Page 46 of Someone in the Water
‘But the mazzeri aren’t real,’ I say, my voice raspy. I think about the stories my dad told me when I was little, the magical hunters gliding through make-believe forests. But they were only ever stories.
‘They are real,’ Salvo growls. Then he sighs and softens his voice. ‘I can’t know for sure if you’ve inherited your father’s gift, if you are a mazzera and dreamed about Archie dying. But I know the mazzeri exist in Corsica. How could I not believe in them when I am one myself?’
My skin feels tight from the salt water, and my eyes sting. Dry land is only a few metres away now. I stare at it. I need to get away from Salvo, from the nonsense he’s spewing. Because of course the mazzeri aren’t real. And the foreboding I felt when I woke on the sand wasn’t any kind of premonition. Was it?
Frankie
31st July
The sky is inky black, the air cool against my skin. I walk towards the forest. My feet are bare, but I feel no pain from the sharp stones or rough foliage underfoot. A cloud moves, exposing the full moon, its white light casting an ethereal glow, until the sky changes again, and darkness sweeps back over.
I walk deeper into the forest.
I’m here to hunt, I think, with a sudden, overpowering burst of desire.
To kill.
I slide my open palms down from my hip bones. There it is. The sheath, protecting the weapon hanging heavy against my leg. I curl my fingers around the knife’s handle, grip hard. I close my eyes, imagine slaughtering an animal, feel a quiver of anticipation in my chest.
There’s rustling between the trees. My eyelids flick up, just in time to see the deer. Small, and beautiful. Perfect prey.
Except I have the wrong weapon. To kill with a knife, I need to catch the deer, and that isn’t possible. It will outrun me.
Except I know, deep inside, that it won’t.
I edge closer. Even in this dense forest, my footsteps are soundless. The deer knows I’m near; it can smell me. But it doesn’t move. As though it understands, accepts its fate.
Our eyes catch and I don’t hesitate. I grab the knife, lift it high, sink it into the deer’s chest. The animal whimpers, drops to its knees. Its head lolls, life ebbing away, then falls onto its side.
I wait. I don’t know what for, but I remain still.
The deer rears back up, gasping for breath. The moon reappears, lighting up its desperate face.
Not a deer’s face.
I sway on my heels, lose my balance, fall backwards. But the image remains vivid behind my eyes. The leaves feel softer now, the air warmer. But I can’t lie here. I need to get away from the forest, away from what I’ve done. Who I’ve killed.
I open my eyes. I’m hot, sticky with sweat. My heart is pumping too fast.
What the fuck?
It took me ages to get to sleep, even after being awake for a full thirty-six hours. And now this.
A lurch of nausea rises as the image reignites, me sinking the knife into the deer’s warm body, all the blood spilling out. Then I see Izzy’s lifeless face again. Not Archie, like Salvo said. But my friend who’s still alive.
A surge of adrenaline grabs me, and I push up to sitting. I look at Izzy across the room. She’s lying on her side, fast asleep, her shoulder lifting and dropping with each breath. The sight calms me a bit, but not enough to erase the memory of that dream.
I need some air.
I climb out of bed – quietly so I don’t disturb Izzy – and tiptoe out of the room. My feet are bare, just like in the dream. A shiver grabs hold of me, and my eyes prick with tears. It was just a stupid nightmare, so why am I so freaked out?
This is Salvo’s fault for spouting nonsense. Archie’s fault for leaving me in the most brutal way possible. This summer was supposed to be fun but it’s turned into hell.
I stumble down to the beach, needing the soft whoosh of the sea. But as I fold onto the cool sand, Salvo’s words come back to me.Francesca, did you know that your father was a mazzere?
But that’s bullshit. Lies. The mazzeri legend is just a Corsican fable, a stupid story. No one can foresee someone’s death, awake or asleep.
Of course it’s no surprise that I had a nightmare that reflects the mazzeri story after Salvo’s crazy claims this morning. This has nothing to do with prophesying Izzy’s death, and everything to do with my trauma at Archie’s suicide.
