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➖ THREE MONTHS LATER ➖
RORY REYES WASN'T SURE what it was about Italy that made all her worries seem to disappear.
Instead of feeling dead or alive, Italy seemed to numb it all. She heard of living zombies, but she was more of a ghost. She went about her day, doing as expected, but that spark that once blazed in her hazel eyes was all ashes and dust.
It was easy to pretend she had healed entirely, but her pain was more like a scab that kept her from bleeding out and stung constantly. She chose to act like nothing happened to her. Rory didn't feel sad or angry, she didn't feel anything. She was simply...existing.
Maybe it was the distraction of art or that she was worlds apart from her past—nothing in Italy tethered her to where her heart was broken and dreams crushed. Here, the ancient city of Florence, in the bustle of tourism and art is where Rory began to feel okay again. None of her new friends and fellow interns knew a thing about her past besides her being from America and having a passion for art.
In Italy, she was a new person. She went by Rory Reyes instead of Aden to truly cut ties with her past. She didn't call or text home as much as she used to. She was reborn. It was easy that way. Her memories were laid to rest while Rory began to forget it all for good.
It was nearing the end of her new beginning when everything came back to haunt her.
The new adult was making her way to the student's villa after a late night celebrating her birthday at an art exhibition in downtown Florence. The night had gone as usual, a foreign museum filled with drunks and tourists, but Rory felt very alone despite having all her new friends celebrating with her. They had stayed behind, another round of rich authentic Italian wine filling their throats, while all Rory wanted to do was go to bed.
She was distracted by memories resurfacing of the last 18th birthday party she had been to. She hadn't even noticed the young man whose interest she had piqued, too busy feeling sorry for herself in front of a painting. Rory left the museum unconcerned and largely nostalgic of her home, deeply missing her mother and her friends.
Music from the plaza faintly played in her ears as she strolled along the dark streets she was now familiar with—long days full of art museums and exploration in the forever warm Italian heat. It was, however, very late in the night, the alleyways that welcomed her in the broad daylight were suddenly not as amiable and happy under the moonlight. The soft band music faded into stark silence as Rory walked on, only the tap-tap-tap of her heels echoed on the stone pavement.
A few minutes later, she was made all too aware of something sharp in the air, a sudden tension she hadn't felt in months, a feeling so strong it stopped her in her tracks. It wasn't the Italian heat, but something else, something sinister.
Rory stood in the face of a pitch black alleyway with nowhere to go but forward. There was a strange scent in the air—something crude like vomit or garbage that had sat too far long in the sun.
