A Fall of Night

It wasn't far to the coffee shop. Even after carefully replacing her flute in its case it was only a matter of a minutes later that the two of them sat in its familiar surroundings, Dorien choosing a chair near the window to allow her to look out over the neatly trimmed college grounds. It reminded her of the view from Nick's windows.

"So, what happened?" Anna said, returning with two cappuccinos.

Dorien shrugged, sipping her coffee. It was weak, tasted of ashes. Pietro would have done better, or Nick. She smiled.

"Dorien, help me out here!"

"Alexandrov. He phoned him, told him what had happened. Told him everything," she said, flinching slightly at the memory, tears threatening to start once again. "He, uh, threw me out."

Suddenly she was crying again, tears rolling down her face. "We were meant to be travelling to Venice, he was treating me..."

For a while Anna watched her, her face torn, conflicted. Then it settled into a determined look. "Oh, for fuck's sake Dorien, pull yourself together."

Dorien blinked at her, her tears stopping as if Anna'd turned a tap. "What?"

"Look, did you sleep with him for the money?"

"What? No... I did it because I wanted to, because I...like him."

"Right. You've done nothing bad, you're just a naive girl who's fallen in love with the first man she's slept with."

Dorien gaped. "Anna, I didn't say I loved him! I'm not naive."

"Fuck you're not. And if you don't love him I'll wrap this up here, go back to my studies - leave you to go blow that tin whistle of yours until you get it out of your system," she said, voice firm. "Of course, if it's love I might be persuaded to help... So, what's it to be. Do you love him? Do you want him back?"

Dorien stared at her. Anna'd been taken over by some kind of monster. This wasn't what she'd expected... Where was the sympathy? Where were the long evenings talking about loss? The angst?

Did she love him?

For a moment all she could think about was Nick - the intensity of his eyes, the sexy little smile that he seemed to keep just for her, the way she felt when he held her, when he made love to her. That he'd been about to kill her.

Oh, God. Had he?

"Yes. Yes, I love him," she said finally. "Yes, I want him back... More than anything."

"Right. So are you going to mope around here or are you going to do something about it?"

"Like what?"

"Well, like going after him, telling him how you feel, getting him back - you know, the little things. Come on, Dorien, wake up!"

"Alright, alright. He's gone to Venice. How am I supposed to find him?"

"We, how are we supposed to find him. Fuck, you're rich enough, you can pay for me to go with you."

Dorien smiled. "Of course, but that doesn't solve the problem of how we find him."

"That's easy. Do you know how much that apartment of his cost?"

Dorien shook her head.

"Well I do, because I'm a nosy bitch. Thirty five million dollars, give or take a million."

Dorien gaped again. "No way."

"Yes way. So we're not going to find him in a backpackers' hostel are we?" she said, grinning. "All we have to do is phone all the posh, expensive hotels in Venice until we find him. Do you speak Italian?"

"Uh... No."

"Shit."

"But I know a man who can." This time it was Dorien who grinned.

******

It turned out that Pietro was actually from Sicily.

For Dorien the cafe seemed as much part of Nick as his apartment, his relationship with Pietro more avuncular than paternal but significant nevertheless. Once he understood the nature of Dorien's dilemma he was only too willing to help. A laptop, two hours on Google and three donuts later they had a list of hotels that Pietro thought might attract Nick.

In no time he had them seated at the counter, plying them with more donuts and strong coffee while he phoned each hotel in turn from an old fashioned Bakelite phone hung on the wall. It was unclear to Dorien whether the line was bad, or the phone inadequate, or it was a characteristic of the Italian language, but every conversation with Pietro seemed to be shouted with exaggerated hand gestures and surplus enthusiasm.

Every so often he would break off to serve customers in his inimitable, exuberant style - the noise never diminishing but changing from shouting to the grinding of beans, the frothing of milk and the clatter of plates. He seemed compelled to explain Dorien's situation, accompanied by further hand waving and sympathetic noises, to each in turn. It was of no surprise to Dorien that several of those customers, motivated by the story of her personal romantic tragedy, contributed their own ideas for hotels to the list. Two went so far as to join Pietro in making the phone calls, only adding to the chaotic goodwill. She was quietly certain that some hotels were phoned more than once, others not at all.

None of which helped to speed the process.

Finally, after the third such interruption, Anna sighed in frustration and took the apron from Pietro, taking over serving the customers herself. He laughed at this, but permitted her to take up a position behind the counter, serving donuts and cakes - though he drew the line at coffees.

After that things moved more quickly - the phone calls thicker and faster, the shouting louder and, if anything, more exuberant. More customers came, drawing Anna away, more hotels were added.

Despite the comfortable surroundings, the feeling of homeliness that seemed to cling to the cafe from her time with Nick, Dorien brooded. What the hell was she going to do? If she did find him, what could she do to make it right? She didn't even understand the significance of what she'd done, never mind how to make up for it. Then there was the way he'd been when they parted... Had he heard her tell him that she loved him? If she went to him now, told him again, would it make any difference?

Did he hate her? She didn't think she could stand that.

Anna placed another coffee on the counter in front of her, pressing her finger to her lips when she glanced at Pietro. He was still on the phone. Dorien smiled her thanks, sipped it. It was a little watery, but passable.

"Got him!" Pietro shouted, waving the phone, broke off to speak in Italian into the receiver. "Hotel Gritti Palace, just off the Grand Canal."

"Hallelujah!" Anna said, throwing her arms into the air. Around her the cafe's patrons were shouting as if she'd just won the lottery. Despite her worries, Dorien felt herself smiling right along with them - with all these people on her side, Nick should be easy.

******

I'll just go up to him and tell him, she thought. Tell him how I feel, convince him. It'll be okay.

Who was she kidding?

She groaned, leaning on Anna's shoulder for the umpteenth time.

Ever since they'd left New York, nearly eleven hours and two first class tickets on the only flight ago, she'd been thinking through her approach. Had been over it and over it until even Anna had wanted to strangle her - resorting instead to an endless supply of alcohol and a night mask to put her off.

On some occasions she saw herself as seductive - waiting for him in his room, seducing him back when he returned. Eleven plus hours on the plane and a stopover in Paris killed that, along with all thoughts of ever wanting sex again. Or at least until after twelve hours sleep and a hot bath.

On other occasions she saw herself as penitent. Knocking on his door, surprising him - that little smile of his on face when he saw her, secretly delighted - apologising, begging him to forgive her. He would, of course, graciously - wrapping her in his arms. Then she remembered him kneeling in tears on the floor of his own apartment. That killed that.

Then, on still other occasions, she thought of herself as cool, suave. Waiting in the lobby of the hotel, maintaining an air of sophistication, approaching him as if they'd never met. Pretending, offering him a chance for a clean slate, which he'd take with a small smile of admiration - that wicked seductive smile she loved so much. The fact that she was absolutely petrified killed that.

Finally she'd started to believe that he hated her, every scenario ending with him closing the bedroom door in her face, his eyes cold. That made her feel worse but it didn't stop her turning it over and over in her mind, worrying at it like a loose tooth.

Even when she slept there was no surcease. In her dream she went to him, to his room, pouring her heart out to him. He seemed to accept it, to forgive her, wrapped her in his arms just as she wanted - but when she looked his eyes were yellow, his face savage. She woke sweating from that one, surprised she hadn't woken Anna with her fear. After that she gave up on sleep, settling for torturing herself instead.

Of course the one thing she hadn't ever considered was what actually happened.

Marco Polo airport was some six miles north of Venice, entry and access to the city by car was severely restricted. It was Tuesday when they arrived. Tuesday the sixteenth of February. Mardi Gras. The Venice Carnival winding to its dramatic, colourful, crowded, tourist crammed climax. By the time they cleared customs, following the non-EU citizens' queue in an exercise of patience and universal tolerance, it was mid-afternoon.

It was possible to take a water taxi directly from the airport to the city. Or at least it was on any other day, Dorien found. In the end they had to take a battered Fiat taxi from the lido onto the lagoon then had to switch to the use of the local water taxis to get near the actual hotel. The waterways, bridges, piazzas and walkways were crammed with people and costumes and boats and noise and bustle. Dorien had never thought to see a traffic jam on water, Venice changed her mind. While she had no doubt that being with Nick would have lent the whole an exotic, romantic air; being without him made it all seem a little tawdry and desperate, like meeting an ageing dame wearing too much make-up and nowhere near enough clothes.

It was as they neared the hotel, a fifteenth century palace hard by the side of the Grand Canal, that Dorien saw him. Still distant, she watched him exit the hotel and take one of the waiting water taxis, watching as it negotiated the bobbing crowd of similar boats. Seeing him made her realise how badly she wanted him, convinced her at last that she'd made the right decision chasing him to Europe - he looked achingly handsome, elegant in a suit so black it was as if he'd wrapped himself in a piece of the night sky. But what made her feel sick, what made her both hot and cold at the same time, was that he was arm in arm with another woman.

She felt Anna touch her on the the arm, catching her attention.

"That him?"

She nodded. She wanted to reply, but no words would seem to form, all she kept thinking was: 'I was supposed to be with you, not her...'

"Thought so..." Anna said. "Dorien, it may not be what you think..."

It can't be, she thought, I was supposed to be with him, he asked me to come...

With that she felt a sudden resolve take her. Alexandrov had said that he believed they belonged together, well so did she. He was hers, she wasn't going to give him up just like that, not for anyone - certainly not for her, whoever she was.

"It isn't," she said, grabbing the pilot as he neared the mooring.

Since her experience at Pietro's she'd learnt a single useful word in Italian. 'Amore'. She knew it meant love and she had learnt that it was the key to getting Italian men to help her under any circumstances. She used it now, pointing boldly at Nick's receding boat, clutching her heart and saying "amore" repeatedly until he figured it out with a wave, a smile and a burst of sudden acceleration as he set off in pursuit - a soppy look accompanying his realisation.

"Dorien?" Anna said.

"Hmm?" Her eyes never left Nick's boat. They were gaining so slowly she imagined tectonic plates would meet before they did.

"What are you going to do when you catch him?"

Dorien glanced quickly at her friend. That one was easy. "I'm going to tell him I love him and then I'm going to go to his hotel with him and... Well, my plans are kind of tentative after that," she said, smiling shyly.

Anna laughed.

That is if she could catch him before the ice-caps melted and drowned them all.

Despite her lack of optimism it was clear that they were gaining slowly, her taxi making more determined progress through the chaotic procession of boats, gondolas and vaporetti. Even with this extra speed, they were still worryingly distant when Nick's boat pulled in to a relatively quiet side street. By the time their speeding taxi entered it after him, Nick's boat was pulling away from a mooring, empty. For a single heart-stopping moment Dorien thought she'd lost him - then she spotted them, Nick and the mystery woman, just visible walking behind the waterfronts of the local buildings.

Her taxi pulled in at the same mooring. Unlike Nick their boat contained their luggage, packed for the trip, and it was pretty obvious that she was never going to catch him if she was lugging that around with her. She stared at Anna, hands raised in frustration, her head turning to look between the buildings.

"What do we do?"

"Pay him!" Anna said, looking from Dorien to the luggage to the street where Nick was no longer visible. "Shit! Leave the fucking luggage - tell him to take it to Nick's hotel, we'll never get a fucking room in this jamboree anyway!" Anna was already climbing out of the taxi, grabbing the mooring post.

Dorien shoved a load of Euros into the hands of the pilot, pointed to her luggage. "Hotel Gritti Palace!" she said, shoving another load of Euros into his hand. His eyes were wide, a silly smile on his face - must be a big tipper, she thought - "Amore!" she added, pointing after Nick.

He smiled again. "Thank you ladies, I'll drop your luggage off at the hotel for you..." he said, in slightly accented English. "Good luck with your lover," he yelled as he pulled away.

"Fuck!" Anna said, but Dorien was already running down the street after Nick.

The narrow alley leading to the mooring opened onto a wider, though still narrow, street, elegant buildings stretched off in both directions, curving with the shape of the island, the flow of the water. As she turned the corner, Nick was entering a building at the far end of the street, distinctive with a red door, the woman already ahead of him.

"Come on, Anna!" she shouted, already striding ahead.

The street was practically empty, far from the tourist activity of the carnival. The weather was chill, overcast, and it was apparent that it would be dark before too long, the winter sun already low in the sky.

"Dorien, wait, it's not a race!" she shouted. Then mumbled: "Unless you think he's trying to get away from you."

The red door belonged to a grand building of four stories, its yellowing Gothic architecture now a little worn and neglected, but still illustrative of its more elegant past. The entrance door was likewise neglected, its red paint chipped and scuffed, though the gargoyle on the lintel still maintained a savage mien. In the centre of the door was a tarnished knocker, a simple hoop through the mouth of a lion.

For the first time in her dash, Dorien paused. The building showed no signs of life, no sound, no movement, yet a strange tension crackled in the air - like summer lightning.

"Is this the one?" Anna asked, breathing a little hard.

"Yes." Dorien held her hand out, she could almost feel the charge flowing from the house. What was it Nick had said about her sensitivity?

"Well, what are we waiting for... Let's go get him?"

"Anna, wait-"

Anna knocked, the sound echoing hollowly through the building.

"-I'm not sure it's safe..."

Nothing happened.

"Did Nick go in here?"

Dorien nodded.

"Well, do you want to go get him or not?"

For a moment longer she paused, then she thought of Nick with the strange woman and her mind was made up. "Okay, come on."

Untouched, as if in answer to her thought alone, the door swung open. The building beyond seemed to be empty.

Dorien looked at Anna, her eyebrows raised. "Weird," she said, peering inside. "Hello?"

"Don't look gift horses and all that..." Anna said, pushing past her, Dorien following.

The inside was deserted and thick with dust, fresh footprints easily discerned in the layer on the floor. They stretched from the door to a narrow stone arch and a staircase leading down into the darkness beyond. As soon as she entered, Dorien felt the hairs on her arms, her neck, stand on end, her skin prickling with tension. She followed the footprints, crossed to the arch at the top of the stairs. Far below Dorien could see a glow of light, at what she assumed to be the bottom of the staircase.

Anna joined her, looking down. "In for a penny in for a pound."

Dorien grinned.

The minute her foot touched the top stair the front door shut with a bang. Dorien jumped, felt Anna grab her arm. They exchanged looks, both a little shaken.

"Wind?" Anna said.

"From where?"

"Good point."

"Magic..." Dorien said, a small smile on her face. Perhaps she was sensitive after all.

"Fuck off, Dorien," Anna said, gripping her hand, her face white. "Well, let's get this over with."

Dorien stepped to the threshold, she could feel something in the air - like a cobweb of electricity, a brush of static against her skin - right at the entrance. She pushed her hand through it. There was no resistance. Swallowing hard, she stepped into it. It seemed to part as she passed through it, trailing over her skin with a soft tingle. She shivered slightly, then she was through, standing in the cold dark at the top of the stairs. Anna made no comment, seemed not to notice.

Clinging together they moved into the dark, stepping tentatively on the uneven stone floor. The steps twisted, coiling around some central shaft or point - although in the darkness nothing was visible - conclusions little more than half formed impressions of space, the movements of the air, the way sound seemed to vanish into it.

She trailed her hand along the internal wall, feeling her way slowly by touch alone, each uneven step a new challenge. As her eyes became used to the dark the glow below them became brighter, a steady yellow glow emanating from what appeared to be a tunnel mouth. What confused Dorien was that this was Venice. Didn't walking down the stairs imply that they were underwater? She thought it better not to mention it to Anna.

"Intruder." A whisper in the dark, soft, sibilant, barely audible and very very close. It set Dorien's teeth on edge.

"What was that?" Anna said, her voice frightened, her hand gripping Dorien's like a vice.

"I don't know," Dorien said, nervously.

She looked about, they were about half-way, she guessed. The dim light of the hallway above appeared about as far away as the yellow glow beneath them.

"Keep moving," she said.

They continued down for a few more steps, the dark suddenly unfriendly.

"Intruder." A different voice, a different whisper, just as close.

"Oh, fuck!" Anna said, spinning about, her voice shrill, panicked.

"Intruder." Each one cold, inhuman, sibilant.

"Shit, Dorien, what the fuck do we do?"

"Intruder."

Something moved in the light, a shadow, no more. Did it look like a figure?

"Intruder." Behind them, above them.

Anna screamed. Dorien spun. There, on the stairs just above them, a figure in robes barely visible against the dim light.

"Down Anna! Run down!"

"Intruder."

Dorien ran, stumbling over stairs in the dark, Anna just behind her, her breathing frantic, panicked. The steps were uneven, slippery, every step threatening to send them tripping and falling down to the bottom.