<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535717519923740672/capaenglish1.png" width="750" height="270" alt="Poveglia">
Follow and shape yourself the story of a little boy called Damiano, who was rescued by the inhabitants of Poveglia Island, after a shipwreck, and taken to the psychiatric hospital located there to recover. However, he soon realizes that the doctor in charge of the hospital has no intention of letting him leave, and decides to escape from that place at all costs, even if it is a decision that puts his life in danger. And his life is entirely in YOUR hands.
This interactive story is set 84 years before the events of //Os Filhos de Poveglia//.
[[START!]]
[[CREDITS AND SPECIAL THANKS]]
//Italy, Lagoon of Venice - 1930//
<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/540025048044404736/introducao5.png" width="750" height="360" alt="Poveglia">
The dim light of the sky was deformed and unsteady behind the agitated surface as Damiano struggled to reach it. The thin, tanned limbs tried with instinctive fury to lift the rest of the body away from the black, hungry depths of the Lagoon.
When his face finally emerged, he took a deep and desperate breath, feeling the cold wind and the thin raindrops nibbling on his skin. And how cold the water was! Still somewhat disoriented, he looked around. The storm was going away, but the damage was already done: the bow of his father's boat was almost completely submerged, about thirty yards away.
- Daddy! – he called, trying to make his voice overcome the noise of the wind. - Daddy!
There was no answer. His father had told him to throw himself in the water while the boat sank, saying that he would follow him, but there was no sign of him in any direction Damiano looked at. While fighting against the ferocity of the water, the boy did not see, nor did he hear that the mast had fallen on Angelo Bernardino before he had the chance to jump.
Now the family’s fishing boat had completely disappeared, and despair was filling the heart of the boy, who began to feel his strength draining away. He turned and swam toward the only piece of land he was able to see. The closer he got to the island, the more difficult it was to remain on the surface, but his instinct for survival would not let him give up.
A waterway divided the island, and when Damiano spotted a //cavana// on one of the margins, he knew that would be the easiest access to solid land. Once he got close enough, he clung to the narrow stone steps coming out of the water and going up to the dock’s pavement, and crawled over them with difficulty, lying on his stomach, gasping for air, before he had even reached the last of them. As he tried to catch his breath and his strength, exhaustion defeated him and he fell asleep, not caring about cold or sadness.
<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535008488879816714/intersecao1.png" width="750" height="259" alt="Poveglia">
A pale but cheerful light was entering the austere room through the window over the bed, when the 11-year-old boy awakened. Though he felt refreshed, his heart beat faster as he looked around and did not recognize where he was. His whole body was still aching from the exertion, but he sat on the not very comfortable bed and tried to stand up anyway. He noticed that he was no longer wearing his soaked clothes, but rather a pair of gray pajamas with long sleeves.
When, at last, his legs could support him, the door of the room creaked and a young, brunette nurse came in carrying a tray. She was stout, medium in stature, and stared at the boy with a kind countenance.
- //Buongiorno//, little one - she said, approaching the boy and making him sit down on the bed again gently. Her voice was still childish and captivated the boy immediately. - You'd better rest for now. We found you unconscious on the steps of the //cavana//, after the storm. You look strong, you're not even coughing. - She smiled, leaving the tray of food on the bed beside him.
He smelled the scent of the food and realized how hungry he was. She gestured for him to eat and he gladly obeyed.
- What’s your name? – the nurse asked.
- Damiano... Bernardino - he replied between bites.
- Nice to meet you. My name is Fillippa.
- Is this a hospital?
- Yes, it is. It's a psychiatric hospital.
Damiano frowned at her:
- So it’s a hospital for crazy people?
- We should not call them that. - Her tone was sympathetic. - They are people like you and me. They just need help.
He nodded, too hungry to say anything else.
- What happened to you? - Fillippa inquired. - No one here recognizes you. How did you get to Poveglia?
- Where?
- It’s where you are. Poveglia Island. It’s not far from Venice.
- I live there. In Venice.
- And how did you end up here?
The boy stopped eating, gazing at nothing. The wreck returned to his memory like a wave hitting a cliff. Tears arose quickly and blurred his vision.
- Where is my dad? – Damiano asked, his voice faltering.
- We don’t know – the nurse answered. - What's his name?
- Angelo. - He dried his eyes.
- We'll look for him.
- He’s dead... - Damiano could not hold the tears anymore.
Fillippa embraced him in an attempt to comfort him:
- Why do you say that, my dear?
Damiano then told her what had happened and the young lady was forced to agree silently with him. Still, he was just a child and she found herself unable to be so frank with him under those circumstances.
- We can’t be sure, my dear - Fillippa said, finally. - After all, you survived, didn’t you? Maybe he'll come looking for you soon enough.
The boy did not immediately believe that, but her words gave him some comfort, and he felt grateful for them. The two of them talked for a while, during which Damiano spoke about his mother, who was still waiting for her husband and son in Venice. Fillippa assured him that when he was recovered and had found his father, they both would return home. Though she knew very well that she was in no position to promise any of that.
<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535008488879816714/intersecao1.png" width="750" height="259" alt="Poveglia">
Four long days were enough for Damiano to realize that he was not in a hospital, but in a prison. On the second morning, the doctor in charge of the hospital, Dr. Paolo Voltolini, went to visit him and heard his story. The physician hurried to say that there was no shipwreck around the island, and he questioned the boy's sanity constantly for the next two days.
Dr. Voltolini was intimidating to him, even unintentionally, and Damiano did not feel safe without Fillippa's presence. Paolo Voltolini was already an old man and extremely tall from the child’s point of view; he had deep gray eyes and thin, white hair.
When Fillippa would take him for a walk around the island, Damiano always heard bloodcurdling screams as they roamed the building, every time they went out and when they came back. Screams that caused great anxiety in the boy and that came, most of the time, from behind a large door, on the second floor of the main area. Fillippa said that was the room where Dr. Voltolini treated the patients, and that the pain that made them scream was necessary for them to get better. But the worst cries echoed after nightfall from the bell tower, located at the east end of the long and old building, causing Damiano to spend most of the night on his knees on the bed in front of his window, until he was too sleepy to stand. When he asked Fillippa about what happened in the bell tower, she did not answer. Not even she knew what happened there, and she would rather not know.
From the outside, the island had a pleasant and cheery look, but only during the day. At night, the shadows thickened among the trees and buildings, and the water around it seemed the darkest and most menacing he had ever seen.
Damiano would only see the other patients (all adults, no children) when they were taken in wheelchairs through the corridors, and none of them looked remotely well; the look in their eyes was always empty, expressionless, their shoulders were always drooping and some of them would let saliva run down the corners of their mouths without care. They did not seem to be getting better at all. On the contrary, they seemed to be getting worse every time he saw them. Damiano thought it could be fun to ride one of those chairs, but those who were riding them did not seem to be amused at all.
The figures of the guards who wandered the halls were also intimidating. Facing the boy's inquiry, Fillippa said that some patients being treated could become aggressive without knowing what they were doing because of the disease, and that the guards were there to protect the nurses and to protect the patients from hurting themselves. After that explanation, Damiano was also somewhat afraid to get close to the other patients, and the guards began to provide him a strange sense of security. Their black uniforms, the clubs hanging from the shiny belts and the stern faces seemed enough to keep the frail patients under control... just as any child who walked around there.
Before the dinner of the fourth night, Dr. Voltolini went to see the boy.
- Hello, Mr. Bernardino – the doctor spoke, closing the bedroom door behind him. He approached Damiano with a smile that tried, in vain, to be friendly. His curved posture and aquiline nose made him look like a wicked vulture. - How are you feeling today?
- I’m fine, sir - Damiano responded, his gaze low most of the time. - I'm ready to go home. I'm not feeling weak anymore.
- Oh, I see. But your father must come to get you so we can let you go.
(WHAT WILL DAMIANO ANSWER?)
[[- I can leave alone. I know the way home.]]
[[- All right.]]
[[- My father is dead, I already told you. My mother must be worried about me.]]//TEXT:// Mayara Albuquerque
//ART:// Mayara Albuquerque
//TRANSLATION TO ENGLISH:// Mayara Albuquerque
//BETA TESTERS:// Mylena Diniz, Yago Vasconcelos
//Interactive story made with Twine 2.2.1.//
//ABOUT THE AUTHOR://
Mayara Albuquerque was born in Belém, Brazil, on September 11th, 1997. She created the blog //Mistérios em Páginas//, where she writes book reviews and literature related articles, and is also the author of //O Desconhecido// and //Os Filhos de Poveglia//.
//SPECIAL THANKS://
I’m very grateful to my friends and family who supported me in my career so far, and I am grateful to my publisher, Douglas Oliveira, who encouraged the creation of this interactive short story, and gave me the opportunity to publish my work for the first time by a publisher. And, of course, I want to thank you who played or who is about to play this interactive story. Thank you so much for giving this project a chance! Your opinion is very welcome!
//SOCIAL MEDIA://
Twitter: @M`_`Albuquerque0
Instagram: @mayara`_`albuquerque0
The book //Os Filhos de Poveglia// (Portuguese) will soon be available for pre-sale on Editora Folheando’s website (publisher): http://editorafolheando.com.br/
Facebook: @editorafolheando- Well, you must be very smart then. - The doctor faked a laugh. - But it would be very irresponsible of me to let a child wander alone, especially when it’s necessary to cross the Lagoon. As strong you may look, son, I don’t think you can swim to Venice.
[[- I know how to sail a boat. My father taught me.]]
[[- All right.]]- Good boy. - The doctor's laughter sounded ominous. Soon after, his expression became rather serious. – You know, Damiano, I have reasons to believe that you are sick. And my duty as a doctor is to make people feel better... especially children.
[[- What’s wrong with me?]]
[[- I want to get better soon.->allright2.]]
- Oh, yes, the shipwreck... - Voltolini sat down on the bed next to the boy. There was concern on his face. – You know, Damiano, so far no one on the island has heard of any shipwreck. There is no sign that anything like this has happened, even during that storm. I think you're indeed ill, son. And I'm sure your mother would be happy, just like your father, who will soon appear if you went home fully healed.
[[- All right.->allright2.]]
[[- What’s wrong with me?]]
[[- I know I’m fine. Tomorrow I'm going to get a boat and leave. I know how to sail.->- I know I’m fine. Tomorrow I'm going to get a boat and leave.]]
- Really? - the doctor asked, pretending to be impressed. - I'm sure you sail well, son. However, in your state... I don’t think you can go very far. And your parents would be very sad if something happened to you.
[[- All right.]]
[[- I know I’m fine. Tomorrow I'm going to get a boat and leave.]]
[[- What’s wrong with me?]]
- You're hallucinating, son. You imagined you were in a shipwreck that never existed, and imagined that your father died. It's a very serious affliction, but you don’t need to worry. I can treat you and it will never happen again.
[[- All right.->allright2.]]
[[- I know I’m fine. Tomorrow I'm going to get a boat and leave.]]
Paolo Voltolini smiled in satisfaction.
- Tomorrow I will begin your treatment - he said, standing before the boy and resting a hand on his shoulder. - You will be healthier than ever when you meet your parents. Good night, Mr. Bernardino.
- Thank you. Good night - Damiano replied, as his good education commanded.
Voltolini left the room quietly, waving one last time before closing the door.
A few minutes later, Fillippa arrived with her little patient's dinner at the usual time, and he smiled when he saw her, although she looked a little different. She tried to hide it, but there was a subtle, yet present, layer of tension of unknown origin behind the affection with which she always treated the boy.
- You know how it works, don’t you? - she said with a tired smile. - I'll be back in half an hour to see if you ate everything.
- Yes, miss – he replied, leaning over the plate of food.
The nurse caressed his short hair briefly and left.
As usual, Fillippa returned in half an hour, as she had promised, and Damiano cleaned his plate as he had promised. The nurse took the tray, leaving the room after kissing the boy good night, and he quickly got down on his knees in front of the window, watching the light fade from the horizon. In a few minutes, pitch blackness took over the world beyond the lagoon. From his window, it was not possible to see the lights of Venice in the distance, neither Lido's nor any of the other islands nearby. There was only the endless night, a void that dominated the entire horizon, a darkness that seemed to dwell in Poveglia and, with the sunset, to spread through that region like an illness. That void made the boy feel even more isolated and helpless.
However, that did not stop him from thinking of his home, his mother and how he missed her… and his father. Was he really alive and looking for his son? The doctor's manipulation seemed to be having the expected effect on his mind. He was no longer sure of what had happened.
But a small thought began to grow inside his head; a memory. He remembered what Fillippa had told him, on his first day at the hospital. //"We found you unconscious on the steps of the cavana, after the storm."// If they had found him there, the accident had really happened! He was not crazy!
Unfortunately, as soon as he realized that, he realized something else: if the accident was real and his father had not appeared so far, Angelo Bernardino was indeed lying at the bottom of the Lagoon of Venice, along with his beloved boat. Loneliness and grief made him cower and cry on his pillow like he had never cried before.
His lament, however, did not last much longer, for he remembered one more thing: Dr. Voltolini intended to start treating him the next day. Just by trying to imagine what the doctor would do to him and by remembering the condition of the other patients, the little boy shook from head to toe. He could not go through that, he was not sick at all!
As if he had felt an electric shock, he jumped out of the bed. He could not stay in that place, and was not eager to discover what tortures Dr. Voltolini was preparing for him. He needed to escape before dawn.
But how would he do that? He knew the way to the exit very well; he had walked that path several times in Fillippa’s company. Nevertheless, he knew the guards would not let him roam those hallways freely if the nurse was not by his side. And even if they did, the bedroom door was kept locked, "for your own safety", Fillippa used to say. The only way to get out would be to get her to open the door. If he //called// her, or if he called any other nurse. And the best way to do that, he had realized after spending a few days in an insane asylum, was to fake any malaise.
He wondered for a moment if Fillippa would help him escape if he asked. She was his friend, after all. But she was also a friend of the doctor. Which one would she help? Damiano learned from the nurse herself that her shift ended at 7 p.m. It had been a while since he had heard one of the large old hospital clocks chime at six o'clock. If he really wanted to ask for her help, he was running out of time.
But was it worth the risk? Like the doctor, she also made Damiano believe that his father was still alive and that there had been no shipwreck. What if she was deceiving him too? What if she was not his friend, really? Maybe not revealing his intentions to anyone was the best strategy. If his father had left him any inheritance, it was his cleverness.
Damiano examined his surroundings: besides his bed, there was a nightstand with a drawer and a larger door that sealed a square compartment under it, a chair in the opposite corner, next to a high iron stand for serum bags and medicines, and a desk where some magazines laid scattered. Fillippa had brought them to him on the second day and he had already read them all, but he did not find them even a bit interesting.
The boy then considered possible hiding places. He would have a good protection hiding under the bed, but it was too obvious; he was sure it would be the first place where they would look for him. Then he opened the compartment in the nightstand. Several white towels were neatly folded and arranged one above the other. Damiano took them all, throwing them onto the bed and watching the now vacant space. He was thin and flexible enough to fit inside with the door closed, he was sure. That was the perfect hiding spot for what he had in mind.
If he were not going to talk to Fillippa, the best choice would be to wait for a moment late at night, when the hospital was supposed to be quieter, and especially when Dr. Voltolini was supposed to be no longer in the building. Eleven o'clock or midnight. In addition, he had noticed the night before as he peered down the hallway through the bedroom’s door glass, that the number of guards in the corridors decreased during the night. After all, the patients would be asleep, right? They were not a big threat. Good for Damiano that was what they thought.
His heart pounded heavily. He felt a mixture of fear and excitement churning his stomach. Even without being able to look at the movement of the hands, he could sense them as they approached 7 p.m. Damiano had to make a decision.
[[(Talk to Fillippa.)]]
[[(Wait until midnight.)]]
Paolo Voltolini nodded, looking quite unsatisfied, but Damiano did not care at all. After a brief pause, the doctor shrugged:
- If you insist... - He shook the boy's hand with an indecipherable countenance. – Good night, Mr. Bernardino. Have a nice trip, tomorrow.
- Thank you. Good night - Damiano forced himself to reply, as his good education commanded.
Voltolini left the room quickly, as if suddenly remembering he had some business elsewhere.
A few minutes later, Fillippa arrived with her little patient's dinner at the usual time, and he smiled when he saw her, although she looked a little different. She tried to hide it, but there was a subtle, yet present, layer of tension of unknown origin behind the affection with which she always treated the boy.
- You know how it works, don’t you? - she said with a tired smile. - I'll be back in half an hour to see if you ate everything.
- Yes, miss – he replied, leaning over the plate of food.
The nurse caressed his short hair briefly and left.
As usual, Fillippa returned in half an hour, as she had promised, and Damiano cleaned his plate as he had promised. The nurse took the tray, leaving the room after kissing the boy good night, and he quickly got down on his knees in front of the window, watching the light fade from the horizon. In a few minutes, pitch blackness took over the world beyond the lagoon. From his window, it was not possible to see the lights of Venice in the distance, neither Lido's nor any of the other islands nearby. There was only the endless night, a void that dominated the entire horizon, a darkness that seemed to dwell in Poveglia and, after sunset, to spread through that region like an illness. That void made the boy feel even more isolated and helpless.
However, that did not stop him from thinking of his home, his mother and how he missed her… and his father. After all that time without any news, he was now absolutely certain that Angelo Bernardino was lying at the bottom of the Lagoon of Venice, along with his beloved boat. Loneliness and grief made him cower and cry on his pillow like he had never cried before.
His lament, however, did not last much longer, for a strange and sudden slumber fell upon him, and Morpheus took him away before he realized that waiting until the next day to depart might not be a good idea.
<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535008488879816714/intersecao1.png" width="750" height="259" alt="Poveglia">
The noise was sharp, and every time it reached Damiano's ears, he felt as if thousands of sharp needles punctured his skull. The boy forced his heavy eyelids to open, revealing his still blurred vision. A round, powerful light hovered above him, offering no relief from his headache. When he tried to bring one of his hands to his forehead, he realized that his wrist was fastened to the bed where he was lying by a leather strap. Just like his other wrist... And both of his legs... And his chest.
Despair took only an instant to take over his whole being, so he pulled and shook his limbs irrationally, trying to free himself at any cost. His lips were stretched over his teeth, and he was letting out low groans of anguish.
The noise from before could still be heard, but distant. It had stopped and restarted a few times. Damiano looked around, but he had no idea where he was. It was a large, dark room, divided into small parts by white and dirty hospital screens. //So I'm still in the hospital?//, he thought. There was a 1920's dentist chair, a few feet to his right, which looked more like a torture chair. He could see the room’s double door in that same direction, as well as some iron cabinets and some wheelchairs leaning against the wall. In front of him there was a window hidden by a dark curtain, but it did not seem to be blocking any light at that moment. //It’s still night?//
It was only when he turned to the left, though, that his heart climbed to his throat. Right by the bed, there was a stainless steel table with a bottle of ethyl alcohol, gauze rolls and various tools lined up perfectly. Scalpels, syringes containing some unknown liquid, scissors of different sizes, tweezers, needles of various lengths, a rudimentary hair-cutting machine, a hammer, a chisel, and a dark drill.
Damiano opened his mouth to scream, but Dr. Paolo Voltolini appeared, emerging from behind one of the screens, with another drill in his hand. When his eyes landed on the boy, the doctor raised his eyebrows for a moment. A faint smile was on his lips:
- Oh, you’re already awake. - As he approached the bed, Damiano tried to push himself as far as he could. - Right on time, Mr. Bernardino. This one is much better. - Voltolini then changed the drill that was on the table for the one in his hand.
- Where am I? How did I get here? - Damiano exclaimed. – I want to leave!
- Lower your tone, boy. - He inspected the objects on the table, as if making sure there was nothing missing there. - You are in my special room under the bell tower, and you can’t leave. It's dangerous for you, as I had warned you...
- Oh, my God! What am I doing here?
- Well, the nurses called me, you know? - The boy watched with horror as the doctor put on his white latex gloves. - You seem to have had some kind of attack at night. You were very agitated and ended up hitting your head. I decided it was best to bring you here.
- You’re lying. - He shook his head vehemently. Tears were born in his eyes. – This is your doing, isn’t it? You did something to me so I wouldn't leave!
The boy's cleverness almost made Voltolini smile.
- I told you that you were not well, my boy - he said, in a movie-worthy performance. - Denying the obvious will not get you anywhere. - He sighed, holding the restless patient's jaw and examining his face. – It’s the typical stubbornness of children. You know, Damiano, sometimes adults get tired of children's stubbornness and disobedience. For some reason, they don’t see that all we want it's their well-being. - Letting go of the boy's face, he picked up one of the syringes from the table, examining it. - I've been wondering for a long time if there is a way to… //suppress// that behavior permanently. A //treatment for disobedience//. Wouldn’t that be fantastic? When your mother would tell you not to climb a high place because you could get hurt, you would obey, and so you wouldn’t risk falling down and injuring yourself. - He simulated a friendly smile. - Think about how much better children would live.
- This is wrong! - Damiano protested firmly, though he could not say exactly why he had that opinion.
- Really? Why would it be wrong to want to protect all the children, my dear boy? Why would it be wrong to protect //you//? I'm a doctor, this is my mission, Damiano: to help everybody. Children, adults, old people... Until now, though, I hadn’t had anyone to begin experimenting on to solve that particular problem. I didn’t have a child. Now, you have the chance to help immensely all of the children in the world, and even those not yet born! Isn’t it great?
- Please! Let me go! – The tears blurred his vision completely now. - My mom, she...
- Oh, don’t worry. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that I treated you. Now, I'll give you something to keep you calm so we can begin.
Damiano saw him approach his left arm with the syringe and tried, frantically, to break free again, unsuccessfully.
- No! NO! HELP! HEEEEEELP! - he screamed as loudly as his throat allowed.
The boy screamed again when he felt the thick needle pierce his vein, but not because of the pain (he practically did not feel it), but because he feared what that would do to him. The cold liquid ran through his insides like a relentless stream, and Damiano felt an equally strong numbness take hold of his body as that happened. He was losing the strength to scream, to move, and even to weep.
- Mom... - It was the last thing he managed to mumble before the syringe went empty. After that, he had to use his entire energy to breathe. It was as if a large stone had been placed on his chest, preventing him from rising a single inch, even if he was not tied up.
Voltolini stared at him for a moment, checking to see if the drug was really in effect in the child's system. Upon confirming that, he turned to the stainless steel table with a subtle smile. Picking up the manual hair clipper and examining it for a second, the doctor turned back to the boy, bending over him.
- Let's start with the left temple, what do you think? - said the man, appearing to be more excited than he should.
He held Damiano's chin with little gentleness and turned his face to the other side. The boy's tears ran down his face and settled beneath his right cheek, while Voltolini shaved his hair above the left ear. Damiano's suffering face was feverish, but the skin that covered the rest of his body was cold and covered in sweat.
His numbed senses did not allow Damiano to properly feel the piece of cotton soaked with alcohol that Voltolini used to clean the scalp area, now completely exposed. Nevertheless, he felt the small blade of the scalpel travel over few but painful inches of his skin twice, making an X-shaped cut. The pain, though far from being as intense as it could be, was enough to make the boy utter a hoarse moan. All his limbs were rigid and he clenched his teeth tightly.
And strength was something that the pain was helping Damiano recover prematurely. He felt Dr. Voltolini handling his cropped skin, as if he were opening it to see what was underneath. The doctor did not even seem to remember he was dealing with a living being. At least, for now.
Right after, however, Voltolini sewed the incision, covering it with a bandage.
- The first step was taken, dear boy - he said, clearly pleased. - In a few hours, this side will be ready for us to continue, but we can already start working on the other one.
Voltolini spoke aloud as if he had no one else to share his progress with. Still, Damiano did not pay much attention to the muffled voice that was speaking to him. The left side of his head was throbbing, but he ignored it, for even with his hazy mind he had perceived something much more worthy of his attention, at that moment: his wrists seemed to be slipping from the leather straps. An adult would certainly be stuck there, but those moorings did not appear to have been made with the intention of containing children. And the sweat on his skin certainly helped.
For the first time since he woke up in that torture room, Damiano had hope. Hope that his fate was not yet deadly sealed. And so he began to plot his escape.
Voltolini now intended to work on the right side of his patient's head. //Good//, he came to think. The doctor would be on the opposite side of the bed, that is, away from his tools.
Still, before going to the right side, Voltolini took two objects from the table with him. The hair clipper and the drill. Damiano was unable to suppress a violent shudder that ran through his body. Again, the doctor took some time shaving the boy's head in the region of the temple, and his new guinea pig used that time to try to free his left arm from the strap. The arm that was distant from Voltolini and near the table with the medical devices.
Just before the ruthless doctor finished that process, the boy felt another rush of adrenaline inside him, for his left arm was free. He knew he would have to be agile in his next move, and that he would only have one chance. If he was to fail, he probably would not see another sunrise.
He did not brag about his success; he kept his arm in the same position, as if it was still strapped. His head was now facing the stainless steel table, so he would not need to grope blindly in search of what he was looking for: something to defend himself against the doctor (one of the needles or one of the scalpels? What would be more effective?). On the other hand, he did not have a very clear view of Voltolini. It had already been rather risky to try to break free with that man so close to him, but to try to raise his arm towards the table, even with caution, seemed almost dumb to Damiano.
The boy then remembered that Voltolini would probably repeat the process of cleaning his skin with alcohol after shaving his head, what would force him to go back to the table to get the bottle and the cotton. If he was fast enough, Damiano could strike him before he sensed any danger, and the fact that the boy was left-handed certainly was an advantage. But again, it was an "if" too big for him. Even with his mind working a thousand miles an hour, his decision time was near the end.
[[(Try to attack the doctor before he finishes.)]]
[[(Wait to attack him.)]]Between both risks, he chose not to waste any more time. Using as much subtlety as possible, he moved his arm toward the stainless steel table, trying to keep the rest of the body still (which was not difficult, considering he was still feeling very anesthetized). If the doctor saw what he was doing, he had not shown it yet. However, when the boy's fingers reached the long needles on the table, he knew that it no longer mattered.
Damiano used all his agility and strength, and thrust three needles into Voltolini's flesh, who was still bent over the patient. As he turned to look at the doctor, he saw him take several steps back, with a look of surprise and indignation at the same time on his face, and with both bloody hands on the right side of his neck, where the needles were still stuck.
The physician moaned in pain, trying to pull the needles out, while Damiano tried desperately to free his other arm, successfully, but realizing then that his chest was still strapped and that he had not thought of a way to release it. The boy turned to the stainless steel table again, relying on one of the larger scalpels to cut the leather strap.
His nervousness caused him to cut himself a few times, but his effort was not in vain, and once his chest was free, it was easy to free his feet. Damiano fell to the left side and the world spun around him violently. The drug the doctor had injected into him was still acting in his body, but he forced himself to stand up, even though his balance was not completely restored.
He glanced at Voltolini, who was now on the floor. The man had removed the needles, but was bleeding at a speed that took away his strength and gave the boy more time. That injury, though serious, would not be fatal to the old man, and Damiano would only discover that years later, but at that moment it did not matter if the doctor would live or die. The boy just wanted to get away from there.
Supporting himself as best as he could, Damiano reached for the curtain and revealed the window behind it. The latch was stuck, but the young Venetian boy did not hesitate to pick up the doctor's hammer and use it to unlock his escape route. He jumped out the window, and his bare feet moved from the cold tile to the soft grass. Snaking through the trees, the childish fear of the shadows that night provided for them had been left behind, for what the boy most feared now was left inside that accursed building.
It was a pleasant surprise for Damiano to find the outside quiet and free of any soul that could spot him. Even more enjoyable was sneaking onto the west margin of the island and finding a small motor boat with a cabin, floating peacefully there, close to the border. Damiano approached it and realized that it was a supply boat, somewhat like his father's. And it was unoccupied.
There was no need to think twice. He jumped on board and started the boat, before one of the sullen guards appeared to get him. He would only remember that he had left some poor man in Poveglia without his boat after he was already far away. The modest vessel picked up speed and sailed towards Venice, and Damiano hoped that the ominous shadows of that place could not follow him across the Lagoon.
[[EPILOGUE2<-EPILOGUE.]]Between both risks he chose to wait. He would pick up a weapon from the table and attack the doctor when he went to his left side once again.
His small heart beat even faster as he watched his theory coming true. Voltolini walked around the bed where he had immobilized his patient, and was now beside his beloved tools once more. He began to open the bottle of alcohol, when Damiano closed his left hand tightly around three of the long needles and stretched his arm as far as he could in a second.
A scream of pain mingled with the sound of the bottle breaking on the floor. The doctor took several steps back, bending forward and staring at the needles stuck in his stomach with a mixture of surprise and indignation. Damiano hurried and managed to free his other arm from the belt, but his chest was still strapped and he had not thought of a way to release it... And he would not even have time for that.
The boy heard the clink of needles falling on the stained tile floor and turned to look. The wrath in Voltolini's eyes would have caused Damiano to fall off the bed if he was not tied up. With one of his hands covering the wound in his belly, the doctor rushed toward the boy with wide, staggering steps, snorting with rage, then picking up the hammer lying on the table and striking the child hard on the head.
The blow was enough to make Damiano go unconscious, but Voltolini's fury would not allow him to stop hitting the boy until his skull was grotesquely deformed and the doctor's clothes and face were covered with his blood.
When he finally stopped hitting the patient's head, gasping for breath, the doctor dropped the hammer carelessly on the table, standing there in silence for a few minutes, just staring at the boy's corpse. If he ever felt any regret, it was only of losing a valuable subject. And if he gave the order for the boy to be buried, several hours later, it was not with the intention of giving a decent farewell to that child, but with the intention of erasing his presence from that place, and covering the evidence of that crime six feet under.
[[EPILOGUE3<-EPILOGUE.]]<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535039217852612618/artefinalbom.png" width="429" height="240" alt="Poveglia">
Shortly after, Damiano found himself in his mother’s arms, who was crying copiously, kneeling before him. Her tears, however, were also mourning for her husband, and she did not let her son leave her sight for even a minute that night.
That was certainly not a very common experience in a child's life, but the strength that Damiano used to escape from that dark place also helped him recover quickly from all of that, and over the years he would no longer give much importance to that event, although it would return to his memory from time to time.
However, it was in the summer of 1936 that the young man saw something in the newspaper that pleased him greatly.
Dr. Paolo Voltolini had fallen from the top of the bell tower, during the night, and passed away. An employee gave his testimony, claiming that the doctor seemed more paranoid and restless every day. Apparently, he believed ghosts were chasing him. Ghosts of his own patients.
Damiano did not doubt it. If ghosts existed, that man was certainly responsible for many of them, and they would eventually catch up to the good doctor. Despite everything, to know that Voltolini could no longer hurt anyone certainly brought some peace to the boy's heart.
THE END.
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ENDING 1/4:
"Defeating the Devil."
[[BACK TO START->Menu (versão em inglês)]]<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/534587367701348363/artefinalruim.png" width="429" height="240" alt="Poveglia">
Mrs. Bernardino, without having any news from her husband or her son, dwelled in the anguish of doubt for many weeks. Her husband's relatives and friends searched the Lagoon for more than two months, in vain, and the poor woman lost all hope. There was a symbolic funeral for both of them, and though time slowly soothed her pain, it remained present in her heart, like a shadow in the corner of the eye, simply from not knowing what had happened. It was as if the two of them had been swept away from the face of the world.
In the summer of 1936, Mrs. Bernardino saw a report in the newspaper, a somewhat shocking news, but that did not catch her particular attention. If she had seen what had happened in Poveglia, she would have smiled.
Dr. Paolo Voltolini had fallen from the top of the bell tower, during the night, and passed away. An employee gave his testimony, claiming that the doctor seemed more paranoid and restless every day. Apparently, he believed ghosts were chasing him. Ghosts of his own patients.
Mrs. Bernardino did not believe that the good God would put ghosts in the world, so she would never have imagined or believed that one of them had indeed caught up to the good doctor.
She would never know that, in an attempt to escape his haunts, Voltolini had climbed the tower, and once he was up there the last thing he had seen was Damiano's sweet face, corrupted by tragedy, before he pushed him to his death and vanished into the shadows.
THE END.
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ENDING 2/4:
"What Comes to Poveglia, Dies in Poveglia."
[[BACK TO START->Menu (versão em inglês)]]The boy decided. Fillippa had been caring and sweet to him the entire time, and he refused to believe she was faking it. He was going to take his chances; he was going to speak to her.
Putting the towels back in the nightstand, Damiano took a deep breath and prepared for his act. Laying back on the bed, he pulled the covers over himself and brought some air into his lungs. He began moaning at first, raising his voice more and more, until the point he was screaming as if he was feeling a piercing pain.
One of the guards looked into the room through the door’s small glass and saw Damiano on his bed, with his mouth wide open, a grimace of agony and both hands on his stomach. There was a small commotion in the hallway, as the boy had predicted, and in a few minutes Fillippa appeared, opening and closing the door with a bang, running to the patient, deeply disturbed. He promptly lowered the tone of his crying.
- Damiano, my little angel! – she said, anxious, stroking his head. – What is it? What are you feeling?
He looked at the nurse as he slowly broke his own disguise. She was no longer wearing a uniform, but rather a simple, long dress. She was clearly ready to leave the island.
- You need to help me, miss - he said quietly. The plea in his voice was as genuine as it could be.
- Tell me what the problem is, and I'll help you - she replied with a faint smile, also in a low, nurturing tone.
- Dr. Voltolini thinks I'm sick, - Damiano continued talking at a fast pace, - he said he'll treat me tomorrow, but I'm not sick! I know I'm not, and you know it too.
Her smile disappeared and she widened her eyes, knitting her brows together:
- Damiano, I don’t...
She tried to back away, but the boy grabbed her by the wrists with an unusual strength for a child.
- I told you what happened to me - he said, still whispering and squeezing the nurse's wrists, looking into her eyes. - I told you that I swam here and that I reached the steps, the steps where //you told me// you had found me! You know I'm not crazy, you know the accident was real. //I// know it was real. I can’t let him hurt me, miss. You're my friend, please help me! You know what he's going to do to me and you know I don’t need it! I just need to get to a boat, I can sail it away. - He was on the verge of crying, and the tone of his voice was dangerously loud.
- Shhhh, darling! - She hurried to cover his mouth, but still gently. Damiano's large, dark green eyes stared at her expectantly.
Fillippa hesitated for a long moment. Yes, she knew he was not sick, but she was just a nurse. She did what Voltolini ordered, just like everyone else. If she did not, it was not just the dismissal she feared. She feared Paolo Voltolini, for she did not know the limit of his unscrupulousness. She had been working there for five years, and was well aware of the rumors circulating about the doctor, about that sick island and what happened on it in the dead of night. The young lady quickly realized that Voltolini had never intended to let Damiano leave. She realized that for the doctor, the boy was nothing more than an attractive subject for his experiments, abundant in cruelty and scarce in efficiency.
If she had left that night, as she had planned, if Paolo had gotten what he wanted, who knows, in time, she would stop feeling bad. Maybe she would forget the boy. But after such desperate request… from a child... She simply was not cold-blooded enough to turn away from him. Damiano was just a boy and had a worried mother waiting for him. It did not matter what would happen to her anymore; Fillippa was going to help him.
- All right - she said, at last, taking her hand from his mouth. She sighed heavily and thought about that for a few seconds. - I can’t simply walk out there with you, but I can create a distraction for you to leave the building.
- I know the way to the door – he said, agitated and happy.
- No, no. It’s too risky trying to get to the lobby. Are you good at climbing, dear? Are your hands strong?
- Yes! - He looked even more confident. - I always climb this tree close to my house to watch the carnival!
- Good, good, darling. You know where the bathrooms are on this floor, don’t you?
He nodded.
- Right – she proceeded. – There’s a window in the men's bathroom. It's small, but I don’t think you'll have a problem going through it. Outside, there's a pipe running down from the gutter. Use it to get down very carefully. You'll be close to the //Ottagono//, do you remember it?
Damiano confirmed once again. She spoke:
- From there, you know how to get to the large dock, right? Wait for me close to it, but stay out of sight! Take this. - The nurse handed her pocket watch to Damiano. - If I don’t show up until eight o'clock, you must go without me. Steal a boat if you have to, but get off this island. Understood?
- Understood. – The boy was shaking. His relief was immense.
- When I go, I'll leave your door unlocked. Leave only after I’ve created the distraction.
- And what’s going to be the distraction?
- I... I don't know yet. But you're smart, I know you'll know when it's time.
Even uncertain, Damiano agreed. Fillippa held the child's trembling hands and kissed them tenderly:
- I know you're scared, but remember your mother. She's waiting for you.
He nodded and she kissed his forehead lingeringly, walking to the door. Damiano watched her, feeling his own heart pounding in his ears, thinking suddenly that she could betray him and lock the door. However, after all those nights, he already knew the sound of the key that sealed him there, and with the help of the door’s glass he was able to make sure that Fillippa left without locking it. Now all he had to do was keep an eye out for his friend's signal.
Damiano sat on the bed, nervous, pressing the silver watch between his sweaty fingers and alternating his gaze between the window and the door. He did not know where the signal would come from, but he felt ready. He would not disappoint Fillippa nor his mother. For a moment he stopped and thought about the nurse. What if they found out that she had helped him? What if they did something to her? His little heart was filled with concern, but soon it regained focus. //If I do everything right, as she told me, no one will find out and we're going to get far away from here//.
He barely finished that thought, when a subtle noise echoed through the corridors and all the lights went out. Damiano jumped to his feet, immersed in the darkness that was not yet complete because of the moonlight coming through the window. Damiano took off the sandals he had received at the hospital and went quickly to put his ear on the door. He heard the guards' agitation; they were wondering what was happening, but did not leave their posts immediately. A few minutes later he could hear a distant commotion, which probably came from the lower floor. Someone was screaming something incomprehensible, but it did not seem to be a guard. The commotion grew, until the guards were forced to go and see what was happening, leaving that corridor empty.
The men’s heavy footsteps were fading in the direction of the stairs, when Damiano finally dared to open the door, turning his head to one side and then to the other. Nobody. He smiled and thanked Fillippa in silence, closing the room’s door, to not attract suspicions, and running to the men's bathroom, where he quickly located the little window. It was, however, too high on the wall for Damiano to reach it properly. Fortunately, as he climbed the last of several sinks lined up there, which was at a short distance from the window wall, the boy had the necessary support to open the latch and push the translucent pane.
Holding the window sill, he forced his own body out, feeling the chill night’s wind and the sea air hitting him hard. He could see Lido from there, long and speckled with lights. On the island itself, he saw the dock the nurse had told him about, and some boats floating beside the most accessible margins. As he looked at the outside of the wall to the left, he saw the pipe Fillippa had mentioned. With one hand, Damiano grabbed it and shook it, testing it’s resistance. The metal creaked and moved in a way that did not please the boy. That pipe did not seem to be safe.
He then looked down from that dizzying height, and his gaze lingered on the black waters that surrounded Poveglia. At that spot, the front of the asylum was quite close to the border. With the right push, he would fall straight into the water with no problem. After all, he was a good swimmer, like every fisherman's child. However, with the wrong push, he would either fall straight on the cold pavement, or either on one of the boats. If he did not die, the outcome would be just as scary. Besides, he could not tell what was the water’s depth on that area; if the water was not deep enough, death was certain. It was undoubtedly a riskier decision than the pipe. But on the other hand, if the pipe was not really stable and were to break with the boy's weight, it would be an equally serious, or even more serious fall.
Fear and uncertainty washed over him again, but he was not turning back. Fillippa was risking herself for him, and he would repay with cowardice? It was not an option. He had to move on, for his mother and for her.
[[(Try to jump in the water.)]]
[[(Try to use the pipe to get down.)]]After pondering his situation (within the limitations of a child's mind), the boy realized that he did not trust Fillippa enough, after all. None of the adults in that place seemed trustworthy. He had seen the state in which they left the poor patients. The nurses might not be directly responsible, but they were conniving. The best thing to do, he concluded, was to keep his plan to himself until the moment of executing it.
And that was what Damiano did, though the necessary waiting was no less than distressing. Despite that, he was able to use that time to think better on his escape route and make the necessary preparations.
First, he needed another place to hide the towels, leaving the compartment on the bedside table vacant. They could not stay visible, or they would suspect he was hiding in there. He placed one under his pillow, one in the nightstand’s drawer and the last two under the mattress, making sure, at last, that the hiding places were not too apparent.
But once he got out of the room, what would he do then? The front door would certainly be a huge risk. Maybe there was a convenient window in one of the bathrooms, or in the pantry. He had seen that room several times; he would need to go down to the ground floor, but it was located very close to the stairs. Maybe he could reach it. Yes, they were possible options. He would have to take that risk, anyway.
<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535008488879816714/intersecao1.png" width="750" height="259" alt="Poveglia">
Years seemed to have passed, when Damiano finally heard 11 p.m.’s chime. He was sitting on the bed, as he went over his plan again inside his head. He would still wait a few minutes to start yelling, pretending to be in a very bad pain, and hope that a nurse would come in. However, he glanced at the bedroom window and noticed something he had not noticed before: there was a crack in the glass that ran vertically through it’s entire length. Suddenly, the window seemed rather fragile to him... and he had an even better idea than the original.
The boy turned his head to look at the chair to the left of the bed again, and he had no more questions about what he should do.
Standing up, repeating what he had done the night before (but with completely different intentions), Damiano carried the chair, set it in front of the door, and climbed up on the seat, to get a good view of the hallway. As he had predicted, there was only one guard down the corridor. During the day, two men stood guard in each wing of the building. Satisfied, the boy got down, carried the chair back and put it on his bed, then got onto it himself.
Damiano steadied easily on the soft surface and took a deep breath before raising the chair into the air. Gathering all the strength he had, he struck the window with the chair. The glass cracked even more, with a high-pitched noise. The lone crack had been transformed into countless smaller cracks, which looked like branches of a bare tree to Damiano.
He looked at the door over his shoulder and saw no reaction from the guard. Turning back to the window, he struck it again, trying to use even more force, and the glass complained again. In the center of the impact was a white, fragile, circular area. When the boy looked at the door once more, his eyes met the guard's, who stared at him for a second with a frightened countenance and then ran toward the staircase. Yes, he was unable to open the door; he would have to find whoever had the key. Damiano smiled involuntarily and hit the window one final time.
The extra dose of adrenaline and fear did it’s job, and the window shattered with a clatter. The chair slipped from his hands and fell freely from up there. Damiano instinctively retreated so he would not go along with it, and would not touch the shards of glass still clinging to the window sill. He jumped out of bed, hurriedly, opened the larger compartment of the nightstand and crawled inside, curling himself and closing the door.
His heart was beating in his throat, and his breath sounded louder than his thoughts as he waited in that dark cubicle. However, that wait was not long at all. Even in there, he could hear the desperate steps of a couple of guards and a nurse running down the hall, the door being unlocked and opened with a thud, and then the footsteps spreading through the room.
- Oh, my God! – the nurse said. Damiano realized that he was right in front of the bedside table. – He can’t have jumped!
- There’s nothing under the bed - another voice spoke.
Damiano then heard the bed creak under someone's weight, and glass shards moving as well.
- I can’t see anything down there – a third voice sounded. – But he must have jumped.
- How did he do it?! – the nurse asked.
- With a fucking chair! – the third voice spoke again.
The footsteps then left the room in the same hurry with which they had entered. The nurse spoke something inaudible from a distance, and then there was silence once more.
Damiano opened the door slowly and checked the room. Empty. He rushed then to crawl out of the compartment, remembering to close the door behind him. His joints ached, but he paid no attention to them. On his feet again, he tiptoed into the corridor, which was also empty. Some of the patients on that floor had awakened with all the movement around, and peered curiously from the small windows of the doors.
There was a moment of hesitation in the child's mind. Damiano was so surprised by his success that he forgot for a brief moment what the next step was. He remembered the bathroom and started walking towards it, when something caught him by surprise. It was footsteps coming up the stairs in a hurry. He found himself right in the middle of the hallway, exposed and stunned. In a fraction of a second, he realized that his options, at that moment, were painfully limited.
[[(Run back to the room.)]]
[[(Run to the bathroom.)]]Damiano took a deep breath, put the chain of the pocket watch around his neck, dried his sweaty hands and decided he would try to jump. Fillippa might not be aware of the current state of the pipe when she suggested it to the boy.
He calculated the distance the best way he could and prepared for the leap. He was scared to death, but he was even more afraid to stay in that hospital and go through Dr. Voltolini's "treatment". And that thought made him hurry to put his feet on the sill, so before he could hesitate again, Damiano jumped, in free fall, having little time to get in the right position to dive without getting hurt.
And he dived, like an indian arrow shot to catch a fleeting fish. Surrounded by underwater pitch blackness, Damiano moved toward the surface and could barely believe he was alive. He promptly swam up and put his head out of the water, only then remembering to be careful with anyone who could see him.
- My God! Someone jumped! – a distant voice said.
Damiano, alert again, did not even see whose voice it was, and did not waste time looking for it’s source. He plunged again, swimming toward the west border of the island, until the buildings and vegetation completely concealed him from the south border.
As he emerged again, he noticed that the hospital lights were starting to come back to life. Raised voices could be heard, and one of them shouted that no one was allowed to leave the building. //They know I’ve escaped!// Or at least they knew that //someone// had escaped. He managed to climb up on the margin’s pavement with some effort and realized that his ruse had been discovered too soon, so waiting for Fillippa would not be a good idea, even if it hurt him.
Again, he was soaked wet, miserable, and had to leave someone behind.
Looking around, he saw a small motor boat with a cabin, floating peacefully there, close to the border. Damiano approached it and realized that it was a supply boat, somewhat like his father's. And it was unoccupied.
There was no need to think twice. He jumped on board and started the boat, before one of the sullen guards appeared to get him. He would only remember that he had left some poor man in Poveglia without his boat after he was already far away. The modest vessel picked up speed and sailed towards Venice, and Damiano hoped that Fillippa would show up soon to get her watch back, so that they could walk around the city, and his friend could taste the delicious cake that his mother used to bake.
[[EPILOGUE1<-EPILOGUE.]]Damiano took a deep breath, put the chain of the pocket watch around his neck, dried his sweaty hands and decided he was going to try to get down through the pipe, as Fillippa had told him. He trusted that if she had said so, she knew it was safe.
The small but strong hands enveloped the cold, ugly metal one at a time. He put one of his legs out of the window, propping it against the wall the best way he could. //Please, God. Please, God, help me//, he kept repeating inside his head, as he was gathering all of his courage to bring his other leg outside, and be forced to rely entirely on his hands to hold his weight for a few dark seconds.
Luckily, the boy's skill did not let him down, and he was able to support both feet on the wall and hold on to the pipe. The latter, however, creaked in a threatening manner, causing Damiano to close his eyes and just wait for the worst to happen, for a moment. But the pipe did not break and he opened his eyes again, deeply relieved. //Thank you, Fillippa//, he thought suddenly.
Damiano then began to descend cautiously, unmindful of the abrasions on the soles of his feet caused by the rough wall. He heard again the commotion inside the building as he approached the ground, looking around him from time to time to see if anyone could spot him. However, whatever was happening inside the hospital seemed to be drawing all the attention. He was beginning to wonder what the hell Fillippa had done.
The boy was less than two feet away from the ground, when he released the pipe and finally landed on the soft, well-tended grass. Although it threatened to fall several times, the pipe let him descend safely, after all. Not everything on that island was against him.
Damiano walked fast eastward, toward the dock where he and the nurse were supposed to meet close to. No one seemed to be around, but he did not let his guard down. The lights inside the asylum were on again, and the mysterious turmoil seemed to be over when he passed in front of the main building area, which had three floors and housed the front desk.
Then he saw, near the dock, beside a rather large boat compared to the others there, an old man, smoking absently, who luckily had his back to the boy. Damiano immediatly ran towards the trees and used the penumbra created by them to approach the spot of rendezvous. He sat among the prominent roots of one of the trees and waited, taking his eyes off the dock just to check the time on the watch.
The escape seemed already successful to him, and his heart was already beating with contentment, but he soon felt nervous again as he waited for his friend. The idea that he might never see her again seemed more frightening than before. At 7:20 p.m. Damiano thought he would throw up with so much anxiety in his chest, and that was when his waiting was rewarded. Fillippa appeared, striding with her little bag hanging from her arm.
The nurse stopped near the edge of the pier, looking around and then seeing the boy running toward her, who she hugged when he reached her.
- Let’s go - she said quietly, not letting the hug last for too long, - everything is fine for now, but we have to get out of here before we raise suspicions.
The boy held her hand tightly, and they walked a few yards to the man Damiano had seen before, from afar. He recognized Fillippa and threw what was left of his cigarette into the water.
- Miss Montanari, what was happening in there? – the man inquired, looking concerned.
- Someone left a hysteric patient leave his room, from what I understood - Fillippa replied, hiding her lie very well. - The guards had trouble to contain him.
- My goodness. - He shuddered, fiddling with his worn hat.
- Because of that mess I lost my boat. Could you give us a ride to Venice, Mr. Basile? I was assigned to take this young lad home, after he was discharged today.
The man shrugged:
- I don’t think they're going to need me around here, at the moment. All aboard. - He smiled kindly.
And so Damiano and Fillippa soon found themselves floating on the waters of the Lagoon, taking a comforting distance from the ominous silhouette of Poveglia.
- Do you also live in Venice, miss? – the boy asked.
- No, but my brother does – the nurse answered. - He's going to let me stay there for tonight, don’t worry. We’ll get you home, my dear.
Damiano stayed layed on the young lady's lap the whole way, feeling cold on the outside, but with a warm heart. The nightmare had finally come to an end.
[[EPILOGUE4<-EPILOGUE.]]Having little time to decide and hearing the steps getting closer and closer at every second, he opted for the seemingly safer choice and returned to the room from which he was completely free for the first time. With no time to curl inside the nightstand again, he slid under the bed, turning to look at the door and quickly regretting the choice he had made. He still did not feel completely safe there, even if he was out of sight.
According to the sound of boots, another guard was approaching. Damiano could not have known, of course, but that was the head of security. He was already aware of the boy's alleged escape and went to see for himself. The man entered the room, but stopped when he was still in the doorway, remaining silent.
A voice came from the hall, saying something Damiano could not understand, and then the guard answered at it:
- Go find him! Of course he jumped! It won’t be difficult to find him if he’s sprawled on the ground.
And so he marched away.
Damiano waited until the place was in total silence again. His sweaty hands left wet marks on the floor as he crawled out and stood up.
However, he was barely standing when large, violent hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him back. His head got very close to hit the nightstand. The head of security stared at Damiano with a maddened expression.
The boy had screamed and that seemed to have made him even more angry. He slammed the door unceremoniously and marched over to the small figure who was trying to get up awkwardly.
- You won’t fool //me//, you little shit! - He grabbed the kid by the clothes and lifted him into the air effortlessly. Damiano's face was distorted by panic. - Everyone thinks you jumped, don’t they? So now you WILL JUMP!
Damiano was crying just as hard as he was trying to disengage himself from the man, but none of it worked. The head of security did not even need to get on the bed. He tossed the thin body of the boy, who was screaming at the top of his lungs, out of the window and watched him disappear in less than a second.
And then he ceased screaming.
When guards and nurses arrived in the area under the patient's window, beneath the shadows of the gloomy trees, they found Damiano's lifeless body, eyes still wide open with dread. His blood began to pool around him, penetrating the dark soil of Poveglia, who was rich in blood and suffering.
For a long time, patients and employees would still tremble at that scream, which sooner or later would always echo again in that place.
[[EPILOGUE.->EPILOGUE3]]Realizing that he was already halfway there and deciding there was no point in going back, Damiano ran to hide in the first bathroom he was able to reach.
In there, he ran to the last cabin and entered, closing the door and squatting on the toilet. The boy was panting and did not feel particularly safe there, but there was no other way. Whoever had gone upstairs would probably look for him there, but Damiano prayed they would not.
There was silence for a few seconds. Then there were some raised voices, but they did not speak loud enough for him to understand what was being said. He thought someone would come in at any moment, but then the footsteps started to fade into the distance, and he had the impression that they had gone down the stairs again. The boy allowed himself to feel relieved, but still waited for a few more seconds, just for safety.
Then Damiano got down from the toilet, taking care not to make a sound, and kneeled to look under the cabin door. Nobody. He was all alone in there.
Hoping the door would not creak and betray him, he opened it. His hands were shaking, but he ignored them. The bathroom light was off, so the only light there was the weak moonlight, which entered through a small window. A window with a latch, and large enough to allow him to go through it.
Feeling hope rekindling inside him, Damiano knew that was his exit. It was, however, too high on the wall for Damiano to reach it properly. Fortunately, as he climbed the last of several sinks lined up there, which was at a short distance from the window wall, the boy had the necessary support to open the latch and push the translucent pane.
Holding the window sill, he forced his own body out, feeling the chill night’s wind and the sea air hitting him hard. He could see Lido from there, long and speckled with lights. On the island itself, he also saw a large dock, and some boats floating beside the most accessible margins. As he looked at the outside of the wall to the left, he saw an old pipe that could be his way down. With one hand, Damiano grabbed it and shook it, testing it’s resistance. The metal creaked and moved in a way that did not please the boy. That did not seem to be a very safe option.
He then looked down from that dizzying height, and his gaze lingered on the black waters that surrounded Poveglia. At that spot, the front of the asylum was quite close to the border. With the right push, he would fall straight into the water with no problem. After all, he was a good swimmer, like every fisherman's child. However, with the wrong push, he would either fall straight on the cold pavement, or either on one of the boats. If he did not die, the outcome would be just as scary. Besides, he could not tell what was the water’s depth on that area; if the water was not deep enough, death was certain. It was undoubtedly a riskier decision than the pipe. But on the other hand, if the pipe was not really stable and were to break with the boy's weight, it would be an equally serious, or even more serious fall.
Fear and uncertainty washed over him again, but he was not turning back. His mother was waiting for him. And just by imagining that she could possibly never hear from him or his father again, fear seemed something stupid to feel at that moment.
Damiano took a deep breath, dried his sweaty hands and decided he would try to jump. There was no time for a slower and safer descent. He was able to hear the many people who were now scattered through the island looking for him.
He calculated the distance the best way he could and prepared for the leap. He was scared to death, but he was even more afraid to stay in that hospital and go through Dr. Voltolini's "treatment". Especially if they told the doctor that he had tried to escape. And that thought made him hurry to put his feet on the sill, so before he could hesitate again, Damiano jumped, in free fall, having little time to get in the right position to dive without getting hurt.
And he dived, like an indian arrow shot to catch a fleeting fish. Surrounded by underwater pitch blackness, Damiano moved toward the surface and could barely believe he was alive. He promptly swam up and put his head out of the water, only then remembering to be careful with anyone who could see him.
- My God! Someone jumped! – a distant voice said.
Damiano, alert again, did not even see whose voice it was, and did not waste time looking for it’s source. He plunged again, swimming toward the west border of the island, until the buildings and vegetation completely concealed him from the south border. He managed to climb up on the margin’s pavement with some effort and looked around, shivering with cold, and feeling his whole body ache because of the fall.
Again, he was soaked wet and miserable, but there was no time to feel sorry for himself.
He quickly saw a small motor boat with a cabin, floating peacefully there, close to the border. Damiano approached it and realized that it was a supply boat, somewhat like his father's. And it was unoccupied.
There was no need to think twice. He jumped on board and started the boat, before one of the sullen guards appeared to get him. He would only remember that he had left some poor man in Poveglia without his boat after he was already far away. The modest vessel picked up speed and sailed towards Venice, and Damiano hoped that the ominous shadows of that place could not follow him across the Lagoon.
[[EPILOGUE.->EPILOGUE2]]<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535039217852612618/artefinalbom.png" width="429" height="240" alt="Poveglia">
Shortly after, Damiano found himself in his mother’s arms, who was crying copiously, kneeling before him. Her tears, however, were also mourning for her husband, and she did not let her son leave her sight for even a minute that night.
Through the following days, Fillippa did not show up and the boy could not shake the worry he was feeling for her. Not knowing what had happened to his friend made him cry for many nights, and made him spend hours with his eyes on the horizon, looking for any sign of her.
In their conversations, he had learned that the nurse lived in Lido, but her brother lived in Venice. Some time later, with his mother's help, Damiano started to look for him, trying to get some news from Fillippa, and finally found him.
The boy, however, was not prepared for the news that Fabrizio Montanari gave him. Fillippa had died a few weeks before, in Poveglia. Her family received a letter telling them that she had fallen in the waters around the island and drowned. The day after Damiano escaped.
But the boy did not believe in that at all. In the midst of his anger and tears, he knew very well what had //really// happened. He knew that Paolo Voltolini had discovered that Fillippa had helped him and had killed her in some horrible way. Maybe she had indeed drowned, but not by accident. The mark of guilt had been engraved on Damiano's chest ever since, and it hurt terribly every day. A mark that faded only after long and bitter years.
And he was right about what had happened to her, even though he had never been completely sure of it. That night, the nurses' shift change allowed Fillippa to get hold of the key to a room of another nurse’s patient. After she managed to turn off the power of the entire building, the young lady took advantage of the distraction that caused on the ground floor guards (two of them went to check the cause of the power outage) and released a patient who was too agitated by the heavy and sudden darkness. In the midst of the tumult, she joined the other nurses who helped contain the patient, but as soon as they did it, one of the boatmen, Mr. Basile, started yelling that someone had jumped out of one of the bedrooms into the water. The head of security promptly ordered the exits to be closed and did not allow anyone to leave, while some of his subordinates roamed the entire hospital to see which patient was missing.
When they discovered that Damiano had disappeared, Fillippa could not escape. She was the nurse responsible for him, and the key to his room was found in her possession. She was taken to Dr. Voltolini and he did not get even close to being moved by her tears. The nurse was a victim of that man’s anger, who used a scalpel as an instrument of his cruelty until, at last, he grew tired and injected poison into her veins.
Every night, Damiano prayed that his friend's spirit had found some peace, with her watch in his hands until, in the summer of 1936, he saw something in the newspaper that pleased him greatly.
Dr. Paolo Voltolini had fallen from the top of the bell tower, during the night, and passed away. An employee gave his testimony, claiming that the doctor seemed more paranoid and restless every day. Apparently, he believed ghosts were chasing him. Ghosts of his own patients.
Damiano did not doubt it. If ghosts existed, that man was certainly responsible for many of them, and they would eventually catch up to the good doctor. What the boy never knew, however, was //which// of them had done that.
He would never know that, in an attempt to escape his haunts, Voltolini had climbed the tower, and once he was up there the last thing he had seen was Fillippa's sweet face, corrupted by pain, before she pushed him to his death and vanished into the shadows.
THE END.
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ENDING 3/4:
"Memento from a Friend."
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<img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/411375846205685762/535039217852612618/artefinalbom.png" width="429" height="240" alt="Poveglia">
Shortly after, Damiano found himself in his mother’s arms, who was crying copiously, kneeling before him. She repeated a thousand thanks to Fillippa, who sat with them both in Mrs. Bernardino's living room, while her son told her what had happened. She wept as she hugged him again, but now because of her husband.
Damiano wanted to know then what was the part of Fillippa in the escape, and she told him proudly. The nurses' shift change allowed Fillippa to get hold of the key to a room of another nurse’s patient. After she managed to turn off the power of the entire building, the young lady took advantage of the distraction that caused on the ground floor guards (two of them went to check the cause of the power outage) and released a patient who was too agitated by the heavy and sudden darkness. In the midst of the tumult, she joined the other nurses who helped contain the patient and left when the commotion ended, without attracting any suspicion.
Before leaving, the nurse told Damiano he could keep the pocket watch as a gift. She spent the night at her brother's house and, by the morning, returned to her small house in Lido. Shortly thereafter, she moved to Venice and became quite present in Damiano's development.
None of them ever returned to Poveglia, but in the summer of 1936, when she opened the newspaper, one news article in particular caught Fillippa's eye, and she shared it with Damiano as soon as she could.
Dr. Paolo Voltolini had fallen from the top of the bell tower, during the night, and passed away. An employee gave his testimony, claiming that the doctor seemed more paranoid and restless every day. Apparently, he believed ghosts were chasing him. Ghosts of his own patients.
Fillippa did not doubt it. She knew that, one day, Dr. Voltolini's "science" would have a price (and she prayed for it). The spirits of Poveglia were not strangers to those who lived or worked there, and it was no wonder that they eventually caught up to the good doctor.
THE END.
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ENDING 4/4:
"Less Two Souls for Poveglia."
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