Whispering Bones (23 page)

Rotted lips battened down on the open wound. The disgusting sounds made by the creature as it fed on her blood filled the air around her.

A vague awareness that the storm had spent itself floated across her mind. One last coherent thought flashed through her before she lost consciousness. The baby...the child she had birthed long ago, her daughter.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open at the implication. The creature ceased feeding and lifted its head. Anna saw its filmy black orbs widen, as if in surprise, and the flicker of understanding in them before it lowered its head again to continue feeding.

She died with the knowledge of the fate awaiting the daughter she had never known crushing her soul.

* * * *

When it was over, Isabella flicked the last drop of blood from her mouth with her rotted tongue and looked down on Anna’s ravaged carcass. Most of the woman’s flesh had been stripped from the bones. Only her head remained more or less intact, attached to her skeletal remains.

Isabella erupted in insane laughter. It sounded hellish, even to her, and the dead scattered in fright on hearing it. She remained alone with her prize in the forest for some time. Then she grabbed what was left of Anna by the hair, dragging the cadaver behind her as she crawled with it into her underground lair.

While drinking the woman’s blood, Isabella had seen something—a child. The woman, Anna, had birthed a daughter. For some reason, however, she could not see it clearly. It remained hidden from her. But she had glimpsed it in the blood—and blood never lied. Another descendant existed. Her days of feasting might not be at an end after all.

Isabella stretched out next to Anna’s remains and rested, her belly full. The blood she’d consumed permeated her, restoring her purpose of being. She would feed again. There would be blood, and another fulfillment of the curse to savor, although she knew not when.

Poveglia Island

Present Day

By six-thirty, the sun had re-emerged and the skies over Poveglia were once again azure, the last remnants of the storm having moved on. When the water taxi pulled up to the steps of the landing, the driver uttered a curse. His passengers were nowhere in sight. Despite his threat to leave if they were not at the landing on time, he knew Falcone would not pay him if he returned without them.

The driver killed the engine and waited. Ten minutes passed and still no one arrived at the landing. He lit a cigarette and, when he was done smoking, stepped out of the boat and climbed the stone steps. His anger rose, knowing he would have to go in search of them. The idea of wandering around the island frightened him badly.

The island was haunted. Everyone knew it. No one in their right mind would come to Poveglia. He’d heard all the stories of the strange occurrences connected with the island following his arrival from Romania three years ago. Many fishermen had recounted how they’d snagged bones in their nets from the waters off the island’s shore. Human bones. He himself had heard the bell tolling at night as he ferried his passengers back and forth from the Lido. And, one time, he had heard ghostly noises coming from the island as well. Then there was the matter of the daring fellow who had snuck past the
carabinieri
who patrolled the island’s shores to take pictures on Poveglia. Pictures which, when developed, had revealed the dark silhouettes of the creatures believed to inhabit the island. The photos and film had been carefully examined, but no one had been able to explain the strange images. It was said the dead wandered here, and several men he personally knew not to be cowards claimed to have seen with their own eyes corpse-like figures wandering on the island.

If not for the large amount of money Falcone had offered him, and his assurance that he would only be responsible for transporting the two passengers to and from the island and nothing more, he would never have taken the job on. No one else had been willing to take Falcone up on his offer, but he’d desperately needed the money to send back home to his family in Romania. Now, faced with the prospect of what he might encounter, he wished he hadn’t committed to the job.

Cursing again, he took a few tentative steps along the path and called out. “Taxi! Anyone here?” Only the eerie stillness of the island responded.

A heaviness seemed to permeate the air as he moved cautiously along the path. He called out again as he traveled. “Hello! Is anyone here?”

He forced himself to walk to the end of the path. Once there, he spied the construction trailer. Perhaps his fares were inside working and had lost track of time. He decided to check the trailer. If his passengers were not there he would return without them, Falcone and his money be damned. He didn’t like the strange sensations the island evoked, the feeling he was being watched.

The oppressive atmosphere seemed to intensify as he made his way to the trailer. Before he reached it, he tripped over something and fell face first into the brambly overgrowth.

What he saw when he got to his feet stopped the string of curses coming from his mouth in mid-stream. The mutilated body of a man—his passenger, he realized with a shock—lay hidden in the tangled vines at his feet. The man’s face and body were covered in ugly gashes, his clothes ripped to shreds. It looked as if he’d been attacked by a large animal—chunks of flesh had been torn away. The sight of the gaping wounds caused him to turn and retch into the bushes.

When he was done heaving, he turned tail and ran back toward the boat. If the woman was also dead, he did not want to be the one to find her. This was a matter for the authorities, and if Falcone didn’t like the idea of his going to the police, he could go to hell. The fool should have known better than to send anyone to this fucking island in the first place.

He arrived out breath at the landing and untied quickly. A second later, he gunned the motor and shot away, headed for the mainland to report what he’d found.

* * * *

Within the hour, the taxi returned to the island, accompanied by three police vessels. After they docked at the landing,
Luogotenente
Baldacci, the lieutenant in charge of the Venetian division of
Carabinieri
, and the taxi driver disembarked first, followed by the fifteen officers Baldacci had ordered to accompany them. The lieutenant had also placed a call to Falcone before setting out, but was told that
Signore
Falcone was out of town. A message had been left for him to contact the police immediately.

Baldacci followed the taxi driver along the path to the field where Alejandro’s body rested. As soon as the driver reached the location and pointed out the corpse, he requested permission to leave. Baldacci acquiesced, but told the man he would have to remain available for further questioning later that day. After providing his contact information to one of the officers, the driver left.

The man’s request did not surprise Baldacci. He had overheard several of his own men grumbling on the boat about having to attend on the island. Poveglia’s history was well known to Baldacci. As a boy, his father had recounted many times the story of the asylum and the head surgeon who had gone missing, a story passed down from his grandfather, who had been involved in the missing doctor’s investigation. Superstitious nonsense, as far as Baldacci was concerned.

Prior to leaving the mainland, Baldacci had checked the written authorization requested by Falcone two days ago. The corpse in the bushes was Alejandro Ramirez. The taxi driver had confirmed a woman had also been transported to the island this morning. Anna LaServa was an architect, according to the paperwork. Both LaServa and the unfortunate man lying at his feet were employed by Falcone’s company.

Baldacci crouched to examine the body lying in the bushes. He could conceive of no explanation for the nature of the man’s injuries. The man had been savagely mutilated, ripped apart by the look of him.

He left the corpse for the time being. The LaServa woman needed to be located, and that was his first order of business. After directing his men to secure the scene, he checked the trailer and found nothing out of the ordinary. Baldacci split up his team, ordering half his men to search the deserted hospital complex. The other half would accompany him to scour the rest of the island.

* * * *

At nightfall, a badly shaken Baldacci led his men back to the landing. They carried with them the body bag containing Alejandro’s remains. The search for the woman would resume in the morning, although Baldacci did not hold out much hope that she would be found alive. The men who had searched the hospital complex had discovered a broken window and a large quantity of blood on the floor next to it in the building closest to the trailer. Samples had been collected to determine whether the blood had come from Ramirez. Baldacci conjectured the Ramirez fellow may have been killed there and his body dragged into the field.

But who had killed him? Only Ramirez and the LaServa woman had attended on the island, and the massive wounds covering the body could not possibly have been inflicted by a woman. He had seen teeth marks in several places, as if something, some animal perhaps, had savagely attacked him. Yet they had spotted no wildlife at all on the island.

The skull he had discovered on the old desk inside the office building was another matter altogether—a human skull, just sitting there. Moist soil clung to it, leading him to believe it had been dug up on the north shore, where he’d found a small excavation and other bones.

The LaServa woman seemed to have disappeared into thin air. On the north shore, near the excavation, Baldacci had spotted a digital camera resting on a nearby fallen log. He had reviewed the contents on the memory card of the camera. At first, the pictures appeared to be nothing more than a photographic record of the island, until he got to the shot of the bell tower. What he’d seen in that photo had caused him to rethink his skepticism about the island being haunted.

The picture had been taken close up, with a zoom lens. It showed the open top of the bell tower. To his amazement, in the photo, a bell clearly appeared in the tower, although he knew very well the bell had been removed back in his grandfather’s day. And that wasn’t all. Just in front of the arched opening, the slightly blurry image of a man appeared. He had been captured in mid-flight, falling heard first from the tower. The photo would have to be enlarged to be able to tell for sure, but the man’s image looked to be transparent. Baldacci could see through his midsection to the stones of the tower behind. The clothes worn by the man in the picture appeared unusual as well, the suit old-fashioned, in the style of turn-of-the-century clothing.

He had grown up hearing the tale of the strange case of the doctor who had disappeared from the island, and some of the old-timers believed the man had committed suicide by jumping off the bell tower almost a century ago. The more he studied the picture, the more he became convinced the camera had captured the image of the ghost of Dr. Rossi.

He planned to make immediate arrangements on his return to the mainland to meet with Falcone tonight. He’d tried to raise the man on his cellphone earlier, but couldn’t get a signal. Neither his nor any of his men’s phones functioned on the island, and Baldacci assumed they were out of range.

He had put in a long day and there was still much work to be done. He needed to interview the taxi driver again and meet with Falcone. At sunup tomorrow, he’d be back on the island to resume searching for the LaServa woman.

* * * *

At ten o’clock that night, Baldacci looked across his desk at Paolo Falcone. Impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, the man had remained expressionless as Baldacci recounted the details of his investigation, even after he’d explained the mutilated condition of Ramirez’s body. Similarly, Falcone had expressed no surprise that no sign had been found of Anna LaServa. The man had only regarded him with cool, unwavering eyes. Baldacci found himself thinking Falcone must be one hell of a poker player. His expression gave away nothing.

When Baldacci finished relaying his information, he waited for Falcone to speak.

After a moment, he did. “The currents in the water surrounding the island are quite vicious,” said Falcone. “Ms. LaServa must have been on the unprotected north shore, as the camera you found there belonged to her. Possibly, she was the one who unearthed the skull you mentioned. Perhaps she became frightened. Could be she fell into the deep water off the shore. The current could easily have carried her away.”

Baldacci had not considered that possibility, but the scenario didn’t sit right with him. “I suppose that’s something we can look into, but the condition of Ramirez’s body would indicate he was savagely attacked. The manner of his death raises many questions. Our investigation to determine what, exactly, happened to him and Ms. LaServa will no doubt be a protracted one. There is also the matter of the skeletal remains which will need to be investigated. The island, of course, must remain off limits until all investigations have been completed.”

Falcone said nothing at first. Then Baldacci watched as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He slid it across the desk to Baldacci.

Baldacci eyed the envelope, but did not touch it.

The two of them stared at each other in silence. After a moment, Falcone said, “I understand your daughter is undergoing treatment for bone cancer, a terrible thing for a young mother to have to endure.”

Falcone’s words took Baldacci by surprise. The man had obviously looked into his background, but how had he garnered this information about his family so quickly? The reference to Mirella, his only daughter, caused his heart to fill with sadness. With two young children, she had been diagnosed with the dreaded disease just after her thirtieth birthday. The doctors did not hold out much hope. Although Baldacci had discussed the possibility of having her admitted to the private clinic in Milan, the expense was enormous and not within his means. He stared at Falcone. The envelope remained untouched between them.