I feel her watching. Evangeline’s gaze is firmly implanted between my shoulder blades and I fight the urge to turn, to return to her side and continue speaking with her, to continue breathing her in. She smells of fresh air and flowers and I have been taken off guard by the connection that I feel with this woman. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.
I wish I wasn’t feeling it now.
There’s no way I can tell her to stay away from me, that I’m dangerous for her. It would sound ridiculous, like stuff that fiction and legend are made of. I am not Heathcliff and she is not Catherine, although the reasons that separate us are different from those of that fabled pair. Heathcliff was tortured because he could not have his Love. I will be tortured regardless, but I refuse to drag anyone else into it, which might be my single redeeming quality.
And so I walk away.
Grendel and I make our way over the damp beach back to Chessarae and as I do, a familiar feeling begins to grow from within me and with it, I feel a heavy weight on my chest. My vision blurs, then focuses and I want to punch a wall as immediate and profound rage explodes inside of me.
I am surprised, taken aback, aghast.
It’s back. Already.
I swallow hard as the light begins to pull away from the corners of my eyes and the blackness threatens to overtake me. It is imminent. I don’t have much time. This onset was sudden, more so than most times.
I feel the same sense of comfort that I always feel as I pass through my property gates, but it is dimmed this time. Many things are dimmed right now, my emotions are dulled even while some of my senses are heightened. My feet sink into Chessarae soil and I sigh. Chessarae is my refuge. I draw strength from the solitude. It will keep me safe.
But rather than going into the house, into the stone bricks and mortar that I call home, I quickly follow the trails into the garden that lead me through the English Maze. The flowering bushes are fragrant, but I bear them no mind, even though my sense of smell has been awakened, as if from a long slumber. I can smell everything right now, the lilies, the lavender, the roses.
I wind my way to the center of the maze and when I reach it, I find myself in a familiar oasis. There is a small bubbling pond here with a fountain, benches and a circle of white marble statues. The twelve Greek Olympians stare at me with lifeless marble eyes. They know the secret that is contained here in this oasis. They have watched me come and go many times before.
My vision blurs once more and I focus hard on holding off the blackness. It is coming, but I am almost there. My stomach muscles strain as I hold them tensely, my entire body coiled as I fight this internal battle.
I stride quickly around the pond and approach a large statue of Hades on the other side. That the god of the Underworld guards this particular secret is an irony not lost on me. On his platform base, there is a small bronze plaque. It is very old yet still in pristine condition and I press it firmly, until I hear a click. It slides to the side and reveals a thumb pad. I place my thumb upon it and an infrared reader slides over it, reading my identity. A green light flashes, granting approval to enter.
Hades stares down at me knowingly as the statue raises slightly, exposing rollers from beneath. It rolls smoothly and noiselessly backward, revealing a hidden staircase below. I can see the marble steps descending into darkness and I step inside with Grendel at my heels.
There are only two living people in the world who know that this exists. I am one of them.
I punch at a button on the wall on the way down and simultaneously, lights come on in the tunnel and Hades slides back into place above me. I am hidden from the world now. And that is the sole purpose of this secret place. I begin to feel a coming sense of relief. I will make it. I am so close.
One hundred and twenty four marble steps later, we have reached the bottom. This landing leads to a hallway branching off into both directions. One direction leads to underground tunnels that go straight to the house and emerge in my study and in the basement. The other leads in the opposite direction to a small living area. It is soundproof from the world above.
No one from above would ever guess that this underground fortress is here. It was built by my great-great-grandfather, back when this type of technology was cutting edge; at least, it was cutting edge here in Malta. The ancient Egyptians were utilizing hidden rooms and tunnels and sliding, trick doorways a couple of thousand years ago for their tombs. But then again, ancient Egyptians were ahead of their time in many ways. They created their underground fortresses to protect their dead, to keep them safe from grave-robbers. Mine was created for an entirely different purpose.
To keep me in.
I continue down the hall into a luxurious living space and gaze around. Recessed lights provide a soft, ambient glow. We refer to this place as ‘the cave’. And only two living people know of its existence, myself and Adrian.
It is clean, modern and fully-stocked. Adrian sees to that.
One wall houses an entire rack of wine. The other consists of shelves and shelves of books and has a couple of leather reading chairs situated in front of it. A third wall is covered in expensive, original art; as well as several television screens. Each of them reflects the center of the English Maze from a different angle as reflected by the hidden cameras there. We always know if someone approaches.
The fourth wall is different.
A large bed is pushed against it, secured tightly to the floor so that it cannot be moved.
Chains protrude from the wall, heavy and metal, winding through the iron headboard. Thick padded handcuffs are attached to the chains and are resting right now on the thick pillows.
I know that if anyone happened upon this place, they might draw the conclusion that I am a depraved sex fiend, that this is my sex nest and that I bring women here to commit freakish sexual acts upon them.
That couldn’t be farther from the truth and I know that no one will ever ‘happen’ upon this place. This cave was designed for me, for my great-great-great-grandfather who was just like me. It was designed to be perfectly hidden, completely impenetrable, and to protect the women of Malta from me, from the Minaldi men.
Because I’m a monster, like my father before me and his father before him, and so on.
There is no help for me.
What I told Evangeline was true. She cannot help me.
No one can.
There is a sudden noise behind me and I turn, only to find Adrian approaching with a large box in his hands. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him. His blue eyes are at first shocked, then narrow in caution. He’s careful now. He knows what my presence here means.
“Luca,” he says, his eyes skimming over me. I know he’s checking for my presence of mind. “What are you doing here? Are you feeling alright?”
I shake my head in short staccato movements.
“No,” I rasp. “It’s coming.”
Adrian is alarmed and he sets his box down, approaching me cautiously, staring into my eyes. “It’s too soon,” he says.
I know and I grimly agree with him.
“I don’t know why,” I tell him as I stride quickly toward the bed, toward safety. “Nothing is different. I’m the same as I ever was. I’m not doing anything differently.”
I am just a few moments away from the precipice, from losing it. I know this, so I move faster. I grasp a metal manacle and wrap it around my wrist until I hear a click. I have enough slack in the chain to reach my other wrist and do the same.
I take a deep breath and try to relax, slumping against the headboard onto the bed. I made it. Everything will be fine.
But it won’t. This shouldn’t be happening, not so soon. I say that again to Adrian, although even now, my words are starting to slur and my thoughts are beginning to run together. Soon, everything will become visceral and I won’t think anything logical at all.
Adrian stares at me thoughtfully. “I haven’t wanted to say anything,” he begins uncertainly and then he pauses.
I stare at him through the thickening mental fog. “But?”
My lips are heavy and numb. It’s coming. My breathing quickens.
“But this is the way it usually happens, according to everything my father taught me.”
Maddeningly, he trails off and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He picks up his box and carries it to the cabinets next to the wine and begins to put supplies away. I don’t have time for this. Within minutes, I won’t be cognizant.
“Adrian,” I growl. “Tell me what your father told you.”
“I’m sorry,” he turns around apologetically. “I just hate to upset you. It might be nothing, so I don’t know whether I should worry you with it.”
“Worry me,” I growl again. Adrian looks pained.
“My father told me that the Minaldi curse continues to worsen with age. You have passed your thirty-year mark. You will continue to become more active, the curse more violent with each year. It will become worse when you reach thirty-five, worse still when you reach forty and so on.”
I feel suddenly and nauseatingly numb.
“My father,” I begin. Then I clear my throat. “How often was my father contained here at the end of his life?”
It’s difficult to speak now. I lick my lips.
“Before your father died, my father spent the majority of each month down here with him,” Adrian admits. “Nicolas was down here more than he wasn’t.”
It is a sobering thought. Before my father committed suicide, I had known that he was becoming more and more despondent. I knew the reason, obviously, since we share the same blood. But he didn’t speak of it. Not ever. Not to me, not to anyone, except for Adrian’s father, Benjamin.
Benjamin was the only one who knew the extent of my father’s illness, of the darkness that lived within him. Just as Adrian is the only one who knows the same of me. Our families are intertwined. They have been for generations. The Leopoldos have been our loyal companions for hundreds of years.
“I will not allow it to get to that point,” I say bluntly. Adrian knows exactly what I mean and he nods grimly.
“But we aren’t at that point yet,” he says. “We don’t need to consider anything right now.”
“Not yet,” I concede. “But when we are…” I trail off and Adrian nods.
“I know.”
I feel empty inside, although to be honest, I feel empty most of the time. It is a defense mechanism, something I perfected long ago.
My ‘curse’, as we refer to it, is undefined and undiagnosed by medical professionals. It is a genetic anomaly that has plagued the Minaldi men for hundreds of years. It is inescapable, it is dark, it is crushing.
I believe that is why Evangeline has intrigued me so. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have felt something besides the dark void that lives within me. Evangeline is a hopeful person, full of light. And being around her is invigorating. The attraction between us is undeniable.
If only I could pursue her as a normal man would.
But I’m not normal, so I cannot.
I strain unconsciously at the chains, pulling as hard as I can away from the wall. The padded manacles bite into my skin, even through the thick cushion that they contain. Even now, my mind is breaking away, doing what it wills, not what
I
will. The black clouds spill into my brain and I can no longer think as myself.
I am not myself.
I am not myself.
I am not myself.
I bellow like the beast that I am and Adrian closes his eyes. He will stay with me as he always does, but he can’t bring himself to watch the animal that I will become. The blackness closes in and then I know nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen
Eva
I should be working, but I’m researching instead. And I’m not researching anything work-related. I should feel guilty, but I don’t.
I can’t remember a life before the internet and search engines. It has truly revolutionized everything. Back in my mother’s day, you couldn’t simply plug a man’s name into the computer and pull up his history. And honestly, I can’t believe that I waited until today to do this.
After Luca told me that he wanted to see me the other night after my visit with his mother, he wasn’t there. He simply wasn’t in his study and none of the servants knew where to find him. It was so strange. He made a point to ask me to stop and give him a report, and then he wasn’t there. It’s true, he could have simply been called away on a business matter, but if that were the case, wouldn’t his staff have known? Wouldn’t he have been handling the matter in his study? Something felt very odd, very wrong.
I type Luca Minaldi and push “Search” and a multitude of hits are returned. I sift through them with interest, staring at the various pictures of him. Luca is an intense figure, even through a camera lens. Always handsome and elegant, he poses in formal dress for various pictures at various events. There are also random and candid pictures of him captured by tourists and bloggers and posted online on gossip sites. But there aren’t as many as I would have guessed, not from someone from a family as affluent as his. And I know the reason.
Marianne told me that he is practically a recluse. He ventures into the city for only a few things, for library board meetings, for his company board meetings, and to sign documents at the bank. That is pretty much it, except for when he runs. He is pictured several times jogging along Maltese roads, his running shoes well worn, a testament to his dedication to the sport. He doesn’t compete, so it must just be a hobby for him, an outlet for stress, I would guess.
I do learn a few things that I hadn’t known, though.
Luca Minaldi is thirty-two years old. His birthday is October 15. He has two brothers, Christoph and Damien. He has never been romantically linked to anyone in particular, although he has been photographed with various dates at social functions, and never with the same woman twice. He attended Cambridge and graduated Magna cum Laude with a degree in business, then continued on to earn an MBA.