"Why do I have to listen to them? That freak of a sister runs them," Rico argued with himself. "Why did she get those powers and not me?" He picked up a handful of stones and threw one across the field into the car park beyond the trees. His effort was rewarded with the sound of breaking glass and a car alarm.
He slung the stolen backpack over his shoulder and picked up his own bag, his last gift from his middle sister, He remembered the day she gave it to him, only a week before she disappeared.
He kept to the shadows as he made his way through the streets of Naples . He was just a kid, one of thousands who roamed the streets; many were not as fortunate as he to have a warm bed to sleep in, and roof over their heads. He had been gone nearly an hour' he knew they would look for him to punish him.
'They can rot in hell; I won't return,' he vowed to himself. The warehouses near the old docks proved an ideal place to meet his friends. They had broken into one of the abandoned buildings and systematically converted one of its offices into a meeting place, scavenging sofas, chairs, and tables from the other rooms in the warehouse. It served as a place to stay, away from the prying eyes of the authorities.
The thick stench of the smoke still hung in the air, cartons of stolen cigarettes carelessly piled on one of the tables in a far corner. Bottles of liquor and wine stood under that table; the empty ones were casually used as target practice so that piles of broken bottles lay near the shattered window that opened out into the main storage areas.
Rico grabbed a fresh pack of stolen American cigarettes and a half full bottle of red wine. He stuffed one of the cigarettes between his lips and lit it with a match, taking a long deep pull.
"Better," he muttered, and fell lazily into an overstuffed wing-back chair that he had claimed as his own, reaching into a side pocket as he did so. He removed a clear bag with several hand-rolled cigarettes and a dwindling supply.
He carefully pulled out a small white sheet, creased it, and sprinkled a generous amount of the green leaves into the fold. With the skill of an expert, he folded one side of the paper over and twisted it in his fingers. This procedure he repeated with whatever was left over in the bag, which made only two more cigarettes.
By now Rico had drained the half bottle of wine and several stolen cigarettes, waiting for company before indulging in the product of his labor.
"Rico! You're early," his companion called out shortly.
"Franco, I had another fight with that bastard father. This time I knocked him over and he struck his head," the laughter in his voice void of compassion.
"Light one of those quickly. I hate not being high."
"Where's Nickie? She was coming today?"
"Yes, she had to wait for her father to leave, some big important meeting. She told me he is some British politico type."
"Another asshole for them to rape? Stupid English."
The boys laughed while Rico lit the drug-filled cigarette. Another twenty minutes sped by and they had consumed the last of the original marijuana they had when a girl a year or so older entered the chamber. She smiled, went directly to Rico, and plunged her tongue in his mouth.
Franco watched as his friend hungrily groped the girl's breasts, while she ran her hands through his hair. She lifted her skirt and she sat in his lap, straddling him.
"If you want this, you had better have some more of those," she teased, pointing to the last of the joints.
"I have more, much more. My sister brought some stupid Englishmen to my uncle's villa. One of them left this out." He opened Harry's backpack and spilled the contents. Strange gold-coloured coins, too light to be real, and a large pile of Euros fell out, but the kids stared only at a tightly wrapped bag filled with a leafy, green herb, which had fallen on top of the pile of money.
"They had that much? There must be a full kilo. Roll a fat one," Nickie commanded.
Rico obliged, and felt her hand rub his groin. She knew little of being subtle when there was something she wanted, and what she wanted was to be the first to smoke this new supply.
Rico's attention wavered momentarily as her hand roughly rubbed the bulge in his jeans. "If this is as good as it looks, I'll let you have a little more, my Rico," she said with a shy smile.
He put the newly rolled cigarette in his lips and lit it, taking a deep pull on the herb. He filled his lungs as far as he could before she took the cigarette and straddled his lap. Rubbing him through his jeans, she put the burning cigarette in her lips, pulling a lungful of the drug and holding it. Rico slipped his hands under her shirt and began to fondle her.
She coughed, but inhaled again.
He rubbed her breasts.
She coughed harder.
He pulled her shirt open and reached to free himself from his jeans.
"No. You know better, Rico, I can't do that. I'll do you like I always do." She said as she filled her lungs full of the drug. She held her breath and tried to suppress a cough as she leaned forward and kissed Rico.
The urge to cough forced her to break from the kiss. As she exhaled, dark yellow smoke escaped from her mouth. A trickle of blood leaked from her ears, unseen by Rico as he exhaled and put his lips to her breasts.
She moaned lightly as he continued to attack her chest. She took the burning cigarette from his hand and pulled on it again; ignoring the difficulty she had holding the drug in her lungs.
She coughed again; a hoarse, deep, barking cough.
He began to suck on her, as his hand slipped under her knickers. A new trail of red leaked from her nose.
She coughed again, this time a fine spray of blood spurted from her mouth. Rico continued to suck on her breast, still oblivious.
"Rico!" Franco suddenly screamed. "Nickie is… She's…"
She screamed, the sound as blood-chilling as any in a horror movie.
"Nickie, what?" Rico screamed as she pushed him back. He was at a loss for words as a crimson trail oozed from her ears and nose.
She screamed again, the last air she could force from her lungs. The terror in her eyes burned a permanent image in Rico's mind: she was going to die.
"Nickie, NO! What's happening to you? What have I done?"
She beat her fists against his chest as her strength left her. Now, all she could manage was a gurgle as bright red mucus poured from her mouth. Rico stared in terror as the warm breast he had just caressed and suckled fell off her body and into his lap. Her flesh began to dissolve; the lumpy gelatin visible through her ribs all that was left of her lungs. Then that too began to spill through her bones and out of the hole where her breast had been.
He stared and screamed as he watched her heart, visible through her ribs, continue to beat. It beat harder and faster, trying to force her blood through arteries that had also began to dissolve.
Franco had fallen into the corner, and vomited.
Her heart beat one last time before it too fell from her chest, landing in his lap.
"Fuck you, Rico, don't you understand? It's the bloody drug. You've killed her!" Franco screamed.
Rico tried to hold the girl in his arms; her flesh continued to dissolve until all that was left was the skeleton of her torso, though her limbs still remained intact, at least for the moment. Her face now began to dissolve. The exposed blood soaked bones of her skull formed an eerie grin. Her dead eyes continued to stare at Rico as the flesh around them also melted and dripped from her skull.
He never saw Franco slip in his own bile and fall out the door, down the stairs. A sharp barb on the landing caught his arm, leaving a gash from his shoulder to elbow. His blood left small puddles down the metal steps.
He began to panic, pushing her carcass from his lap to the floor. His lust had turned quickly to terror, and her melting flesh dripped from his lap as he bolted from the chair.
He stood over her carcass, still jerking from reflexes that refused to stop, and looked at the bag of drugs on the floor. His face turned pale and he started to shake; he felt his lips turn cold and numb.
"I killed Nickie... I killed her," he muttered as he looked at her remains.
Franco was gone, and the putrid odour of his vomit struck Rico. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he felt his insides twist, he fell to his knees and vomited as well. Nothing but bright red fluid spewed from his mouth, and he screamed, "FUCK, I smoked it too," and vomited again.
"I smoked it too... I'm going to die," he cried, trying to run. In his blind fear he instead ran headlong into the wall, striking his head on a protruding shelf and gashing his own scalp.
The fresh trickle of blood leaked to the corner of his mouth, adding to his panic. A vision of the ooze from her mouth flashed in his mind as he tasted his own blood.
"Those British bastards did this," he screamed, and a vortex of air twisted around him, engulfing the room. The windows exploded outwards with the force of his magic; loose objects inside the room began to swirl around him; bits of dissolved flesh splattered the walls.
He watched as the effects of the drug began to fog his mind, "Franco! Help ME! I don't want to die!" he screamed. A tendril of light flashed through an open window, mesmerizing him as he continued to call for his friend.
"Franco, come back!"
He felt the fog close in; all he could remember was that he needed Franco.
A loud thump on the floor broke his concentration; the glowing in the room vanished leaving a stunned and shocked Franco on his hands and knees, vomiting.
Franco looked up to see Rico, his clothes and hair still blowing in an unseen and unfelt windstorm.
"FUCK! Rico?" he screamed, looking around wildly. He looked at the floor to find a skeleton in a crimson puddle. He looked back to Rico, who stood as still as a statue. "You're a freak. You're a bloody freak. You killed her."
"Freak?" Rico asked calmly.
"FUCK YOU! I was a fucking block away, how did I…"
"You returned?" he asked. Bits of Nickie still stuck to his clothes, feeding his friend's terror.
Franco screamed and ran from the room again, shouting, "I'm going to tell her father. You're a dead freak!" He fell out the door again, making his escape.
Rico stood motionless; his mind had gone blank as he remained standing over a skeleton clad in a short skirt and open blouse, the bony feet stuck inside short, spike-heel boots. A final slab of skin that had stuck to his shirt fell into the puddle and began to dissolve.
Time was not relevant as he stood motionless, staring into the void of his mind, seeing nothing.
A loud crash outside drew his attention. The sun was setting, leaving long shadows across the dried, red splotch on the floor. The grisly bones at his feet grinned one last time, as if she knew her father's revenge would end him and his family.
The door crashed open as Franco was thrown through the door. A man casually walked in, followed by several others; one he recognized as Nickie's father; others he knew to be 'family protectors,' as she had called them. The look on her father's face when he saw his daughter's remains never fully registered in Rico's mind.
"You fuckin' little shit, I'm going to rip your head open!" Rico heard through his fog.
"You will do as I say. This was unfortunate for you, but providence for me. Now, Signore, wait outside," one of the strangers addressed Nickie's father. "You can deal with whatever I decide to leave for you," his accent was proper British, his manner, and dress like that of a gentleman or noble.
Rico blinked, and his void opened to allow the scene before him.
"Fuck you; I'll kill this little shit now!" Nickie's father screamed.
The stranger smiled and pulled a thin stick from a pocket and turned to Nickie's father; a yellow flash momentarily blinded Rico. "No, you will do as I command."
It seemed strangely comical to Rico as he and the rest of his entourage complied, nearly falling over each other trying to escape the threat of a mere stick. The stranger casually walked over to the boy, kicking the bones from his path.
Rico looked up to see the same face he had seen at the villa; he heard the man's name in his head, but ignored it. The stranger placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly, "Now, boy, I will only ask this once. Do you understand?"
Rico could only nod.
A moan from the corner of the room attracted the man's attention.
"Before I ask you this one question, the one question that you were born to answer, let me show you what will happen if you try to deceive me." He turned to Franco, and pointed his stick at him.
"Crucio…" he casually said, without feeling, without remorse. A flash of light flew from the stick he held and struck Franco's battered body.
Franco screamed; his body quivered and shook violently; fresh traces of blood broke from his lips.
"It took me a while to get the full story from him, but I'm afraid he was not clear on certain details." The man turned away, releasing Franco from his agony. Then, he carefully surveyed the floor, but the dwindling light prevented him from seeing clearly.
"Lumos," he called out, holding the stick in the air. A brilliant glow illuminated the room, almost blinding Rico. The stranger scanned the floor, finding the bag of drugs and the pile of strange coins.
"There's my gold," he muttered, and opened the bag of drugs. He sniffed the contents and chuckled.
"Boy, do you have any idea what this is? It seems you didn't, pity. I had seen pictures of that little tramp; she would have been fun for an evening before she got too old. Shame you had to melt her, but she was just a worthless Muggle after all. I guess no one warned you Comfrey has certain side affects."
Rico heard the words; some of them were strange. 'Some English words,' he thought.
"Now, first, where did you get this?"
"Y-Y-you," he stammered. His focus shifted to the lump of flesh in the corner; his friend had stopped moving.
"Do you know who I am?"
Rico shook his head, "You came with Cat to the villa, with strangers. I stayed away."
"I see. So you avoided me. How many others are there?" his one question grew to two, then three. He now paced causally in front of Rico.
"Y-Y-yes, there are three men and two women," Rico offered, hoping to appease this man.
That information was acknowledged with a nod.
He glanced back to the bones on the floor.
"Look at me, boy!" the stranger screamed, pointing his stick at Rico. The fury in the man's eyes burned into Rico's living soul. "Don't you ever look away from me again unless I say you can. Do you understand me?"
Terrified, Rico nodded.
"Good," he said in a calm voice. "Let me formally introduce myself, Harry Potter. I'm certain you've heard of me?"
"No. No, sir."
"How is that possible? You are from a wizard family aren't you?"
"W-Wizard family?"
He shook his head, "Muggle-born, I should have guessed. Well that's a shame. Before you die, where are they?"
"Rico, don't! He's evi…"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" the man shouted, and pointed his stick at Franco. A green beam struck him square in the chest, and he stopped moving; his eyes fixed, staring into space, his mouth still open in mid scream.
"Now, where are they?" the man called Harry asked again, and the green glow from his wand seemed to shift to his eyes.
"My uncle's villa," Rico said, and he saw the tip of the wand glow before all conscious thought ceased.
"Signore Basile, I am sorry for your home. Remember though that if we were here, it is possible we all would have died."
The older man stood in the smouldering remains of his home; His family possessions lay scattered and shattered on the ground; his family pictures, burned. Nothing had been spared.
"You… and your people brought this on us," he said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, we did. And for that all I can do is offer my apologies, and the promise that I will do everything in my power to correct this."
"Correct this? Who do you think you are? God? I have lost one daughter; must I lose my two remaining children?"
"We'll find Rico, but you must understand the contents of that pack he stole could be as damning to him as if he were to face the true evil of this world."
"True evil? You have no place to talk of evil. This was my home. What have you sacrificed to this 'evil' you speak about? Talk to me when you know what loss is, you selfish bastard!" Caterina's father screamed.
"You have no idea what Harry's sacrificed," Sirius interjected, unable to stomach any more of Signore Basile's unjust accusations towards his godson. "He lost his entire family to this evil, and almost lost the woman he loves. And yes, he's lost friends too."
"So you've lost people close, but what would you do if you lost that child she carries?"
"Survive, continue. Just as I have before," Harry snapped.
Sirius turned, "Before?"
Harry stared at the one man he trusted in this world and nodded, "Three. We have lost three to this evil. That's why I fight, and I'll continue until I die."
"Harry, I had no idea." Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.
Harry attempted a smile, "Once, when Hermione and I faced Voldemort. She was carrying a child. And again, five years ago we lost twins. The twins rest next to her parents. Next to where my parents are buried." He turned to face Caterina's father, "Yes, we've both lost a lot, but you still have Caterina and Rico. Let's find him and bring him home."
"This was my home."
"It will be again. Houses can be rebuilt, as long as there are people to live in them. Now, where is Rico's special hiding place?"
The four men stood in the ruins, three of them waiting for the other to decide his course. Finally, Signore Basile turned, leaving behind the destruction of his life. His two new companions followed suit as all three stepped back into their vehicle.