Chapter 17 Not All Ghosts are Quiet #3
He stood taller, like a soldier, and nodded.
He took my arm again, and his hands were clammy, either from the water or from his unease.
A man in the woods? He’d probably want to fight him, but a witch?
That was crossing a line. I almost laughed but kept my face intentionally blank.
Ermanno was taking his job very seriously.
Didn’t want to wound his male pride before he fully developed one.
We took a step in the direction of the party, but as our feet fell and woodland debris cracked underneath, a blood freezing growl seemed to echo from the woods behind us. It wasn’t a regular growl. It was snorting mixed with anger. Ermanno jumped in front of me, opening his arms to shield me.
He whispered one word that made my blood run cold.
“Cinghiale!”
Wild boar!
Rocco had mentioned how wild they were, and how overpopulated they were getting from a lack of hunting. This one seemed possessed, but the scariest part was, its body blended in with the night.
Until it came close enough to be brightened by the twinkling lights spreading tender light from the celebration. The fog parted for its powerful hooves, and it truly seemed like an animal sent from the depths of hell.
“The witch has sent it after us!” Ermanno rushed out in a whisper. “She is punishing us for eavesdropping! I heard her casting her dark spells. The screeching! Did you hear anything more, donna dolce?”
The situation was more like we pissed it off either because one, we had stepped into its territory, or two, the mean pig was a female and she had…piglets or boarlets?… close by.
“Don’t run,” I whispered. “I watched a documentary once. They’re fast.”
“We must find a tree.”
My eyes darted around, but the only trees were encircling us, and none seemed easy to climb. No low hanging branches.
“Sway” by Dean Martin echoed in the night.
I almost felt like I was swaying. I wasn’t sure what to do.
I’d never encountered anything but robbers and violent criminals in New Orleans.
On another level, that was exactly what a possessed boar like this was, but…
we couldn’t outrun it. Its tusks looked deadly, and maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like they were glinting in the darkness, the tiny lights making them seem sharper.
The night seemed to explode around us when the cinghiale charged with another squeal.
In a move Ermanno didn’t expect, I turned my back to the beast, setting him in front of me, so I’d get the brunt of it from behind.
I closed my eyes, bracing for it, my entire body seizing more like, and at the same time, a loud blast from in front of me made my ear drums feel like they exploded and were bleeding out.
It was my imagination, but I could’ve sworn the beast behind me made the ground tremble beneath my feet when it fell.
A male figure in the distance made a motion for Ermanno to, basically, take a hike.
Ermanno’s eyes widened before he took off like the witch was chasing him.
My eyes kept blinking to bring the man into focus.
I wanted to run to him because he was so familiar, but something stopped me—he wasn’t mine.
Massimo, with a smoking gun in his hand, met my eyes.
Nothing but coldness stared back at me. No emotion.
His eyes were two dark pools that showed nothing behind them.
I thought he’d stop and stare at me, but when I didn’t move out of his way, he knocked into me so hard, I fell to the ground.
He had the audacity to stare at me then.
Right away, I knew what he was doing.
He was daring me.
Daring me to tell my husband, his father, about our encounter.
Our moment was broken when Rocco began to shout for me. My hearing was slowly returning, and it sounded like he was in a tunnel. I heard my name from his mouth, though. It was crazed. I took one last look at Massimo, who was dragging the boar behind him as he made his dramatic exit in the fog.
When Rocco found me barely standing, my knees knocking from the voices, from the boar, and from his son, he frantically looked me over, his eyes wild. When he found me whole, he pulled me to him so hard, I lost my breath.
Then the world went dark for a few seconds, because I was already short of breath from the panic, and when he pulled me to him, my safe space, the last of my adrenaline rushed through me, then faded.
I blacked out.
Rocco had me cradled in his arms and was carrying me back to Nel Cielo when I came to.
He was calling for Uncle Tito. Maestro rolled Uncle Tito over at a speed that would have seemed comical if there was anything to laugh about.
Uncle Tito was holding onto the arms like his life depended on it.
Rocco took a seat on a chair, and Uncle Tito took my hand, feeling for my pulse.
I assured him, probably screaming a bit, that I was okay, just frightened from the boar encounter.
Rocco still demanded that I be looked over, even though I kept fighting it.
While he and Uncle Tito spoke in rapid Italian, and a group of people circled us, mortifying me, Ermanno squeezed through the wall.
Our eyes locked.
“Massimo?” I mouthed.
Ermanno shook his head. No. He hadn’t said anything about him.
He made a rolling motion around his temple.
I understood right away. He was telling me in his own way that Massimo was pazzo, and he wasn’t saying anything about him being there, maybe in fear that Massimo would finish what the boar hadn’t.
Even though this family couldn’t lie, this seemed like an omission. Fair enough to me.
I nodded at him and put a finger to my mouth.
“Shhh,” I whispered, before I closed my eyes and took a deep, deep breath, and asked my husband who shot the cinghiale. He looked around, but no man in this circle would lie, so no one came forward, which I knew would be the case.
If Massimo Fausti thought that I would cause more problems between him and his father by telling him he pushed me down on purpose or not, he was sadly mistaken.
He’d saved my life.
I’d do the same for him.