In the early morning hours, so early that the sun hadn't yet peeked over the horizon, a young woman entered the quiet cemetery alone, carrying with her a small bouquet of flowers to lay at her lover's grave. She'd meant to come sooner, but the grief was too much for her to bear. It still was. Holding the flowers close to her chest, she moved forward slowly, one quivering step at a time, and when she reached his grave, she sank to her knees and began to weep.
"Do not cry," said a man, his voice soft and disarming. He was standing right beside the woman when she turned around, and she found his smile so comforting that she didn't once question his mysteriously sudden appearance.
"He has no need for your tears," he said. "He is at peace now."
The woman wiped her eyes and tried to smile. "I know, but it's just so ..."
"Unbearable."
"Yes."
"Everyone will tell you that it gets easier with time, but that is a lie. It never gets easier, never."
"You've lost someone too?"
The man nodded. "My wife and my children."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. What happened?"
"I don't know," he answered, his pale face contorting with sadness and guilt. "I wasn't there. I never was. After they died, I made a promise to their memory: I swore I would visit their graves every day, but I couldn't even keep that promise. It's been years since my last visit. Now, I can't even remember where they rest."
The woman stood. "Then let's find them, together."
The man was taken aback. "I don't think you'll be able to find them."
"So you won't even try?" Boldly, she took his arm. "Come on."
With only a name to guide them, the two walked up and down the cemetery aisles, searching every slab of stone they passed. The man was not as optimistic as his companion. He moved along with slow, laborious steps. If not for the woman tugging his arm, he wouldn't have moved at all, but she was determined to help this stranger find closure.
"Is this her?" the woman asked when she stumbled upon a dusty, broken headstone that bore the faint letters of his late wife's name. "Damaris, that's her, isn't it?"
Stepping away from him, she knelt in front of the grave and began to brush away the thick layer of dust with her fingers.
Slowly, a date emerged.
"18 ... 67 ... 1867?" She sat back in confusion. "This can't be right," she said to herself before turning and saying to the man, "I think we have the wrong ..."
The man had disappeared.
With a quiet gasp, the woman rose to her feet and glanced about the desolate cemetery, seeing nothing but the endless columns of cold stone.
A chill ran down her spine as she stared once more at the numbers carved into the tombstone.
"1867."
Shuddering, she gathered herself and left in a hurry.
Moments later, when all was still once more, the man reemerged, taking her place in front of the grave. He had no flowers to lay, no kind words to say, and so he just stood there in silence until a second man joined him.
"Right on time, as usual," the man said to the newcomer. "Nice to see you haven't lost your touch, Demetri."
"Well, you made it quite simple, Constantine. All I had to do to find you was go to the most depressing place I could think of. And here you are, in the company of death."
"We belong with death," the man replied sorrowfully. "I look around and see the graves of my children, and their children, and their children's children. ... My entire legacy is right here beneath my feet, and yet here I stand, unchanged. I would give anything to join them."
Demetri rolled his eyes. "In all my years, I've never met a man as pitiful as you. Your life is limitless, but still you wish to give it all up and join a bunch of maggoty corpses six feet under."
Constantine chuckled. "Immortality doesn't suit everyone, I'm afraid."
"Is that why you did it?"
"Does the reason matter to the Volturi?" Constantine asked, though he already knew the answer.
"No, only the crime matters."
"As is just," Constantine agreed, and then he turned and gazed longingly at his wife's headstone. "Could you do it yourself, Demetri? Right here? Right now? I would like to die with my family, if possible."
Demetri frowned. "You know I can't do that. You must first be judged, and then They will decide your fate."
"Of course." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, shall we go then? I know Caius doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Would you like to say goodbye to your family first?"
Constantine smiled. "No need. I'll be seeing them soon."
✧ ✧ ✧
It was nearly noon by the time Dahlia finally scurried out of the elevator and made her way toward her desk. She hadn't meant to be so late for work, but she'd forgotten to set her alarm the night before.
Please let her be gone, she prayed, hoping that when she turned the corner, she wouldn't see Heidi's angry face waiting for her.
As she neared that dreaded turn, she slowed her pace and then snuck a quick peek before proceeding. Much to her relief, the area was empty, so she relaxed and went to her desk.
"You're late," Heidi said as she suddenly appeared behind the young girl, who then let out a shriek so loud even the mayor heard her.
Heidi cringed at the awful sound; it made her sensitive ears ring. "Why are you late?" she went on, rubbing her temple. "You'd better have a good excuse."
"Well ..." Dahlia's fingers slowly found their way into her mouth, and she started nibbling on her manicured fingernails. "I overslept," she explained, her quiet voice muffled by her fingers.
Heidi's eyes widened. "What's this?" She took the girl's free hand and examined her fingernails, which had been chewed and picked down to tattered little nubs. "You've been chewing your nails again?"
Dahlia answered by spitting out a piece of her nail onto the floor, and when she withdrew her hand, her fingers were full of blood.
"I think I'm getting used to the taste," she admitted.
Again, the girl tried to put her fingers in her mouth, but this time Heidi grabbed her hand and gave it a hard slap. "I told you to stop that. Do I have to knock out all your teeth?"
"No, it's just ... I just get so anxious."
Sighing, Heidi grabbed a handful of tissues and pressed it against her bleeding fingers. "What could you possibly be anxious about?"
As soon as those words left her mouth, the elevator doors opened and Demetri strode down the hall with Constantine following a few steps behind. Once Dahlia saw Demetri, her body stiffened in fear, and she started nervously picking at her thumb until the skin was raw.
It had been almost three weeks since he'd assaulted her, and while her wounds had healed, she was left with a deep emotional scar from the traumatic experience.
He'd apologized, of course. A few days ago, before he left the country on business, he stopped by Dahlia's desk and gave the most empty, insincere apology she'd ever heard, ending it by saying, "But perhaps now you'll think twice before you touch other people's things with your grubby little fingers. We don't steal, do we, little vulture?" and then he patted the top of her head like she was a child.
"Good morning, Heidi," Demetri said, but he didn't acknowledge Dahlia. "As requested, Constantine is here to meet with the leaders."
"What took you so long?" Heidi asked.
Demetri smirked. "I took the scenic route, made a stop in Paris to sample some French cuisine." Then he glanced at Dahlia with an impatient glare. "Well, are you going to bring our guest to Aro, or do I have to do your job for you?"
Dahlia quickly stumbled away from her desk. "No, I'll do it," she uttered, and then she smiled timidly at Constantine. "Follow me, please."
As soon as she was gone, Heidi turned toward Demetri and gave his shoulder a hard slap. Demetri felt no pain from her blow, of course, but he certainly didn't enjoy being any woman's punching bag, least of all hers.
"What have I done this time?" he asked in a bored tone.
"You know what you did. It's the same thing you always do!"
"What? I thought I was being quite civil with her. I even apologized, just like you asked. What more do you want from me?"
Heidi's face was fixed in a sneer. "If she's not productive, what good is she to us?"
"Well, I could take care of it if you want," he offered. "I certainly wouldn't enjoy it, but I would do it for you, Heidi. I would do anything for you."
"No, I don't want you to do anything. In fact, I want you to stay away from her."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't see why she's so special."
"She isn't, but I don't want to look for a replacement just yet. We've gone through too many girls as it is. Six in the past three months alone! People will start to notice if we're not careful, which is why you need to control yourself!"
She hit him again, much harder than the previous time, and she kept on hitting him until he pulled away.
"Would you stop it already?" he growled. "I admit, I got a bit carried away, but only four of them were my doing. You can thank Felix for the other two."
Heidi scoffed. "You both behave like children," she said before turning on her heel and walking away, "but I will stand for it no longer. I have a job to do, and I will not let you two get in the way, so from now on stay away from my girls."
Demetri watched her hips sway as she walked, a lustful smirk on his face. "Say, Heidi, is that a new dress? You look ravishing."
"Go to hell," Heidi shot back without missing a step.
He hopped on top of Dahlia's desk and got comfortable. "Only if you join me."
Chuckling to himself, he started going through the papers on top of the desk. "Oh? Heidi's scheduled a tour for next week. Something to look forward to."
As he put the papers back, he noticed a drop of blood on the desk. It was a dull red color, hardly enticing, yet Demetri couldn't help but have a little taste.
Once the foul liquid touched his tongue, he started to gag. "What does that little rodent eat, garbage?"
He tried to spit the taste out of his mouth, but it was no use. "Well, now I'll need to eat something else to rid myself of this awful taste."
While Demetri went to find a snack, Dahlia was leading Constantine to Aro's office. The man moved slowly, always four steps behind his guide, which Dahlia found quite unsettling.
"You're a friend of Aro's?" she asked to break the silence.
"In a way, yes, but at the same time, no."
"Oh." A puzzling answer, Dahlia thought, letting the silence consume them once more.
Constantine studied the girl carefully as she walked and wobbled around in her high heels, shoes that seemed a size too big for her but only because she didn't know how to walk in them. Her dress, purple as a bruise, went to her mid-thigh, but she kept trying to yank it down further, as if she believed the material would magically lengthen if she pulled hard enough. Everything about this girl, he thought, was ill-fitting, like she didn't belong there at all.
"You're new, aren't you?" he said, making the girl slow her pace and turn toward him.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yes." He cracked a small smile and walked alongside her. "How are you adjusting?"
"Not well." Dahlia frowned. "It's like I can't do anything right. I feel like my days are numbered."
"Well, you must be doing something right," he kindly replied.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you wouldn't be here otherwise." He placed a cold but comforting hand on her shoulder. "But you'd better be careful," he warned. "This is not a safe place for you."
"Thanks," Dahlia replied with a smile, "but I can take care of myself."
Such a sweet kid, he sadly thought as guilt overtook him. What the hell is she doing in a place like this?
And then an idea entered his mind, a horrible yet compassionate idea. He could have taken her life right then. It would have been quick and painless, a much better death than the one she would receive from her employers.
His fingers twitched and inched toward her skinny neck. It would be so easy, he realized, like snapping a twig.
Dahlia suddenly pulled away from him. "We should continue. Aro doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Constantine forced a smile. "Of course."
Upon approaching Aro's chambers, they were stopped by Renata, who was dutifully guarding the door. "State your business," said the grim-faced brunette to Dahlia.
"This man is here to see Aro," Dahlia told her.
Renata pursed her lips. "No one may see Master Aro at this time."
"Why not?"
"He is very busy." Especially for the likes of you, Renata thought, looking over Dahlia's wardrobe with disgust. She has been dressed in the whore's image. I will not let her meet Master Aro like this. "Your shoes are very loud. I could hear you coming a mile away."
Dahlia looked down at her shoes. "Well, I'm sorry. I'd change, but I don't have any other shoes."
Renata's eyes sparkled and her lips curled into a smile. "I do. I have lots of shoes, nice shoes for proper women. I will bring you a pair tomorrow, and some new clothes as well."
"O-Okay. Thank you, Renata. May we see Aro now?"
Her smile fell. "No, I'm afraid I can't let you."
Still, despite Renata, the door did open, and Aro was on the other side.
"Renata," he said, "what are you doing out here?"
"Nothing. I'm just - I - I thought I would—"
"That will be all, Renata," and he waved her off with a subtle flick of his wrist.
"But Master, I—"
"Renata," Aro said, his calm tone succumbing to annoyance, "I will not repeat myself."
"Yes, Master," she obediently replied before taking her leave.
Smiling brightly, Aro then turned to Dahlia and said, "Dahlia, my dear Dahlia, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Dahlia stepped aside, letting Aro see his visitor. "This man is here to see you."
"How perfect!" Aro exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, Constantine. Thank you so much for bringing him to me, Dahlia." He gave her cheek a gentle pat. "You're doing such a fine job."
"Thank you, sir."
Constantine smiled at the girl. "Thank you, Dahlia," he said before following Aro into his chambers. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Dahlia replied, but her smile faded when she saw the look in the man's eyes. Why does he look so sad? she wondered, but once the door closed, she had no choice but to return to the front desk where she belonged.
She looked at the clock. "Is it noon already? I'm going to be late!"
Hastily, she grabbed her purse and hurried into the elevator, which took her all the way to the main floor. It was there that she passed Demetri, who was making his way downstairs.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Lunch," Dahlia replied, careful not to make eye contact.
"Well, make it quick this time. Your last lunch break was over two hours long. What, did you eat the entire menu?"
"No."
"Try something light for a change," he went on. "You eat too much."
"Yes, I will. Thank you. Is there anything else you'd like to say before I leave?"
Demetri glared at her. "No. Scurry on out of here, little rat," and Dahlia did as she was told.
✧ ✧ ✧
Heights, how I hate heights! Christopher thought as he slowly climbed up the old, rickety ladder, gripping the rails so tightly his knuckles were starting to turn white. Once, only once, he looked down, and the sight made him sick.
"I'm going to die," he whispered, and when he shifted his weight ever so slightly, the ladder started to creak. "I'm actually going to die!"
But he kept on climbing, up and up, until he reached the roof safely.
He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Well, that wasn't so bad."
Christopher was crouching on the roof of a small shop, which just so happened to be across from the café where Mayor Distefano was having his lunch. When he spotted the mayor and his female guest dining on the patio, he quickly whipped out his camera and started taking pictures.
"Who is this lovely lady?" he asked. "She's not your wife, that's for sure."
Unbeknownst to Christopher, the young woman was Dahlia, who'd been invited to a lunch meeting with the mayor. She seemed nervous, Christopher observed, for she kept glancing over her shoulder during the meal, as if she feared someone was watching her.
"That's right," he said. "I see you, little lady, and you're gonna make me rich." He took a few more pictures, being sure to capture both their faces.
When he was finished, Christopher crawled toward the ladder and started his descent. About halfway down, though, a man approached him and started shouting in Italian.
"Hey, you, get down from there! What do you think you're doing?"
The man caught him off guard, and Christopher missed a step, causing him to slip and fall straight down. He landed hard on the ground, but he was unhurt, at least until the Italian man grabbed his jacket and started shaking him around.
"What are you doing on my roof?" the man shouted, in English this time. "American pest!"
Christopher fought against him. "I'm just taking pictures of the city! I'm a journalist!"
"Journalist?" The man released him and started dusting off his coat with a gentle hand. "So sorry! So sorry! Journalist, you say ... You write story about me?"
"I would be honored," Christopher replied, but only so the man would release him without trouble. He even conducted a fake interview and took notes. But once it was finished, Christopher tore out the sheet of paper and tossed it into the trash. He was just about to step away from the bin when he noticed something else sitting on top of the trash pile — a flyer for his supernatural-themed weblog, crumpled beyond recognition.
"Aww, come on!" he whined, digging his flyer out of the trash. "The dead do walk among us!" he declared loud enough for people to hear. "And soon I'll have proof ..."
In order to retrieve his proof, Christopher returned to the city hall once more, and this time there was nobody guarding that hidden elevator that interested him so very much.
First — perhaps to ease his anxiety — Christopher walked around the entrance hall, filming the room and taking pictures with his camera. Then, when his confidence finally reached its peak, he walked over to the elevator and pushed the button with a quivering finger.
Slowly, the doors opened, spreading wide and welcoming him inside.
Christopher gulped. "This is it," and after taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.
"Hey!" a woman called from behind, making Christopher jump back with fright.
Olivia Distefano was standing at the end of the hall with her hands on her hips. "What do you think you're doing?"
Christopher looked back just in time to see the elevator doors close. He'd missed his chance.
"That elevator is off-limits to tourists," Olivia said.
Christopher smirked. "Well, I'm not a tourist. I'm a journalist."
"Oh? And what does the American journalist want?"
"I was hoping to speak to Mayor Distefano, actually," he lied. "I have a few questions for him."
"I'm afraid he's not in at the moment. You'll have to come back another time."
"Or you could answer my questions," Christopher said, flashing a charming smile. "You are his press secretary, if I remember correctly."
"You do."
"Then I'm sure you have read all about the animal attack that occurred a few weeks ago. Funny, the mayor was unable to give a comment when it happened, but I suppose he is very busy, with all his charity benefits and whatnot."
Olivia gave a disinterested shrug. "Is an animal attack considered big news where you come from? Here, they occur quite often."
"The man said it wasn't an animal that attacked him, but you'd know that if you had actually read the story."
Her eyes narrowed at his challenge. "And what was his claim?"
"He said it was a beast, a monster — a werewolf, perhaps"
"A werewolf?" Olivia scoffed. "Some poor drunk cries werewolf, and you actually believe him? Please, tell me your name so that I may know the foolish American who still believes in monsters."
"Christopher Redgrave."
"Redgrave?" Olivia smirked. "So you're the one who's been putting up flyers all over town. The Monsters Among Us. Tell me, Mr. Redgrave, have you found any monsters in Volterra?"
"Well," he said as he slowly approached her, "you'd have to read my blog to find out," and then he pulled out the crumpled flyer from his bag and handed it to her. "I guess today's your lucky day."
She accepted the flyer. "I guess so."
Christopher smiled. "I hope you find it very enlightening, Miss Distefano."
"Olivia. My name is Olivia."
"Well, Olivia, you have a nice day."
Stepping back, he flashed a quick picture of the beautiful Italian woman and then took his leave.
"Have a nice day," Olivia muttered back before glancing down at his wrinkled flyer. "Clever American," she mused with a laugh, and then she returned to her office on the second floor.