Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Adolphe Fortunato sits upright in a shiny leather chair, bushy eyebrows resting above beady eyes, his skeletal fingers entwined, elbows resting on the dark mahogany desk. Although I’ve never seen the interior of Fortunato’s extensive mansion, for some reason, I just know this is his home, his study, his man cave where many a meeting has gone down alongside other, darker dealings.
He’s talking to a man sitting on the other side of the desk, who I know from his dark skin tone, large amber eyes, and stony expression to be Dr Tem-Pest.
Fortunato looks unamused, bored, even, by his companion; his thin lips are tightly closed, his gaze fixed on his hands until his eyes sharpen, and he glances to his left.
It feels like something has entered the room, crept in uninvited, and spread itself thinly down the walls and over the surfaces.
As if someone has turned the volume down, Dr Tem-Pest’s voice quiets as the ringing grows louder before becoming more distinct—a beat, a rhythm, a vibration that thuds through my body.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
Removing his finger from his ear, Fortunato’s eyes skim the room. He hears it too.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun .
Seemingly unaware of what has caught Fortunato’s interest, Dr Tem-Pest keeps talking, his voice now a low hum in the background.
“The purchase of the Gazette could be good timing, don’t you think?” Dr Tem-Pest asks.
Fortunato holds up a pale hand. “Shut up,” he snaps, his eyes still roaming until he levers his wiry body out of his seat and starts to pace, scanning the large bookcase behind his desk. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Dr Tem-Pest says slowly.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“That noise. It’s a low, dull, quick sound.”
“No. Are you having any building work done?”
“No.” Fortunato continues to inspect the shelves before returning to his desk, picking up the phone, and dialling a short number. “Mary, what is that god-awful noise?”
I don’t hear her reply.
“What do you mean, you can’t hear it? It’s so loud. It’s a thumping noise, sounds like it’s bouncing off the walls. You sure you haven’t got any workmen in today or any on the grounds?”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
He slams the receiver down and scratches his chin.
“You don’t hear it?” Fortunato asks.
“Nope.”
He eyes Dr Tem-Pest warily, like the man is playing a trick on him.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
The daytime scene blends into night, and I now see Fortunato with his jacket off, his white shirt straining against his angular back as he pulls books from the shelves, gently lifting them away and placing them back with care, the dull noise resounding around us both.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
He picks up his pace, a damp patch appearing between his shoulder blades as he pulls books carelessly from the shelves, letting them drop to the floor as he mutters under his breath.
“Where the hell is that noise coming from, and why won’t it stop?”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
The scene cuts away and is seamlessly replaced with Fortunato now standing in his basement, pulling out bottles of wine that line the walls of a purpose-built unit. The grey hair at the nape of his neck rides up against his collar, his face frantic, his top button undone, no smart tie to hold him together.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Adolphe?” A female voice travels down into the basement. “Adolphe, are you still down there?”
“Yes, yes. I’m here,” Fortunato answers, but there’s a shake in his voice, a quiver that isn’t unlike the strings being played by a nervous violinist.
“You only went down to choose a bottle of wine. You’ve been ages. What are you doing?”
“Just getting the right wine.” He presses his hand to his forehead, dabbing away some of the sweat that has accumulated.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Well, the food will be ruined if you don’t choose quickly. Just grab a bottle and come back up.”
Taking a deep breath, he grabs a bottle from the shelf, but not before running his eyes up and down the walls.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
There’s a flicker across the surface of the mirror as the scene vanishes and is replaced with Fortunato sitting in a chair in what appears to be a formal sitting room covered with garish wallpaper and adorned with ornate vases with oversized dried flowers. He’s with Dr Tem-Pest, who looks crisp and clean in a navy suit, his dark skin making the blue look even more striking. Despite the expense of Fortunato’s suit, he looks like he’s drowning in it, the material swallowing him as he slumps in the chair.
“You look like shit,” Dr Tem-Pest tells him.
“I didn’t sleep.”
“I can give you something for that.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“No. No drugs.” Fortunato looks at Dr Tem-Pest, the stubble grainy across his chin, his eyes bloodshot, his hair wild. “Something is happening. Something….”
“What?”
“That noise,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “And then last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I went out and sat on the balcony, and I saw her.” His mouth is open, gaping at Dr Tem-Pest.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Saw who?”
“Annabel. She was walking out of the lake.”
“You saw Annabel walking out of the lake?”
“Yes.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Sleep deprivation does strange things to the brain.” Dr Tem-Pest’s voice is deep and grounding, the kind of voice he’s practised over the years in order to lull his patients into trusting him.
“It wasn’t a hallucination if that’s what you’re suggesting. I saw her. She walked out of the lake and up to the house. I watched her take each step until she was right under the balcony. Then she stopped and looked up. And it was horrible. Her face was white, her eyes black, her hair dripping and stuck to her skin. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead of words, a flood of black water rushed from her, and I screamed and ran. I fucking ran from my dead daughter. I hid like a baby. Because I was afraid, scared out of my mind. So, I remained in my bed, trembling and weeping. Then I must have drifted off, because when I woke, there was water on my bedroom floor. Pools of it surrounding my bed. How do you explain that?”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
Dr Tem-Pest scratches his chin before answering. “You could have washed your hands in the night and not dried them properly.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“No,” Fortunato jumps in. “The water was dirty, and I could see the footsteps.”
“Well, whatever is going on here, I’m sure there’s some explanation, but in the meantime, you need to let me help. If you don’t want to rely on my usual methods, I can give you regular drugs.”
“Goddammit, I said no drugs.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Okay.” Dr Tem-Pest holds his hands up, palms flat. “But we need to do something. We have a meeting at the casino this afternoon, and you can’t go looking like that.”
“You want to do something?” Fortunato glares at him, the whites of his eyes blazing. “You can find out where that fucking noise is coming from.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
The light changes, and now I see Fortunato sitting at a large rectangular table, heading up a meeting. A woman in a red dress is talking. Fortunato seems to be staring at his notepad. He looks better than he did previously, encased in a starched shirt and grey business jacket, but his face remains gaunt, his eyes absent, as if they’re looking but seeing nothing.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
At the sound, his wild eyes search the people who are all paying attention to the woman, who’s talking about the potential for improvements for the casino to make an upwards trajectory and other business jargon that gets lost as soon as she utters it. And then Fortunato freezes, his eyes like that of a startled deer, his mouth open, a silent scream working its way out.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
Because there, sitting at the end of the table, is Ed, the bullet wound dripping blood down his forehead, his eyes locked on Fortunato as the blood runs down his face and pools on the stack of papers in front of him, staining the stark white a brilliant crimson.
“What the fuck?” Fortunato gasps as the room stills.
The woman’s voice trails off as the entire table looks over at him.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Sir, are you all right?” the woman asks, but Fortunato glares at Ed.
“Get out,” he mutters.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said get out. All of you. Get out. Get out. Get out!”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
The scene cuts again, and we’re back in the basement as Fortunato swings a sledgehammer at the wall, bottles of wine smashing on impact, the wooden shelving splintering at the force of the blow.
“Stop. Just fucking stop!” he hollers.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
He swings again, his scream echoing amidst the shattering of more glass and the sloshing of wine upon the concrete floor.
“What in the blazes?” Dr Tem-Pest comes down the steps and stops before entering the room, assessing the devastation, the feral look of Fortunato, and the angle at which he wields the sledgehammer.
“I know what the noise is,” Fortunato tells Dr Tem-Pest, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth, his face cracked with anguish, and his white shirt streaked with dirt. “I know where it’s coming from.”
“What the hell? We’ve been over this. There is no noise. Only you can hear it. No one else. You’re sick. You need help. I will help you, Fortunato, if you’d just let me.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“Don’t come any closer.” Fortunato swings the sledgehammer towards Dr Tem-Pest, who freezes and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Look, whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not the way to deal with this,” he says in his best bedside manner, softening his consonants and elongating his vowels.
Fortunato pauses, the good doctor’s words issuing their magic.
“Put the sledgehammer down. Then we can go and talk about this and see if there’s another way to deal with whatever is going on here.”
Fortunato’s shoulders slump, his back loosening as the sledgehammer drops to the floor. “Yes,” he breathes, his chest slowing after the exertion. “You’re right. This isn’t the way.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re coming to your senses.”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
The basement flickers, and the backdrop remains, but the time is different. Fortunato is here on his own, the smashed shelves having been cleared away, the broken glass swept up, and the cracked brickwork patched.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
Fortunato is bent over by the wall, fiddling with something and murmuring to himself.
“The doctor was right. The sledgehammer was never going to work. But this will.”
He’s hunched over, so I can’t see what he’s doing.
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“It’s taken me so long to work out what the noise is and where it’s coming from, but now that I know, I can make it stop. And this is the only way to stop it for good.”
“Fortunato.”
The voice travels down the stairs. The doctor’s voice.
“Fortunato. What are you doing?”
Fortunato doesn’t look up at the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. “What you suggested. I’m putting a stop to it, once and for all.”
The doctor enters the basement and stares at Fortunato. “We talked about you going away for a while. I don’t remember talking about the basement.”
“No, but I know what the noise is. I know what’s driving me insane.”
“What is it?”
Der-dun. Der-dun. Der-dun.
“It’s them. All of them. Behind the walls. Every single person who I’ve put there over the years. It’s because they were alive when I put them there. And they still are.” Fortunato glares at the doctor, his eyes frenzied. “It’s the beating of their hideous hearts.”
He stands, and as he does, Dr Tem-Pest’s eyes go down to the device on the floor.
But it’s too late.
Fortunato has pressed the button.
Boom!