Harry potter needed a cloak to be invisible, but I'm better apparently.
I've been dragged to the basements of this base, and no one seems to acknowledge me, or even look at me.
"Nisha, if you don't tell me right now what's happening, I can't do shit." I'm chasing Nisha around the place, but she doesn't even glance at me, not letting a single sound out of her mouth. I pinch myself to see if I'm real, because not even people passing by me even look at me, or, I don't know, bump into me by accident.
I continue to follow her, and I notice that she's frantically searching through drawers and cabinets, and I'm about to slam her head into one if she doesn't stop ignoring me.
She turns to face me with tears in her eyes and a look of desperation on her face. "I lost it," she whispers, and my heart sinks. I don't even know what she lost but my mind is starting to be like 'fuck she lost it'. I'm literally losing my mind, God help me.
I turn her by the shoulder and raise my voice: "What the fuck is happening" but I can't finish; her palm kisses my cheek with a hard slap, shutting my mouth instantly. I look at her, and she doesn't even care to answer me.
I burst "You don't talk, you don't explain; you just made me come into this bloody building without saying shit, and I'm the one being slapped?" I mutter in between my teeth, trying hard not to return her slap with something worse. I can't understand what was going on with her, and suddenly I don't even want to know anymore. Except that I really do. Doesn't make fucking sense.
She looks at me, and as I start to wait for something to come out her mouth, she closes herself into the meeting room, locking herself in.
We were supposed to meet up with a higher corporation that works for us, but the people there are definitely freaking out about something, something I'm fucking not aware of. I direct myself to the computer room. Maybe I can find some answers there.
As I enter the room, I notice that the screens are all displaying an error message. My heart starts to race as I realize that something is seriously wrong. I quickly try to access the system, but I can't seem to get past the security protocols. Suddenly, the door slams shut behind me, and I hear people rushing to their own station. The error message isn't the only one displayed; on the corner there was a box with a long series of numbers.
300304300304300304300304300304300304300304300304300304
The first thought that comes to mind is that it is a single series repeated all over again. "300304".
All I can find myself doing is searching for a date on my phone: March 30, 2004. I am surprised to find a bunch of articles right away, especially articles about arson. The Mouth of fire accident.
It doesn't make sense. Why would an error message and a seemingly random series of numbers lead to articles about arson? My heart races as I start to understand.
*
BREAKING NEWS, The famous Italian chairman Alessandro Vellonteschi has just passed away after his house burned down unexpectedly; no one else was found, including his five sons, and the people passing by have not seen anyone outside the building. Some people have said they could see the flames from a modest distance.
"Stavamo guardando la TV quando ad un tratto abbiamo sentito un odore di bruciato; pensavamo fosse il camino, ma quando abbiamo visto la luce rossa che penetrava dalla finestra abbiamo finalmente visto la casa andare fuoco. Eravamo spaventati, non abbiamo visto nessuno passare di qua, ma dal momento in cui abbiamo visto il fuoco abbiamo rapidamente chiamato i pompieri."
Suspects and traces are on the way to be searched since the house had been cleared down and left without precious elements, including money, his famous golden lions, and others.
Any confessions will be welcomed by the V.P.D.
*
I found myself smelling something ashy. I first thought my mind was playing games by reading that article, like sense memory, but as soon as I saw smoke coming from under the door, I rapidly understood.
I jump on my feet and start screaming at the few people in the room to go through the emergency stairs, and as I open the door, an infernal fiasco is covering my eyes and nose. I take my shirt off and put it on my face, and as I reach the fire extinguisher, I start spraying the whole corridor with it.
The meeting door is being knocked on, and I suddenly understood they were too weak to break it. I quickly put my shirt back on and ran towards the door to help them. As I approached, I could hear their muffled voices asking for help.
"Don't stay near the door," I shout, and when I see the door stops from getting knocked, I kick the door open.
Nisha escapes from that room with Blaise taking her out in his arms, her face covered by a cloth to prevent the smoke from being inhaled. Her hair is burned at the ends, and Blaise's shirt is burnt on the side. I already feel the fuss coming from Nisha because of her hair, but what makes my skin curl is her leg, which is completely burnt from the foot to the knee, with blood matting it like new skin. She's lying on the ground, screaming through the excruciating pain.
Inside, I could barely breathe. I held my breath for as long as I could, taking eventual breaths from outside. The room had no windows , and after a long time, the fire ceased, revealing all the corpses on the ground, badly cooked by the rough fire. "They set us on fire," he says, panting. No shit Sherlock, I couldn't tell; there's always Blaise to clarify the situation.
"Who, though?" He turned his head towards me and then to his sister, still curled on the floor as she observed the corpses. His gesture made the message clear: You didn't tell her? and after she shakes her head, he returns to me.
"We need to talk."
~
The last time I was this confused and concerned was when i found out Blaise's body counts. Both of them. But this situation is different.
He takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything that led up to this moment. Words spill out of Blaise's mouth, and instead of making things less confusing, it messes up the painting more than before.
"So you're telling me, we had years of tension between us, and the sons of the guy who died mysteriously a couple of years ago are hunting us because your parents stole something important, which, for the record, is not useful at all for us. This thing is making them hunt us down, trying to kill us for being in their way." I resume Blaise's story, trying to make it make sense: "And we don't even know their identity, making us the easy prey."
He blushes, nodding at me with his head low. Robbery, stealing information and money are easy for me since I was raised in House Dolé , but I've never experienced something even remotely similar.
Nisha was writing something down, her burned braids in a bun and dark circles under her eyes, trying hard to think without smashing her head on the wall. "What could this mean?" Her whisper was low and not intended to be heard by anyone other than her. On the screen appear the numbers found before:
"I saw that one minute before I came and rescued you, the numbers were the date of Alessandro Vellonteschi's death, the man you mentioned before; could it be connected with what happened?" Her eyes are burning holes into my forehead, thinking about it.
"You're assuming they were inspired by their dad's death?" he says, pouring a shot of some random alcohol he found on the shelf while leaning on the counter in the kitchen.
"What if they weren't just inspired?" My head was connecting dots; everything could be connected, but the question marks are still present.
Nisha seems to wake up from thinking about my possible scenario, which, even if it's completely wrong, doesn't mean it's not possible.
"That could have been the most intelligent thing you ever said before." She just called me generally stupid; she cracked a little forced grin, returning to the screen with any less than the phrase over it: "If we take your guess, that means they did in fact kill their dad, since their bodies weren't in the house; if that's so, why would they do that?"
"There are two possibilities. First, it could be that they just eliminated their enemies in a safe way without leaving traces." He swallows a shot of vodka, breaking his sentence and remaining silent for a good minute with us staring at him.
"The second one?"
"Huh? Oh, or maybe just major daddy issues." All three of us snorted, with Nisha putting away the PC and heading to her room, hardly walking with her right leg. "You two better go to sleep; it's 4 am," and we do, leaving only the sound of the ticking of the pendulum to fill the air in the house.
~
Being the Mave of today was never a choice; I would say it was destiny if I believed in it, but it was neither a coincidence nor 'shit happens', and by that, sometimes I curse my mom for not using the pill. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what my life would be like if I had chosen a different path. Would I be living a normal life with a steady job and a family? Probably not a family since I'm barely 23. Or would I be dead by now? It's a thought that still haunts me.
"Still zoning out?" I see Nisha leaning on the door frame. I keep staring at the wall with wide eyes. I shake my head, reorganizing my thoughts, and focus on her. She looks back at me with concern, and I realize I have been lost in my own thoughts for too long. I take a deep breath and try to say a full sentence.
"Still exercising since 6am? You should rest more than two hours per day." I see that her braids are now way shorter than yesterday, making it clear that she cut the burnt part off. I thank the universe that the victims were just the extensions, because if they had been her natural hair, she would decapitate every single human that would stare at her for more than half a second instead of smiling now. Her leg is all wrapped up, and she still has the balls to exercise now.
"I will, but for now I can survive on coffee and sweat until I collapse; now, I came to tell you that it's your turn buying groceries, and since the fridge is clear and clean, you need to hurry up," and with that, she slams the door shut, leaving me watching the door.
~
I enter the store, but as I turn the first angle, I see a whole shadow staring at me, and I'm saying shadow because the man was wearing all black.
He had on a black hoodie, black pants, and even black shoes. It is odd, considering it's a bright sunny day outside. I try to shake off the feeling of unease and continue walking towards the food section. However, as I reach for an apple, I feel a presence behind me. I turn around and saw the same man still staring at me.
I quickly grab my bag and hurriedly make my way to the checkout counter, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. I decide to ignore it but still keep my guards on, looking at everything with suspicion, and by everything I mean even the apples , looking too red to me.
He didn't show up again; it was just that one moment, and from there, I started questioning if I had just been too paranoid because of yesterday. My bag was moving with me, swaying and hitting my leg with every step I made. It triggers me so much that I decide to keep it in my embrace. Little did I know i would go right into someone's back, making everything fall to the ground.
The best day ever, I say in my head; I reach the ground to put them back in the bag, but a hand meets mine. Little did I know I would bump into some man who looked not much older than me, literally double in size compared to me. His tattoos on the neck distinguish him from the rest, and I don't see his face until he moves his hair from his face.
"Cazzo mi dispiace, asciami aiutare." I almost cursed myself for not knowing Italian. He could cuss at me and I wouldn't know, but from his soft smile, I think better. Or at least I think so.
"Yo no-, I don't speak Italian." I had the temptation to slap myself. Hard. Right across the face. I just want my goddamn apples and to go home without getting killed, mugged or harassed, too much to ask. Silly me.
He lets out a soft laugh, making me want to run away and hide in my house, never going out again for groceries. Or at all for that matter "Good thing I know English then; I said I'm sorry, let me help you out." He had no accent, to the point that if he had spoken to me in English, I would have assumed it was his native language.
"Oh, no worries; I was the one not paying attention; I'm sorry." He looks at me while I'm speaking, and a little smile appears on his face as he hands my bag to me. Rain starts pouring down from nowhere, soaking me from head to toe in a matter of seconds. I remember I'm walking home, and saying I'm fucked is an understatement.
"I don't think it will stop soon; let me repay you." He points to a little corner cafe "Right there there's a coffee shop. On this occasion, we can wait for the rain to stop." I was almost going to refuse, but as a thunder crushed down with a loud bolt, scaring the shit out of me, I quickly changed my mind and said, "Why not?"
We enter the cafe, and when we sit down at the counter, an instinctive question pops up in my head: "Since we'll be here for a while, I'm Maverine." I extended my hand softly, smiling, covering the fact that I was scared of the thunder roaming outside. The soft light of the cafe helped me see better, and his face had very defined features, with a sharp jawline and black eyes, making the iris and the pupil blend together.
"Of course, how rude of me for not introducing myself earlier." His hand covered mine, covered by a skeleton hand tattoo. With a gentle shake of his hand, he spoke again.
"Gabriele, nice to meet you."
Baise-moi