more because you know that if you get told “no” one more time by one more person you’ll lose it?
‘That’s why I wanted Toby with me. He never blamed me and he was the only one who believed me. I never had sex with anyone but even if I had, would it really be so bad that they should all turn on me like that? I can’t think of anything awful enough Toby could do that would make me stop loving him. And what does it matter to my parents if he lives with me? They were never around anyway! I was afraid that they might take him away and I’d never see him again. So I took him with me when I left. We stayed in a shelter for a while before we moved here.. but I can’t look after him. I have no money — my parents have cut me off from the accounts I had before, so I can’t use my credit cards any more. It’s just that I didn’t want to be completely on my own, with no family at all. Can you understand that?’
Ah, yes, I could understand that far better than she knew.
‘You’re not going to turn me in, are you?’ she asked, glancing up at me.
I shook my head. ‘I just want to help you, that’s all. I would never do anything you didn’t want me to, I promise. You don’t have to be scared to ask me for help.’
Casey smiled at me and I saw a mixture of doubt and hope in her face.
‘Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?’ she asked.
I hesitated, hoping she hadn’t seen me almost cut that boy’s throat. Should I tell her the truth? Could I risk undoing the trust I’d manage to build up between us?
‘You have skeletons in your closet too, don’t you?’ she asked, smiling softy. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
And I had to tell her then because the way she’d said it and the kind smile she’d given me made me feel like a bastard for not trusting her enough in the first place when she had openheartedly trusted me with her secrets. And to my surprise and pleasure, she did not denounce me for a raving madman after I’d finished. She didn’t shrink from me in uncertainty and fear.
‘I’m sorry I lied to you… I just didn’t want you to think I was crazy or something.’
‘Yes, I understand why you did it.’
‘Do you believe me, then? You don’t think I’m making all this up?’
‘A few days ago I told you that there was no father to my child,’ she said wryly. ‘The idea that you might be suffering from amnesia is not hard for me to believe, even if you don’t trust my story.’
I hesitated, feeling guilty.
‘It’s okay. I know how it sounds,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Foolishly get yourself in trouble and then claim a Virgin Mary… But, Gabriel, in this day and age, why on earth would I say such a thing if it wasn’t true? When I know that people will denounce me for a slut and a whore as soon as I start claiming to be a pregnant virgin? I’m not stupid, although people often seem to think otherwise because of the dyed hair and the piercings and the tattoos. But for God’s sake, if I was going to lie about it, I would have said I’d been raped. People would have believed that and pitied me then instead of scorning me and looking at me with disgust. I wish I’d told my parents I was raped now. Then I’d still be at home, with everyone I love fussing over me. I would never have had to realise how little they cared about me. I would have just gone on thinking they were the people I’d always believed them to be.’
She wasn’t lying to me. I could see it in her face — not only did she think she was telling the truth, she was telling the truth. Perhaps I have known that all along. Perhaps I just didn’t like to think that she was mixed up in all this too. I wanted better for her than that. I wanted her to have normalcy — even if that normalcy was as a struggling single mother with no family, no money and no one to help her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice as I accepted the idea. ‘I do believe you.’
When I saw that she was doubtful, I told her a little about my own recent experiences. Not the whole of it, of course, for I had no wish to scare her. So I didn’t tell her of the burning demon who had almost decapitated Stephomi outside Michael’s church or of the strange notes I had been sent. I didn’t tell her of the black fur and the claw marks and the cracked mirror in Stephomi’s hotel room… I knew that Casey was religious, for she had told me before that her whole family were Catholic. But most religious people, even if they do believe in a vague way in angels and their demonic counterparts, do not believe that devils and angels walk the Earth in a more physical manner — brandishing large swords, ripping hotel curtains to shreds, leaving black fur all over the cream suite, freezing wine solid in long stemmed wine glasses…
But I did tell her that I had known my share of strangeness since coming to Budapest. That I sometimes seemed to be haunted by strange dreams and waking visions that I couldn’t shake. That something followed me through the days and nights… And she believed me. In fact, she seemed incredibly relieved that someone other than her had experienced things they could not explain. Things that haunted them and made them fear they were going mad.
When I at last got up to go, Casey pressed a string of prayer beads into my palm; the smooth feel of them and the soft click of the wood as the beads fell against each other was incredibly soothing and reassuring. I returned to my apartment aware that there were barriers between us that had been swept down beautifully that evening.
If I had ever had a daughter, I would have wished her to be just like Casey. Had I loved Luke like this? Was this what it had felt like? The conviction that you would do anything… anything to keep them safe from whatever might try to hurt them. I let Luke down, didn’t I? A parent is supposed to keep their child safe. There should never ever be any need for those tiny little coffins. Not because of illness, not because of negligence, not because of accident… Children should not die. Old people die. Adults, sometimes. But not children. I don’t know why God doesn’t forbid it. I won’t let anything happen to Casey. I’d die before I let anything hurt her.
After the incident with Casey and her attackers, life was uneventful for a week, and this lulled me into a false sense of security. The weather continued to cool and Budapest became laced with frosts during the night — frosts that melted away quickly as soon as the sun came up, shining down on the city with all the sharp, clear, freshness of a winter’s day.
There had been no notes or visions or strange dreams. There had been no nocturnal visits from Lilith, even after I stopped taking the sleeping drugs. And life had seemed sweet to me, like nectar. But then, yesterday, I received another note. Like the first one, it had been slipped under the door and spelt out in block capitals but it was written in Italian rather than Latin:
PER ME SI VA NELLA CITTA’DOLENTE.
PER ME SI VANELL’ETERNO DOLORE.
PER ME SI VA TRA LA PERDUTA GENTE…
LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA VOI CH’ENTRATE!
This quote is from Dante and translated into English it reads:
Through me one goes to the sorrowful city.
Through me one goes to eternal suffering.
Through me one goes among lost people…
Abandon all hope, you who enter!
The passage is straight from the Divina Commedia itself, Inferno III, which sees Dante and Virgil passing through the Gates of Hell on which the famous words are engraved. I can’t say that the words did not chill me. But, unlike those passing through Hell’s Gates, I did have some hope left. For now at last I would know who had sent me these notes.
After the initial twinges of foreboding, my first feeling was one of triumph. I had caught the little shit in the act. At last I would have the identity of my anonymous tormenter. I would know who had been sending me these threatening things. And then I would therefore also know who had stitched photos into the backs of antique books and hidden them in crates of wine. I would know who had stood in the hotel room in Paris and photographed Stephomi and me. And I would know who had killed Anna Sovanak. At last I would know what twisted man dropped her body into the sea, contained in a crate, and left her there for months before raising her to the surface, transporting her across Italy and Austria back to Hungary to deposit before the weeping willow memorial in the centre of Budapest for all to see when her ocean-bloated corpse washed out onto the street. This sick bastard had wanted her to be discovered in a public and sensationalist manner. Had he been trying to make the front page, perhaps? The story certainly should have made headlines and its banishment to page six was worrying in itself.
