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She grabbed her pack and hurried down the road. She forced herself not to look back or she would cry. The road snaked through walledgiardini, and she picked up the pace. Men rose early to pick lemons, and she didn’t want to take any chances.
She hurried toward a run-down building set off by itself behind a crumbling stone wall. Most of the windows were broken, and its red tile roof was in terrible disrepair. Bramble had overgrown the land, and an old green door in the back of the building hung open.
Lucia headed for the door, ran inside, and found herself in a dark hallway lined with empty rooms.
She ducked into one of them.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Dante woke up, startled. It was dim in his cell, but he could see that a young man in a cap was standing inside, peeking out into the hall. His cell door was left open these days, since he was chained to the wall and couldn’t escape. He guessed he was about twenty years old, judging from the changes in his body. He never cried anymore, like he used to when he was little, and sometimes he wondered if he was still human. He hurt anyone who came near him, so they called him a Monster.
Dante eyed the young man, doubting he was real. Sometimes he saw things that weren’t there, which the nurse called delusions. There were fewer guards these days, and the madhouse had deteriorated over time. Opera Singer, Raving King Roger, and Biter must have been moved somewhere else, because it was always quiet on the hall.
Dante asked the young man, “Are you real?”
“Oh!” The young man turned around, startled. His cap covered his forehead, but his face looked uncannily light, the shade of moonlight itself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. The outside door was open, and I thought this place was empty.”
Dante knew that was true, so maybe the young man was real. The guard left the outside door open to let in fresh air, and delusions didn’t need doors. “But are you real or not?”
“Yes, I’m real. Who are you?”
“They call me Monster.”
The young man grimaced. “Don’t you have a Christian name?”
“It’s Dante,” he answered, but it sounded strange. “You’re so white, you can’t be real. You must be a delusion.”
“I’m a man, and my name’s Luca.”
“But you sound like a woman.”
“I can’t help it. Why do you look like that?”
“What do I look like?”
“You’re dirty and hairy. I can barely see your face.”
Dante didn’t reply, but he wasn’t surprised. They were too afraid of him to bathe or groom him, and he had lice everywhere, under his arms, in his beard, even in the seams of his brown muslin gown. He itched so much, he scratched his skin raw in places. He’d gotten used to his own stench.
“Dante, is this a prison?”
“No, it’s a madhouse.”
“So, you’re mad?”
“I must be.”
“Will anyone come to see you?”
“Not until dinnertime. The guard brings me dinner and bread for the next day. No one else comes.”
“What about lunch?”
“He stopped bringing it after I bit him.”
“I’m so tired, I need to sleep.” Luca’s shoulders sagged, and he blinked under his cap. “Can I stay here for a bit and rest?”
“Yes.” Dante wanted him to stay. He liked talking with his delusion.
