Chapter 14

Chapter 14 - The Replacement

Angela set her alarm clock for 1am. She had indeed fallen asleep on the sofa, fully dressed. Thank goodness she had set the alarm clock, just incase. She also made sure to dress the night before for her mission. She wore all black, like the night. And like the shadows of the night.

Her hand swiftly shut the alarm down. She didn’t want to wake anyone up. All the lights were off in her house, save the corridor light above the stairs and outside the kitchen. Her heart was already pounding as she moved over to the window by the sofa that looked out onto Piazza Rimazza.

The square was deathly silent. In fact so much so that all she could hear was her heart beating. And it pounded so. It was almost out of control. Her breath became short. Then her stomach began. It always played up when she was nervous, so why not now. But this time it was more acute. This time she felt like being sick. And indeed, before she knew it, the nausea engulfed her upper body and her throat. She felt like drowning. She ran to the bathroom. She vomited in the toilet. And when she knew she was done she slumped to the floor next to the lavatory. She sighed.

It was as though her stomach’s repulsion was her wake up call. She shouldn’t kid herself anymore. She should give herself up. He was dead and buried. It was finally over. Her head hit the wall. Her hopes collapsed. Her mind wandered. She thought of her youth and her parents and the Grimaldi’s. The she thought of her unborn daughter and she thought of Giuseppe. And finally she thought of Monte Amiato. But this time Monte Amiato awoke her. The mountain revived her. She was weak and frightened but she had to find the will. She had to. She gave herself no choice. She imagined this must be what it felt like for a man the first time he goes into battle. She held onto the thought. She made it her own. Then she went into action.

She raced back to the living room. She crouched low. She would take no risks. Once she knew that everyone in Piazza Rimazza was sleeping and all their lights were off, she headed to the walk in freezer. It was almost relieving walking into the cold air that shut off the smells of the rotting corpse. It was so warm outside. It was a windless, sweaty summer night. Perhaps the first of the season, but there would be many more to come. She felt strangely exhilarated. The heat and then the freezing cold of the freezer had heightened her senses and even her body. The extremities of hot and cold snapped her back. She felt stronger than ever. She tingled with anticipation and excitement. She could never remember feeling this way in all of her life. Was this what it meant to be a real woman. It must be, she thought. It was for her. She was off.

Angela dragged the wrapped up body of her former husband down the stairs. He was heavy and stiff. Yet she was more than strong enough. She never imagined she would be. So she dragged him down those steps one by one. She was below him, holding him by his legs, so it was his head that banged down each and every step. And at every thud she smiled. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Until they both reached the bottom. Angela looked up the stairs to their hell beaming. Finally he was leaving. He was leaving for good.

She closed their front door quietly behind them. She sank down to her knees by the door and the rancid corpse. Like a soldier she sank into the shadows and froze for an instant. She froze just long enough to check that no one had awoken. That Piazza Rimazza was safe. Her piazza seemed so peaceful in the warm summer air. She could smell nothing. The fountain was shut off and the moon was low. The square was dark and silent. And yet it comforted her so. She continued.

Angela swiftly dragged the blanket covered corpse to a pillar which was the half way point between her front door and the exit to the Piazza. She had rehearsed stopping here. She needed to check again. She could hear her breath panting in the silent night. She even thought she could see her breath. Just for one instant. Then she stopped breathing and her heart seemed to miss a beat. Angela froze. A light went on across the square. It was from the Signora Malaventa’s house across the Piazza. Angela didn’t know what to do. Then she did. She took control in that one panic stricken moment and she stayed in control for the rest of the night. Something deep inside her awoke in that moment of terror.

She sank behind the column and dragged the corpse so swiftly out of the square that she knew the Signora couldn’t have even got to a window by the time she and Bruno had disappeared. But she had done it. The hardest part was surely over. She remained staring at the entrance to the piazza as she dragged her husband away for the last time. For good.

And Angela dragged Bruno so fast that she could never have seen Giacomo there in the shadows, watching her. She only noticed as she reversed right into him. She squealed and spun around. Then she faced her challenger. She dropped the rotten corpse and stood up tall. She stared hard into Giacomo’s eyes and he stared back. He liked what he saw.

“Let me help you with the son of a bitch!” Giacomo exclaimed as he stepped forwards. “I only wish you had let me do it. I always knew he beat you and I never did a thing. Can you forgive me?”

“No, Giacomo, this I have to do myself. You have already done enough.” Angela smiled but spoke firmly.

“At least tell me your plan.”

So Angela did. She told him everything he needed to know and no more. Then she sped him on his way. As Giacomo finally left her she whispered out to him.

“And thanks, Giacomo, thank you for everything. You are so wonderful.”

Giacomo melted into the darkness. He laughed to himself as he ran away. He laughed and he twitched. The deeper into the olive groves he ran the louder he laughed. All the way home.

Angela had concluded during her planning that the trunk of their car was too high to lift his body into, so, instead she sat him on the back seat. As she sped off he flopped over as if sleeping in the back of the car at the beginning of a long road trip. Angela quietly weaved through the streets of Girotondo until she knew she was safe. She had spotted no one. But, then how could she have spotted the police chief, Il Comandante, Luogotenente Vernaccia, who was watching from the shadows, as he walked off the latest row with his jealous wife, late on this beautiful and warm summer night.

It took Angela about forty minutes to get to her designated point of arrival, high up on Monte Amiato. She was so far up that the road had turned into a track and the track had turned into forest. A huge, forest of enormous pine trees that overlooked the valley below. As Angela jumped out of their car she caught her breath. She had never come so far up Monte Amiato’s mountain path, and the view was extraordinary. The moonlit valley below beamed like an oyster bed. The stars dotted the sky and occasionally became ensnared by wispy, long clouds that slowly meandered across the sky and across the valley all the way to Girotondo. And this was the first time that she had seen the night lights of Girotondo from afar. They seemed so small and so distant. She felt free as she stared off at that place that was now so distant from her. The place that had surrounded her for too long. She felt like running. She felt like running for ever. She knew she would somehow survive. She knew this for the first time in her life. What a strange way to find out. What a very strange way.

Then she ran to the car and threw his body out. She threw him out with a vengeance and watched as he crashed to the floor by the car. He looked so pathetic all wrapped up in the old, worn blanket, like a stuffed, decrepit sausage. She kicked him away from the car as she reached in for the spade. Then she dragged the putrid corpse over to a suitable spot. It took her a while to bury him and when she was done she reached into the back of the car again. This time she pulled out a fine bottle of his favorite red wine. She toasted his burial, sitting on his grave, under the moonlit night. And she said goodbye one last time. Then she got back in the car and sped away.

Twenty minutes later Angela pulled the car up in the designated market town. It was a safe distance from Girotondo and had a department store. The department store sat silently in the quiet night. Angela had let the shadows of the street hide her until she stood before one of the shop windows. She could only see female models. Where were all the male mannequins? They had been there only a few days before when she had last checked. No matter, she told herself, as she hurtled the brick at the shop window. She recoiled as the brick was returned to her by the stubborn window. She sank low to the ground as the brick hit her foot. Like a soldier she internalized the pain and remained silent. She didn’t even let out a squeal. When she knew she was still undiscovered she threw again. This time the brick went through the window. Her gloves pulled the necessary glass away and her arms reached in and grabbed one of the mannequins.

Then Angela ran for her life. She ran clutching this perfectly dressed, female mannequin with dark brown hair until she reached her car. Then she threw the model onto the back seats and sped off into the night.

When Angela returned to Girotondo in the early hours of the morning, it was still dark. She parked her car in the usual spot and wrapped the mannequin in a clean blanket. Then she quietly and carefully dragged her new corpse back through the silent piazza and in through her front door. No one saw her. And Angela felt strangely safe as she slumped back on her sofa, with the mannequin lying on the floor by her side, like a faithful puppy.

copyright ©Philip L Letts 2007