continuation of "Afraid"

But then, from outside the cell, she heard Antonio's voice, sounding suddenly quite normal.

He called,"It's alright Marissa. Don't worry. There's a light switch behind a loose stone to the left of the door. Turn it on. Read the note hidden inside the doll."

What was happening? Marissa wondered. She wiped the tears from her eyes and found the switch, clicked it on. Blinking against the bright light, she bent down and pulled a folded piece of paper from the hollowed-out doll. She read.

Marissa-

The wall to your left is false. It's plastic. Pull it down and you'll see a door and a window. The door is unlocked. When you're ready to leave, push it open and outward. But first look out the window.

She ripped the plastic away. There was indeed a window. She looked out and saw the footbridge. Unlike before, the property was now well lit with spotlights from the mill. She saw Antonio, with his suitcase, heading over the bridge. He paused, must have seen the light through the window of the cell and knew she was watching. He waved. Then he disappeared toward the parking lot. A moment later she heard his car start and the sound of him driving away.

What the hell's going on?

She pushed the door open and stepped outside.

There was her suitcase and purse. She tore off the robe, dressed quickly with trembling hands and pulled her cell phone from her purse, gripping it the way a scared child clings to a stuffed animal. She continued with the note.

You are safe. You have always been safe.

I am on my way back to Florence now, nowhere near the mill. But believe that I'm no psychotic killer. There is no Lucia. The old woman who told you about her was paid 100 euros for her performance. There was no litle boy who drowned; I put the flowers and cross by the stream myself before I came to pick you up at the station today. The football was merely a prop. The blood on the wall of the cell is paint. The drugs were candy (though the grappa was real- and quite rare, I may add). The photograph of me and my "wife" was created by the computer.

As for what is true: My name is Antonio, I have never been married, I made a fortune in computers, and this is my vacation house.

What, you are wondering, is all this about?

I must explain:

As a child, I spent much time in loneliness and boredom. I immersed myself in the books of the great writers of horror. They were terrifying, yes, but they also exhilarated me. I would see an audience watching a horror film and think: They are scared but they are alive.

Those experiences moved me to become an artist. Like any truly great musician or painter, my goal is not simply to create beauty but to open people's eyes and rearrange their views and perceptions, the only difference being that instead of musical notes or paint, my medium is fear. When I see people like you who, as Dante writes, have lost the true path in life, I consider it my mission to help them find it. The night in Florence, the night we met, I singled you out because I saw that your eyes were dead. And I soon learned why- your unhappiness at your job, your oppressive father, your needy ex-husband. But I knew I could help you.

Oh, at this moment you hate me, of course; you are furious. Who wouldn't be?

But, Marissa, ask yourself this question, ask it in your heart: Don't you think that being so afraid has made you feel exquisitely alive?

Below are three phone numbers.

One is for a car service that will take you back to the train station in Florence.

The second is for the local police precinct.

The third is my mobile.

The choice of whom you call is yours. I sincerely hope you call the last of these numbers, but if you wish not to- tonight or in the future- I, of course, will understand. After all, it's the nature of art that the artist must sometimes semd his creation into the world, never to see it again.

Yours, Antonio

Furious, tearful, quivering, Marissa walked to a stone bench at the edge of the water. She sat and breathed deeply, clutching the note in one hand, the phone in teh other. Her eyes rose, gazing at the stars. Suddenly she blinked, startled. A large bat, a dark shape in the darker sky, zigzagged overhead in a complex yet elegant pattern. Marissa stared at it intently until the creature vanished over the trees.

She looked back to the stream, hearing the urgent murmur of the black water's passage. Holding the note into the beam of a light from the side of the mill, she read one of the numbers he'd given her. She punched it into her phone.

But then she paused, listening again to the water, breathing in the cool air with its scent of loam and hay and lavender. Marissa cleared the screen of her mobile. And she dialed another number.

THE END



i strongly recommend this book. it's a book of short stories, and as the title suggests, has a twist at the end, some a little scary, even morbid, but it gave me an adrenaline rush when reading some of the stories as i tried guessing how it's going to end. indeed, like what Antonio said "I would see an audience watching a horror film and think: They are scared but they are alive." haha not that i need any proof that i'm alive but it takes your mind off the present and sort of gets you thinking. just like what this story did for me.