disciple (ch. 5)
by Tom Stuckey
5
The next few days went without incident. Thomas seemed oblivious to his brief stay in the asylum, he still walked the streets of Rome with his head held unburdened. It was important, I thought, from the outset that he be left unhindered for as long as possible, and the other days’ complications may have made that more difficult. There was definitely a woman who now followed him around—25 maybe, ink black hair, golden green skin, and always dressed impeccably, showing off her statue figure. I was also aware that I had come close to having to get involved and wanted to delay this for as long as possible. Fortunately, the lawyer had been retained indefinitely in order to sort out any other issues that may come our way.
It was a fine summer’s morning as F and I sat in The Park of Aqueducts and watched the sun rise through the archways of the ancient stone. I watched Thomas; F watched the long-legged woman, and she watched Thomas, who gazed deep into the pink, burning sky.
“Do you think she is going to go and talk with him?” F asked.
“Possibly.”
“I think she is the most beautiful woman in Rome,” he added.
“Possibly.”
“Not possibly. She is.”
“OK, she is, but if she goes and talks to him we could have problems.”
Said problems were like a storm in the distance that would inevitably come our way. “Segnore Lorenzo has messaged he wants to call about Thomas. He has news.” The information dropped into the eye of the storm and disappeared. “OK, tell him to call. Your English is improving.” He smiled a pleasant smile. “Yes, I have been listening to Charles Dickens books. ‘The kindness of people is enough to break one’s own heart.’” He kind of looked like a character from a Dickens novel. “Very true,” I replied whilst looking out at Thomas, who began to draw in his book. “She is moving towards him.” She was indeed, her hips flowing over the grass, wearing only simple dungarees that just covered her breasts, until she melted into the ground beside him. Her hair was up high on her head, and it really made her look naked, but only those close enough could see her nipples. “She is so beautiful,” F added. “Yes, she really is,” I added pathetically. For the first time, I started to resent her but also admire her. F’s phone rang, and he answered. Italian really was one of the few languages that I could just listen to and not care about what was being said; everything was an opera. Olivia, who looked like an Olivia, was growing more vibrant. It was as if she pulled the energy directly from Thomas, like she had a secret key to him, and I shuddered in anger at the thought of this belladonna poisoning him, to such an extent that he merely became another false idol. Maybe, he would end up on Oprah, talking the same saleable bollocks to the rich, needy and deranged, all whilst she made a nest in the foothills of their secluded mountain home. “The bitch.” F looked at me out of the corner of his eye but went back to the call. I could not get the image of him sitting on that fucking sofa as he talked bullshit to Oprah, her prompting him and smiling that billion-dollar smile. Olivia would suck him in every way, first his Saint cock, then his mind, and finally his innocent spirit, “That fucking bitch.” F began to look worried, like a man trying to juggle explosives. Could I kill her? The thought crossed my mind the moment I saw her, but now I really started to visualize it. Was I capable of such a task? Maybe, my role in this was to protect, to get my hands dirty so Thomas could become what he was destined to become.
“OK, Lorenzo has good news and bad news.” He still looked worried. “But what was that all about?” he continued. I pushed the part of me that could kill deep inside and looked at him through the eyes of a relatively sane person, an actor. “Nothing. I was just lost in thought about Olivia. That’s all.” “Who?” “Never mind. OK, what did Lorenzo have to say?” F looked calmer as he began to recall the information, like his brain liked the order of it, the momentary purpose if offered. “The Vatican police are tracking him now. There is a man, Santino, who has been assigned to his case. They are good, and we might not be able to spot the tails.” I instantly thought that I would; I could almost see exactly what he would look like. “He also says that there is a nun who has had a vision: Angelina I think he said. Yes Angelina.” Things were getting out of hand, but what could I do? I hoped for the best and for all this to be filed under “Delusions of Grandeur”. Olivia had unbuttoned one of her straps, and now the front of her dungarees partially hung down, one of her breasts hit by a hazy beam of the morning sun. Thomas began to paint her. “He wants to meet with you.” “Lorenzo?” “Yes.” OK, this could be beneficial; it would also almost certainly bring me to the attention of The Vatican Police. A few people started to gather around Thomas and Olivia, and I couldn’t blame them, F and I both wished we were closer, too. Olivia slipped the other strap off and the garment rested just below her bottom now as she lay on her stomach with her hands on her face and her breasts resting on the grass. It was only a matter of time before she would be fully naked. “OK, I’ll meet with him and with Olivia too.”
*Read the next instqallment of Tom Stuckey’s new novella Disciple coming on February 25, 2025, at 6PM CST.
Photo of Tom Stuckey
BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England. His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.