Lilith

"When I decided to break the barricade I was slapped violently by a guy and then pushed to the ground in the general indifference. I began to cry in despair, calling for my husband's help..."

She hastily wipes away a tear she couldn't control. I fully understand that such a memory must not be pleasant.

"...When I spotted him in the crowd, I was incredulous to see that not only was that bastard doing nothing to help me, but that he was in cahoots with everyone else!"

"Do you think they plagiarized him, or drugged him in some way?"

I interrupt the story, only because sometimes memories can become more vivid than they should, and it seems like a good point to bring her back to the present time in part.

"Clearly something had been done to him, because his gaze was practically blank!"

It worked, she seems to have calmed down.

"I was on the ground with no strength, they had probably drugged me too. Diego came up to me and picked me up like I was weightless. There was a moment when I thought he was taking me out of there, but I was quickly disillusioned when I saw that he was walking on the opposite side of the exit, towards the centre of the room. Stunned, I realized that I had been placed on an altar only when I saw my clothes, torn with force, flying on the ground."

He looks up and stares at me coldly.

"He raped me in front of everyone, as if nothing had happened." Speechless.

"Eventually I must have blacked out, because all I remember is waking up in a wooded clearing covered only in the shreds of the clothes I had on at the party." Satanic cult stuff.

"I take it you filed a complaint." Husband or not, I would have sent them all to jail and more.

"Of course. Too bad, though, that they all disappeared! Including Diego, who I haven't seen since. God knows how long I looked for him, but in vain. Not for nothing, but just for the sake of smashing his face in!" More than fair.

"And the owners of the villa? Didn't they track them down?"

"From the investigation it turned out that they had moved to the Canary Islands for more than two years, without ever having returned to Italy, and that for six months they had entrusted a real estate agency with the sale of the villa. Six years have passed and now everything has fallen into oblivion."

Six years! Am I wrong or is that more or less how old little Elisa should be? She reads the question in my face and I don't have time to formulate it.

"Yes, Davide, Elisa was conceived that night. She is the only good thing in my life."

Certainly a tragic experience, but I still don't understand how this story can connect to Roberto.

"I had long since, if not forgotten, at least put that day in a corner, until I met Roberto in a chat room."

"The spirits, I guess."

"You know it?"

Right, the one made up of the exhausted group.

"Vaguely... Roberto had told me about it once."

Lately lying is becoming more and more natural to me, maybe I'll run for office in the next election.

"I had started dating her thanks to a friend who had almost forced me, but for Roberto it had become a mania: he was looking for particular information."

"What kind of information?" I pretend to be oblivious to the whole Lilith myth thing. I want to see if he's hiding something from me.

"There's one detail I left out in the story earlier..."

She hesitates. Come on, tell me the whole truth, just the truth.

"When I was in the mansion and those fools were chanting that strange litany, they were doing it to invoke Lilith: the black goddess." Bingo! The stories are finally channelled on the same track.

"Have you ever heard of it?"

If you're referring to that nonsense I read on the PC, yes!

"I know roughly the story..."

"Good, then you'll save me from talking about it. Anyway, the fact is that Roberto's obsession was actually Lilith."

And here I thought it was you who had stupefied him.

"He confided in me privately about the strange dreams he was having. For my part, however, the recondite hope of knowing what had happened to Diego pushed me to delve into the subject.

I thought Roberto might be a link in solving my mystery."

If there weren't idiots on this world....

"He never told me about it. What kind of dreams did he have?"

As I formulate the question, I think of my own and a slight shiver runs down my spine.

"He said they were always fuzzy when they woke up, except for Lilith's name, which invariably rang out in the darkness." That he drank my own beer?

"I provided him with all the material I had collected over time about Lilith. There were also instructions in the handouts to perform an invocation ritual, but I strongly advised him against it."

"Let me guess: he didn't rest until he did it, did he?" I know the chicken and she lights the bonfire for the spit.

"He had convinced himself that only through ritual could he bring to the surface something that was inside him, but which he could not yet bring into focus."

Wouldn't it be better to pay for a good psychologist?

"With the excuse that everything had to be prepared in the right way, I convinced him to at least do it in my presence. In doing so, I hoped to slowly dissuade him."

"What happened during the ritual?"

At least he burned himself with a candle.

"I couldn't witness it." She lowered her gaze.

"Why? He wouldn't let you anymore?"

"Not him...but the man who threatened me. I got a phone call in the middle of the night. He told me he knew everything about me and my daughter; where we lived and especially what I was trying to do, finally advising me to forget everything and disappear from Roberto's life forever. I don't know who he was or why he did it, I only know that the threat was far from veiled and I was scared to death." Another conundrum.

"I only found the courage to phone Roberto one last time to warn him. I was terrified and didn't tell him anything about the threats, but I think he understood that something wasn't right. I begged him to drop everything and said goodbye, doing as the man had told me."

With the responsibility of a daughter, she's hardly to blame.

"Not entirely, though. It was you on the bike the night I had him committed, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I sensed something was wrong and then when I saw you, thinking you were the man in the threats, I fled. I contacted a friend who works as a nurse at the hospital, and she filled me in on your condition, and from what she reported, it's certainly not the best."

And you haven't even seen him.

"He's in rough shape...the doctors still don't have much figured out and I, hearing your story, even less so."

I close myself off for a few moments to reflect.

"I even followed you home, to see how far you were involved." I would add that you're not much of a stalker.

"So, if you told me everything, I guess you cleared me of the charges?" I smile at her.

"To be fair, you don't look dangerous."

She reciprocates, but with style, my smile.

"What about the famous meeting with the chat people at the pub instead?" Let's see if you know anything about the famous dream woman.

"Which unfortunately you'll have to ask others: I never went there. After the threats, it would never have crossed my mind to see Roberto again. However, you can ask Patrizia, aka Carmilla in chat. She was there for sure, since she had an unrequited crush on Roberto."

Dear Roberto, you should have settled for a normal woman instead of getting involved in this whole mess.

"Do you have any way to contact her?"

"I could try to arrange an outing somewhere quiet, where you could ask her all the questions you want, obviously without going into too much detail." Wake the girl up.

"Great! So, I'm just waiting for you to tell me when."

Would right away be too soon?

"Let's do it later in the week, as soon as I have a night off and can arrange a babysitter for Elisa." I'll wait.

"One last question."

I stare into her eyes searching for an honest answer.

"Why did you decide to help me now despite the threats?"

Be careful not to lie to me...

"Because I feel guilty with Roberto and I would like to help him; because I know that you will be the one to expose yourself, thus limiting the risks; because I often think back to when I needed help and no one wanted to give it to me; and because I would like to close the accounts with my past for good. Is that enough motivation for you?"

I suppose so, but let's just say I want to trust.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a piece of work?" I chant.

"Why, did you ever doubt otherwise?"

A shiny Miss Toothpaste smile lights up on her face.

Chapter 5

The Notary

I walk down the long corridor of the hospital, look around, and notice a strange commotion. I reach room twenty-three hoping to cross the threshold and finally see my lifelong friend and not the surrogate he has become. It occurs to me that twenty-three is supposed to be a lucky number, but as soon as I come face to face with the reality of Sara's face I abandon any idea of applied numerology. She is sitting in a chair looking at her brother, searching for a reason.

She doesn't notice me come in. Actually, no one notices me, not even Roberto, whose gaze seems to go right through me. His expression is different from last time: he has a hint of a smile on his face, almost an imperceptible grin that makes me uneasy.

Gently, I step back and knock softly on the door. No reaction. Perhaps I had better bring along some stadium horns. I try again more vigorously and this time add voice support.

"Hi, am I disturbing?"

"David! Hi."

Sara gets up from her chair and walks over to me. I greet her.

"Is there any news?"

I approach Roberto.

"He seems to be getting better...at least physically."

It's the brain part that concerns me.

"I notice that at least the pallor of his face is gone."

Before you could hardly tell it from the sheet.

"The doctors say the latest test results are normal, despite still not explaining either what might have happened or the psychological trauma."

"But you still haven't spoken or said anything meaningful, to get a clue as to what happened?"

"Nothing. The last time he talked...you remember that, right?"

Right, after the snort, I expected a lick too.

"How about you? Got any news?"

Yeah, your brother's probably a Satanist and fused his brain with some drug.

"Nothing particularly interesting. Right now I'm trying to get in touch with someone he was dating recently. I'll probably talk to him later this week and hopefully something useful will come out."

"Okay, thanks anyway for the time being."

Thankfully he doesn't seem to be demanding much from me

As I head for the exit I give in to the temptation of a vending machine coffee. I know it won't live up to the smell, but it's an irrepressible call.

I rummage through my jeans pocket looking for the last tenner I need. I notice from the window overlooking the street that the sirens are really there: those of several police patrol cars. A trance of excited people starts running wildly, followed by journalists with cameras and microphones.

"What the hell?"

I remain stuck in the doorway with coffee in my hand and an infinite number of questions hanging in the air. Across from me, nurses mumble conjecture. Trotting along, hands in her scrubs, another orderly approaches and agitatedly addresses the small group.

"Looks like they found him!"

"Who? The two porters? The ones who were missing?"

"Yes, it seems those poor wretches were murdered!"

"Killed dead? Oh, Jesus!"

"What a time, even at the hospital you can't be safe anymore."

Sounds like my grandmother, but she's right.

The next day the news appears in all the newspapers, I read it with curiosity while devouring a croissant with honey in the office. It's strange how, just because you were there at the time of the event, it can be exhilarating to read a story like that in the paper, no matter how tragic it is.

It would seem that the two porters had literally been torn to pieces!

With growing disgust, I put the coffee cup on Roberto's desk and slide away the crumbs of the brioche anchored to the shirt. A slight halo of coffee is added to the grime, which by now has become attached to the desk.

"Yikes!"

I realize I've soiled a file. I grab it on the fly and start waving it around, hoping to rid it of the unwanted stain. I wonder what it was. I read sideways.

"Mancini Practice." It says in red: Gold treatment.

I wonder if Roberto will have completed it before the crisis? And how come it's Gold? We usually only award it to very important personalities: politicians, high prelates... and everyone, invariably, wants the honour in front. I think it's time to do some deeper checks on the client. I'm afraid that the De Carli lawyer's patience with Roberto could be exhausted if a Gold contract were to be cancelled. From my workstation I connect to the server and search for Mancini. This damn computer takes a while, but when will the boss decide to renew them?

Here is the file. I check the status: in suspension. Who knows what Mr. Mancini wanted to insure... holy shit! Assets worth more than eight million euros! It's time to call the boss.

"Lawyer, hello, this is Dionisi, I wanted to talk to you about a Gold file that Roberto Capua left in suspension, regarding Mr. Mancini. I was wondering if Capua had mentioned anything to you before he got sick."

"A Gold, he says...wait a minute, let me get my mind right."

He looks like he's just come back from a trance. I solicit his neurons with math applied to his wallet.

"It's 8.4 million euros." He either croaks, or recovers immediately.

"I'll be damned! I remember now. He'd told me about how he was pulling off a good heist, but I thought it was just one of his usual rants!"

I can almost hear the old man's head ringing like a cash register at Uncle Scrooge's.

"Come to think of it, he also told me that he set up an appointment for an evaluation about a week ago. Dionisi: track the client down and deal with them immediately, before the deal falls through. And keep me updated!"

"I'll get right on it, Counsellor."

He hangs up the phone, without even asking me about Roberto's health. The old saying that everyone is useful and no one is indispensable is always valid.

From the card I get his address and phone number. I don't wait any longer and try to contact him.

"Telecom Italia, free message, the number you have dialled does not exist...".

How does it not exist? I try again, maybe I typed it wrong.

"Telecom Italia, free message, the number you have dialled does not exist..."

Go to hell! I throw the handset like a basketball player on the base of the phone. Three points.

How do I find this guy now? Obviously: with the address.

Ask yourself a question and give yourself the answer.

I think of Claudio Bisio and his advertisement with relative musical tune on the number find everything.

"... I'm sorry, sir, but at the address you provided, I have no record of a telephone subscriber. I have checked several times."

I'd switch to competition if I didn't think the result would be the same.

Do you want to see that the guy was playing a joke on Roberto and provided him with false data?

"Hi, Davide, am I disturbing?" I turn around, it's Simonetti from accounting.

"Hi, Marco. Don't bother, come on in."

"I heard about Roberto and wanted to know if you have any news."

So someone with a bit of humanity still exists. I explain to him in broad strokes what little has been understood about the official and it seems to be enough.

"Poor guy. And to think he was so elated the other week because of that invitation to the mega party."

"Party? What party? He didn't tell me anything."

"He told me about a very important client who had invited him to an exclusive party, the main theme of which was...sex!"

My attention goes up, I search and find a more comfortable position in the chair.

"A shy guy like Roberto attending some kind of orgy party? I can hardly believe it."

"Yet I swear he seemed convinced."

He is as amazed as I am. No, that's impossible, I'm more so.

"And how did it end? I mean, he must have told you the outcome of the evening, right?"

"Unfortunately, then I went on vacation and couldn't talk to him. But is it possible that he didn't tell you anything? You're his best friend, you should have been the first to know."

Yeah, why didn't he tell me anything? Was he afraid of my judgment? Come on! As if I was some sanctimonious moralist.

"I assure you, I didn't know." Nor did I imagine.

Roberto's dark side shows up once again.

"However it went, I hope you'll tell us in person soon. Give him my regards if you hear from him."

The question is whether he will hear from me.

"Of course, I won't miss it." They always say that, don't they?

He greets me and walks to the door.

"Marco? One last curiosity: do you remember the name of the client who invited Roberto?" He pauses in the doorway in reflection.

"It seems to me that he was a notary, something like Sinistro or Mancino..."

My eye falls on the paperwork soiled by coffee: you can see that it is....

"Mancini! Yes, the notary Mancini." He concludes my thought, adding another link to the chain. I try to dissimulate my dismay. I succeed and he leaves the room. I throw myself headlong at Roberto's station looking for a clue to track down the mysterious notary. I'm more and more convinced that the party has something to do with Roberto's current state, but I don't understand how an event from a week earlier could have such delayed events: a singular drug. Very singular. At this point, I think it's appropriate to learn more about the notary. I wonder if Roberto had mentioned anything to the beautiful Angela? I look at my watch. It should be traceable by now.

"Hello?"

The little handyman secretary always answers the phone.

"...yes, I am the gentleman who came to see mom. No, I'm not her new boyfriend. No, not a serial killer either. Now, though, can I talk to Mom?"

But did the CIA train her?

"Angela, finally! I'm sorry to bother you. I have some news and I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you know anything about a certain notary Mancini?"

"Who, sorry?" The answer is not the most encouraging. I explain what I've heard, but the outcome doesn't change.

"Maybe he was embarrassed to tell me something that is strictly for boys." Sure. I, too, would have had trouble talking about it with someone who dances a lap dance every night half-naked in front of hundreds of individuals drooling like molosser.

"It's probably what you say, although I don't understand why he left me off the list."

"If he really is involved, it's critical to track him down." And what do you think I'm trying to do?

"Yeah, unfortunately I'm left with just checking the address and I'm afraid that's another dead end as well."

"One would still have to try. Keep me posted, please." Aye-aye, Mr. Lieutenant.

"Sure. See you soon."

I flip through the crumpled road map I keep in the car. Here's the street, in the middle of the countryside on Laurentina: I'll get lost for sure. Want to see if I'll have to drive blind all night? Damn, sooner or later I'll buy a satellite navigator!

I slow down my pace. I should be in the home stretch. On the left there is an almost dirt road that leads to the top of a hill. I stop at the intersection and try to scan the end of the hill: there is a building not well defined. I take the road. A huge gate delineates the entrance to a large square, with a deactivated fountain in the middle and surrounded by well-kept hedges. In the background stands a dream villa for anyone who hasn't won the lottery. I get out of my car and approach the gate: no signs of rust or decay. But a general sense of abandonment permeates the air: I can hear the sound of silence, which sometimes is more annoying than the noise of a built-up area. A prominent bell invites me to be pressed. I approach it hesitantly, afraid of introducing a sound out of place in a quiet and sleepy atmosphere. I press it gently and imagine the echo inside the house. How silly of me to think that it could be heard from this distance. Nothing changes, it almost seems to be lost in an undefined place. I wait with the good manners of a guest. The lack of any response gives me the courage to try again, but this time more vigorously. One more time. By now it is certain: the prediction of the empty trip has come true. I don't know why, but a sense of unease surrounds me, convincing me to hurry back to the car.

As I manoeuvre in reverse on the narrow lane, out of the corner of my eye I glimpse in the rear-view mirror the figure of a car stopped at the end of the slope. The nose of a sedan is pointing towards me, waiting for something. I'm convinced that it's not a driver who has taken a wrong turn, but that it's specifically there to observe me. Quickly, my hands move to find the optimal angle of the mirror, but a ray of sunlight, now dying, dazzles me. A moment, a few seconds of daze, and the vehicle is no longer visible. I turn sharply, compromisingly twisting my poor back, already pinned by the seat belt. A cloud of dust returning lightly to the asphalt is the only thing left in the air. It's not paranoia. Someone was watching me and I don't understand why.

Finally home. As I undress, I run the hot water for a shower. I lose myself in the vapours, relishing in the silence every single drop that falls on my skin.

Driin! Driin!

It's clear that the concept of peace of mind is foreign to certain moments.

Dripping, I grab my bathrobe, curse Meucci and Bell, just to do no one any harm, and head for the privacy-killing device that continues undaunted to play.

"He's missing! Roberto is missing!"

It's Sara's agitated, tear-filled voice.

"Calm down Sara! What do you mean Roberto is missing?"

"Today, when I went back to see him, he wasn't in the room. I thought he was having tests: his clothes were all still there, but instead no one knew where he was. They searched the whole hospital. My God, I'm scared, Davide. What if something terrible had happened to him, like to those two porters? I don't even want to think about it and I don't know what to do!"

Heck, I'm worried too.

"Don't jump to conclusions."

Now what am I going to make up to reassure her?

"They confirmed on TV that the porters were mixed up in a nasty drug racket and that that was the work of a settling of scores and not a crazed killer."

Put like that, it should sound good.

It takes him a while to swallow the pill, but then the placebo effect sustains its effectiveness.

"Maybe you're right, I've definitely gone too far. But then what happened to Roberto? Where did he go?"

I haven't idea. In this instant, however, I know where I would send that idiot!

"Have you asked the authorities for help yet?"

Maybe he's wandering like an automaton down some alley.

"Yes, there were still some police officers at the hospital about yesterday's incident, and they helped me with the report, but I don't know what good that will do."

Jokes are fine, but a guy in a hospital gown roaming the streets with his eyes wide open I don't think is that hard to spot.

"Then don't worry, you'll see he'll be found soon enough. He must have had a lost moment. The important thing is that when he comes back, you stay very close to him, ready to help him."