Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
One such denizen is Angelo, a twenty-something college student with more debt than years to pay it off. My paltry sum, which is a life-changing amount to him, was more than enough to grant me a private meeting with the lady in question.
We’d never met, but we knew what to say to each other upon my arrival, and so, after having myself dropped off blocks away in the city center by someone other than Fabrizio, who didn’t seem to know he was supposed to stay with me, I hopped in a taxi and was dropped off just a few streets over from the establishment.
For some reason, Angelo seemed able to pick me out of the crowd, and it was an easy in. I followed him down a long, picturesque hallway with views onto the courtyard outside and some kind of soothing violin strains piping through the walls. The air smelt like fresh flowers and tea of all things as we made our way to the door leading to a corner room.
The room was befitting one of wealth and prestige, which Felice Ricci had once been. The thing lying on the bed was neither recognizable as woman nor man. The thick white bandages wrapped around her head dwarfed what was left of her face that had been eaten away by the toxins, and her eyes, when they opened and saw me, were sunken with a yellowish tinge.
It took her a minute to remember who I was, and even with the little bit of light left in her eyes, I saw the questions of why I was here. “You may go, Angelo, and remember, let no one in until I leave.” Poor Angelo is working under the assumption that I'm a reporter.
“Si´Si´I understand.” He left with a bow and a smile, and I pulled the chair closer to her bed.
I didn’t say anything at first, just reached for my phone and found the first recording I’d made of the nun where she repeated what had happened that night and how Felice was the one who’d brought Ma to be abused at the hands of Ricci. Whatever medicine they had her hopped up on to stave off the madness brought on by Gympie-Gympie was no match for the fear that overtook her once she finally realized why I was there.
“Do you remember that night? Her screams? Her pleas for help? You don’t have very long to live, so I thought I should come and tell you I did this to you. Yeah, it’s called Gympie-Gympie, comes out of Australia or Indonesia. I got mine from Australia, it was a bitch to get my hands on it, but it was worth it in the end.”
Though she didn’t know the plant, it was obvious from my tone what I was saying, and she started to freak out and struggle against the restraints I’d insisted she had for this visit. “Do you know what the best part is? I didn’t even have to do it; you did it to yourself, it was in your cream, you know, the one you raved about to all your friends that made you look ten years younger? Yeah, about that. I’ve been reading your emails and anything you’ve sent over the computer or phone for the better part of two years.”
“So, had you not been so vain, you may have been able to keep your face. Shall I show you what you look like?” Pure madness shone in her eyes as she shook her head from side to side. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little mirror before reaching over to unwrap her face. She looked like something out of a horror movie. Her cheeks were completely gone, the skin rotted in parts because of the poison. Her teeth were showing through patches of skin and gums, and what was once her nose was almost entirely gone.
Her screams were little more than guttural groans as she tried to keep her eyes closed which was almost impossible because the toxins had eaten away her eyelids as well. “Ah, my mother? Are you wondering about her?” She did no such thing, but anything that would tip her a little further over the edge I’ll use. I reached for my phone again and found the short clip of Ma laughing and dancing with Pop in the ballroom the night of the sweet sixteen.
“Here you go! Look at her, damn you.” I yelled when she tried turning away. “See what you tried to destroy? Look at her husband, a thousand times better than yours; that’s her home, hers, not someone else’s she’s trying to latch onto.” I put the phone away and leaned back in my seat. I could tell from the monitor that her heart rate was accelerated, but not enough.