It was all nonsense.
However, the family did not step foot beyond that area of the island, being the good superstitious Italians that they were. The only woman brave enough to test the waters was a woman who was upwards of fifty and was not afraid. She claimed she spoke to the ghost. It did not bother her. Her daughter and granddaughter would take over the cleaning after she died. Her husband fixed anything broken inside of thecastello, but since no one lived there, it rarely needed fixing, only updating. He did that as well.
There were secret passageways in thatcastello. The Faustis of old were always preparing for a sea attack. The passageways were a way to hide their women and children during a fight. The island, named Aria for its musical sounding waves, had a rich history that belonged to the Faustis.
However, the private island was not listed on any maps, and it was equal to a small country that could survive off its own economy. The soil was rich from the long-ago volcano that had created it. Therefore, all that was grown there was on the same level as the fresh produce of anywhere in Italy. Livestock lived there as well. Chickens, pigs, goats and lambs. Most food was not transported to the island but out of it for profit. The only items that were imported were medical supplies and things such as that.
Easily assessable.
If billionaires could disappear on an island that did not exist to the rest of the world, so could Rosaria Caffi.
My sister would miss me terribly, but we were one and the same. It would not take her long to get over it, especially after I willed her all the things I did not want.
As I said, I had a plan.
The things I needed and wanted were already stashed at thecastello. I had made a few trips to the island over the years and hid them in the secret passageways. Some of them led to rooms for sleeping and storage.
Brilliant, no?
The tree beneath me rustled with a hard wind, and an oddcreaking noise echoed, as if it was groaning from the weight. Even though I kept my hands on the wheel, the same position they were in when the tree broke my fall, I felt the need to lift them over my head, laughing as if I were on a dangerous ride. I wanted to be sure my voice was the last thing the crowd that had grown on the street heard from me.
The driver of the bus, presumably, kept trying to speak to me. Away with him. I did not have anything left to say.
Whatever happened after this would have the last word of all.
Chapter 7
A Tough Act
The bus driver kept trying to talk to the woman—the woman, oh, God!—who was a breath away from falling to her death. I didn’t want to creep myself out, but I had been thinking about parachutes and wings on the drive. I felt uneasy about the fall myself, and I usually didn’t have a problem with heights. Cockroaches or rats, yeah, I screamed like a banshee and wished I had a man to take care of them, but heights…not so much.
It was not the first time a thought came to me, a feeling coming over me after it, and the thought ended up happening tosomeone else. I didn’t understand it. Hated it. Was afraid of the power in it to a certain degree. So, I buried it and tried to ignore it. Except, I couldn’t around Eva. She said people such as us were born for a reason. Were “gifted” for a reason. I didn’t think of what I felt as a gift. It felt overwhelming and tiring, and sometimes I couldn’t turn it off or feel when it was about to happen. For instance, when the thought came into my mind about the parachutes and wings, I thought I was just being clever.
In that moment, a woman hung in the balance between life and death.
“Signora!” Donatello, the bus driver, shouted, but it was likehe didn’t want to shout too loud in fear of adding any pressure to the atmosphere and weight to the car. He wrung his hands for a second before he patted his pockets, pulled out a handkerchief, and mopped the sweat from his face.
His wide eyes, showing too much white in the darkness, took in the passengers of the bus who had stepped out. A few of them shrugged. A few, like me, stared back at him. I had already thought this through and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what to do next. If we attempted to pull the car back and the tree gave, we all might go with it. I thought the car had been just pointing down, the cliff somehow keeping it halfway on land, but it was a tree upon closer inspection. A wimpy looking tree that clung to the cliffside for support itself.
Maybe since it was my fault, I should have been the first in line to volunteer for the grab and pull plan. Yeah, if it could work, I would have. But I felt it was a foolish plan to begin with and didn’t want to sacrifice my life for it.
Other than getting a tow truck to hook up to the car, pulling it back, I had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Oh, God, I covered my face with my hands. This was all my fault!
The woman on the ledge was probably someone’s wife, mother, daughter. She would cause a gaping hole in their lives. She had to be scared to death! But when I closed my eyes and pushed my own panic aside, I didn’t feel anything from her.
Oh God.
My eyes flew to Donatello, and I set my hand on his arm. It was full of black hair that swirled with sweat. I leaned in close, smelling bitter musk on him, the kind created from fear, and whispered, “Is she already dead?”
He shook his head. “I do not think so,” he whispered back. He tapped his ear. “Listen.”
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t heard it before, but the woman was humming. And when the tree bent a little, folding outwards fromthe weight of the car, she started to sing. A gasp collectively went up through the crowd, and her voice grew even louder. She was going up in octaves.
Maybe a coping mechanism? Personally, I wouldn’t be singing out of fear but screaming for help, asking God to please save me. I wasn’t even sure how old she was, but at thirty years old, I wasn’t ready to go yet. I still had so much to see and do, and I had made a vow to my Nonna that I would live a full life. It was my way of honoring all the sacrifices she’d made for me growing up.
