Rosamanti (18 page)

He screamed her name down into the tunnel at the top of his lungs.

“Signora! Sarah!” He heard his own voice echo back, but not a whisper from Sarah. Fear for her safety caused him to shake. She might be hurt—even dead! He picked up her backpack and opened the flap. He saw a water bottle, her hat, and the map drawn by Nonna when she was a little girl.

Part of him wanted to go down the tunnel, to search for her. But he was scared now, scared that he too would become lost and his mama would be all alone. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing mind, his beating heart.
I need to get Pietro.

Walking back out to the sitting room, he stared at the door, remembering the faded boards nailed across it on the outside. He glanced and the nearest window, tried to open it, but it was shut fast. Moving quickly, he tried each of the windows in the small cottage and, finding them all boarded up with shutters on the outside, he searched the house for something heavy to smash the glass. Near the old wood-burning stove, he found a heavy iron poker. Grabbing it with both hands, he went back to the window. With all his might, he swung the poker back like a baseball bat, then brought it forward, crashing against the window. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, sending shards flying through the room. One jagged piece stuck in his arm. Carlo pulled it out and inspected the wound. It bled a little, but he couldn’t feel any pain. Carefully, he picked out the remaining broken glass from the window frame before he attempted the next assault on the locked shutters. Again, he took aim, summoned all his strength, and bashed at the shutters. They moved, but didn’t open. Third time lucky, he heard the wood splinter as the hinges burst from the surrounding timber, sending one shutter flying out, held only by the padlock outside. He dragged over a chair, climbed up, and slid through the small gap.

He thought his lungs would burst as he ran full bore across the rocky hill, where only a few hours ago he had trod, looking for Sarah. Now he had found her. Well, sort of. He ran like a man on a mission, not stopping until he got to his house. Bursting into the kitchen, he ran headlong into his mother’s soft, comforting apron. He felt her arms surrounding him and heard her cooing soothing words. Tears sprang from his eyes, running unchecked down his grubby face. His burnt hand stung fiercely, and the cut from the glass shard had left a trickle of dried blood down his arm. He wanted to tell his mama everything, but first he had to get help for Sarah. Through wracking sobs, made worse by the short, sharp pants from the long run, he managed to get most of the story out.

Teresa searched in her purse for the scrap of paper with Pietro’s phone number at the hospital. She ran cold water over her son’s burnt hand, wrapped it in a clean cloth, then told him to stay put while she went to ring Pietro. As she hurried out the door, Carlo began praying. He was shaking all over, but exhaustion was setting in. He walked to the open doorway and poked his head out, seeing his mother walking as fast as she could toward town. He looked up at the sky as he prayed. The sun was setting, sending magnificent orange lights up into the sky. Normally he would stop and admire the sunset that he never tired of seeing. But today, the sight filled him with foreboding. It would be dark within the hour.

Chapter Eleven

Pietro picked up the phone on the first ring. All day he had been waiting for news, and he cursed the hospital staff for giving him sleeping pills throughout the day. The medication had knocked him out, and when he woke, it was early evening.

“Si
,
pronto.” His voice was strained and curt.

A torrent of rapid Italian burst out of the phone, as Teresa told him what Carlo had discovered. He felt the room swimming as his breathing became shallow and his heart began beating at an alarming rate. Teresa finished with a breathless sob. Pietro soothed her as best he could.

“I’ll fix it, don’t worry, Teresa. I’ll call Bruno. You go home and look after Carlo.” He heard Teresa sniffle. “Hey, he’s a real hero, no?”

“Si. Ciao, Pietro.” Her voice, choked with tears, moved him. He slowly put down the phone and lay back in the hospital bed, his mind racing. Knowing he had to act fast, he tried to clear the panic and worry from his mind and plan a logical way to rescue Sarah.

He reached over and picked up the phone, stabbing the buttons with more force than was required.

“Bruno, ciao. This is Pietro. Can you do me a favor? Bring your golf cart to the side door of the hospital in thirty minutes? Grazie. Ciao.”

He slammed the phone back in its cradle and pulled the saline tube out of the cannula in the back of his hand. Reaching forward, he strained to reach the hook suspended from the ceiling which held the leg sling. His leg fell with a thud to the bed, sending pain shooting up his leg, but he ignored it. Grabbing his clothes from the bedside locker, he awkwardly dressed himself, slipping his sandals on his feet. He crept to the door and put his ear close, listening for signs of anyone coming. Carefully, he opened the door a few inches and peered out. Nurses at the station nearby were chatting to each other. A patient in a wheelchair was cruising down the hallway. Silently, he left his room and, head down, made his way up the hallway, in the opposite direction of the nurses’ station, and pressed the down button for the elevator. It seemed to take forever to arrive. He looked to his left, seeing another patient sitting on a padded chair against the wall. The man’s head was resting on his chest, and Pietro could hear a soft snore coming from him. A pair of wooden crutches, resting against the wall next to the man, caught Pietro’s eye. The light showed and the elevator dinged, signaling it had arrived. Pietro reached over and took hold of the crutches, then jumped into the elevator as the doors were closing.

He pressed the basement button. When the doors opened, he saw the small underground loading dock. Looking furtively from side to side, he left the elevator. The dock was quiet. He placed the crutches under each armpit and, cursing, clumsily hobbled to the open entrance where a blue golf buggy was waiting for him.

His friend nodded to him and helped him up into the golf buggy.

“Ciao, Bruno. Rosamanti,
veloce
!”

They traveled in silence, the electric motor of the buggy humming as it negotiated the laneways around the main part of Capri township. Soon they were climbing via Lo Capo, winding their way up to Rosamanti.

As they passed the entrance to Teresa’s house, Pietro tapped Bruno on the shoulder, indicating with his thumb to drive up the pathway to the house. As they pulled up, Carlo and Teresa came running out, worry showing in their faces. They both spoke at once, repeating what Teresa had already told him. He held up his hands to stop them.

“We need to make sure we don’t cause anyone else to be hurt.” He looked at Bruno, his brows drawn together. “Are you able to help us?”

“Si. Of course.”

“Come on then, hop in.” Bruno reached out a hand to Carlo and helped him in. Teresa ran back into the house, returning in seconds with a basket in one hand and a zipped bag with a large red cross on it.

A few minutes later, they arrived in the courtyard of Rosamanti. Entering the kitchen, they all sat down around Nonna’s kitchen table.

“Can you get the maps please, Carlo.” The boy ran to the drawing room, returning with the old map. He also had brought with him Sarah’s backpack, which he opened, extracting the rough map with Villa Jovis, Grotta Bianca, and Grotta Azzurra marked on it.

They pored over the maps, with Carlo describing in detail the route he had taken that afternoon. Pietro was surprised to learn of the tunnel. It had been well hidden from him as a child, obviously. With his small index finger, Carlo traced the direction he thought he had traveled in the tunnel from Rosamanti to the old goatherd’s cottage.

“I came out in the kitchen of the cottage. Then, when I was looking for Signora, I found another tunnel in the bathroom.” His soft voice shook and his eyes lowered. “That’s where I found her back pack.”

Pietro knew he had to remain strong. A part of him was desperate with worry, but he needed a cool head to ensure he found Sarah before any harm came to her. He put a hand on Carlo’s little shoulder.

“You are a very brave boy. You’ve done very well.” He gave Carlo’s shoulder a pat. Carlo looked up at him and nodded, but his face still looked worried and sad.

Pietro looked back at the map. He remembered an old tale about a hidden tunnel leading from Grotta Bianca to Villa Jovis. It was apparently dug by smugglers, but he didn’t know if it was still navigable. But the goatherd’s cottage? He shook his head.

“Carlo, you say you could smell salt at the entrance to the second tunnel?”

The boy nodded.

“Then let us assume that the tunnel comes out somewhere on the cliffs. Maybe a cave, or a grotto. He went to stand up, letting out a loud cry.

“
Ohi!
”
His face contorted until the wave of pain abated. Frustration at his immobility overtook him. He placed both palms on his face. Then he looked at the anxious faces around him and shook his head. “A lot of use I’m going to be.”

Bruno coughed, then said quietly, “Pietro, I will take my motorboat around to Grotta Bianca at first light. You can come with me. If Signora has reached the cliffs—either a cave or even at the cliff top—we can at least reassure her and organize for her to be rescued.”

Relief showed in Pietro’s face. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and nodded. He knew he must remain calm, get a good grip on himself.

“But we also need to investigate the second tunnel. She may well still be in there. Maybe it has caved in…” He looked at his companions, then saw the big dark brown eyes of Carlo, his pupils dilated with fear.

“The tunnel is too small for any of you. Let me go in.”

“No, no! You already have fear in your eyes, Carlo. It would be too much.”

Carlo stood up from his seat. He puffed his chest out and tossed his head in the air. “I am only frightened for my friend—not for me. I am small and fast in the tunnels. Signora is in there somewhere. I can go in from the cottage, and you two go from the sea. We’ll find her OK. Si?

The room was silent. All eyes were on the boy. Eventually, Pietro dragged his eyes from the dark, burning eyes of Carlo, to Teresa. She looked back at Pietro, her eyes clearly showing the worry. She slowly nodded her head.

“Si.” her voice was soft.

Pietro looked deeply into his friend’s eyes. Teresa had always been a brave woman. She still was. Admiration oozed from his eyes.

“Teresa is right.” Bruno put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Carlo is fast and small. He is the right man for the job.”

Pietro looked at his wristwatch. It was nearly midnight.

“We need flashlights and a water bottle for Carlo.”

“Bruno, can you organize flashlights, spare batteries, and ropes?” Bruno nodded. “Carlo,” Pietro continued, “please go home with your mother and sleep. We will all meet here at four o’clock. It won’t be fully light, but Bruno and I will want to be at the Grotto entrance by dawn in case Sarah is there.”

The foursome stood, each knowing what they had to do. Bruno dropped Teresa and Carlo off on his way to the marina where his boat was moored.

After they had gone, Pietro sat back down at the table. Pain from his leg resurged, threatening to cause him to faint. He looked at the very familiar grain in the wood of Nonna’s old table and put his head in his hands. He knew he was struggling to hold it together. He feared the worst for Sarah. She could be stuck in the tunnel, or she could have drowned in a grotto, or been dashed on the jagged rocks at the cliff. A sob rent from his chest. Guilt consumed his thoughts. He found himself praying—praying to his beloved
Madre Maria
to save Sarah.
Please, give us this chance at happiness
. Eventually he dropped off to sleep at the table, his head resting on his crossed arms.

Chapter Twelve

Cold, salty spray saturated her, jolting her out of the fitful sleep of exhaustion. The shock of the water caused her to gasp, making her draw her breath in sharply. She heard herself scream with terror as a roar, sounding like a giant in a kids’ movie, roared loudly. In the darkness, the glistening black shape rose abruptly, heading for her, phosphorescence lighting it up with hundreds of tiny dots. Splash! Drenched again, she watched the huge wave sink down deep and with a loud whoosh, like the water draining out of a bathtub, it was sucked out through the narrow slit that was the opening to the outside world.

She clung tightly to the rusty ring in the wall, her wet bra still the only safety mechanism she had to stop a rogue wave rising higher and sweeping her off the shelf. The noise of the angry waves in the confined space of the grotto was deafening. Fear gripped her as she sat shivering, waiting for each successive swell to breach the cave. She had no perception of time, except to see that it was night, the grey shape of the cave opening sending only a shadow of light to comfort her. She began counting each swell. Anything to take her mind off the negative thoughts that were threatening her sanity.

She thought of her late husband and her daughter. She thought of other family members and old friends. But at the forefront of her thoughts was Pietro. They had been so close to finding happiness with each other. So close to falling in love.
Thirty-one, thirty-two.

The salt stung her eyes. She’d always hated going to the beach, and when she did, she
never
put her head under water. A wry laugh came out from her parched throat.
Is this karma or what? My greatest fear is the thing that’s going to kill me.

Without realizing it, the small entrance was gradually becoming easier to see. The large swells that had risen to lap at her feet, now only came to the ledge where she had first rested when she entered the cave, about ten feet below where she now rested. Her pessimistic thoughts swept to one side as she noticed the changes. Her heart beat faster. White, early morning sky shone through the gap when the waves rolled out. The light seemed to shine downward to the floor of the grotto and reflect everywhere. All around her, the black, ominous rocks of the horror-filled night turned glowing white. Even the water itself was bright white. She looked at her arm, then down at her dirty T-shirt. White and glowing.