What.
The.
Hell?
I thought back and remembered. It was right after Rosaria Caffi’s voice floated through the villa, chilling it.
There was no way she had done that. That silver was heavy, heavy enough that an echo of the weight of it was still felt in the soreness of my biceps and forearms when I’d lugged it around. And I had muscles to use. It was hard to believe a ghost could summon enough rage to throw that thing.
Taking Rosaria out of the equation, that meant someone else on the island had been watching me.
Was it the owner of the villa? Maybe I had scared her? I didn’t think a man would throw something like that at me.
Fourthly,Fifthly, and all thelys…the man/beast/ghost had showed up for me! He looked like an avenging angel in the storm. That must have meant he had been following me. Just like the night before.
Or…was it the night before? Time felt like a theory, not even real at this point.
Sighing, I tapped my fingers against the blanket over my legs. I pulled it up higher when I realized how cold I was.
WhenI thought aboutwhereI was, the smell of antiseptics trigged a fear inside of me that I was not prepared to face alone.
That was when I felt it. I wasn’t alone. Maybe the other person in the room realized I was awake.
A throat cleared from the corner. I squinted against the figure but couldn’t make out any features. All I knew was the voice sounded like it was male.
“I am Uncle Tito,” the man whispered. “I am also Dr. Sala, even if I do not practice medicine any longer.”
“Thank you for whispering, Uncle Tito,” I whispered back. “My head is killing me.”
“You have a concussion.”
I touched my head and winced. “I figured as much.”
“Candelabras were not designed to come in contact with skulls.”
I wasn’t sure why, but I laughed quietly at that. “If there is someone I could speak to about this, point me in the right direction. I can attest to how right you are.”
He didn’t laugh, but I sensed his smile.
“Why are you here?” I closed my eyes and sighed. It felt nice not to be alone in the darkness of the unfamiliar room in the hospital. “You said you don’t practice medicine anymore.”
“My nephew,” he said. “He will not rest.”
“Your nephew,” I repeated. “The…man who came to my rescue?”
“Your knight,” he said.
Oooh, I really liked that. It made me almost sigh because it was true. I hesitated before I asked this question.
“What’s his name?” I whispered.
He cleared his throat again, and his voice had changed. It was more…hoarse, ragged. “Rocco Piero Fausti.”
Rocco Piero Fausti.
Once his name entered…some stream inside of me, it was like the current took it and swirled it around repeatedly, removing the sand from my memory and recovering the name.
Rocco Piero Faustiwas the ghost in the window.
