She is not shy, his words have unlocked something in her and they spill forward now, as unavoidable as that gravity of truth. And he remembers how easy it is to walk through this world when there are those who feel as you feel, those that see as you see. There’s an asphyxiation to loneliness and it’s gripped his throat since that night at the theater. Finally, he feels like that grip has loosened, finally he feels like he’s breathing again. Lamprius is all flesh and blood once more. There was a time when only a romantic love could draw him out of the numbness that wrapped him up.
And now maybe, there is something else.
One hand with the phone to his ear, he uses the other to pull the slip of paper with Ms. Gagliano’s name on it. Lamprius listens with intention and he understands why her name sits dried in ink on so many of Hecate, Medea and Circe’s lists. Of course they paid her attention, just like they paid attention to every brick, every crack in the pavement of this city. No detail, no person too small. Lamprius doesn’t really know how to respond with her wistfulness at having missed the opportunity to speak to them. He wishes she could too - because there were three of them and only one of him. There wasn’t much to compare was there? But he’d have to do; he’d have to be good enough for both her and the city. The fact that he hadn’t died trying yet meant he was either doing something right - or he was lucky.
But as he listens to her speak with conviction, even though he is on his own, operating as his own, single agent, Lamprius does finally feel like he’s done something right.
“For what it’s worth, Noemi is very capable. I really had to try in my efforts to make sure this phone reached you undetected.” The wicker chair digs into his back as he sinks into it. He does this so he can get a better look at the night sky. Her condolences are still ringing in his ears, he’s heard so few for his fallen sisters. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Lamprius. Truly, I am‘ He’ll accept them, he just won’t acknowledge them. The time for grieving has passed - so he’ll keep talking about the phone. “I won’t be coming back for it, so do whatever you want with it. Though I do recommend getting rid of it.”
It’s not all idle chatter. It’s second nature to cover his tracks and Lamprius does feel compelled to teach Ms. Gagliano exactly how to make herself disappear - beginning with the burner phone in her possession. Scatter the pieces, make yourself untraceable, destroy the sim card. Lamprius is suddenly standing without weight at the prospect that he has found his first ally and while his own apprenticeship was hardly a victory won overnight, he is on a timer. Lamprius can’t even call it the floodgates opening because he’s seen the river of blood and the persistent, consistent way it has been rushing towards them. Each second is a grain of sand in the hourglass of this city and it is not a very big city. Certainly not big enough for the two gangs that threatened to overrun it.
The next question is expected, Lamprius could set his watch to its timing. Of course she wants to know how she can trust him. She might not like the answer but she’d have to come to terms with it.
“I do not know I do not think there is much I could say to you, nor do I really wish to try and fumble for the words that would make you believe me. I think…” How to say this, “it’ll happen in due time.”
Truly, if Isabella Gagliano could be convinced via simply a phone, she wasn’t the woman he believed her to be. And while Lamprius supposed there were some things he could be surprised by, he knows that she isn’t one of them. She, like him, is a candle with an unwavering flame. Something that will continue to endlessly illuminate and burn.
Lamprius searches for the words and finds he doesn’t have to look far. He picks them with precision.
“All I can say is,-” In fact, he’s been thinking about these specific words for a while now. One day, in the not too distant future, he’ll deliver them both to Damiano and Cosimo as a threat. She’ll hear them then. And when she does, she’ll know it’s him. Life is determined to make a patient man out of Lamprius. It’s a necessity, but he wants to warn her that it is one of the hardest things to do. “-What is dead can never die. Not while there is life and legacy to be taken in its name.”
Yes, those words feel right. Better, they feel true. Silence falls, heavy between them. Does she find comfort in the weight between words that he does? He lives in those liminal spaces less and less now, he mostly sticks to the black and white truth of the words. This whole conversation has been governed by the truth, and Lamprius could get used to the freeing feeling of being only himself.
“Besides that, well, we will just have to wait, I suppose.” A beat. “We will meet soon, I’m sure of it..”
For what it’s worth, Noemi is very capable. I really had to try in my efforts to make sure this phone reached you undetected.
A breath of a laugh passes through her nose, and she makes a note to apologize to her secretary. Noemi has been good to her for as long as they’ve worked together; eagle-eyed and eager to please, the younger woman always was voracious when it came to making sure that Isabella’s requests were followed. She’s just about to comment about her secretary’s grit and determination when he continues on about the phone: I won’t be coming back for it, so do whatever you want with it. Though I do recommend getting rid of it. She ignores the small pang of disappointment in her chest, the thought of luring Lamprius from hiding with the promise of returning his phone quickly dissipating. “Of course,” the journalist says instead, “I’ll get rid of it this evening.”
Isabella has been led astray before. Yes, she was younger and less seasoned; she was still, compared to the mafia-aligned Veronesi, soft and green. She would hold her tongue, would write in secret--but no more. Now, Isabella Gagliano is hardened and stubborn; she’s dodged poisoned cups and death threats, has been threatened to lose her job under different publishers and superiors--and yet, she still stands. So, when Lamprius concedes that he won’t try to placate her with words and promises, something stirs inside of her chest: hope.
It’s a dangerous thing--but what in la justicia’s life is not?
“I fervently hope, Lamprius, that due time comes sooner rather than later.” He should know as well as anyone that tomorrow is never promised--but by his words ( What is dead can never die. Not while there is life and legacy to be taken in its name ), Izzy is led to believe that maybe, just maybe, Lamprius has something up his sleeves.
“I look forward to meeting you.”
