Ghostbusters it fuckin' aint.
For a painfully long time, Primo stood next to Giancarlo silently looking out over the waters to the city of Venice proper. He was trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was the end result of the potent cocktail the finest of the Giovanni pharmaceutical companies could concoct.
Ever since he had been summoned back to Venice, each nerve felt drawn to the snapping point. That point arrived a few hours later when Kay rang him up to suggest they share a flight together to London. That had been his first mistake:
When he was met by Giancarlo, Primo was able to talk himself into believing that everything really just might be ok, and that he had just been letting his imagination get the better of him. All of his confidence evaporated when Giancarlo suggested that he might be more comfortable staying on the mainland for the night "to settle in before starting work."
Primo was used to euphemisms. Primo was also used to not asking questions because lies would be too easily spawned. Instead, he stretched and yawned -- which was, even he had to admit, easy enough to do -- and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the lagoons and the city proper. His yawn quickly turned into a gawk and gasp for air as he saw the spectral winds whirling over the city. They were shot through with sickly fingers of green as purple flashes of light burst free from he roiling clouds. He peered more closely at the epicentre and saw -- dear God in heaven, he crossed himself -- swarms of dripping spectres overrunning a singular loggia.
He remembered when he was a child and begged his great-great-grandfather to watch the film 'Ghostbusters' with him. He had loved how ridiculous and fun it was, even through all the snorts of derission that came from his great-great-grandfather. For a strange, insane moment, he wished Accorri was here so he could tell him that how fucking exactly like 'Ghostbusters' this was.
"We'll wait until morning to let them know you've arrived." Giancarlo interrupted his thoughts and held out a large glass of De Angelis Rosso Lacrima Christi del Vesuvio for him.
"Yeah," Primo said and half drained the glass without tasting it. "Yeah." He nodded and went inside, and wished like hell he was back in London with Kay.
Ever since he had been summoned back to Venice, each nerve felt drawn to the snapping point. That point arrived a few hours later when Kay rang him up to suggest they share a flight together to London. That had been his first mistake:
"Why are you going to London?" Ill-hidden suspicion was in his voice, he knew, but given the family in question--His second mistake was to actually leave Kay in the capable hands of the escort her aunt arranged for her in London -- although he did leave with several new bottles of top-notch anti-anxiety pills in his possession.
"Aunt Isabel wants me to continue my studies there." Kay's voice was flat with resignation.
"Why?"
"She says it will be closer."
"But Harvard-"
"I know. I think she's pulling her interests out of the States for now." The same resignation was in her voice, with perhaps a bit of curiosity.
"Yeah. Jason seemed pleased to be given free reign in Boston." He paused as an ugly thought rose in him. "You don't think that she's setting him up to fail?
"I don't know. I don't think so. She's always seemed to like him."
"Yeah, but what if she is? And once he's down, she sends us in to clean up?"
"Ok," a hint of annoyance crept into her voice, "that's really paranoid. Even for you."
"No, no. She would. You just don't understand." He spoke too quickly trying to make her understand.
"But why do that to Jason?"
"Because he was the one who knew about Stewart first and stayed quiet about it." There was a long, uncomfortable silence from the other end of the phone. "Kay?"
"Why would he do that? It's-"
"Suicide? Yeah, I know. The only reason I can think of is he was trying to use the Nosferatu to find out about Benito's disappearance-"
"And then they got caught." Her guess was voiced in a small whisper.
"-and then they got caught," Primo echoed in answer.
"Jesus, Primo. What do you think we should do? What are you going to do?"
"Go."
When he was met by Giancarlo, Primo was able to talk himself into believing that everything really just might be ok, and that he had just been letting his imagination get the better of him. All of his confidence evaporated when Giancarlo suggested that he might be more comfortable staying on the mainland for the night "to settle in before starting work."
Primo was used to euphemisms. Primo was also used to not asking questions because lies would be too easily spawned. Instead, he stretched and yawned -- which was, even he had to admit, easy enough to do -- and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the lagoons and the city proper. His yawn quickly turned into a gawk and gasp for air as he saw the spectral winds whirling over the city. They were shot through with sickly fingers of green as purple flashes of light burst free from he roiling clouds. He peered more closely at the epicentre and saw -- dear God in heaven, he crossed himself -- swarms of dripping spectres overrunning a singular loggia.
He remembered when he was a child and begged his great-great-grandfather to watch the film 'Ghostbusters' with him. He had loved how ridiculous and fun it was, even through all the snorts of derission that came from his great-great-grandfather. For a strange, insane moment, he wished Accorri was here so he could tell him that how fucking exactly like 'Ghostbusters' this was.
"We'll wait until morning to let them know you've arrived." Giancarlo interrupted his thoughts and held out a large glass of De Angelis Rosso Lacrima Christi del Vesuvio for him.
"Yeah," Primo said and half drained the glass without tasting it. "Yeah." He nodded and went inside, and wished like hell he was back in London with Kay.