Carnem Levare Page 5

  Stefano stood very near, too near in fact. Jealously and longing were his companions. He adored the way that the young man’s affections reached the woman. After staring tirelessly at them fondle and kiss for minutes on end, he began crying. Stefano remembered the first day he made love to Anastasia. As young adults, they had given themselves purely out of love. That changed because of family and commitments. Though Anastasia had promised herself to him forever, his forever was far different to hers. He turned to relieve the couple.

  “I love you forever,” the man professed. His words were mere mumblings, since his lips were still rather close to hers.

  “And I love you for always,” was her response. Her words were louder, more endearing and almost too sincere.

  Stefano, who had taken a handful of footsteps away, immediately stopped. The young woman’s words taunted, ringing in his ears, reminding him of when Anastasia had said the very same thing. For a moment he was rigid, contemplating his next move, although Stefano’s history foretold all. Once he decided, things quickly moved into motion.

  Stefano reached for the man, tossing him aside. His head crashed against concrete walls. There was no further movement from the victim. In the meantime, she screamed out. Terror shot across her face. Rosy cheeks became blistering red. Streams of tears rolled down her face. She rushed for her lover, cradling his head against her midsection. His eyelids were shut. Her tears drenched his face, smearing his painted mask. His body was stiff; still.

  “Help!” she cried out. Unwilling to seek out assistance, she rocked back and forth, surrounded by a puddle of extensive cloth. She was mortified to find light speckles of red on her glistening white dress. Her cries increased. Her woes were inconsolable. Every few seconds her head rose, trailing about the territory from left to right in search of salvation. No one came. At least no one came to help her cause.

  *****

  The modern day Anastasia sat across from Annabelle. Their palms rested one against the other. The room was cold, dusky and remarkably eerie. The drapes hung low and wide. Be it night or day, the pair transformed to another realm.

  Annabelle chanted, flowing in and out of several unfamiliar tongues. Anastasia remained silent; her fingers trembled. As this impromptu ceremony progressed, her fear could not be sustained. Her cousin was forced to wrap her fingers around. She pressed lightly . . . firmer . . . deeper.

  Annabelle’s neck extended, dyed jet-black tresses flowed midway down her back.

  Anastasia was unable to break their grip. She tried keeping her lids lowered, but as the shaking increased she found it difficult to concentrate.

  Suddenly, the room silenced, matching the shallowness that Anastasia had experienced for countless years. She no longer felt any connection to her cousin; no longer saw her; no longer heard her.

  Anastasia found herself engulfed in a sea. Murky waters thrust against her face. She fought to keep her eyes wide. She choked, fighting desperately to keep the fluid out of her mouth. This was a fruitless attempt because in shutting her mouth, her nostrils naturally took in the threat.

  She coughed, gagged.

  No longer seated, she floated around in the darkness, unable to fend for life. Death’s embrace drew near, and then she was yanked up. Distant lights shone into her face, and though it burned she welcomed the disturbance.

  A man held onto her body, kissed her lips and spoke swiftly.

  “My love? My love? I did not mean to hurt you. Stay with me! Death be gone!”

  Death? She fought to move but couldn’t.

  “Anastasia, I won’t live alone.” His tears mingled with her moisture.

  It was then that Anastasia realized that she was no longer Anastasia of the twentieth century.

  *****

  Stefano wandered into the square, gazing out upon the waves. He wished to inhale the sweet breezes and feel the mists against his face, but he was not real and could not ever again make it so. Seeing Anastasia earlier in the night had done something to his cause. His past of taking life after life in hopes of interactions beyond the afterlife rode heavily. He had set out to kill, prolonging his victim’s demise. As life faded, they were able to see him. Only then—not before and never after. So Stefano would dangle them at the edge and bring them back. This way, he felt relevant.

  The following night, as the excitement built, Stefano returned to the streets. No matter how deep his disdain, Stefano could not help but marvel at the various costumes. There was no telling who was hidden beneath them. There were even rumors that men were donning frocks and wigs in order to rob unsuspecting women. Their true genders remained beneath large petticoats, wearing the costumes of shameless thieves. But Stefano was not interested in fighting crime. For tonight, he was hoping that Anastasia would return to the masquerade, though he didn’t know how she would stand out.

  Stefano sat at the steps. An hour passed. Every time he grew impatient, he would begin humming the lines of a popular tune Al di la. He remembered hearing a gentleman bellowing out this popular song. The words drove him crazy at the time, though they were now of comfort.

  As Stefano hummed of his love being “far above” he felt enlightened and hopeful. He swayed, eventually standing up from the steps and dancing back to the center of the square. The crowd had dissipated down to a handful of couples. At the center, a woman twirled in a golden costume. Her hands magically glided, reaching outwards in delicate expressions. She appeared to be welcoming a lover, though she was alone. Stefano was captivated. He stalked her out, still spewing his song of love. As he stood within inches of this splendid nightingale, the wind carried a melodious tone.

  “Al di la, I wondered as I drifted where you were . . .”

  Stefano fell to the ground, kneeling before the songstress. And he knew. Without full sight, as she was completely swallowed in heavy gear, Stefano knew who this was.

  “Anastasia . . .” he cried.

  She stopped.

  “Anastasia?” He stood up.

  She took flight, racing slowly away from the square. Stefano followed. Anastasia didn’t stop running until she barreled into the arms of another man.

  “Bastiano?”

  “Anastasia?”

  “We must go . . . now!” Anastasia cried out.

  Bastiano had been standing with a group of men, carrying on loudly while deep in spirits.

  Stefano approached Anastasia from behind, connecting with draped arms, trying desperately to hold her back. The touch was electrifying. Anastasia leapt into Bastiano’s unsuspecting hands.

  “Calm down, love.” Bastiano appeared annoyed, frustrated as he placed her aside. He led her away from the crowds. She babbled on and on about sensing darkness in their midst. Stefano stayed near, following them to an all too familiar location—the docks.

  “What is going on with you, Anastasia?” Bastiano held tight to her wrists, yanking her into his chest.

  Stefano tried to remove the man’s grip, but was only able to feel the sting from Anastasia’s fingers. She twitched.

  “Can we leave this cursed place, Bastiano?”

  “Why?”

  “I sense something, perhaps someone—”

  “You wanted carnival this year. We are here and not leaving until it’s over.” Bastiano was desperately trying to remain patient. The liquor caused him to ramble and sway. He’d take several steps and then paused to beg her patience.

  Anastasia drifted to the ground and wept gently at first. Her cries grew.

  “Stop it, Anastasia!” Bastiano stooped beside her. He shook her, tossing her backward and forward. Her mask and crown came undone. When she would not end the shameful pleas, Bastiano shoved her aside.

  Stefano became overtaken with rage. He shouted at the culprit, placed his arms around Bastiano and forced him into the water. Anastasia, who had been despondent, finally raised her head in time to see Bastiano go over the edge. And she still remained silent. Though he was able to swim on normal occasions, being drunk hindered this ability. Anas
tasia stood at the edge of the pier, glancing down as her present soul mate fought for his life. She was too afraid to do anything to the contrary. Even when the water overtook his body, all she could do was stare in amazement.

  “Anastasia?” Stefano blew into her face, her hair.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, eyelids lay shut. “Who are you?” she finally asked the tyrant. Her body was still fixated on the canal.

  “I am your forever. We were lovers a long time ago.”

  “Show yourself.” Her voice quivered as she finally turned.

  Stefano wasn’t sure how he would accomplish that task. Typically, near-death experiences would open sight. For now, he could only hope. Stefano brushed his lips against Anastasia. Instead of pulling away, she leaned in and felt his touch. He held her face, desperately tasting. They carried on for several minutes, and when he pulled away, it was obvious that Anastasia could see him.

  “Stefano!”

  “You remember me?” His words were a flood of emotions as he sought to contain his tears.

  “My love . . . you’ve been waiting for me?” Anastasia’s fingers ran alongside Stefano’s cheeks and lips. She moved him around, humming the words of their earlier song. They danced.

  “Can we go in the water?”

  Of course Stefano could not deny his true love’s request, especially after what he had done so long ago. And so he sailed her out into the waters, quite like that dreaded night, so long ago.

  “Do you forgive me, Anastasia?”

  “Love can make us do anything, Stefano.”

  He stopped moving the oar, placing it against the vessel. They rushed into one another’s arms.

  “Do you remember what I said to you then, Stefano?”

  “Let’s forget about the past, Anastasia. Live for tonight.”

  “It was on this same night, Stefano. You killed me in A similar boat, at this exact time. But you see, I can be reborn. You, on the other hand, will remain in darkness for your sins.”

  “Anastasia . . .” He could not speak or fight with her. She had taken hold of his clothing. Stefano could not understand how this was possible. No one had been able to penetrate his barrier. It had always been him that held the power.

  “Stefano, how many women have you killed?”

  “I only needed companionship—”

  “So you killed them?” she shouted, spraying saliva into his face. His tormentor held onto the back of his head and forced it under the flowing current. As Stefano’s head became submerged, he noticed an array of bodies floating below sea level. He gasped, feeling as though he were drowning. He had already died so long ago. His sins flashed before him. Every single woman he had held beneath the sea. After death had presented itself on those occasions, Stefano would pull them from the water, forcing each woman to acknowledge him. This would go on as long as possible, until they succumbed to his torture.

  Face after face; cries upon cries; pleas followed by more pleas, Stefano tortured for the sake of his selfish desires. As his eyes dipped beneath the rising tide, he saw expressionless faces of the dead and became chilled by their souls’ cries. Many of his victims’ faces could not be matched with names; in fact, he could not even place their demise. Though Stefano was certain it had occurred. Yes, he was responsible for taking their lives.

  “You no longer deserve to roam the earth. II know all that you have done. You are no longer cursed to roam Venezia. I am here to permanently secure your place in hell and break this sick curse on my family.” In a flurry of rage, her wig fell into the water revealing jet-black tresses. Stefano fought to be free, returning to the surface to momentarily catch a glimpse of the devil that was capable of claiming his life, even through death.

  Author’s Note:

  Thank you for previewing this companion story, Carnem Levare. I hope you enjoyed the story so far.

  Full Novel Coming Soon…

  ~~~

  Bio

  Jaxx Summers is the type of person many wish to be: uninhibited and unafraid of creating her own version of fact and truth, whenever necessary. I guess you can say that Jaxx is in the perfect field. She loves the written word and its capabilities, while forcing readers to let themselves loose in unforgettable worlds she weaves with tapestries of words.

  Finding this world often too monotonous and uninspiring to settle for every single day, Jaxx strives to surround herself with supernatural and paranormal memorabilia through her books.

  In 2014 Jaxx published her first title, Samaria: Warrior Princess, as a paranormal writer. She previously explored relationships and culture, prior to taking on the alter ego of Jaxx Summers. This versatile author enjoys exploring the limitless potential of the unknown, while showcasing a variety of regions.

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