I stare at the castle-shaped chess piece. “Not another one.”
“What was that, Farfalla?” Salvatore cocks his head.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I’ll be right back.” I shove the rook into my pocket and follow Dr. Reggiano. I remember my father used to have that chess set sitting proudly in the living room. He and my uncle would play and argue after every Sunday dinner.
I should have taken that chess set with me after he died. I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess seeing it sitting alone in my house would have made me miss him more.
We continue to walk down the corridor until Dr. Reggiano stops at one of the rooms. He turns to me. “Bruno is heavily medicated. Don’t expect much from him.”
I nod, fingering the chess piece in my pocket.
Dr. Reggiano swipes his badge and the door opens into a private suite.
The beep of the machines is the first thing I hear. The doors close behind me and I turn to see that Dr. Reggiano has disappeared. I step further into the room with my hands shoved deep in my pockets.
The space is small and barren. There are cabinets on one side and Bruno lies in a hospital bed against the opposite wall. A huge bandage is wrapped around his head. He looks pale and thinner than I remember.
Holding my breath, I move closer to him. His arms are outside the blankets and I see the thin tubes snaking into his hand. Shaking, I sit down next to him. It’s crazy how the tables have turned. Last week it was me in the bed and Bruno in the chair. Now the roles are reversed.
“Bruno,” I whisper. “Bruno it’s me, Cipriani.” His eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls in slumber. Maybe those medications got to him before I could.
“Bruno,” I call again.
He stirs. Eyelids flutter like butterfly wings then open and his pupils roam the room before resting on me.
“Farfalla?” he slurs.
“Yes, Bruno, it’s me.”
He turns, eyes wide. His lips move but no sound comes out.
I place my hand on his.
“I thought they got you, too,” he stutters.
“No, Bruno, I’m fine.” I gently pat his arm.
“I-I saw your wings…painted…butterfly wings on the floor…dead.” He groans.
“Bruno, there are no butterfly wings here.” The medication must be kicking in. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the rook and hold it up.
“Bruno, what is this? It was in your hand when they found you. How did you get it?”
Recognition flickers in his eyes. “Dead butterfly wings….”
“It’s a rook,” I move the piece closer to his face.
His eyes are glassy. “The king wasn’t supposed to fall.”
“What?”
“The king…it wasn’t supposed to fall… the board wasn’t ready.”
“I don’t understand Bruno.”
“The Queen will fall soon, checkmate is coming.” His eyes flutter and I can see the medication is taking over.
“Bruno, did you see a black feather?” I force myself to stay calm but his words create panic in my soul.
