The Untrue Love

It was a dark and stormy night. Raindrops hammered the rocky, earthen path in Venice as Ann Marie Venuto splashed across, sending torrents of viscous mud flying into the sky. She fled for the shelter of the Villa Venuto, her elite villa where she lived with Vincente Venuto, a solemn, sallow man who carried his father's sword wherever he went. Ann Marie had an arranged marriage with Vincente, and she enjoyed the wealth that her husband gave her. Of course, she was oblivious to the fact that her husband, in all his dark, menacing glory, was unhappy with the marriage.

Ann Marie slammed the door behind her and took a moment to remove her long jacket. Her raven black hair shone in the candlelight as she shook off the remaining drops of water from it, leaving her hair spotless. Her eyes, green as African emeralds, contrasted with her fair complexion like two pinpricks of ghostly lights. She was very comely, and she held herself the way a queen might.

"I'm home," she announced loudly, "Vincente, are you there? Vincente?"

The only sign that Vincente was in the house was his dog, which was absolutely faithful to him. He was never friendly to her, and whenever she came near, he proceeded to snarl a deep, protective snarl that came from the depths of his throat.

Lady Ann Marie heaved a great sigh, and glided along the gilded floors of the Villa. The floors and walls of this particular entrance were lined with gold, counteracting the effect of the shadows, which seemed to grope out and grab for her, stopped only by the vast fire that kept them at bay. With a heave, she threw herself into a large armchair and proceeded to pour herself a glass of champagne. She was a heavy drinker, and sometimes the neighbors would find her intoxicated, lying on the floor and mumbling to herself. She drank the bubbling concoction down in one gulp, licking her full red lips to get any residue. Sighing to herself, she pondered what her husband was doing now. He had been becoming more and more reclusive, spending more time behind the locked door that he called his workplace as the days went on. Pouring herself more fizzing champagne, she became exhausted, and promptly went asleep. The only sign that someone was in the house was the human shape in the light of the fire, standing beside the chair where Ann Marie slept. A floorboard creaked, and Ann Marie woke with a startled yelp. It was then she began to realize there was something wrong.

She cautiously rose from the seat, and began to tread around the house. All of a sudden, there was a hideous noise -- a scream. It was bloodcurdling, echoing off the walls, chilling the flesh to the bone as it passed. Ann Marie flocked toward the noise-, her form a blur in the dimly lit corridors of Villa Venuto. What she saw there was gruesome, and she looked away from the scene with a mixture of revulsion and pity. Her maid lay there, with one hole in her chest where the murderer had done his horrific work.

The Lady was terrified at this, and once again took off in perilous flight, the shadows closing in on her more, as if the whole house had turned against her in revenge. Slippers sliding around the halls, she came to her bedroom doorway, and, breathless, she ripped open the door and slammed it shut behind her. It was a comfort to her, however small, to be in her own quarters. She thought, in some delirious manner, that her belongings would protect her. She sighed, regaining her composure, as she examined the surroundings. Her belongings were mostly a deep pink, with her bedspread a dark red. She paced up and down, scattering belongings on the floors, but pausing to take in the view from her window. The wind howled outside, and the trees looked lifeless as rain hammered the glass. She told herself that she was safe, and, to be certain, she locked her door with a padlock.

She felt safer, but still a sense of dread washed over her. Slowly, she turned around to the direction of her nagging suspicion. All she saw was the tall, shadowed figure that raised the bludgeon, and, at that instant, she knew who her enemy was.

Ann Marie awoke in a pitch black, dank area. She was not instantly aware that she was on the ground, for she could not see even mere inches away from her face. For a long time, she cried into the damp ground, releasing all her frustration and hate into the ground, which seemed to strengthen the darkness, sucking in every tear she shed. She kicked at empty air to try to fight it, but to no avail. Her futile blows did nothing to the darkness, and what could it do, against Darkness, Lord of the Night?

A candle light flickered into existence, illuminating her assailant's sallow profile, and she screamed in rage. It was Vincente, and by her side was a young Lady, no older than her mid- twenties.

"What have I ever done to you," Ann cried in wrathful fury, "you beast, what have I ever done to you?"

Vincente paced around the perimeter of the light cast by the candle, gaunt expression never changing as he calmly listened to her rage. He fingered the exquisite jewels on the hilt of his sword, which glinted from the faint illumination.

"Well," she cried, tears, running down her face, "have I ever done anything to slight you? To wrong you? ANSWER ME!"

Vincente's face contorted into the face of a man who had gone mad.

"Tell me, Ann Marie, my untrue love, do you think that there is an afterlife?" He smiled maniacally, "I have pondered that question for years, and, I thought, instead of finding out myself, I could have someone else die for me, and, if they came back to haunt me, I would know that they were in the afterlife. Do you see my brilliant plan?"

He sighed, and the candlelight flickered illuminated his face, and the silence seemed to stretch for hours. He fingered the sword scabbard greedily, as if he knew some great evil lay in the sword, but he was afraid to touch it.

"And now," he said "I will go with my new wife, the new mistress of Villa Venuto. Goodbye, my sweet untrue love."

Ann Marie watched as he slowly removed the sword from its place, covered with the blood of her maid, she realized, with a bout of rage, she would never leave her dear husband alone. The shadows seemed to embrace her in this realization, and then bare flesh met cold steel in a fatal embrace.