Chapter 4 - The Trunk Marcella Took

Marcella was gone.

Her wardrobe was open.

Half her clothes remained.

Half were missing.

Her jewelry box was empty.

Her passport was gone.

But her wedding ring was sitting on the dressing table.

Alessio stared at it for a long time.

Then he picked it up.

“She knew we would find the room.”

Thomas stood in the doorway.

“She knew because she followed me there last winter.”

Alessio turned.

“You told me she only knew about my mother.”

“That is what I thought.”

Thomas looked ashamed.

“I caught her near the greenhouse once. She said she was looking for old landscape plans.”

“And you believed her?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Thomas looked at him.

“Because I was still trying to protect Clara.”

Alessio laughed bitterly.

“There it is again.”

Protect.

It had become the ugliest word in the house.

I searched Marcella’s room with Clara.

Not because we expected to find the trunk.

Because people who leave quickly usually forget one thing.

Marcella forgot a receipt.

It was beneath the lining of a handbag.

A storage facility.

Twenty kilometers away.

Unit 214.

Paid three months in advance.

Alessio looked at the receipt.

“Three months?”

Clara nodded.

“She planned this before the ball.”

We drove there with Thomas.

The manager refused to open the unit.

Then Alessio showed him the lease.

Marcella had used her married name.

Marcella Romano.

Alessio was listed as an emergency contact.

The lock opened.

Inside were six boxes.

No furniture.

No clothes.

Only documents.

And the wooden trunk.

Thomas touched the lid.

“That’s it.”

Alessio opened it.

The recording was inside.

So was something none of us expected.

A red dress.

Not Marcella’s ball gown.

Older.

Faded.

Carefully wrapped.

Clara sat down.

“That was mine.”

Alessio looked at her.

“The night you disappeared?”

“Yes.”

There was dried brown staining near the sleeve.

Clara stared at it.

“I thought Giovanni burned this.”

Thomas shook his head.

“He saved everything.”

At the bottom of the trunk was a tape recorder.

Beside it sat three cassettes.

The first was labeled GIOVANNI.

The second said LUCA.

The third said EMILIO VARGA.

Alessio chose the third.

The machine clicked.

Static filled the storage unit.

Then an elderly man’s voice.

“My name is Dr. Emilio Varga.”

Clara closed her eyes.

The recording continued.

“I attended Giovanni Romano on the morning of his death.”

A pause.

“His condition was not consistent with the cause later written on the certificate.”

Another pause.

“I was ordered to sign.”

Alessio leaned closer.

“By whom?” he whispered.

The tape answered him.

“Elena Marconi.”

Nobody moved.

Dr. Varga described threats.

Payments.

A false report.

Then he said something that made Clara open her eyes.

“Luca Romano found me eleven years later.”

Alessio froze.

“He asked me to testify.”

Static.

“I agreed.”

Another pause.

“But before we could return, Luca received a call from his wife.”

Clara stared at the machine.

“My call?”

The doctor continued.

“Clara told him not to board the train.”

Clara stood.

“No.”

The tape continued.

“She said their son had been taken.”

Alessio’s face emptied.

“I was never taken.”

Clara shook her head violently.

“I never made that call.”

The recording ended with one final sentence.

“Luca left alone to meet the caller.”

Click.

Silence.

Alessio looked at his mother.

“Someone used your name.”

Clara whispered:

“Elena.”

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

A woman was breathing on the other end.

“Ava?”

It was Marcella.

She was crying.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

Alessio took the phone from me.

“Marcella.”

Silence.

Then she whispered:

“I didn’t take the trunk to destroy it.”

“Then why?”

“Because my mother was coming for it.”

Alessio stared at the floor.

“Where are you?”

Marcella’s breathing shook.

“At the old Marconi chapel.”

“Stay there.”

“No.”

A car door slammed somewhere behind her.

Marcella gasped.

Then she said three words.

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“She found me.”

The call ended.