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Rome, a place of mystery and culture, and dare say, romance. For Caprice, Rome meant pure, untethered freedom; a place where she could escape from it all. She had to fight her mother tooth and nail to even get out of her small town, let alone leave the country. In the end, there had been nothing to stop her from walking out the front door, getting on a plane, and folding herself into a cramped seat in coach. She had actually had to literally fold herself into a seat in the middle of the aisle between a giant man who liked nachos way too much, and a small Japanese man who elbowed her every time she accidently touched his arm rest.

             But as bad as the food was, and as expensive as the peanuts were, once she stepped off the airplane, she knew it had all been worth it.

            Caprice breathed in deeply. “Ciao, Roma,” she whispered. This trip had seemed impossible; she and her mom were fighting to pay the bills, for the house, for school. She would’ve had to spend years flipping burgers in order to afford going to Italy. But for her grandfather’s last gift, she wouldn’t have been able to come at all.

            Before his death two years before, he had told her about a small home on the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea; right where Rome just happened to be. This house had been in his family for a long, long time, and now he was leaving it to Caprice, his only grandchild and his favorite. “Mia cara,” he often said. “Roma, it is so beautiful. One day you must see it.”

 Seeing as her dad had died a long time ago, her Nonno (Italian for “grandfather”), had been her stand-in. She had loved him dearly, and when he died, it tore a hole in her chest.

            “Rosabella,” Nonno had whispered his daughter’s name over and over in his final weeks, almost talking to himself, as though she wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t realize that she was. The disease had eaten most of his mind by that time. “My beautiful rose.”

            Her mom had been a beautiful woman, but now she had a sorrowful air about her. Caprice knew it must have killed her to watch her leave for another country, and she felt almost guilty. But she needed this; time away from everything. And she had promised Nonno that she would visit Rome one day, and would see the city he had loved so much. Now was a good time to fulfill that promise, since she was taking a break before starting college.

            Caprice had brought only one bag of clothes, depending on the assumption that this house would contain a washing machine and a dryer, or at least a sink. She grabbed her bags from the baggage claim easy enough; what was difficult was finding a taxi to take her to the house on the Tyrrhenian.

            “No, Tyrrhenian.” Caprice yelled at a skinny, balding man with a miniscule taxi cab. “The sea, damn it! Tyrrhenian sea!”

            At last he caught on. “Oh, Mare Tirreno, “ he said. Caprice rolled her eyes. Of course the locals would have another name for it; but she nodded vigorously and smiled. “Sì, sì, entrare in!” 

            Caprice slid into the little car and sagged against the seat. Already she could predict that finding her way would be difficult, since apparently no one she encountered ever spoke English.

            “First time in Roma?”  He asked. Caprice’s jaw dropped, and he laughed at her. “Sì, I speak some English. I do that to all tourists!” His Italian accent was thick, making it almost has hard to understand his English as it was to understand his Italian. She glared at him, not seeing the humor in his self-admittedly common joke.

            “I’m not a tourist,” Caprice snapped, and she grew even angrier when he grinned. “I have a house here, by the Tyrrhenian.”

            “That so, huh?” he said, jerking the wheel so violently that Caprice slammed against the other side of the car. “Scusa! Traffic in Roma, it’s not so simple.”

              “No kidding.” She mumbled, rubbing her shoulder. That would probably bruise tomorrow. “Yeah, my Nonno left me his family home in his will.”

            “Nonno? That is Italian word. Your Nonno, he was Italiano?”  The driver asked, not even fazed by the honking cars. They had the right of way, but it seemed to Caprice that cab drivers in Italy just didn’t give a damn who had the right of way; if they wanted to go, they were going.

            “Yeah; Italiano.” Caprice answered, closing her eyes as he took a corner on two wheels. “His childhood was spent in the house by Tyrrhenian.”

            “Beautiful place, Roma,” he said, twisting to look at her even has he gave it more gas. Another car in front of them laid on the horn and swerved out of the way.

            “Watch the road, ingannare!”  Caprice yelled, pressing closer to the seat, praying to God that they wouldn’t get smashed by the other cars.

            “Ah, you speak some Italiano?” he cried, delighted, even though she had just called him a fool.

            “Just the insults,” Caprice tried to joke. The driver laughed, throwing his head back, like he had not heard something as funny as that in a long time. And of course his eyes were closed, so he didn’t see that three more cars were crisscrossing in front of him. “S**t!”

            “You are like me,” he said, either not noticing or not caring that he almost got them killed. “I know the insults best.”

            Caprice laughed a little, and went back to praying.

            A cheap, generic ring tone sounded, and Caprice began to dig around in her purse; at last she pulled out her mom’s parting gift: A satellite phone.

            “Hello?” she said, bracing herself with her legs pressed against the driver’s seat so she could hold the phone to her ear.

            “Hey.” The voice was masculine, and Caprice smiled.

            “Hi, Colin,” she said. Colin was her best friend, the one she told everything to. And the one who had helped her make up her mind to go to Italy. “How’s it going?”

            “You sound tense. Was the flight bad?”

            “Oh, no, I loved being trapped between Andre the Giant Slob and the space-hogging samurai. And paying five dollars for peanuts. I thought those things were free?” she babbled, trying to distract herself from the taxi driver’s bad road work.

            “What are you doing?” Colin asked. “You sound worried.”

            “I’m in the back of an insane man’s taxi.” Caprice said, making sure she said insane man loud enough for the driver to hear; which he did, but he only cackled and gave it more gas. “Did you know they have no fear of car wrecks in Italy?”

            “No, I had no clue.” Colin didn’t sound worried about her at all, only amused. “So how’s Rome?”

            “From what I can see through my tightly clenched eyes, it’s amazing. Everything Nonno said it was.” The city was beautiful in an old, narrow way. The streets were tiny (thus the horrible traffic and consequent bad driving; everyone was trying to get through the same narrow pass), and the buildings were tall. Statues stood in what seemed to her random locations, and she thought she saw several fountains as they whizzed by. And everywhere she looked, there were people with cameras, gawking in the universal “I’m a tourist” manner. “Wish you were here.”

            “I’m sure I’d love it there.” Colin said. He’d offered to go with her, but Caprice had ultimately decided that she needed some time to herself. “Want me to stay on the phone until you get to the house?”

            “Oh, thank you so much.”

            Both the driver and Colin laughed at her.

 

 

 

            When the driver finally got to Nonno’s house on the coast, Caprice’s muscles were aching. She’d been in the crash position for the last forty-five minutes, and had to endure both the driver’s remarks concerning her lack of fede, and Colin’s teasing, once she let it slip that she was curled up in a ball on the floorboard with her eyes closed.

            Caprice dragged herself out of the car, legs like rubber, and she had hung up on Colin without saying without saying goodbye. She turned and paid the driver, wondering in the back of her mind how difficult it would be to find a bicycle and ride that to Rome, rather than take another God forsaken taxi. 

            “Addio, mio caro!” the driver grinned, winking at her. “Buona fortuna.”   

            Caprice nodded and gave him a mock salute. “Arrivederci. Um, be careful, alright? Don’t kill yourself.”  

            The driver laughed manically one more time, and whipped his tiny little taxi around. He sped off, dust kicking up under his wheels. Caprice shook her head. “Crazy, crazy man.” She turned to face the sea and breathed deeply, taking in the fresh air, and the sight of the bright sun on the water. Small homes dotted the beach, but they were far enough apart from each other that Caprice figured no one would bother her.

            She held tight to her bags and began the trek down the path to the house Nonno had left her.

            As she got closer to the beach, and the greenery began to thin out, she saw a modest sized stone house. Well, modest sized for a family. For a lone teenage girl, it was basically huge. It faced the sea, and was far enough from the water that she would have no need to fear the tide. It was made of stone, but as she put the key in the lock and pushed open the door, she realized that it was very open and airy. Much of the sea-facing wall was window, not stone, so she could look out at the water.

            She saw that it had been recently cleaned, and remembered that Nonno and mom had asked for an old friend of the family to come once a week and clean it, even though no one lived there. Caprice would have to tell her mom to give the cleaning lady a raise; the house was spotless, perfect, as if the family had never left it to a lonely existence by the sea.

            Caprice pulled her phone back out of her bag and dialed Colin’s number. She knew she should probably call her mom first, but she let it ring. He answered on the third ring. “Have you forgiven me yet?”

            “No,” Caprice answered, dropping her bags on the floor, and moved to stand by the windows. “But damn is it gorgeous here. I’ve never seen such a peaceful place.”

            “Glad you like it.” Colin said. “I guess the taxi man didn’t kill you.”

            “No; while you were making fun of my very valid fear, he was jabbering on that I didn’t have enough faith.” She complained, even though now she was relaxed and smiling and really had forgiven him for making fun of her. She sat down on the leather couch, still looking out the window, watching the waves move. “Nonno wasn’t kidding. I see why he loved it here.”

            “I’m sure he would have loved to be there with you.” Colin said.

            “Well, I gotta go. I have to call mom and tell her I’m not dead.” Caprice said. “Arrivederci.”

            “Yeah. What you said.”  

            Smiling, she hung up the phone. Quickly Caprice punched in her mom’s number. Instead of a quick “I’m safe,” she spent two hours telling her mom everything: From trying to use the bathroom on the plane, to fighting with the Japanese man over just who really got the use of the armrest; an argument which she not only lost, but got an elbow in the ribs for. When she finally was allowed to hang up, she was too tired to even move into the bedroom, opting instead to just fall asleep on the couch, where she could hear the dull roar of the sea.

            But her sleep wasn’t peaceful. She dreamed of strange images; a dead tree with sprawling branches, white stones splashed with red, a storm on the sea, colored ribbons floating in the air. And she saw her Nonno, whispering something to her urgently; “Il tempo è breve, l’amore che si pu™, mentre è possibile, e l’amore forte, Caprice. Amore forte.”  She didn’t understand him, but he wouldn’t repeat it in English, just Italian.

            Nonno had done that often. “Italian sounds so much more beautiful,” he would say, when Caprice was begging for him to just tell her, instead of babbling on in his native tongue. “Listen to my words, mio caro, and maybe you’ll learn something.”

            Caprice woke up feeling sick to her stomach and disoriented, since it was now dark and she had left no lights on. Her stomach growled loudly as she stumbled around in the dark, trying to locate the light switch. At last she found one, and she clicked it on with a sigh of relief. The room lit up, and she turned her head to look out the windows.

            Caprice screamed; someone was standing outside! Half a second later she realized that she was looking at her reflection in the glass. She was just jumpy after such a freaky dream, not to mention jet lagged and hungry. It was no surprise she looked a mess.

            She had called ahead and told the cleaning woman to stock the fridge, and Caprice hoped she wasn’t the type of person who let things go until the very last minute. But to her relief when she opened the cupboard door there was plenty of canned food, and she found plenty of boxes of pasta. “Of course,” she mumbled, pulling out a jar of pasta sauce. “What could be more Italian than pasta?”

            Caprice finally located a pot and as she waited for the water to boil, she picked up a note that had been stuck to the fridge with a magnet. “Benvenuti in Italia! Ora che sei qui, lascio a voi la pulizia. Sai, io conoscevo tuo nonno. Godetevi il vostro soggiorno"Allegra.”  

            “Damn, does no one here know how to say things in English?” Caprice said. “And now I’m talking to myself. Great.” She poured the rotini into the pot and while that was cooking she used her laptop to piece together what the note said:

            Welcome to Italy! Now that you’re here, I’ll leave the cleaning to you. You know, I knew your grandfather. Enjoy your stay"Allegra.

            She was interested to hear that Allegra had actually known Nonno. Maybe she would talk to her later.

            Caprice tried to watch TV, only to discover that not only where the shows ridiculous, they were ridiculous in a foreign language. All of them. Not even one American film with English words, instead of being dubbed. And then she couldn’t find how to set the subtitles so she could at least read the show. Frustrated, she ate her meal in silence, now almost regretting turning down Colin’s offer to accompany her. At least then she would have had someone to talk to.

           

 

 

            She woke up to sunlight pouring through the windows on the wall. She’d been too lazy the night before to move her bags into the bedroom, or even to go find the bedroom, so she’d crashed on the couch again. Caprice dragged herself into a standing position, and two seconds later her phone rang.

            “Yeah?” She grumbled, stumbling in search of a bathroom.

            “I’m guessing you just woke up.” Colin said, sounding far too alert and bright for the early morning. “How’d you sleep?”

            “Horribly. What are you doing up so early?”

            “It’s not that early here.” Colin answered. Caprice could hear the smile in his voice. “Six hour time difference, remember?”

            “Oh, right.” Caprice yawned; eventually she located the bathroom and she turned on the shower head. “I’ll call you when I’m coherent.”

            “Al"“

            Caprice hung up on him.

            She felt much more awake after standing under a stream of first cold water, then boiling water, while trying to figure out how to work the shower. She put on jeans and a sweatshirt and left her dark brown hair to air dry, and went in search of food. Caprice poured herself a bowl of what looked to be the Italian equivalent of Froot Loops and went back to her nest on the couch, picking up her phone on the way.

            “You coherent?”

            “Yep,” Caprice said around a mouthful of cereal. “What’s up stateside?”

            “Just working.” Colin worked two jobs, one flipping burgers at a McDonald’s in town, and another washing dishes at the nursing home; he didn’t particularly like either job, but he had to pay for just about everything on his own. He was working to put himself through school, and pay for his own insurance, and anything else he wanted, he had to buy.

            “Which job?”

            “Mickey D’s.” Colin yelled something inaudible to someone before coming back to the conversation. “So what are you doing today?”

            “Probably sightseeing. There’s a lot of stuff that Nonno told me about.” Caprice said. “I’ll have to survive another one of those damn taxies in order to get back to Rome.”

            “Well, maybe"“

            ”Hey, what do you think I pay you for, so you can talk on the phone all day?!”

            “That your boss?”

            “Yeah. I’ll catch you later.”

            “Bye.” Caprice laid the phone in her lap and stared out the window. She couldn’t shake off the dream she’d had last night. But she’d had worse, especially right after Nonno died. She washed her dishes and went to find another taxi.

            This driver really didn’t speak any English what so ever. After ten minutes of yelling, Caprice managed to get him to understand her. “Roma? Per favore?”

            “Ah, Roma. Entrare! Nel!”  He exclaimed, with much waving of his hands. (“Italiani, they talk with their hands,” Nonno often told her.) Caprice took that to mean get in, so she slid into the backseat and promptly grabbed hold of the handle above the door. “Dove a Roma?”

            “Dove? S**t, what does that mean?” Caprice stared at him, trying to remember. “Dove…oh! Where! Um, Piazzo del Popolo?”

            “Sì, sì, un bel posto.”

            Bel; that was a form of bello, meaning beautiful, and posto, that was place. She had deciphered that much at least from his rapid chatter. So the Piazzo del Popolo was a beautiful place. She had no idea what she was actually going to see, but she knew that it was in her travel book. Caprice didn’t really want to think; she just wanted a couple of days of activity that required little to no thinking. For a couple of days, Caprice would be just a turista.

            Over the next four days, Caprice saw the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, the Basilica of St. John Lateran; she threw coins in the Trevi Fountain (which is said to mean that one is guaranteed a return to Rome), lounged on the Spanish Steps and went shopping at the Piazza di Spagna and the Via dei Condotti (even though she couldn’t afford anything from Gucci or Chanel), and ate lunch at a small, crowded café; she walked the Via del Corso, one of the only streets in Rome to be perfectly straight, and had tea at Babington’s tea room"the tea was perfectly nasty, but she couldn’t spit it out and be spotted as the only American in the room"with a couple of elderly Englishwomen who talked non-stop about history; she bought a necklace on Via del Babuino, and stopped by il Babuino, the speaking fountain; she took pictures at the Piazzo Navona and at the Fontana delle Naidi. She saw museums and bought flowers at the Campo dei Fiori.

            And every night, when Caprice fell exhausted into her bed, she dreamed of a dead tree with sprawling branches, white stones splashed with red, a storm on the sea, colored ribbons floating in the air, and Nonno whispering, “Il tempo è breve, l’amore che si pu™, mentre è possibile, e l’amore forte, Caprice. Amore forte.”

            Caprice didn’t tell Colin about the dreams, knowing that he would read too much into them. She wasn’t worried, chalking it up to stress caused by a new environment.

            On the fifth day, Caprice took another wild cab ride to the Vatican City. One of the most religious locations in the world, and the smallest independent nation in the world, located within the city of Rome. Caprice didn’t particularly want to go, but Colin had bugged her repeatedly until she promised she would at least visit the gardens, which covered a majority of the tiny state.

            St. Peter’s Square was crowded with strange people; or at least, they seemed strange to Caprice. Some of them had tan skin, few were dark, most looked to be white, like her. But they looked more rag-tag than the others, wilder, Caprice would later think. Loud music played from somewhere, almost jazzy sounding, with a rhythm that begged her feet to move. The people filling in the square certainly were moving; they danced like she had never seen anyone dance before, like they didn’t give a damn who was watching. But it was more than that….when most people she saw danced like they didn’t care, they looked sloppy but happy. The moves seemed important, maybe even special to them, and more artistic than American dancing.

            “Zingari impertinente,” An Italian elder growled, who was standing close by Caprice has she watched them. The zingari, as he had called them, whipped around faster and faster, the women’s’ skirts flying around them like brightly colored whirlwinds. Zingari; Caprice tried to place what that word meant. Then she looked up; colored silk ribbons were being thrown up in the air, where they floated, falling gracefully back into the crowd’s hands. They were the same ribbons she had been dreaming about for six days.

            Almost without thinking, Caprice began to move. She took a few steps forward, still watching the sky, so fantastically blue, and the ribbons that shone against it. She felt the people bumping into her, but she paid no attention, only mumbling, “Mi dispiace, mi scusi,” [I’m sorry, excuse me] to those that ran into her, or she into them; she really wasn’t focusing anymore.

            And then….

            It happened fast, but Caprice saw it in slow motion. A woman tossed up three ribbons, red, purple, and green; she turned, and as Caprice watched the ribbons’ decent, she ran headlong into her. They both put their arms out, catching each other. But that one moment of contact felt like a lightning strike.

            Caprice gasped, finally tearing her gaze from the sky to look at the woman who now stood motionless before her. All around them the dancing continued. “M"mi dispiace,” Caprice stuttered, trying to pull away from her. She rattled off something in a language that Caprice didn’t recognize; it wasn’t Italian. And then she understood: Zingari. Gypsies.

            “Aspettate!” The woman cried, switching to Italian. She seemed desperate, clinging to Caprice with a strength she wouldn’t have guessed the gypsy woman to have. “Sono un amico!”

            She meant wait, and Caprice caught amico, meaning friend; at least Caprice remembered those words quickly. “Non parlano italiano,” Caprice said. “I don’t speak Italian.”

            “Oh, sei americani,” she said. “You speak English?”

            English! “Yeah,” Caprice answered. “Listen, I’m really sorry about running you over, but I’ve got to go.”

            “Wait!” she pleaded, clutching Caprice’s arms tighter. “Morte.”

            Morte. That word sounded almost the same in every language that Caprice had ever encountered. La mort, in French; muerte, in Spanish; morte, in Italian. And in English…death.

            “Look, just"“

            “You need to hear me,” she said, cutting Caprice’s feeble protest off. “Per favore, it is important.”

            Despite the feeling of foreboding in her stomach, Caprice found herself nodding. The woman took her by the hand and led her through the twisting bodies; and ever present above them, were the colored ribbons.  No sooner had they exited the square than Caprice heard yells of pulizia! and saw a scattering of laughing people.

            “Una barzelletta,” she said softly to Caprice, smiling to herself. “A joke we Romani play sometimes, to shake up the quaqquaraqquà.”

            Caprice giggled. It sounded like she had said quack quack with an Italian accent. “I’m sorry, what was that word?”

            “Quaqquaraqquà,” she repeated. “Stuffed shirts, I think you say? Anyway, the italiani, they don’t care much for us Romani. They set stereotypes, you see, such that we are wild, dangerous, that our women wear only the colored skirts and the bare feet.” She stuck out one delicate foot as she pulled Caprice down an alley, away from another crowd of police. “So every once in a while, we gather the best of us and we swamp the well-known parts of Roma, and we take up space. Gives the turisti something to gawk at, sì?”

            “And you don’t get in trouble for this?” Caprice asked.

            She laughed. “Of course we do. But a little difficoltà, it is good for the soul, as my nonna would say.”

            “So, I normally don’t just walk off with strangers in a foreign country. Where are we going?” Caprice said.

            “To the giardini del Vaticano.”

             Caprice and the gypsy woman walked into the lush, green gardens of the City, and walked the paths until they found a bench that was sufficiently secluded and surrounded by tall trees and fragrant flowers. The woman sat down on the bench and pulled Caprice down beside her. “Il mio nome è Sonya. Vedo il futuro”

            “I’m sorry, all I got out of that was ‘my name is Sonya’, and ‘future’.” Caprice said. “I don’t speak Italian, remember?”

            “Yes, sorry. I see the future.” Sonya repeated.

            Caprice stared at her. “You’re joking right? You scare the s**t out of me, and drag me all the way down here, just to try to scam me with some weak ‘I see the future’ line?” She felt like an idiot, and she stood up, glaring at Sonya.

            “There are the usual stereotypes about us, like we are wild and dangerous and thieves and mystical.” Sonya said, catching Caprice’s hand as she tried to walk away. “And normally, they are wrong. But what if I told you that sometimes, they’re right? I am wild, and I am dangerous, and I am mystical. But I am no ladro. I am trying to help you.”

            “Sure, whatever.” She yanked free and took two steps away from her.

            “What about the dreams?” Sonya called. “The tree, the white stones, the storm? You saw the ribbons today. Would you like to know what your nonno has been saying?”

            Caprice whipped around, and she felt cold all over. “What did you say?”

            “I saw more in that one moment when you ran into me than I have ever seen.” Sonya looked earnest, dead serious. There wasn’t even a hint of the humor she had shown as they left St. Peter’s Square. “Sit, per favore.”

            Caprice was shaking. “This is nuts.” But she went over and sat down next to the gypsy woman. “You’re a confusing person. You complain that people hold many myths against you, and then you turn right around and claim that some of them are true.”

            “Some of them are, for some of us. Few, however.” Sonya took hold of Caprice’s hand again. “What is your name, mio caro?”

            “Caprice.”

            “Ah, Caprice.” Sonya said her name the way Nonno always said it. Her name sounded so much better in Italian than in English. “Impulsive. Did you know that your name meant that? Mine is a Greek name, meaning wise. Often our names predict characteristics, though we don’t mean them to.”

            Impulsive; that sounded about right, seeing as she had jetted off to Italy on only a moment’s notice. “Would you just tell me what is so urgent?”

            “Pazienza.” Sonya bent low over Caprice’s hand, closing her eyes. Caprice took this time to study her; Sonya looked to be in her late thirties, maybe her early forties. Her hair was long and dark and wild; her eyes wise, sad pools of deep brown. She had the face of someone who had seen much joy and also much sorrow, creating a sort of weary beauty. She had dressed much like the other Romani women, with long skirts in purple and red and orange, and she wore an aged leather belt with many tiny bags hanging from it. 

            Sonya was mumbling, and Caprice could only catch a few words here and there. “Grande delore….questo dolore….morte….non molto tempo non molto tempo…at tutti….pochi anni.”  

            Caprice was startled. She had recognized some of those words. Delore, pain. Tempo, time. Anni, years. And of course, morte. Sonya seemed overly fond of that word.  

            At last Sonya looked up. “Caro, you will not like what I see.” Caprice waited for her to continue, but Sonya only looked away, biting her lip, like she was afraid to speak.

            “Well? Come on, tell me!” Caprice cried when Sonya still wouldn’t speak.

            “Cinque anni,” Sonya began. “Five years. That is all you have left.”

            She couldn’t respond. Caprice sat there, blinking. “What?”

            “Morte, mio caro. Death comes for you, in only five years.”

            Caprice felt her face going red. “You’re lying! Why would you say something like that? Why would you be so mean?” she yelled, snatching her hand back.

            “Your nonno; you want to know what it is that he said?” Sonya said quickly. “ ‘Il tempo è breve, l’amore che si pu™, mentre è possibile, e l’amore forte, Caprice. Amore forte.’ ” 

            Caprice gaped at her. Any crazy person could tell you that you were about to die. But they couldn’t, word to word, tell you something you had dreamed, without having been previously informed. And who would tell this woman what Caprice had told to no one, not even her best friend?

            “S**t. You’re serious.” Caprice said, her voice strained, half way between crying and screaming. “You’re really serious.”

            “Come una tomba,” Sonya said softly. “As the grave.”

            She sat still, taking it in. Five years was not long at all, and not even close to long enough. There were many things that Caprice still wanted to do. She wanted to go to college, have a career, fall in love, have children. And what about her mother? Since Nonno’s passing, Rosabella had been a mess, depending on her daughter for everything. Who would take care of her? Caprice supposed that Colin would, except for the fact that Colin would most likely be just as devastated as Rosabella.

            “Well,” Caprice choked out minutes later. “I suppose you better tell me all you can.”

            “What your nonno said, it means this: Time is short; love who you can while you can, and love strongly, Caprice. Love strongly.”    

            “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Caprice yelled, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

            “It means what it means.” Sonya answered. Caprice glared at her.

            “How fortune cookie of you,” she snapped. “You blurt out ‘you got five years to live’ without a problem, but you can’t tell me what Nonno said without getting all mystical on me. That’s fantastic.”

            “I am not a fortune cookie,” Sonya said. “I mean that you should take it literally. Time is short; that you have been shown. Love who you can; so love everyone you meet, I think. Love with all your heart while you can. He is right, you know.”

            “What do you mean?” Caprice whined. Now she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. She felt like screaming, running wild through the garden. She would also have been happy to curl up in a ball on the ground, and just start crying. “I don’t understand!”

            “You don’t have enough time to waste hating people.” Sonya smiled sadly, and knowingly Caprice thought. “And I see it in your eyes, Caprice, that you hate me a little now, sì?  Even though it is not my fault that I have seen such bad news, you hate me for being the messenger.”

            Caprice opened her mouth to deny what Sonya said, but the gypsy was right. She was angry, and she was confused, and she wished she had never seen the dancing, joking zingari. She wished she had never come to Rome, had never dreamed of the crowded streets and the beautiful sea. She hated to think it, but the thought had already formed; she wished she had never promised Nonno anything.

            “It makes no difference,” Sonya muttered. Caprice looked at her questioningly. “Coming to Roma; it would have made no difference, except for now you have been warned.”

            So she had five years, no matter how you looked at it. Caprice would only live to be twenty-three. “That isn’t enough. I need more time.” She said imploringly. Sonya shook her head, her dark hair swinging.

            “I can’t give you that time, piccolo. I don’t know why this is your path, but it is, and you must walk it while you can.”

            Caprice closed her eyes against the tears pooling there. “Piccolo; Nonno sometimes called me that. It means ‘little one’.” She steeled herself; she would fall apart later, in private. Now she needed information, anything that Sonya would give her. “How do I die? Does it hurt?”

            “I don’t know.” Sonya said. “I only see the dark drop that I have come to recognize as death. Where it will occur, and how, I cannot see.”

            “Can you at least tell me why?”

            Sonya paused, and looked up at the sun, squinting at it. Caprice twisted her head around to look for herself, but she saw nothing. “That, too, is hidden from me.” Sonya said after a number of minutes. “You should leave, now, Caprice. More trouble is about to start.”

            Sonya leaned forward and kissed Caprice swiftly on the forehead before pushing her off the other side of the bench, rolling her into the bushes. Caprice was about to shout (there was no call for her to be shoved into a pile of thorns) when she heard several men yelling.

            “Ehi, tu, zingari! Sei in arresto!”

            “S**t,” Caprice hissed. “Sonya, what about the dreams? The images?”

            “No idea,” Sonya whispered back, talking over her shoulder without moving her lips. “You will know later, when the time is right.”

“Wait"“

            “Lasciami in pace,” Sonya said calmly, but venomously, standing to a crouching position as the officers advanced. Caprice heard the harsh slap of skin against skin, and Sonya’s shout: “Bastardo! Toccami di nuovo e ti spezzo le mani!”

            Caprice tried to piece the words together so as to understand the conversation, but Sonya’s next move explained things perfectly clearly. The officers lunged at Sonya, but the woman was spryer than she looked, and much faster. One of the men grabbed her wrist; spinning to shake him free, she took hold of his hand and twisted it in an unnatural way. Caprice heard the bones snap; apparently she had threatened to break his hand.

            With movements resembling a darting animal, Sonya blocked every attack they threw at her. “Non si scherzo con la rom, sì?” she cried, grabbing hold of one of the many leather pouches swinging from her belt. “Your Nonno was right, Caprice! Love strongly, and it will count for something. Prometto!”  

            “Promise,” Caprice repeated softly to herself. She knew she should be running, before she was arrested alongside Sonya and all the others, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave.    

            “Run, Caprice!” Sonya cried with a beautiful, wild sounding laugh. She held the pouch high over her head and leapt onto the bench. “I myself am going to"scomparire!”

            Sonya dashed the pouch against the ground. It burst, and purple smoke billowed from the tiny little bag, consuming Sonya in a cloud and obscuring the officers. They fell back, hands over their eyes. But as the cloud cleared away, Sonya was nowhere to be seen.

            The officers searched the immediate area, and Caprice watched them. They were skittish, unwilling to touch anything that they had seen the gypsy touch. “Diavolo donna,” Caprice heard them mutter to themselves; devil woman. But Caprice heard a clear, high laugh, and quite a distance away, she caught a glimpse of colored skirts vanishing into the greenery. Caprice chuckled despite her grief. Sonya was not a magician; she was simply much faster, and much cleverer, than the Vatican police.

            “Sciocchi,” Caprice said, turning and fleeing. As she had told the cab driver, she knew the insults best, and ‘fools’ had seemed fitting. She left the police to search in vain for a woman they would never catch.

            Almost as soon as Caprice left the gardens, a wave of overwhelming sadness hit her, slamming against her chest and almost physically knocking her down. She leaned against the stone wall of an alley she had ducked into, trying to catch her breath; it hadn’t been a hard run, but her heart was pounding like she had just run a marathon. She had felt this way only once; when Nonno died.

            But this wasn’t the same. That had been like a hole was punched through her, like she would never laugh. This was different. It hurt, a lot, but it didn’t feel as hopeless. Caprice supposed that she was in shock, hardly able to believe what had just happed. She knew that if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that what had just occurred was not real, or simply a joke. But there were facts that wouldn’t add up in that scenario, like how Sonya knew things that Caprice had told no one.

            Sonya hadn’t started out like every other “psychic”, saying vague statements (in Caprice’s case, something like “I see you are troubled”, or “Your dreams are haunted”) and running their predictions from their victim’s reactions. They read people. They see nothing but what that person is already allowing the world to see. Sonya had begun right away with specific facts, not assumptions or guesses. She had said right away what Caprice knew to be true.

            “This makes no sense,” Caprice said to herself. “It isn’t real. I’m going crazy, right? I must be, because now I’m alone and talking to myself again.” She pressed her head against the cold stones, breathing deeply. She was panicking, and this was not the place to panic. It wasn’t the place to freak out, which she was dangerously close to doing.

            Caprice ran all the way back to St. Peter’s Square, barely noticing how open and empty it seemed without the Romani. She ran to the main street and pushed in front of another American couple, throwing her arm out. “TAXI!” she screamed, and right away one screeched to a stop in front of her. “Scusa,” She said to the couple, sliding in and closing the door in their face. Maybe they would take her for an Italian, though any idiot would recognize the rudeness that only Americans seemed to possess.

            “Dove?” the driver asked.

            “Mare Tirreno,” Caprice answered, having by now caught onto the locals term for the Tyrrhenian Sea. She melted into the seat, allowing fatigue to finally take over. She heard a faint ringing from her bag. Numbly, she pulled her phone out and clicked the answer button. She held it up to her ear, but she couldn’t find the energy to say anything.

            “Hello? Caprice, are you there?” It was Colin. Of course. He had been faithful about keeping in touch with her, wanting to hear all about her day, every day, because he was like her other half. He was her best friend. Her heart broke a little, hearing his voice, as she couldn’t help picturing him shattered from his grief. “Caprice? Caprice, are you alright?” he asked when she still didn’t answer.

            Caprice just sat there, while Colin yelled her name repeatedly, asking if she was okay. She looked out the window, watching the scenery fly by, and didn’t even have the heart to be afraid of the horrible driving. “Caprice, are you okay?” Colin asked a fifth time.

            She blinked; the tears were finally starting up. “No. I’m not.”

            Caprice didn’t hear what Colin had to say. She hung up on him and tossed the phone out the window, where it shattered on the rocks.   

             

 

 

            Colin was unsure of what had happened, but he knew that something was wrong. He tried calling Caprice, over and over, non-stop, for almost a week. He was fired from his job at McDonald’s because he spent most of his time in the men’s restroom trying to get ahold of Caprice. Something was wrong.

            On the seventh day since he lost contact with Caprice, Colin went to meet with Rosabella.

            Caprice’s mom was in full panic mode. She had tried repeatedly to reach her daughter, and had tried calling the US Embassy in Italy, and had tried to contact the cleaning lady, Allegra. No one answered. She was completely cut off.

            Rosabella looked like a mess when Colin found her in the living room. “Colin, what’s happened to my baby?” She rasped, throat sore from crying.

            “I don’t know.” Colin answered. “But something’s happened. And I’m not waiting any more. I’m flying to Rome in the morning.”

            “I’ll go with you,” Rosabella said, trying to get up from her chair.

            “No, I’ll go alone. You’re in no state to travel.” Colin said. “Try to come to life, ma’am. But you should stay here anyway. I just stopped by to tell you that I’ll bring Caprice home soon.”

            Rosabella nodded weakly, sinking back into the cushions. She pulled a blanket around herself, creating a cocoon, and seemed to forget that Colin was even in the room. She was really torn up. He stared at her for a moment, pitying the poor woman. Colin wasn’t sure whether, when he saw Caprice again, to hug her tight or kill her.

            He spent the night waiting in the terminal, gulping down cup after cup of coffee, milk, and sugar, consuming candy bars like a race horse trying to make himself so buzzed that he couldn’t possibly fall asleep. Not that he would be able to sleep anyway, as worried as he was. Colin had lost all contact with Caprice, but she was his best friend; he knew something terrible had happened. His only hope was that he wouldn’t fly to Italy and find her dead.

           

 

 

            When Colin stepped off the plane, it was raining. Of course it’s raining, Colin supposed. Whenever trouble is brewing, it’s raining. He managed to hail a taxi, and was appalled to find that Caprice had been correct in summing up their driving abilities as horrendous and near suicidal. Now that she had gone missing, he felt guilty for making fun of her.

            Unlike Caprice, he had been smart enough to bring an electronic translator with him, so Colin got through the city and to the Tyrrhenian with more ease than her first taxi ride. The driver chatted happily and unendingly, always in Italian, so Colin had no idea what he was saying; for all he knew, the driver was calling him every insult in the book, but he honestly didn’t give a damn.

            Colin paid the driver, tipping him generously; he dumped basically all of his money into the driver’s hands, and the taxi man felt no need to correct the American. If he wanted to over pay him by fifty dollars, who was he to complain?

            The taxi peeled away, and Colin sprinted down the path. Rosabella and Caprice (before she disappeared) had given him a good enough description of the house, and there was only one path leading to one house.  He didn’t have time to glance at the sea, though Caprice had called it beautiful. He hit the door like a battering ram, throwing his full weight and muscle against it until it broke open. He figured that if Caprice was alive, she would be angry, but as he tripped inside, he felt like he would be glad to see any emotion, even anger, on her face.

            “Caprice!” Colin bellowed. “Caprice, are you here?”

            Colin burst into the living room, which consisted of lots of windows facing the sea, and several comfortable chairs, and a large, luxurious leather couch. And on that couch, looking like she was half dead, was an almost unrecognizable ball that seemed to be Caprice.

            “Holy s**t,” Colin breathed. The place was wreck; it was in a dirty state of chaos, and several lamps had been shattered. Trails of old, dried blood showed that Caprice had accidently stepped in the broken glass. As for Caprice herself, she looked like she hadn’t moved in a week. Her green eyes were puffy and red from crying, and her hair was dirty and tangled. From the smell of the clothes and the blankets she was buried under, she’d been sitting there for at least seven days.

            “Caprice, honey?” Colin stepped forward, and pulled one of the blankets away so he could fully see her face. Dried tear tracks ran down her cheeks. “How long have you been here?”

            She turned her head slowly, almost like an old woman, bones creaking with age. She looked older"if that were even possible"than the last time he had seen her. Caprice only looked at him, if you could even call it looking. She seemed to peer right through Colin.

            “Caprice, answer me,” Colin snapped, growing angrier by the moment. “Why haven’t you called any of us? What the hell is going on?”

            Caprice didn’t answer. She was practically comatose. “Fine,” Colin growled. He seized Caprice by her hands and yanked her roughly to her feet. She crumpled immediately, and he caught her. Colin dragged her out the back door, and tripped down the bank to the beach. Caprice wasn’t heavy on a normal day, but now she was complete dead weight; and if the grief in her eyes was real, she was weighed down by some horrible knowledge.

            Colin half dragged, half carried, Caprice down to the water. It was raining steadily now, a cold rain that chilled him to the bone. Thunder rumbled, and lightning forked the sky. Technically speaking, he knew you should never go near the water in a lightning storm, but this was an emergency. Worst case scenario, Caprice would be electrocuted to life.

            “This ought to snap you out of it,” Colin said, and he dropped Caprice into the ice cold water.

             Almost immediately, Caprice roared to life. She tumbled in the surf, and broke the surface with a curse rolling off her tongue. “What the hell did you do that for you damned sonofa"“ Caprice yelled, but she was cut short. She was facing out to sea. And the very first thing she saw was not Colin’s face, but what was happening on the water; more specifically, a storm on the sea.

            The identical image to the storm on the sea in the dream.

            She whipped around to stare at Colin, both of them now soaking wet from the spray off the waves. “What have you done?” Caprice cried. “Colin, what are you doing here?”

            “What am I doing here?” Colin repeated angrily. “I’m here to find you! You disappeared! Your mom is worried sick, and we thought you were dead.”

            Caprice shoved hard against Colin’s chest; the long gashes on her hands showed that she must have fallen on the broken glass, too. “Sai che cosa hai fatto?”  she shouted. Colin barely moved; it had been like running into a wall. He had to fight is fury in order to not shove her back. After all, something had upset her greatly, and he needed to find out what before he lost it.

            “Since when do you speak Italian?” He yelled back. Anyone who saw them would have been frightened for Caprice; she was almost a foot shorter than Colin, who, in his rage, seemed to tower over her. It didn’t help her image that she appeared sickly.

            But upon close examination, Colin wasn’t the only one who was poised to fight. Caprice’s clenched fists were shaking, and she looked ready to attack. “Colin, you have to stay away from me! You have to leave!”

            “What the hell has gotten into you? What’s happened?” He demanded. He took a step forward; and that was Caprice’s snapping point. She flew at him, hissing and spitting and biting like a wild animal. They toppled backwards onto the sand; now it was raining so hard they could barely see to swing, and the thunder was so loud Caprice’s shouts were lost.

            They wrestled as the storm raged, until, at last, Colin had Caprice pinned. “What is wrong with you?” He bellowed. Caprice only glared at him, and to his horror she was crying. He almost never saw her cry; he could count the times he had on one hand.

            “You’ve know idea what you’ve done, Colin,” Caprice said. “Why did you come?”

            “To you find you, you jackass! Why do you think I’d book a seat in coach and almost die in a taxi to come here? Why do you think I’d get fired from my job? For you!” he yelled back. “You disappeared! You never called! It’s been eight days!”

            “I was trying to keep you safe!” she screamed. “Don’t you see that? I was trying to protect you!” This statement shocked Colin so badly that Caprice was able to throw him off of her. She stumbled to her feet and turned to look down at him. Lightning flashed around her, and now she had to shout to be heard over the falling rain.

            “Go home, Colin!” Caprice said, looking as broken as a lost child. “Get out of here. Get out of Rome. Get out of Italy. Get the hell away from me before it’s too late.”
            Caprice limped back up the house. She didn’t say anything when Colin walked inside, dripping mud and water all over the floor. It didn’t matter anyway; there was enough grime on it already that a little more wouldn’t hurt it. She ignored him, and went to try and wash the weeks’ worth of dirt off.

 

           

 

When she had returned to Nonno’s house eight days ago, Caprice had shut down. She had raged and screamed, breaking everything she could get her hands on, not caring when the shards of glass sliced her skin. She was angry and she was scared; she had only five years left, and her death may or may not be quick and painless. If she remembered her horror movies right, curses never ended painlessly. And this had to be a curse, right? Why else would she discover such a fate?

She collapsed on the couch, and she didn’t move from there (except to use the restroom) until Colin found her eight days later. Caprice had had too much time to think, there all alone. Smashing the phone had been impulsive and probably stupid, but the more she thought on it, the better it seemed to her. She didn’t want to let Colin and her mom feel like they’d always have her, only to vanish into the grave, leaving them devastated; the way Nonno had done to her. No, it was better to cut ties now. If her mom and Colin got involved, they would get hurt.

By staying away, Caprice figured she was protecting them. But she was also protecting herself; if she allowed herself to hear Colin’s voice again, or see his face, she was go insane, knowing that she die and leave him in such a short amount of time. She couldn’t hurt him, or let herself be hurt, that way.

But Caprice was protecting Colin from more than emotional pain; she didn’t know what it was, but she knew she had to keep Colin away from all of this, from knowing about the prediction, and from getting involved in away way at all. If he were told, he would get himself hurt; in more ways than just missing her, and that was the last thing Caprice wanted.  

After deciding that staying away was the best path to take, Caprice allowed herself to ruminate in the pile of blankets on the couch. She’d watched so much Italian soap operas that she picked up some of the language; enough to yell I thought you loved me! at least.

And now Colin was here, staring her right in the face; and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She couldn’t tell him what the gypsy had told her. It wasn’t even that she didn’t try. Once or twice she opened her mouth, trying to at least whisper this horrible knowledge that now had her heart in a death grip. But nothing came out, not even the fainted squeak. She just could not tell him she was going to die.

After they had each taken showers and put on clean clothes, they sat, almost stoically, on the couch. Colin watched Caprice, and Caprice watched the sea. That was now two images shown; the ribbons floating in the air, and the storm. The tree and the stones were all that remained.

For the life of her, she could not figure those two out. The trees were all leafed out, it being summer, and therefore none of them were barren like the one in the dream. And what was on the stones, paint? She had only a grainy memory of them.

But Caprice couldn’t focus on those right now. At the present moment, she had to get Colin on a plane and headed back stateside; or not even there, just anywhere that was away from her.

“Colin,” Caprice began, her voice uncharacteristically frail and uneven. “I understand that you were worried. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble. Now that you know I’m okay, you can go home and take care of mom.”

It was very rehearsed sounding, very flat and emotionless, although Colin could tell that beneath the surface she was losing it. “You’re sorry?” Colin snorted. “Sorry doesn’t cover it. And I can tell that you’re the farthest thing from okay. You’re upset. What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?”

Caprice laughed. Silly, overprotective Colin, ready to defend her honor. “No, no one hurt me,” she said. She had gotten over her slight contempt for Sonya; after all, you can’t help what you see. And if Caprice had seen such a thing in someone’s future, who’s to say she wouldn’t have told that someone too? While she felt sorry for herself, she now felt sorry for Sonya. What must it be like to see death in a young girl’s future, all of a sudden? Caprice remembered her face; it had been as much of a shock to Sonya as to Caprice.

“Then what’s wrong? There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Colin said. “You’re my best friend, I can tell when there’s something you’re hiding.”

“There’s nothing.” Caprice answered stubbornly. “It’s nothing, Colin.”

“Liar,” Colin snapped. Caprice whirled and smacked his arm, breaking her gaze away from the lightning dancing over the tumultuous water.

“You say you can tell stuff about me?” she snapped back. Being called a liar had always got her hackles up. “Well, take a hard look Colin. I’m trying to protect you. Can you tell that? And if I’m trying to protect you, then you don’t need to know. You just need to go home and forget about me.”

Colin snorted harshly. “Forget about you? Not a chance in hell. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s happened.”

Caprice sighed. Colin was the only person more stubborn than her. But this was not a casual secret, concerning some trivial matter. This was far more serious than he could ever understand. However, if Colin said he wouldn’t budge, then he wasn’t going to budge.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m tired. Stay here, I don’t care. There’s food in the pantry, but I’d be careful about the stuff in the fridge; it’d been in there for a while even before I got here, so there’s no telling if it’s any good anymore.”

“You really won’t just tell me, right now?” Colin asked. Caprice shuffled her feet, and shook her head. “Fine, then. You can tell me tomorrow.”

Caprice smiled; a tiny uplifting of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes and was so full of sadness it could break one’s heart. She smiled so sadly because she knew that when the sun rose tomorrow morning, Colin would not find her.

 

 

 

It was midnight before Caprice was able to leave. She packed a few changes of clothes in a backpack, along with what was left of her cash and her passport, and some personal items. She felt like her heart was being ripped in half. “I’m sorry, Nonno,” she whispered to herself, already talking to herself in anticipation of being alone. “But I can’t stay. I just can’t.”

She wanted to, more than anything. Now that she had seen Colin’s face, she didn’t want to ever leave his side again. But as Caprice stood over his sleeping form on the couch (his face was always puppy-dog sweet when he was in a deep sleep, like now), she knew something as sure as she knew her own name; she would die to protect him.

So she whispered, “Arrivederci, amore mio,” and slipped out the front door.

 

 

 

But fate is a tricky, sometimes cruel, thing. While Caprice walked the dark, silent road that snaked along the coast….Colin woke up. It was if he could sense it. They had been together for a long time; they kept no secrets, they took care of each other. And almost as if he knew that Caprice had left, he jolted awake and began to pull his shoes on.

“S**t,” Colin muttered aloud, trying to lace his shoe quickly. “Damn you, Caprice! S**t!”

He almost fell in his haste to get out the door, but once he was free, he took off like a shot in the direction he was sure she had gone. “Caprice!” he screamed, nearly stumbling in the dark, but he forced his legs to keep moving. “Caprice!”

Caprice was almost invisible in the dark. She had pulled on a black hoodie before leaving, and now she had the hood up over her head, making her a barely outlined shadow in the night. She had a head start, but she was walking slowly; a great pain inside of her chest had her tripping over her own feet, her movements clumsy. It actually hurt, leaving Colin behind. She had known that would happen if she saw him, she had just known it. She made herself keep taking one step after the other.

But then she heard him.

“….Caprice!” It was faint, and followed her like a lonely echo. Maybe Caprice was only dreaming. But then the call came again, stronger this time, though still a good distance behind her.

“Go back!” Caprice screamed behind her, trying to run but unable to get sure enough footing. “Colin, stay away! Stay away!”

And just like in St. Peter’s Square, things happened fast, but Caprice saw them move as slow as mud.

A random car’s headlights illuminated the land across from her, on the other side of the road. There, standing, with its arms spread wide to the sky, was a dead tree. Not a tree, but the tree. And a horrible sense of foreboding filled Caprice, almost choking her.

“Colin, no!” she yelled, not running from Colin now but towards him, waving her arms and screaming at him. “No, go back! Stop, Colin, stop!”

Still in the shadow of the tree, having hardly moved but a few feet, Caprice meet Colin in the middle of the rain-slicked road. “Caprice, why"“

“You shouldn’t have come--!”

That was when the car, driven by an old Italian man too drunk to turn on his headlights, hit them.

 The majority of the impact hit Colin, who had swung the two of them around so that Caprice was tilting backwards towards the tree’s open, mocking arms. Colin was launched into the air, flying over the roof of the car, so fast but so slow it ached to see. He landed on the other side with a sickening thud.

Caprice peeled herself up off the pavement, blood trickling into her eyes from a gash in her scalp. Her left cheek was split, from bouncing against the road, and her wrist felt like it was broken. But she hardly felt the pain; it was already growing distant and numb, most likely due to shock, but also because she was focused on Colin.

“No,” Caprice croaked, dragging herself towards his too-still body. “No, Colin, no.”

The car screeched to a drunken stop a few yards away. Caprice pulled herself to Colin, rolling him over. He was barely breathing, a miracle in itself, since after a hit like that he should be dead. “Colin!” she cried, unable to keep from sobbing as she held him tightly. “Why, why did you have to follow me? You were supposed to be safe!” she yelled.

Colin couldn’t speak; he was in so much pain, he didn’t know how to describe it even to himself. The man who had hit them staggered from his car, mumbling apologies and other nonsense.

“Help me! Aiutatemi!”  Caprice cried. “Si prega di aiutarlo! Prego, ti prego aiutarlo!”  The man began to walk forward, wobbling. Caprice felt like her heart was breaking, but she knew that she had to leave Colin. She had to get away; she was poison to him. She understood that now; she had been sentenced to die, she alone, but coming into contact with her loved ones had put them in death’s path as well. It had put Colin in danger.

“You’ll survive without me,” Caprice whispered, inching away from him. “You’ll live if I leave, but I have to leave.”

There was physical pain when she managed to crawl to her feet and edge away from him. It hurt worse than any pain she’d ever felt. But she put one foot in front of the other, and, hobbling, began to run. Caprice ran from the fallen body of her dearest friend, hating herself because by letting him come out there that night, she had betrayed him to his death. Unless she ran.

So Caprice ran, haltingly, for as far as she could. The man bundled Colin into his car and tried to drive him to a hospital, but he was so intoxicated that Colin knew he wouldn’t make it.

Caprice collapsed, sliding down the embankment towards the sea. She rolled to a stop on a pile of rocks, and when she looked around herself, she saw the last and most horrifying image; white stones splashed with red. But the red wasn’t paint; it was Caprice’s blood.

“No,” she groaned, closing her eyes. But that was worse, because behind closed lids she only saw Colin, broken, over and over. She raised herself up on her elbows, and tried to at least sit up, but she wasn’t strong enough.

That was when she heard the whispers.

“If you let him go, you may live.”

“I’m going insane,” Caprice cried, curling into a semi-fetal position. The voice was smooth, velvety, and gentle. She distrusted it all the more because of that.

“Let him go.” The voice insisted. “Let him die. Let him die, and you may live.”

“No,” Caprice hissed. If she was going crazy, once and for all, she might as well talk to it.

“Don’t be so hasty,” it replied quickly. “You were allotted five more years of life. Such a short time for such a young girl. Let Colin die, and you will replace those five with fifty.”

Fifty years. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Who do you think?”

“Death,” Caprice mused. “Or some equivalent.” She wasn’t crazy. Caprice saw it then; that things existed that she couldn’t explain or understand. Sonya had seen something, and this power was offering her a deal. The problem was, this deal would betray her dearest friend.

“You have the power to decide,” the voice continued. “You can die now, or you can live to see quite an old age.”

“If I accept, Colin dies,” Caprice said. “Is that right?”

“Death comes for someone tonight. That cannot be helped.” 

“If I say no, Colin lives.”

“No. If you refuse the gift being offered to you, both of you will die.” The voice said. “Take the deal, Caprice. Take the years.”

Caprice’s answer came quicker than blinking. “No. I won’t live without him.” She felt tears running down her bruised face. She was terrified to die, as all humans were, but she knew that living without Colin and without Nonno would be the same thing as being dead. To take such an offer and to let Colin die would be a sin.

“Take me.” Caprice said, closing her eyes. “I won’t sacrifice him. Not for anything.”

“As you wish,” The voice purred. It was not death, as Caprice had guessed. Death did not make deals, and it was not intentionally cruel. Death came for everyone, and in most cases, such as Nonno’s, was welcomed. This voice was another power, the kind that often dealt with the few Romani who could still sense things. It could not stay death, but it could delay it; but only if a deal was struck; only if a sacrifice was made. And this girl had denied.

Caprice closed her eyes, and felt her heartbeat slowing. Miles and miles away, Colin was no longer afraid. His blood pressure dropped steadily. As he breathed his last deep breath, far away, on a pile of blood-stained stones, Caprice did the same.

Separate, but together, they passed into death’s waiting, gentle embrace.

 

 

 

 

Caprice opened her eyes slowly. She looked around unbelievably, taking in the sunlight, and the soft grass she was laying on, and the beautiful flowers. Caprice got to her feet carefully, testing out her limbs to see if they still worked. She was surrounded by tombstones, some of them crumbling and weathered, others shiny new marble. There was a breeze, lifting her hair as she turned her face into it, smelling the fresh air.

“Caprice,”

She turned, and laughed. “Colin!” Caprice launched herself at him. Colin caught her in a fierce bear hug; they just stood still for a moment, taking in the sight of each other, whole and well.

“Colin I’m so sorry, I tried to protect you,” Caprice said, her words jumbled as she rushed to get them out. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“It’s alright.” Colin said. He looked healthy now, not broken, like the last time she had seen him. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Colin, no offense, I kinda killed you.”

He laughed, throwing back his head. “Death is mysterious. I don’t care. We’re still together.”

“Yeah…how is that?”

Colin took her arm and guided her to a large, newly installed tombstone. On it were two names; hers, and his. “Would you like to read it, or shall I?”

“Go ahead,” Caprice said breathlessly.

“Alright. These friends fought to the death and beyond. They had a close bond that compared to nothing else on earth. How’s that for a fitting statement?”

“Very,” Caprice said. She laughed. Sonya had told that to love strongly would count for something. And it had counted. She had loved Colin so much she sacrificed life for him. And in return, they were allowed to continue on, together.

“Shall we?” Colin said, offering her his arm. Caprice smiled as the sunlight washed over them, warm and kind.

“We shall.”

And together, the best friends strolled off into forever.

                

Author's Note

please be nice