Ghost #3
I pay little attention to my appearance, including my hair.
Towel-drying and brushing after swimming or showering is the most effort I ever make.
Albert encouraged me to have a professional cut, but I had always snipped the dark, messy locks or fringe myself whenever they became too unkempt.
With dark brown hair and an unremarkable hairstyle, I blend into the crowd.
A crop might have been too severe, too distinguishing.
“Never.”
“Maybe I’ll let Mrs Bellacci explain her reasoning later.
And if you are willing, I would like to check your health and take a blood sample.
For a few reasons. Firstly, I do this with my team every three months, or after they have completed a mission.
For you, I would also like to hold onto the T-shirt Mrs Bellacci has taken.
We will soak some of the blood into the cloth to make identification and confirmation easier—should the need arise. ”
His reasoning, as always, makes perfect sense.
“Are you happy to do this now? Before we head back? A few simple checks?”
I nod my acceptance, and Romano produces an old-style blood pressure monitor with a small rubber tube and pump, together with a stainless-steel stethoscope.
He pulls a set of weighing scales from beneath the bed, checks my weight, and uses a workman’s extendable tape measure to assess my height.
After completing these simple checks, he reaches into his bag, unwraps a fresh syringe and draws my blood.
“Good. I’ve heard about your morning swims, so I have no questions about your exercise regimen. But don’t put on the tee yet. We have a death scene to create.”
What follows is almost comical.
We return to the garden where Mrs Bellacci and Lorenzo are waiting.
Before I put on the hole-riddled T-shirt, Romano adds smears of my blood around the darkened edges.
Mrs Bellacci produces a sizeable make-up bag and daubs deep mauve and black onto parts of my chest, then gets me to rub a whitening paste into my face and exposed skin.
Once satisfied with her handiwork, she leaves us and strolls back to the kitchen.
Lorenzo’s enthusiasm for the task of staging the crime amuses Romano as much as me when he arranges me in various locations.
He insists on using Romano’s phone to capture the results, barking instructions at me like an overenthusiastic movie director.
When he has finished, Romano and I join him to check the results.
I am impressed at how lifelike—or deathlike—they are.
The photo Romano decides to use shows me staring lifelessly at the evening sky, the bullet holes through my distinctive tee slick with blood, my face a deathly pallor. An involuntary shudder runs through me.
“Okay,” says Romano, squeezing my shoulder.
“Hand this T-shirt to me, then follow Lorenzo. He will take you to the outdoor washing area to clean up and put on your fresh shirt. Then come to the kitchen so we can relax and enjoy dinner together. We will help you continue the search again tomorrow, but your training will also begin. Mrs Bellacci is more interested in what you already know rather than teaching new skills. I am eager for us all to be acquainted with each other’s capabilities.
And I am sure you will find the training a welcome distraction from the less energising search of the library. ”
Dinner that night is relaxed and cordial, the best I have enjoyed since I have been here.
I wonder if she aims to impress whenever Romano is present, but tonight’s asparagus and pancetta crostini, followed by a porcini mushroom risotto, is the best dish she has served to date.
Dessert is again in the form of a bowl of seasonal fruit and a jug of coffee.
Mrs Bellacci finally relaxes and tells stories about missions she has shared with Lorenzo, many of them little more than acting as a bodyguard to one promising political figure or another.
Lorenzo chips in with funny anecdotes, making us all laugh.
I don’t think I have ever seen him so relaxed. These people are my family now.
When I am finally in bed, I feel comfortably full and tired.
The night is seasonably cool, and I have left the balcony doors slightly ajar to let the night breezes temper the stuffy bedroom air.
For long minutes, I stare at the ceiling fan, pondering the day’s events.
Since I arrived at Eagle House, I have felt a greater sense of belonging and affiliation than at any other time in my life.
And tomorrow, Mrs Bellacci will work with me on completely changing my appearance.
As I fall asleep, there is one thing I know beyond question.
Gabriel Redbrick is no more. If he ever existed in the first place.
I wonder who will rise from his ashes.
A barely noticeable noise from the balcony wakes me. After last night’s intrusion, I am fully alert to any sounds. Within a flash, I am awake, perched on the side of the bed with the gun steadied in both hands and levelled at the balcony door.
“Gabriel?” I know the voice instantly. Lorenzo. I breathe out a sigh and place the weapon back beneath my pillow. “Are you awake?”
“I am now.”
What better way to end a perfect day?