the woman on the gurney and decided, yes, that would be the way to proceed.
Moving to the other side of the room, he opened the door to the cabinet containing his supplies and picked up the large bottle of chloroform. Annoyed to find it empty, he replaced it and shut the door. He had forgotten to order a fresh supply following his last surgery. Not a problem, he decided. He would simply do without it. She wouldn’t be alive to suffer for very long anyway, he told himself.
After filling a large glass jar with formaldehyde, he readied it on the table next to the surgical instruments. Following his examination of the functioning brain, he would remove it for later study. He grabbed hold of the leather strap dangling from the head of the gurney and fastened it securely across Rosaria’s face, to keep her head immobilized.
A mixture of euphoria and anticipation surged through him as he picked up the small saw from the table nearby. He noticed the instrument was still covered in dried blood from the last patient he’d worked on. Not that it mattered, but still, he was a professional. Standards needed to be adhered to. He used a wet rag to wipe the saw clean.
Satisfied, he returned to stand behind the head of the gurney. Rossi readied the saw above the woman’s forehead.
* * * *
Heart-stopping fear rammed through her when Rosaria realized what the madman hovering over her intended to do. Anticipation of what would happen when the deadly blade connected with her head caused her entire body to go numb. As she gazed up at the instrument of her death, she imagined what kind of pain she would be subjected to, and struggled frantically against her restraints. She screamed again, but the towel jammed in her mouth rendered the sound barely audible. No one outside the room could possibly hear her. The thick leather straps across her chest, legs and face might as well have been made of steel. She could not move.
Rosaria knew her struggles were futile, but she continued to resist. When Rossi lowered the saw, she told herself it would be better not to look, and forced her gaze down, away from the approaching blade. Let it be quick, she prayed.
It was then she saw it. The terrible apparition of the dead child, whose appearance the night before had led her to this fate. It was standing next to her, peeking up over the gurney at her with dead, glassy eyes.
Rosaria did not have a chance to react to the sight of the demon child before the jagged blade ground mercilessly across her forehead. The nightmarish vision standing beside her turned into a crimson blur as the cutting began and blood flowed into her eyes. Blinding pain followed, so intense it wiped all trace of thought from her mind.
The pain stopped abruptly. Rosaria found herself floating in the air near the ceiling of the room, looking down on her tormentor. The front of Rossi’s lab coat was drenched in blood. Her blood. He appeared to be in the process of cutting into her exposed brain with a scalpel. Her gaze traveled the length of her mortal remains on the operating table, coming to rest on the dead child still standing beside the gurney.
The creature lifted its ruined face in her direction, then extended its hand as if in invitation. Rosaria heard the thing clearly when it spoke, even though Rossi appeared completely unaware of its presence in the room.
Come with me and retribution will be yours. There are others like you here... Join us...
Rosaria did not look for the light. She heard Rossi utter a curse as he sliced deeper into the grey matter that had once been the driving force of her living body. He had taken everything from her, and her hatred of him was great. Great enough to overshadow the evil which she knew resided in the entity beckoning to her from below.
Rosaria floated down, coming to rest next to the demon child. Together, they watched as Rossi removed the brain from her cadaver and placed it carefully into a jar of formaldehyde next to him.
A cold shiver ran through Rosaria’s soul when Isabella’s tiny dead fingers suddenly latched onto her arm. The moment she made contact, Rosaria was inundated with moving images from the past that flashed through her altered state with terrifying force. When it was over, she understood everything.
She turned to Isabella, no longer frightened by the blank eyes and decaying flesh. Then her gaze shifted to Rossi, secure in the knowledge that he would soon join her in death. That thought eclipsed all else, even the fact that her decision to remain had bound her immortal soul to the creature standing next to her for all time.
Chapter 20
Poveglia Island
Present Day
Anna’s hard-pounding heart reverberated in her ears as she continued to search for Alejandro. Something had tried to trap her in the crematorium. What if Alejandro had fallen prey to whatever lurked on this evil island?
She stopped at the closed door of the next building. The door gave way when she pushed it. Standing on the threshold, she stared into the single large room. Debris and rusty bed frames littered the floor, as well as old mattresses and stuffing. She did not enter. By the dim light filtering through the only window, she could see the place was empty. Alejandro was not here either.
Only the main hospital remained to be searched, but the door had been locked yesterday when she’d tried it, she reminded herself. She ran past it to the landing and reached the stone steps leading to the water without seeing him.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she sat heavily on the step. Black dread coursed through her. What had happened to Alejandro?
The white-capped water around her remained devoid of traffic. The sky had turned sour and bruised clouds dipped toward land. The approaching storm must have driven any boats, including the police vessel, back to the mainland.
Anna took a deep breath and tried to control the panic racing around her mind like a caged animal. She forced herself to think rationally. A little over six hours remained before
the water taxi would arrive for them. Her best course of action, she determined, would be to return to the trailer and wait there. If Alejandro turned up, that’s where he’d head to first.
She turned back to the path, convinced Alejandro had met with some misfortune. Anna decided to wait at the trailer for half an hour, and if he didn’t turn up, she’d conduct another search.
Retracing her steps, her eyes trained on the path before her, Anna spotted something she knew had not been there before, near the walkway leading to the hospital. Stopped in her tracks, she stared down at a large swath of blood on the ground. It looked as if something bloody had been dragged there. The blood trail continued up the walkway leading to the hospital doors.
Alejandro. He must be badly hurt... So much blood.
She followed the crimson trail, which ended directly in front of the closed doors of the hospital, doors which, only yesterday, had been locked. Her heart hammered away as she stood motionless in front of the closed doors. She didn’t want to go in there. It would be safer to return to the trailer, but Alejandro was obviously hurt and bleeding badly judging by the amount of blood on the ground. What if he’d had an accident? But then, why wouldn’t he have returned to the trailer where the first aid kit was, she argued with herself. Why would he have dragged himself here?
Anna knew her indecision was wasting precious time—Alejandro might be in there, bleeding to death. Still she hesitated, remembering what had happened in the crematorium, paralyzed by the prospect of what she might encounter if she entered.
As if in answer to her thoughts, the heavy double doors swung open in front of her. The sight of the doors opening by themselves sent her heart lurching and made her hackles rise. Gooseflesh danced across her skin as, in the distance, she heard the first low rumble of thunder.
Don’t. Don’t go in there. Don’t you dare!
A weak cry sounded from inside the building, a man’s voice.
She stood at the open doors, peering inside, her heart thudding in an alarming manner. “Alejandro,” she called out in a badly shaking voice, “are you in here?”
Another sound of distress, louder this time, came from deep within the building. She felt certain the voice belonged to Alejandro, and the fact decided her.
Anna stepped inside before she lost her courage, every nerve in her body jangling. She took another tentative step and waited, remembering the way the crematorium doors had closed behind her. Nothing happened.
She glanced around the large vestibule. The place was in shambles, everything covered in layers of thick dust and grime. Most of the paint had flaked off the walls, leaving them pock-marked. Broken tiles from the ruined floor and pieces of old furniture littered the ground. Heavy cobwebs hung in the corners and blanketed the overhead light fixture like a cocoon.
At the other end of the vestibule, to the right, circular steps spiraled upward, probably leading to the bell tower. Opposite them, to the left, another set of stairs led to the second floor of the hospital. To her immediate left stood an open archway. On the floor directly beneath the arch, she spied a large red stain—more blood.
Anna moved cautiously to the portico and found herself staring into a long room. Beyond it, she could see another arched opening, and another beyond that, ending in shadow. Tattered and mildewed mattresses and old bed frames cluttered the floor. Gloomy light penetrated the room from the banks of reinforced windows on either side, but the corners remained in shadow. Anna realized this section of the hospital, the asylum, she corrected herself, must have housed the patient wards. Still standing under the archway, she glanced to her left to make sure the main doors remained open. They were.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she entered the dim ward, walking quickly through it into the one beyond, seeing nothing but debris in either. She hurried into the third ward. All three of the connecting rooms were empty, save for the ruined beds, torn mattresses and stuffing scattered about.
She reached a door at the end of the last ward, which stood slightly ajar. Anna peeked inside. The windowless room must once have been a laboratory of some sort. She opened the door all the way. On second thought, it looked more like an operating room, one from days gone by. To the right sat a steel table, draped in cobwebs, rusted and dented, but still upright. Through the floating strands of dust covering it, she could see what looked like rudimentary surgical instruments lined up on top. Next to the table, an old-fashioned gurney stood propped up in the corner. On the wall to her left, a row of dilapidated cabinets remained mounted to the wall, although most of the doors had come unhinged. Some were still attached, hanging at crazy angles, while others had fallen off, resting on the floor below. On one of the shelves she spied several large glass jars lined up, blanketed with dust so the contents weren’t visible.
She traveled carefully through the dim room to the wooden door at the other end, taking care not to trip on the loose floor tiles, and opened it, expecting to see another room. Instead, the door opened onto the outdoors, a back entrance to the hospital from which she could see the path and the building she had explored before this one. In the sky, dark clouds rolled and twisted. Lightning flashed and the rain came. The storm had arrived.
Alejandro was somewhere inside this building, she reminded herself, and hurt. She had to hurry. Having come this far without encountering anything sinister, she decided to return to the vestibule and take the stairs to the second floor to search for him there.
As she walked by the bank of cabinets on her right, Anna glanced at the dusty jars lining the shelf. Something, although she could not tell what, appeared to be floating inside them. On impulse, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed one of the containers, holding it up in front of her and blowing off some of the dust. Whatever floated inside appeared fairly large. She used her hand to wipe the grimy glass.
Anna stared incredulously at the contents of the jar. Shocked by the sight of the brain floating in the murky liquid, she released the container. It went crashing to the floor, spilling its vile, slimy contents in every direction, and filling the air with a putrid stench. Some of the oatmeal-like substance spattered onto her boots and the bottom of her jeans.
She screamed, the sound drowned out by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the walls.
Chapter 21
Poveglia Island
1927
Night fell on the island. The spirits gathered.
Rosaria looked around, astounded by the vast number of dead inhabiting the place. Most appeared as the putrid and pus-ridden corpses that had so frightened her in life. She now understood their appearance reflected how they had died—from the plague, centuries ago. But she also saw others who were like her—Carbone’s spirit had chosen to remain, as had the other patients who died as a result of Rossi’s experiments. They looked as they had at the moment of their death, still wearing their blood-spattered white hospital gowns, and with the tops of their heads missing, revealing the empty cavity within. Their eyes, like all of the others’, appeared as blank, waxy slates. Rosaria did not cringe from the sight of them. Her own appearance, she knew, was no different. That she had become one of the creatures of the night which had so terrified her while alive no longer seemed of consequence in her new reality.
They gathered in the field at the island’s center, and Rosaria could sense what lay beneath the earth here, could discern from what served as her eyes the skeletal remains of thousands upon thousands, piled like refuse beneath the unconsecrated ground. They would never be at rest, the dead lying below her feet, no matter how many centuries passed, no matter that the oldest of the bones had ground to dust, turning the earth white as it took its fill of them.
Isabella spoke, and Rosaria directed her attention to the one who led them. The demon child hovered above them, her bare and rotting feet off the ground, her decaying arms outstretched and her filth-encrusted hair floating around her ruined face. A guttural voice that bore no resemblance to a child’s emanated from Isabella and swept over th
em like an ill wind.
“The hour of the next fulfillment approaches. Who among you will partake of the killing?”
The dead erupted in screeching howls. Rosaria raised her new voice, moving in frenzied unison with the others. The intended victim was well known to her, and the prospect of watching Rossi suffer and die at their hands excited her beyond measure. And he would suffer, she told herself, seeing the malicious grin on what remained of Isabella’s face. Oh, yes. She was certain of it.
* * * *
The clock in Rossi’s office chimed the half hour. At two-thirty in the morning, he sat on a crumpled blanket at the edge of his bed, staring at the dissected brain sitting on his desk. With a trembling hand, he raised an almost-empty liquor bottle to his mouth, swilling down the remaining contents in one gulp. Then he tossed the empty bottle against the wall. It shattered, sending shards of glass spraying across the floor.
Another dead end.
The thought opened the floodgates to panic, and it crashed over him like a tidal wave. His examination of the brain of the woman, Rosaria, had turned up nothing—nothing other than a normally functioning brain. He had once again failed to determine the cause of the illness plaguing the island—and him.
The clock ticked away, reminding him that time was running out. What the devil was he going to do now? He’d been certain the last subject would provide the answer he needed to stop the insanity growing like a malignancy inside him.