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  Jury Livorati

   

    

  The legacy

   

   

  The legacy

  Copyright © 2012

  Zerounoundici Edizioni

  Cover: Image proposed by the author

  To My Daughter

  FOREWORD

   Writing is like life: it tends to self-propagate, to spread. I discovered after posting my previous novel, "M @ rcello", and have experienced the wonderful feeling of poring over its pages printed and collected in a book true , as those found in the library and since I love to read eleven years. A feeling strong enough to repay any effort has gone into writing the novel, and it prompted me, in fact, to continue.

  "M @ rcello" was self-published one of the many online services and of itself this does not give him honor, but the final effect of the bound book does not change. So much so that the wave of enthusiasm, the first goal of my life by publishing emerging writer has given me the courage to take a draft of the novel began in 2005, when a lot of will and a new laptop I had accompanied the Travel with whom I hoped to make the leap from simple stories to work more and more complete. This, in brief, is the genesis of "The Legacy".

  The novel is a return to my roots, so to speak, to the horror-mystery with which I grew up and where I got more satisfaction from readers. A novel in which I hope to demonstrate to those who have seen "M @ rcello" a simple autobiography that I can write well adapted to the facts that I have not personally experienced. A novel, first of all, with whom I hope to intrigue, excite, amaze, even frightening. A novel, then, from which I hope to get useful information for my future as a boy-who-plays-to-do-it-writer, to understand whether and how the path I have taken is the right one.

  A first indication I had thanks to ZeroUnoUndici, the publisher has chosen to believe in "The Legacy" and give me a chance, giving me the satisfaction of the fact that he actually published a novel. A dream experience that crowns, but that, instead of marking an end point, is inserted as a waypoint along the path that lead me to the next work with more motivation, more belief and more confidence, but also with the essential humility that the condition of an emerging writer assumes.

   

  Jury Livorati - May 15, 2012

  PROLOGUE

  When the bell rang, Robert was sitting in the kitchen, deep in thought, divided equally between the pain and worry. For the first time in days, was amazed to see how the latter had passed the first: if he had said that there could be something worse than the tragic loss of his wife would never have believed. Instead here he was, gnawing at his liver with a thousand questions and look forward to a person who could perhaps bring a little 'responses.

  The sound distracted him from thinking like a violent blow, which reacted with a start standing up and reaching stride around the entrance hall.

  "I'll go," shouted upstairs to Christine, although there was not really any need.

  He had already warned her that she was waiting for a friend's mother, for a chat. He had not told the real reason for the encounter, of course, but he still asked to leave that to take place in private. Cristina did not lecture at the University, that morning, but it was locked in her room to study in preparation for an exam.

  Roberto picked up the receiver of the telephone hanging on the wall beside the front door, and pushed the button to open the gate that opened onto the main road outside the house.

  "Come ahead," communicated through the handset.

  As his eyes fell unconscious on the spare keys of the car of his wife Simona, hung on a hook of a small key chain by a wooden wall, and yet another nostalgic memory of stabbing him to death, he opened the door.

  The girl was walking along the driveway from the entrance gate had to have the same age as Simon, but looked at least ten years older. Roberto had already got to meet her some time before, but had not been paying attention to the unknown, not in a day when he had to deal with dozens of other people and with a total alienation from himself and from his life, feeling that never would have experienced in the rest of his life.

  Seeing her approach in the light of day nine in the morning, already too hot, in keeping with the general trend of that summer, she found herself studying every detail of the face, as though that operation could be important. He recalled that when he met her before, the woman's face was covered largely by a pair of sunglasses, but despite this, the general impression was that of a person emaciated, perhaps even ill, probably a victim of nervous breakdown or depression.

  At that moment, while shifting the focus from the eyes, furrowed by deep and dark circles, lips thin and tight as violin strings, until they are almost invisible, Roberto was confirmed to his feelings. With his face covered with long black hair, which put emphasis on the pale skin, she proceeded on legs as thin and unstable, like a living skeleton, at risk of falling and breaking at the slightest breath of wind.

  "Good morning," she murmured, when he was in front of Robert. Beneath the skin you could see with clarity the veins, going to draw a purple-green grating was something disgusting and unnatural.

  "Good morning," said Roberto. He had planned at that time and had not prepared anything to say. He realized that the meeting between them was to take place and had organized, and that's that. So, that things were as they should. After all, she had to have something to say. "I ... pleasure. Roberto, "she added, holding out his hand.

  "Erika" came the woman, showing a funny and unsuccessful imitation of a smile.

  She had beautiful eyes, he saw Robert, but the sorrow of which they were soaked downplaying the potential. Erika could not keep them fixed in its more than a few seconds and looked down. The impression he gave was that of a person who had a combination of those big, unforgivable, and he did not know where to start with an apology.

  "Would you ...? Please, let's go ahead, "he invited Roberto preceding it.

  "Thanks," she said, following him and closing the door behind them.

  In the house could still count on a cool temperature but would not last for long. The interior was cozy and well-groomed, with walls and furniture literally covered with family photographs. Simon loved her husband and children, and every inch of the house was testimony, which caused a strong movement of sadness in Erika.

  "He was so happy," said, to avoid bursting into tears.

  "Yeah," said Roberto, without another word.

  Turned left and went into the kitchen. Erika followed him in silence. The kitchen was in perfect order and fragrant, as if they had just washed the floor. On the table in the center of the room, covered with a plastic tablecloth, two were supported with a lot of coffee cups and saucer and spoon. Against one wall, next to the window overlooki
ng the front of the house hung a blackboard with a tear-off calendar. On the blackboard there was a message written in chalk:

   

  Clean a little 'salad for dinner. I love you. Hello.

   

  The calendar had been standing in a package of 30 May, the day that Simon was gone. Erika felt a shudder, she wondered if her friend had somehow had a foreboding of what would happen. He had heard of people who, shortly before he died, suddenly made a visit to relatives who may, as a rule, they saw little, as to leave a last farewell. Whatever it was, the slate and the timetable for the breaking of the heart, because they represented the remains of a normality that was lost, a life that had been cut short in a day like any other.

  "Please, sit down," said Roberto, taking place in turn. His expression was unreadable: Erika I read anger, feeling that he imagined he had provoked in him anticipandogli that his wife had shared her secret of which he was not aware, but could also be sadness and resignation.

  "Thank you," Erika agreed, sitting down. "If ... wants to give me of you, me ... "

  "Well," agreed Bob.

  Her hands were folded on the table before him and was visibly nervous. He sighed and seemed to have recovered after a minimum of calm and rationality.

  "Well, Erika, I'm still not entirely sure why I have called you here," he began, without looking into his eyes.

  "I do not want you to think ..." she tried to intervene.

  Robert stopped her raising a hand. "I do not think nothing, for now. Our relationship started badly, with the phone call that I've done and ... "

  "I'm sorry, I was excited and scared and ..."

  "... And got worse after the letter, but ... see if there is one, only one, small, remote possibility that the death of Simon was not casual or someone who is involved, even indirectly, I ... I must know or will never have peace. "

  Erika held a moment of silence, then said: "As I was saying ... I told you ... When I phoned I was shaken out of me, because I and Simona have always been like sisters. "

  "I know, you tell me and I got to test it in part, although I do not understand why Simona I do not ever mentioned."

  "Maybe ... probably because I shared with her a period of his life that has deeply marked, and has for years tried to forget. "

  Robert looked up. "Is that what you tell me?"

  "Yes," said Erika.

  "And what is it?" Tried to cut him short.

  "It is ... is not so easy and if I'm honest ... I do not know whether it really matters, and whether in connection with what has happened to Simon, but ... "

  "If it is not important, because you've done everything we see ourselves?"

  "For the same reason you just said so. I want to be certain that the disappearance of Simona was caused by a tragic fate and not by another. "

  "So ribadisci someone who might be involved?"

  "I do not say this, I hope not, indeed. But .. "

  "But?" Urged the Roberto.

  "I ... first I want to know what convinced you to call me, the end, "said Erika, on the verge of tears.

  "Look, do not have much time, it's useless ..."

  "It is useless!" Erika denied this, warming only for a moment, before Lower the head and voice. "Please, I need your help. They have not slept for days and can barely eat, so i doubt torment me. I guess it is the same for her. For you. "

  Robert nodded in a gesture of the head.

  "I could have a part of history, but you definitely have another one. Please tell me why you called me. Tell me what happened and perhaps we can find the truth together. Provided that it is different from what it seems. "

  Robert looked at her seriously. He was still impatient and somewhat unconvinced of the choice he had made ​​in accepting to meet her to talk. From the opening bars, their speech seemed destined to become a useless waste of words, a nostalgic series of unsubstantiated speculation, a collection of if and but that would not change the facts.

  "And please," said Erika, "do not be angry with me. I do not want anything but what you want, too: put your heart at rest. Because nothing can bring back to life Simona but if I can, if we can do something to understand what happened ... I'd feel better. I think to have to, for the woman who was with me. "

  These words did break the heart of Robert, who tamed. It had nothing to lose, after all, and indeed could vent to someone about the latest developments of which he was aware. Mattia was my grandmother and would be home before lunch, while Cristina had promised not to disturb them.

  "Want some coffee?" He asked, before beginning his story.

  PART ONE

  The incident

  Simona dropped his pen on the table and shook his wrist in pain after writing for almost half an hour. He had filled seven pages of notebook paper, while having tried to be as concise as possible, because they tell everything in detail would take hours and she was only half-free morning. He would read the complete story to Christine that night, begging her to get to the bottom before you ask any question: he had decided not to tell it aloud, in order not to stumble in his inevitable objections and lose its focus.

  He had written a text message to let you know that as soon as he returned home from work, should have a chat to resolve their dispute. He hoped that the truth, incredible as it was, things did not get worse but could not keep it to themselves. He must try to open the eyes of his daughter, hoping that he would find a way to rebel, to change things, to succeed where all before her had failed. Also we have tried, instead of passively accept fate, as he had done Isa.

  Probably would have jeopardized his life but could not stop even before that. For his sake and Cristina. E of all the others.

  He closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer of his bedside table, under the linen, not wanting her husband found it by accident and was sure there would not have ever looked.

  She went downstairs and looked for the phone to call Robert.

  ***

  "And this is one of the main cases in which you use Marshall "said Roberto talking to the class.

  He believed that more than half the students did not follow the explanation and that the remaining, only a couple they had understood fully. But what could he do? His job was to teach, not force them to listen.

  "Questions?" He added, knowing that there would be.

  Instead Cantini, from the last bench on the right, was raising his hand to intervene. But two buckets knock on the door of the stopped and captured the attention of the entire class. Roberto took pleasure in seeing the heads of twenty-three boys in front of him turn in the same direction, like sunflowers, and thinking as any event unrelated to class, even the most insignificant, like someone knocking on the door, could be reason for them to a thousand times more interest to the lecture itself.

  "Yes?"

  The door opened and the janitor peeked. "Excuse me, professor. The look on the phone. His wife, "he announced, pulling the head and once out of sight of children.

  "I'm coming," said Roberto. "Wait quietly and have a look at the dialogue," he told the students, once more conscious of speaking to the wind and at the same time curious to know why he had pushed Simon to call him and let him interrupt the lesson.

  ***

  The office smelled of smoke. Robert wondered if the new law forbidding smoking in public places was also observed there or if it was just the fault of the smell that she wanted to leave the walls even after months. Like a lover who did not want the end of a relationship. A look at the overflowing ashtray on the desk of the secretary gave him the answer he sought.

  "Please," said the janitor dressed in bullet pointing the phone beside the computer keyboard.

  With her other hand she was exploring the nose for something that, judging by the commitment that it would take, would be enormous. Roberto looked away with a sense of disgust and went to the phone.

  "Here am I, love," he said, just as behind the janitor had found what he wanted and was prepared to examine it carefully, since no one was
watching him.

  "Hello, darling! How's it going? "

  Simon's voice was bright and cheerful as always. At first Robert was asked if he were reciting, because it seemed impossible that a girl could ever be so happy, so without the slightest shadow of worry in her eyes, like a perpetually cloudless sky. Then he realized that Simon was just so and had loved her more than anything else.

  "Well, the usual things" said by a bored tone. "The kids do not listen, does a frightfully hot ..." And in that instant he saw the fan on a locker against the wall. However , he thought. do not treat pain here in the office! "And you?"

  From that beginning it seemed that the call had not been dictated by real needs, but rather by the desire to have a chat with Simon. Roberto was certainly not disappointed, either because it could take a time out from the lesson, and because it would be a typical attitude of his wife, one of those things that had made him fall in love: she did what she felt. With some exceptions, of course.

  "Yes, all right." There was a pause, as if to close the pleasantries. "Nothing, I tell you that today you do not have to pick Matthias at four."

  Roberto had almost forgotten about it - but surely he would remember the last time. "Why? Not something you want? "He asked. At that time the secretary came in and looked at him as if to make sure it was authorized to be there and use the phone. The boys called Robocop for its being so severe and tax. He had a lit cigarette between his fingers.

  "No, no, it's fine. It's just that the teacher who had to have a commitment this afternoon and found no alternate, so come out first. So ... "

  "So you think you are?"

  "Exactly! Step to take it to twenty one and carry it to your mother. "

  "Wow," said Roberto. "You mean to say that today I can not even take a ten minute break from the ballots." Those meetings annoyed him terribly and had found some 'comfort in thinking that he could be away to fetch his son to school. "By 'the truth: did you do that on purpose!" He smiled.

  "Sure," said Simona playing the game. "I bribed the teacher why he was at home. Because I know that you like so much to be done to the polls ... Apart from jokes, I leave you. Vai also by your boys. "