The Temple Of Shadows E-Book

Alessandro Riccardi

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 261

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In Rome a man commits suicide by cutting his veins in the bathtub. In San Francisco, a woman throws herself off her balcony. Two dramatic events, apparently distant between them. Betta is trying to pick up the pieces of her life when Mark, from San Francisco shows up with some very disturbing news: the two suicides, her husband and his sister have one common denominator. It seems that behind these desperate gestures hides a sort of instigator: Dioniso. They intercept and lure emotionally fragile subjects through social network, dragging them along a path that leads them to their death. Betta and Mark, with the help of the suicide girl, Andrea, an expert hacker leads them on a personal chase, taking them around Europe where they follow the trail of breadcrumbs left by Dioniso. Meanwhile, a dark and tentacular force is on their tracks, transforming them from hunters to prey. What is hiding behind the tragic death of two people? The answer to that question is as disturbing as it is incredible. Something that the world is not yet ready to accept.

Leseprobe

Daniela Molisso

Book cover:

GRUPPO MEA LTD

Editing and layout:

GRUPPO MEA LTD

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored by computer means, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior authorization of the rights’ holders.

All rights reserved

• Publishing and printing rights

• Right to translate the work

• Right to render available in electronic format

• Right of recitation

• Right of elaboration by transformation into a dramatic work

• Right of processing by transformation into a screenplay or other adaptation for a cinematographic, audiovisual or television work

MEA LTD GROUP - MffA ffdizioni

Via Guglielmo Appulo, 9 - 80136 Naples

VAT n. 09597841213 - REA no. NA - 1043880

©2022 Reserved literary, artistic and scientific property www.edizionimea.it [email protected]

ALESSANDRO RICCARDI

THE TEMPLE OF SHADOWS

Based on a screenplay written by:

Alessandro Riccardi and Laura Sinceri

MEA EDITIONS

Laura,

without whom this story would not exist.

EDOARDO

A veil of sadness covered the gray skies of Rome. The winter temperatures that year had been unusually warm, but evidently on that February evening, the weather had changed its mind. The cold and damp penetrated one’s bones, and the man’s apartment felt colder indoors than outside.

He looked out the window feeling much the same as the dismal and futile view, worsened daily by smog and grime. He ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his beard, concentrating on the sensation that had been accompanying him for quite a while. Only now, he felt it even more deeply and painfully. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, days unwashed out of weariness, leaving a tuft sticking up that would have been funny in normal circumstances.

Taking a step back, he looked toward the bookcase. Third book from the left: The Tell-Tale Heart. With indescribable despair, he clutched the book’s binding to him, wrote something on a post-it and stuck it randomly to an open page and left it on the desk.

A piercing noise caught his attention, causing him to turn toward the monitor of the computer where something flashed. Moving closer, he stared at the screen, and breathed deeply.

His expression was absent, or possibly focused on some faraway universe. In the bathroom, he turned on the hot water in the bathtub and undressed until he was completely nude. The tub was nearly perfectly full. He picked up a box from the countertop, immersed himself in the water and lay down. The water caressed his skin, giving him a sense of well-being. But the man wasn’t able to enjoy it, and barely noticed the warmth surrounding him.

Out of the box, he picked one of the razorblades used for shaving. He held it for a few seconds in his hands, observing it as if it were the first time he’d ever seen one. Then with resolution, he sliced his wrist, vertically, as he had been shown to do. The sting emanated along his entire arm, but the man didn’t stop until he had reached the desired effect. Blood fled copiously. And then the pain man didn’t stop until he had reached the desired effect. Blood fled copiously. And then the pain began to diminish, leaving a slight burning sensation which, after the initial stabbing pain, was almost pleasurable.

He was contemplating on whether or not to cut the other wrist, but decided it wasn’t necessary. Nobody was expected home until the evening. He had all the time he needed.

He lay outstretched in the entire length of the bathtub, closed his eyes, and finally relaxed.

MARY

The woman had long blonde hair and an angelic face. Looking at her you would have immediately thought that she was a typical Californian. But she was born in New Jersey and had moved to California about ten years ago, after having sold her first paintings.

From the windows of her bright loft in the heights of San Francisco she could enjoy a fascinating view that often inspired her work.

On the canvas she was painting, a female face was forming against a dark and indistinct background. The figure had no eyes and the woman appeared to have no intention of painting them.

The brush passed over the canvas with languid precision, creating the shapes desired by the artist with accuracy and intensity.

While washing the tip and changing the color, a drop of red landed on the white nightgown that she had been wearing since the night before, not bothering to cover it with her usual blue smock which was already splattered by many colors. The woman did not lower her eyes even for an instant to look at the stain that was forming, tense in the concentration of her creation.

She completed the female image and stared at it, taking a step back.

The eyes were still missing, which made the painting rather disturbing. Returning to the canvas, she drew small spirals in place of the eyeballs, increasing the sense of uneasiness.

The painting was finished. She was sure that her gallery owner would sell it well, yet she didn't even smile with satisfaction.

A screeching sound came from the computer running behind her. She didn't turn around. Sadness, that terrible companion that had been gripping her stomach for a long time now, pervaded her entire body. She knew that the long-awaited moment had come and placed the brush still held between her fingers onto the palette.

She left the loft just as she was, in her nightgown and with bare feet, finding herself on the cold landing. She looked for a moment at the stairs leading down. Descending onto the street would have meant going down eight flight of stairs, but to reach the terrace of the building she only had to climb one. She headed in that direction. Outside, hit by a cold wind coming from the ocean, she began to tremble, but didn't care and walked toward the railing to take one last look at the Golden Gate Bridge looming in the distance.

This would be the right place, she thought. But it would be a very long walk, and there wasn't much time left.

Pulling herself up with her arms, she climbed onto the parapet and remained balanced for a few more moments. She turned forward and took one last look at everything.

Then she closed her eyes and fell backwards.

MARTIN

The Irish pub was unusually full of people, despite it being a weekday in which the persistent rain didn’t normally encourage folks to go out.

Martin was sitting alone at the bar, chugging down his third pint. He was very tired, but extremely satisfied. Things were finally going in the right direction. He would do great things and, best of all, would buy that villa in Salzburg that he had seen last summer and probably a yacht, as well.

He looked at the bottom of the glass, then admired himself in the mirror on the wall behind the counter. He didn't like himself, but had learned to accept his looks. After all, one's appearance was not something you could choose. Of course, the shabby look, the rumpled suit and unkempt beard did not inspire the image of success that Martin thought he deserved.

Starting tomorrow we'll change our tune, he thought, mentally making a list of things to do to improve his looks, starting with a tailor.

He remained undecided for a moment as to whether or not to have another pint, finally opting to return to the hotel. The day had been long and the next would be even longer. He paid and left, holding on tightly to the leather shoulder bag his uncle had given him when he began working just a few years before.

The winter in Geneva was usually harsh, the streets often white with snow. But not that evening. He looked at the street, neat and tidy, and once again found himself thinking that he liked this place, but that he couldn't love it. He missed the fun life. The one where he spent loads of money in the red-light district of his city.

Putting those thoughts aside, he wrapped himself in his coat and set off in the direction of his hotel. Hearing a single vibration of a message repeating over and over, he pulled out his phone. Someone was writing to him insistently.He read the messages and a darkness settled over him.

At that moment, the headlights of a high-powered motorcycle came toward him. Two people were on the bike, both wearing black jackets and helmets,

like a uniform. The passenger stretched out his hand in an attempt to snatch Martin's shoulder bag, but he instinctively jumped backwards, managing to escape. At least that's what he thought.

The bike spun around quickly and came after him again. Evidently they wanted the bag at all costs, but Martin wasn't about to let that happen.

He began to run, zigzagging between parked cars so the motorcyclists couldn't catch him, then darted towards a police car in the distance. The policemen were stopped on a street corner when they noticed the man running toward them, and got out of their car. The motorcycle took off.

Martin reached the policemen and tried to explain what had happened, but couldn’t catch his breath. He leaned against the car with a pounding heart.

"Sir, what's the matter?" the driver asked.

“Those… those on the motorcycle…” Martin said, pointing in direction of a road, "they tried to rob me."

The policemen turned in the direction indicated by Martin, but the bike was no longer there.

"We noticed the motorcycle, but they’ve taken off."

Martin nodded, still out of breath.

"Are you feeling well?" asked the officer, noticing that Martin was not in particularly good shape. In addition to the cold night, it could be harmful not only to his lungs, but also his heart.

Martin nodded again. “Yeah, everything’s ok. Thank you.”

He thanked him again and said goodbye, walking away. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins with adrenaline and energy, but his lungs and legs didn't feel the same.

Another thing to work on: get to the gym.

He had never experienced an attempted mugging or robbery in Geneva, though the news reported a large increase in crime throughout the neighborhood.

In the suburbs of Amsterdam where he was born and raised, the situation was decidedly worse. However crime in his hometown was nowhere near as monitored as it was in Switzerland.

He may become part of the statistics at this point.

While taking the road that led to the hotel where he usually stayed, a blow to the shoulder threw him against the wall with a dull thud, while a sharp pain hit him an instant later.

Touching his shoulder, he saw his hand covered in blood, but didn’t understand what had happened. He looked up and found one of the two motorcyclists holding a silencer while walking towards him.

Martin tried with great effort to escape, but two more shots hit him in the chest. Then everything went black.

The body collapsed to the ground. The motorcyclist put the gun back in the waistband of his trousers, approached the body and grabbed his shoulder strap. The partner, waiting at the corner, started the engine and approached, allowing him to jump on the back before racing off. It all lasted only a few seconds.

BETTA

The branch of the Agrarian Credit Bank on the Tuscolana Road was quite crowded that morning, so Betta waited patiently in the waiting area, passing the time on her cell phone, gazing at the images of her hugging a child and a man, Edoardo.

The last two years of Betta's life had been filled with pain and sadness. But even with the passage of time, she still woke up at night with the image of her husband naked in the bathtub, the water completely red with his own blood.

He had left her, abandoned her. Not only had this forced her live alone with such enormous pain, there was further shock.

She hated him. She realized this shortly after his burial. Yes, of course she loved him, but she also hated him. She was so angry. How could he?

“For better or for worse, like hell!” she repeated to herself under her breath like a mantra.

She blocked her phone and looked around without paying much attention. In fact, it took her a moment to see the bank manager's hand waving at her from across the room.

Betta got up, forced a smile, and headed into the office. The man, Daniele Bendoni, in his forties, with a kind round face, invited her to sit down.

“So Betta, how are you?” he began, immediately regretting his question. Betta smiled bitterly, but didn't answer. Daniele hastened to add, “That was a really thoughtless question. I say it out of habit."

“Of course, don't worry. All in all, I'm fine...doing as well as possible."

Daniele nodded, then took a long breath. What he had to say wasn't easy, but it was part of his job.

“Betta, you've already missed five mortgage payments. I tried to ask for an extension by explaining...your situation...but, unfortunately banks think in numbers. You know how it is."

"I realize that."

“Please allow me to help you. Can't you pay anything at all?"

Betta's eyes lowered, staring at her hands. She shook her head.

“So with your permission, I'd like to call a couple of our real estate investment clients. Maybe they could buy your house, so you could pay off the mortgage and have some money in your pocket to start over again with some peace of mind."

“I will pay the next installment within the agreed upon deadline. I don't want to sell."

Daniele looked at her with a mixture of anger and compassion.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"I'll figure something out."

“You have no real responsibility”, insisted the man in a calm tone. “Let me help you.”

“Daniele, thank you, but I said I will pay”, she concluded briskly and got up, ready to leave.

The manager leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in front of his mouth, as if in prayer.

“Pride will get you nowhere. I'm trying to avoid taking out a lien. This is not easy."

"I know, but I don't want to sell...I can't."

Daniele's eyes watered. He could only imagine the pain that woman was feeling, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

She felt uncomfortable with what she saw in the manager's gaze so she hurried out, saying goodbye with a nod of her head.

She headed for the exit, feeling the manager's eyes upon her.

MARK

The NTV Italo high-speed train was hurtling at 250 km an hour toward Rome, where it would arrive in an hour.

Mark was sitting on the window seat and Teresa, the girl next to him, had taken advantage of the fact that he couldn’t move. She had started a conversation and wouldn’t stop talking.

“…and I told him that he had to stop bothering me, that I was sick and tired of him and didn’t want to hear from him again. His eyes teared up and he almost ran away. Can you imagine?”

Even though the girl’s English was very good, Mark wasn't following the conversation. He didn’t even understand who she was talking about. He just wanted to sit and look at the passing view, trying to avoid the continuous and insistent flow of thoughts, the pain and the guilt. Instead, Teresa’s incessant river of words only brought his thoughts even more to the forefront.

He looked at her again. Very pretty, brown hair, slim, jeans ripped at the knees and high-heeled sneakers. Her eyes shined with all the energy and naivety of her twenty years, of a girl who thinks she knows all about life, but has yet to realize that she knows nothing.

For a moment he envied her. He would have liked to be twenty years old again; college, going out with friends, working at the pub, searching out experiences with girls. He would have given anything for a moment of being worry-free, but knew that Mary had taken all that away with her drop from the top floor. His carefree existence would probably never return.

"And why are you going to Rome?" asked Teresa, who had exhausted the topics related to her love life.

"Family matters," he answered vaguely.

"Oh, your family is from Rome?" she asked nearly enthusiastically.

"No, I have no relatives in Italy. I'm here... for family business," he responded.

“What kind of business?” she insisted, unable to pick up on social cues.

“Private business.”

That answer cooled her down. It was obvious she was used to getting her way. She nodded politely, then turned toward the aisle and announced that she was going to the vending machine to get something to eat.

Mark relaxed. He leaned back and closed his eyes, mentally reviewed the facts and, like always, a shiver ran down his spine.

The stopover in Milan hadn’t been a good idea. But he had to do it. He had to try to get to know the entire network. Even if he still only knew as much as before. Oh well. He hoped that in Rome he would find what he was looking for.

Teresa returned to her seat with a salty snack and a can of Coke in her hand.

“Want a sip?” she asked, in an overly familiar tone.

Mark opened his eyes again and turned toward her, simply shaking his head.

“It’s not nice to turn down offers, you know? We Italians care,” she added in a flirtatious tone. “If you offered me something, I would accept.”

The sly metaphor did not escape Mark, who had already picked up on the girl's interest in him. He was used to it, perhaps due to the combination of blond hair and green eyes, or because of his beautiful smile, or his lean and athletic physique.

He knew that if he had stood and suggested that she follow him to the bathroom, she would have done so.

He felt flattered, but he just smiled. He was unable to be with any female at that moment.

“If you’re free tomorrow night, a friend of mine is playing in a club. He’s very good.”

“I don’t think I’ll have time, sorry.”

Teresa seemed to understand that it was a farewell and began to eat her snack without anymore conversation.

Mark felt relieved.

PAOLO

Betta walked along Via La Spezia with her head down, barely perceiving the crowd of people swirling around her. Happy people, sad people, angry people. Living people, in short.

That may have been the main reason why she felt so distant from them, focused as she was on death.

Suddenly, a pressure on her chest forced her to stop. No one was pushing her, but she was still struggling to breathe. Grateful to have a wall nearby to lean on while waiting for her lungs to decide to start functioning again, she opened her mouth, panting for air, remembering not to inhale too violently, and forced herself to breathe calmly. The weight on her chest faded slightly, enough to allow the oxygen to return. That small victory gave her confidence and she continued to breathe calmly.

A few seconds later she leaned her entire back against the wall, happy at the idea of being able to take in air normally.

“Is everything okay?” asked a middle-aged man who had stopped in front of her. Betta looked at him. He was dressed to the nines in a vintage style that seemed a little out of date.

“Everything’s fine,” she replied, then realized that her answer was missing something and added, “Thank you.”

The man looked at her unconvinced. “Are you sure? I saw that you were having trouble breathing. Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“It was just a panic attack,” she said, “I’m used to them.”

The man nodded, but didn’t move and continued to look at her.

“There’s no reason to stare!” Betta snapped, feeling awkward.

The man kept his composure, apologized and took his leave. She would have liked to have said excuseme, but it was too late for that. She felt guilty for being rude to the one person who had treated her like a human being. She often couldn’t contain herself and was much ruder than she would have liked.

She took a deep breath and started walking again.A few hundred yards further, she arrived in front of a brick-walled building, next to whose entrance door was a silver sign that read Family Counseling. She hesitated for a moment, then crossed the large threshold and entered.

The first person she saw was Oscar at the reception desk. A university student away from home who, in order to continue his studies, had found a job where he didn’t have to do much, allowing him to study even during work hours.

Betta had spoken to Oscar several times. She found him intelligent, maybe not particularly astute, but polite and determined. He was the only one in his family to have gone to university. His parents were willing to make any sacrifice for him to get his degree. But he had to help out financially, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to make ends meet. He was studying Psychology, so this job prepared him for what he might expect in the future.

When Oscar saw her, he blushed. It was clear that he wanted to say something. He hadn't seen her in months and knew what had happened, but couldn't speak. He limited himself to a greeting with a nod of the head. Betta returned the nod and headed down the long corridor, feeling like she had some kind of disease.

The feeling worsened significantly when she passed two colleagues who greeted her quickly and with a pained look, then took their leave making gestures with their hands as if to say let's talk later. They hadn't seen her for a while and each had sent her a message of condolence, declaring themselves available to lend a hand at any time, then nothing. No phone call, message or any gesture that showed the slightest interest. Nothing.

Those are acting psychologists, she thought bitterly. But then, as usual, she thought that somehow she must have done something wrong, unable to cultivate relationships with her colleagues that had pushed those women to behave like that. There was something wrong with her, she was sure of it.

She stopped in front of the door of Paolo Colangeli, head of the facility, and knocked briskly, waiting to hear the man's baritone voice shout "Come

in!" Instead the door burst open and Paolo's hulking body materialized on the threshold. His eyes widened. "Betta!"

His plump face was radiant and sincerely happy to see her again. His broad shoulders rose to allow his arms to spread out and he took a half step forward toward her, then stopped, understanding that she might not appreciate the idea of any physical contact, lowering his arms and placing his hands on her shoulders.

Over six feet tall with at least two hundred and twenty pounds of toned body weight, he towered over her. Yet no one would have ever thought of him as a dangerous type. He was indeed a gentle giant.

“I’m so glad to see you!”

“I’m glad too,” she replied with a smile, realizing it was true.

“We were just talking about you,” Paolo said, shifting his bulk to the side so she could look inside. There was a man sitting on the couch in the office, with the air of a successful businessman, dressed in an expensive suit with a Rolex on his wrist. His graying, slightly long hair gave him a noble appearance.

The man stood up and half bowed to the girl.

“I’m very pleased to see you again,” he said in perfect Italian with a strong German accent.

“Hello Wilhelm, nice to meet you,” she said, feeling an immediate discomfortable. Unlike Paolo, Wilhelm Ring, the main benefactor of the clinic, as well as CEO for Europe of the WNE, a multinational with offices all over the world and interests in practically every sector, he did not emanate a good vibe. Even though he had never really done anything to give her a bad impression, she sensed an enormous coldness behind the polite manners and the great philanthropic gestures he was capable of. She had often thought that managers at that level must have a killer instinct, as she had often seen in American movies. Maybe it was due to that.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Betta continued, “I can wait until you’re finished.” “There’s no need, I was just leaving,” Wilhelm said, approaching the door.

Just then, a colleague of Betta’s was making gestures from the hallway to get Paolo’s attention with obvious urgency.

“Please excuse me for a minute,” the man said, walking away.

Wilhelm approached Betta, who had remained motionless during the greetings.

“I tried to write you several times,” he began.

“Yes, I know. I apologize... it's a really...” she didn't finish the sentence because she didn't know which adjective to use.

“Of course, of course,” Wilhelm raised his hands as if to emphasize the indescribability of everything that had happened, “I just wanted you to know that I would be truly happy if you would allow me to help you in any way.”

Betta nodded uneasily. “Thank you, you're always very kind.”

Wilhelm gently placed a hand on her arm and squeezed lightly. “There's nothing wrong with asking for help.”

Betta nodded again. It was a phrase she herself had said to patients many times.

“Excuse me, a small emergency,” said Paolo upon his return.

“I have to go. I'll try to come back in the next few days,” Wilhelm looked at the large man standing in the doorway. “Don't worry about those new computers. I'll take care of them.”

“Thank you so much Wilhelm.”

The manager nodded slightly, as if brushing it off. Then he said goodbye and left.

“He’s a really good man,” Paolo commented.

“Yeah,” she said, still feeling awkward.

The man pointed to the sofa and told her to sit down.

“So, what's up?”

Betta felt encouraged by her boss’s open smile, and began with what she had to say.

“I want to come back to work, Paolo.”

The huge man frowned. “Do you feel ready?”

Betta nodded. “I can’t stand staying at home doing nothing anymore. I’m ready to come back.”

“'I can’t stand it anymore' is not a good reason.”

“You know what I mean. This has been incredibly difficult period and being in that house all the time makes me ruminate. Until recently, I couldn’t think of anything else, but now I feel ready to take control of my life.”

Paolo took a deep breath, then spoke calmly. “I’m very pleased to hear these words, Betta. The problem is that I don’t believe you.”

Betta froze. She was convinced that she had played her part well, but her boss had obviously seen right through the act. However, she remained in character, smiled and asked, “Why not?”

“The words you chose to use are not yours. In all these years I have never heard you speak so formally. It's not spontaneous. You constructed an excuse and learned it by heart. Did you seriously think that I wouldn't notice?”

Betta swallowed and looked away. She could not find the words to reply.

“Why did you come here?” he insisted, in his usual calm way. “Tell me the truth.”

The girl couldn't find the courage to look at Paolo again, but she began to speak anyway. “I need money.”

Paolo changed position on the chair and settled better on the backrest.

“For five months I have only been earning half my salary, you know. You were very kind to give me my full salary for three months, despite the wait. I knew it would be halved and I also know that next month it will be halved again".

"Betta, we don't…," Paolo felt he had to justify himself, but the woman interrupted him.

"No, no, please... I'm not blaming you for anything. On the contrary, you did what you could and it was much more than what others have done. I'm not complaining. I just need to go back to work full time. I need to pay the mortgage, pay the back bills…,” tears began to fall and she cursed herself. She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, least of all Paolo.

The man thought for a moment, looking intently at his hands that were clasped on the desk.

“I was thinking that I could ask Wilhelm to give us a hand. You know he's always had a soft spot for you.”

“No, please. I don't want charity. I'm young, healthy and strong, I've just been through a dark period. I can earn a living. I can do it.”

“I'm not sure it's a good idea,” Paolo commented.

“I won't make you regret it.”

“You know that the pace here is stressful. The work has increased a lot.”

“Yes, I know. Don't worry, I can do it.”

Paolo nodded, hesitant but lacking the courage to send the woman away empty-handed.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow morning at the usual time."

IMPRESSIONS

Mark followed the directions on Google Maps to an amber-colored building in the heart of the San Giovanni neighborhood. He approached the intercom, but hesitated. He felt uncomfortable. He had come straight from the station with a tired face and crumpled clothes. It certainly wasn’t the best way to introduce yourself to someone you didn’t know, especially with the news he had to share.

She needed to believe him and, as they say in the States, you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.

He felt anxiety and haste growing inside him. Gathering the strength of making a decision, he gave up. He turned around and headed toward the nearby hotel he had booked. The next morning he would be much more presentable.

Betta crossed the street and noticed a very handsome young man walking away with the air of someone who had been halfway around the world. She made a mental note of it, then immediately immersed herself back into her own worries.

She entered the building with only one thing on her mind: to prepare for the next day.

A NEW OPPORTUNITY

At 10:00 sharp, Betta was in her studio inside the clinic building. Sitting in front of her was Caterina, a fifteen-year-old girl, pissed off at her family, her ex-boyfriend, and the rest of the world. Betta could understand her.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” the girl announced with an annoyed, but guilty expression.

“Why not?”

“If my father found out I had sex, he’d go crazy. He’d kick me out of the house. Imagine if I told him I was pregnant, too!”

Betta sat back in her chair and looked at the girl straight in the eyes.