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The thought is sobering and more than frightening.
A boulder of unease weighs me down as I struggle to sit up. Pulling my blankets over my body, I eye the girl suspiciously.
She turns and looks at me nervously. In a heavily accented voice, she introduces herself, looking at the floor the entire time.
“Buonjorno. I’m Mariella. Umm… I’m here to give what you need,” she says in broken English so quietly, I have to strain my ears to hear her.
“I havecolazione… umm, breakfast.” She points to the tray. “I put on table,” she murmurs before picking the tray back up and fleeing the bathroom before I can say anything.
From her appearance and the way she speaks, I’m obviously still in Italy, and I bet still in Sicily. Well, that clears up at least one of the hundred questions running through my head.
I get up and walk cautiously out to the sitting area. Mariella seems to have already disappeared.
Damn. I wanted to grill her for information. My brain still doesn’t seem to function all that well, but I would have gotten the basics from her. Like where the heck I am and who owns this place?
Later then. I’m sure she’ll be back later.
Thank God my headache is mostly gone and my legs feel normal again. But I’m so fricking tired, and my body feels like it’s weighed down with bricks.
On top of that, my back is stiff. Maybe sleeping in the bathtub wasn’t such a great idea.
The smell of breakfast wafts over, and my stomach turns, making me want to throw up.
Jeez, what kind of drugs did they give me?! This can’t be normal.
I push the tray of food away, wanting it as far away from me as possible. Holy shit, my arms are so heavy. I can hardly lift them.
A yawn escapes me and my eyelids droop.
I need more sleep…now!
I make my way over to the bed and let myself fall on it.
Oh yes, that’s so much more comfortable.
But despite my tiredness, I’m only dozing. Memories of the pictures flashing in my mind last night resurface.
What was that?!
How does my brain store away scenes I didn’t consciously see?
Rhia once told me that your mind registers everything, but only a small percentage makes it through to your waking consciousness. I suppose it would be overwhelming if you perceived absolutely everything.
Were those men watching me? Am I being watched now? Are there cameras in this room?
I force my eyes open and scan the ceiling. Other than a smoke alarm, there’s nothing. Perhaps they’re really small and hidden in things?
God, now I’m being ridiculous. This isn’t a Bond movie.
I let my eyes fall shut again, my mind drifting back to last night’s revelations.
Did I feel creeped out at the cathedral because of those two men?
And that second guy, why was he there the day I met Gualtiero? Was he watching him? Perhaps it’s all just one big coincidence. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.
But everything inside me screamsno.
The chances of this being a coincidence are non-existent. Were they going to kidnap me that day in the church?
