Let Me In!

I was sleeping peacefully, dreaming, for some strange reason, about an orange elephant, when the alarm went off. I thumped a hand on the clock, picked it up and peered at the time. It was twelve forty-five.

Yawning uncontrollably, I climbed out of bed, dressed, and staggered along the corridor to Lucia’s room. Before the hour was two, we were back at the villa in the valley.

For the journey from Albergo Valentino we had the benefit of a full moon shining brightly from a cloudless sky, but now the steep hillside behind the house hid it from our view, leaving us in darkness. Lucia, in the passenger seat, watchedwith quiet amusement as I uncoiled the washing line and hacked it in half with my penknife.

I wound up one half of the line and looped it over my shoulder. Taking the remaining half, I tied one end to an olive tree which grew beside the villa’s boundary wall and threw the rest over.

‘What you do?’ demanded Lucia.

‘I’m going to climb over and get Richard.’

‘What shall I do?’

‘Could you wait here in the car, please, and be ready to take care of Richard when he comes? We don’t know what condition he might be in.’

She nodded thoughtfully. I climbed the olive tree until I was level with the top of the wall, swung across onto it, and looked around. No lights showed at the villa and everything seemed peaceful in the grounds.

Testing the strength of the washing-line, I lowered myself to the ground carefully and set off towards the silhouetted house. Stumbling across the gardens, I eventually tripped up some steps and collided with the villa.

I ran my hands over the walls until they encountered the shutters of one of the downstairs windows. Levering my knife behind them, I released the catch. I used the same procedure on the window behind, opened it, and climbed through. Inside, I waited and listened. Since all was silent, I felt it was now safe enough to switch on my pen-light. This revealed an ornate dining room. I left it by an equally ornate doorway and entered a hall.

Here, wide stairs led up to the first-floor landing, where I was faced by a choice of route. To the left was a closed door; to the right, a corridor. I tried the handle of the door. It wasn’t locked, thus indicating that Fisher was not inside.

I turned and walked along the corridor, gently testing each handle until I reached a door which was locked. Concluding that this was Fisher’s prison, I felt for the keyhole and was pleased to discover a key already in it. I turned it slowly, stepped through the doorway, and re-locked the door from the inside.

 Flashing my pen-light around the room, I saw Fisher covered with a blanket and asleep on a bed – at least, I hoped he was only asleep. There was a nasty bruise beneath his left eye and his lips were puffy. I knelt beside him.

‘Richard,’ I whispered, ‘wake up.’

He groaned and stirred.

‘Richard. Wake up, but keep quiet.’

‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s Matt – Matt Allen.’

He sat up.

‘So, they got you too.’

‘No, I’ve come to rescue you. Put some clothes on.’

Rather unsteadily, he rose from the bed and dressed. While he was putting his clothes on, I pushed his bed to the window and opened the shutters. Taking the washing line off my shoulder, I tied an end to a leg of the bed and threw the remainder out of the window. It hit the ground with more noise than I’d expected. Fisher, tying his shoelaces, stopped and looked up at me.

‘What was that?’

‘Just arranging our escape, Richard. Climb down this rope, please, and wait for me at the bottom.’

He finished tying his laces, rose and came over to the window.

‘Rope?’ he squawked, when he picked it up. ‘This is only string, Matt! It won’t take my weight!’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, heaving him out of the window, ‘it’s much stronger than it looks.’

Behind us, the door handle rattled.

‘What’s going on in there?’ demanded a distinctly Scottish voice. ‘Answer me, Richard!’

There was a short pause.

‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Where’s the key?’

I looked out the window, but could see no sign of Fisher.

‘Are you there, Richard?’ I called.

‘Yes.’

‘On the ground?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

I heard a fist thump against the door as I swung myself over the windowsill.

‘Let me in!’ yelled Alex.

More voices arrived and joined with the Scot’s wail to form a chorus of despair. I slid down the line and found Fisher in the dark waiting to go.

‘Which way, Matt?’ he hissed.

‘This way,’ I said, stumbling into a flower bed and sprawling among the geraniums.

Fisher was polite enough to refrain from comment as he hauled me upright.

‘Thanks,’ I said, and made a second attempt to cross the lawn.

In the villa behind us, lights appeared in the windows and we heard the sound of incomprehensible bellowing. I ran into the boundary wall and felt around for the other half of the washing line.

‘Here, Richard,’ I whispered, ‘climb up this rope -’

‘It’s still only string, Matt.’

‘Whatever it is, climb it, and drop down on the other side of the wall. Watch out for the olive tree though.’

With a shove from behind, Fisher hauled himself over the wall. I followed, found him in the darkness, and led the way to the car. As we approached, Lucia opened the door and stepped forward.

‘Ciao, Riccardo,’ she said. ‘How you are?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ he said, peering into the night. ‘Who are you?’

‘Lucia.’

‘Lucia? What are you doing here?’

‘I come to help,’ she said, taking hold of Richard’s arm and assisting him into the back of the Multipla.

‘Are we going back to Pisa?’

She cleared her throat awkwardly.

‘Matteo will tell you,’ she murmured.

The darkness could not conceal her intense embarrassment.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I will. But can I do it later? The main aim at the moment is to get away from Corbett.’

I let out the clutch and shot down the lane rather faster than was wise.

‘Riccardo,’ said Lucia, in the back, ‘did those people hurt you?’

‘Hardly at all. They kept trying to persuade me to go back to work for my old company, but I wouldn’t do it. And that made them angry, but, no, they didn’t hurt me much, Lucia.’

‘You are very brave,’ she said.

As we rounded a bend, the headlights lit up a stationary white van stretched across the road and completely blocking our path. I braked sharply, wrenched the steering wheel over, and began to make a three point turn. There wasn’t really enough width to perform the manoeuvre, but I was doing my best when a pair of headlights came up from behind and prevented any further movement.

‘Come, Riccardo,’ said Lucia, opening a rear door, ‘we must go now. Addio, Matteo, and … I am very sorry.’

She took her rucksack from the back and jumped out, closely followed by Fisher. As I watched them go, my own door was snatched open and two men in white suits dragged me out of the car, flung me against a stone wall and held me there. A third man stepped from the night into the light of the headlights. It was Rossi, and in his hand there was a knife. He raised it and placed its point against my chest.

‘Thank you, Matteo,’ he said.

‘Thank you for what?’

‘Thank you for bringing Riccardo back to us,’ he leered.

He snapped some orders in Italian at one of the men holding me, who let go of my arm, climbed into the Multipla, and backed it out of the way of the car at the rear. When this had passed and pulled up behind the white van, the man returned the Multipla to its original position.

‘This will stop you following us,’ said Rossi, stabbing his knife into each of its tyres in turn.

With a word in Italian to the man still gripping my arm, Rossi leapt into the white van and disappeared into the night. His colleague threw me to the ground, jumped into the second car and roared after him. I picked myself up from the road, dusted myself down, and began the long walk back to Potenza.

~ by Christopher Jealous on December 10, 2008.