THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

9. Sober

After the last pint was served and all the tourists stumbled back to their hotels, the city of Volterra fell into a deep slumber, leaving the shadows and the light to play in the streets like friendly children in the schoolyard.

In this late hour, when all else was still, the Gutter opened its doors for business, calling all the city's rats, the rich and the poor, to its humble gates. The respectable men always hid their faces as they navigated the muddy streets of the red-light district. I'm nothing like these other guys, they told themselves. I'm a decent man. The women didn't care either way. "I don't judge a man by his character," they would always say, "just by the bulge in his pocket."

In one of the brothels, a young woman hurried to clean up for her next shift. Men always paid more when the woman was clean, she knew, and she needed to make up for work she'd missed. 

I should've been more careful, she thought. It's not safe to walk the streets at night. 

She never saw the animal that attacked her, but it left its mark on her flesh. After her shower, the sopping wet bandage on her shoulder had started to peel, so she pulled it off herself. Much to her horror, the inflamed skin underneath was oozing with a yellow puss that carried a rancid smell.

"I don't understand," she cried. "The wound was nearly healed this afternoon."

She tore through an entire roll of toilet paper while trying to dry the wound, but her attempts were in vain. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse. Streams of puss and blood were trickling down her back and puddling on the floor.

"What's happening?"

Just outside, the brothel owner started banging on the door with his fist. "What's going on in there?"

"N-Nothing! I'll be out in a minute!" Quickly, she cleaned up the mess and then dressed herself. "Everything's fine," she murmured, tugging at the neck of her dress until it covered her wound. "I'm fine."

"Well, hurry up!" he shouted. "We have clients waiting downstairs!"

Her trail was spotted red and yellow as she stumbled out of the bathroom in her heels. By the time she reached the staircase, the infection had already seeped through the fabric, staining her dress an unpleasant brown color. 

Something's wrong, she thought as her vision started to blur. Breathing deeply, she wrapped her fingers around the wrought iron railing, an old, wobbly structure that had gone orange with rust after years of neglect. It started to creak when she threw her weight against it, but she couldn't find the strength to lift herself up. Her body felt so heavy all of a sudden, like someone had cut open her stomach and placed stones inside.

"What am I going to do?"

"Jump," she heard in the silence. "Jump now and leave it all behind." 

She felt a pair of hands on her back, gently pushing her forward. She kept her eyes shut, too afraid to see the fall, but soon the fear became too much for her, and she snuck a peek.

With her blurred eyesight, she could barely see the brothel owner smiling up at her from below. His broken body lay in a twisted, mangled heap on the floor.

"No!" she screamed as she struggled against the plunge, her red shoes scraping against the iron. "No, please, no!"

The hands gave her one last shove, and she toppled over the edge, joining her boss on the stone.

Two men, cloaked in shadow, approached the balcony from which the woman fell. "How tragic," said one to the other. "I hate to see a good whore go to waste."