Medusa | Part Two

“That’s enough fun. Stand him up.”

The three soldiers immediately ceased laughing. The fat soldier, with the help of scarface, bent down and heaved the battered and bloody Vicenzu to his feet. The short blonde man took a couple steps back, violently yanking Pietro with him, causing him to squeal as he choked on his tongue.

“I do not like Sicily. It smells of shit, and its residents are nothing but horrid cooks, cheap merchants, and fascist, trouble-making liars. If it were up to me, I would invade your little island, and eradicate the world of your carrion stench. Unfortunately, your prime minister has been very accommodating to our war efforts, which means I am not allowed to desolate your existence,” Oval glasses said, as he ignited another cigarette, shrouding his face in a cloud of exhaling smoke, “For now.”

Vicenzu spat blood, and a couple of chipped teeth from his swollen mouth into the dirt in front of Oval Glasses’ boots.

“The only existence that needs to be eradicated from this earth, is yours, and all who align with your unholy barbarism,” Vicenzu said.

Scarface sank his fist deep into Vicenzu’s gut, forcing his stomach to dislodge more blood, and discolored chunks of bile from behind his split lips.

“Why are we playing games, Ulrich? Let us kill them both, put their bodies on display, and find some warm women to keep us company for the night,” said the fat officer.

“Patience Lutz. These men have not yet provided me with answers to my questions.”

Ulrich stepped forward, lifted the glasses from his nose, delicately placing them inside of his chest pocket, took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew the noxious cloud into Vicenzu’s face.

Vicenzu coughed, and tried to bat the smoke away from his eyes, but the tobacco was too strong, and he couldn’t prevent them from watering, forcing tears to pool in the corners, and stream down his bloody cheeks.

“Do not cry, Mr. Milici. If you tell me what I need to know, you, and your baby brother will live.”

Vicenzu looked to Pietro, trying to persuade his brother to fight, then pathetically tried to wrench himself free from his captors.

“Do not try to be a hero. I’ve seen what happens to heroes, Mr. Milici. They all die. Painfully, and…barbarically,” Ulrich said with a malevolent grin plastered across his face.

“I will ask you one last time. If you do not provide me with the answers I seek, I will remove your brother’s eyes from his skull. Slice his tongue from his mouth, and cut his ears from his head. Then, once he is blind, deaf, and mute, I will carve open his chest, reveal to you his heart, then hang him from the archway.”

“Say nothing, brother. These scum must not be allowed to have any victories. If they fail, they will die. We must ensure that they continue to fail,” Pietro said.

Ulrich craned his neck around, smiled, then instructed his man to offer Vicenzu some encouragement.

“Erich, let’s show the Milici’s the magic of silence.”

Erich’s eyes immediately expanded with ecstasy. He yanked down on the noose, and kicked Pietro in the back of each leg, forcing him to his knees. He rolled down his sleeves, buttoned each cuff, then unsheathed the SS dagger from his waist. Lutz punched Vicenzu in the gut once again, then stalked over to assist Erich. Rolf smiled, itched at his facial scar, then shoved Vicenzu to his knees. He gripped a fistful of the man’s curly black hair, then yanked backwards, forcing Vicenzu to watch.

Lutz clenched his fist, and repeatedly struck Pietro in the jaw. He took his limp skull, and stuck his meaty fingers into Pietro’s mouth, probed around for a moment, then pulled out his tongue. As he firmly held it with his right hand, he looked back at Vicenzu and began laughing hysterically. Vicenzu tried to fight off Rolf, but the man was too big, too strong, and Vicenzu was too weak. He was helpless.

Rosalie remained silent, watching on in horror from her hiding spot inside of the winery. She had her rifle leveled at the spine of the man who was holding Pietro down with a noose, but she refused to take the shot because the man was perfectly positioned in a way that any bullet fired from her direction would also strike Pietro. She also feared firing her rifle at the other men because they all had automatic rifles, and she had to reload after every shot. Even if she managed to kill one of them, the others would be alerted to her position, and they would unleash a barrage of bullets, surely killing her. She could not bring herself to risk her life. So she watched, and waited for a better opportunity.

Erich took one final glance at Ulrich, who responded with a nod of approval, then began slicing through the top of Pietro’s tongue like a piece of sirloin steak.

Pietro’s screams echoed throughout the vineyard, casting the majestic land in an ominous blanket of blood, darkness, and pain.

Erich notified the group that he was finished by dangling Pietro’s bloody tongue between his fingertips like a piece of meat for a hungry dog. He then tossed it towards Vicenzu, landing it a few inches away from his face. He wiped the blood from his dagger onto his sleeve, then placed the blade back into its sheath, all while keeping his left hand firmly gripped to the noose. Pietro’s screams had fallen silent, and Lutz ensured that the silence continued by wrapping a thick piece of white cloth around Pietro’s mouth, muffling the tender moans of agony.

Vicenzu’s eyes manifested real tears this time as he watched the white cloth wrapped around his brother’s mouth darken with blood as it slowly seeped between his lips.

Ulrich turned back to face Vicenzu, who was weeping in the dirt like a scared child, bent down, and spoke softly into his ear.

“Now, Mr. Milici. I hope we can continue our conversation without any further disruptions. If we can do that successfully, no further harm will come to you, or your baby brother. I'll give you my word.”

Vicenzu was trembling with shock, and pain, and did his best to nod his head in understanding.

“Good! I knew you were a smart man, Mr. Milici,” Ulrich said as he rose back to his feet, patting Vicenzu on his spine, “Stand him up, Rolf.”

Rolf yanked him up by his curly hair, and held him in place.

“We know that Clement, and Aida Tutino mailed a package from Casablanca to Canicatti. They were harder to break than I expected, but in the end, their lips spoke the truth. We know that the package was addressed to Bova’s instrument repair shop. We also know that Mr. Bova lied to us about receiving it. So we provided the foolish old man with a proper traitor’s death, and made sure that his business would find him in hell. We also know about Rosalie, Mr. Milici. We know that she is the daughter of Clement, and Aida, and we know that she is one of your most valued employees. I would very much like to speak with Rosalie about her parents, who are both just dying to get home to her and her brother, and if she’s anything like her attractive, rousing mother, I am sure that my men would also enjoy speaking with her as well. All you need to do is tell me where to find her. If you do this, we will leave your vineyard for good, and ensure that you, and your brother are rewarded, and enshrined as loyal patriots to the fatherland.”

Ulrich retrieved two more cigarettes from his pack, placed one between his lips, and the other between Vicenzu’s. He struck a match, then used the tiny flame to ignite both cigarettes, starting with Vicenzu’s.

Vicenzu inhaled as deeply as the broken ribs surrounding his lungs would allow, then exhaled the cloud of silver smoke through his nostrils. He peered over to Pietro, who was staring back at him with wide, tear filled eyes, and watched as his baby brother shook his head in protest, begging him not to say a word about Rosalie. He shifted his eyes back to Ulrich, and took another long drag on the cigarette, allowing the stem of ash to stretch to an inch in length, before crumbling to the dirt. He understood what he needed to do.

He spat the lit cigarette into Ulrich’s face, hitting him square in the left eye. Ulrich jerked back, and cursed Vicenzu, and himself for allowing the worm to get the better of him, and for not having his glasses on which would have stopped the lit end of the cigarette from burning his pupil. Vicenzu used this brief moment of confusion to round up all of the blood, saliva, and bile that was fermenting inside of his mouth, and spat it into Ulrich’s bewildered face.

Furious, and embarrassed, Ulrich commanded his men to carry out the brother’s death sentences.

“Erich. Take his eyes, then take his ears. Once you have finished, open his chest, cut out his heart, and hang his body from the archway. We will grant Vicenzu the opportunity to watch his baby brother die before dying himself.”

Erich and Lutz shoved Pietro to the ground. Lutz used his excessive weight to pin his body down, keeping him still as Erich removed his dagger from the sheath, and began to gouge out each eye with the tip of the blade.

Pietro writhed and convulsed on the ground as the nerves, and blood vessels connecting his eyeballs were severed, and torn from his skull.

Once each eye was removed and crushed beneath the sole of Erich’s boot, he inserted the blade between the ear and skull, and sawed back and forth until the ears fell to the dirt, exposing the canals. The loss of blood was so great, Pietro had stopped moaning and slipped into an unconscious state.

Erich and Lutz took advantage of the moment and proceeded to rip a hole in Pietro’s shirt, then tugged the remaining fabric away from his abdomen, exposing the brown hair on his bare chest.

“Put that away, Erich. Now we use mine.”

Erich smiled at Lutz, and returned his dagger to its sheath. Lutz reached to his ankle, and freed a eight-inch hunting knife from its leather holster. He flipped the blade over in his palm, and handed it to Erich, who gripped the hilt firmly in his right hand, shivering as a wave of euphoria crawled across his skin. He thought it was just the meth creeping back up to say hello, but he knew the truth. He loved killing. It brought him a level of pleasure no drug could ever achieve.

He caressed Pietro’s skin with his left hand, stroking each strand of curled hair, and every curve of his pectoral muscles. He used a finger to probe the sternum, as if trying to find the perfect spot, which he did. He raised his right arm above his head, then plunged the blade just below the center of the collar bone. He repeated the plunging, and slicing, five times until the valves of Pietro’s heart were visible. Erich handed the blade back to Lutz, who used Pietro’s pant leg to wipe off the blood, then placed it back into his ankle holster.

Ulrich made a flicking gesture with his hand, which prompted Erich and Lutz to pick Pietro’s body up from the ground, and haul him over to one of the stone archways. Erich tossed the end of the noose around the top curve of the arch, and Lutz used his bear-like strength to lift Pietro’s body from the ground by the neck. Once his body was suspended to Ulrich’s liking, Lutz and Erich tied the dangling end of the noose to a nearby rock, holding the body in place.

Ulrich then barked a command at Rolf, who was still holding Vicenzu at attention by his hair.

“Lift his arms above his head, Rolf, and give me your dagger.”

Rolf smiled, and obliged with excitement because he knew what Ulrich was about to do. He removed the dagger from his waist sheath, handed it to Ulrich, then held Vicenzu’s arms up. He waited patiently, and watched as Ulrich studied the emotions flowing through Vicenzu’s mind.

Satisfied with pleasure, Ulrich removed his own six-inch dagger from his waist sheath, and drove each of their tips horizontally into both of Vicenzu’s armpits.

Vicenzu gasped, then gargled a mouthful of warm blood. His eyes squinted from the unbelievable pain, and his legs began to wobble from the onset of death.

“Go to the truck and get another noose, Rolf.”

Rolf let go of Vicenzu’s arms, and ran towards the truck that was parked on the far side of the winery, out of sight from the main road.

Vicenzu dropped to his knees, and his elbows rested on the hilts of the two daggers, keeping his arms propped up like a scarecrow. Ulrich shrunk himself down to his level, and the last image Vicenzu saw before he died was one blue eye, and one deeply charred red eye staring back at him. As death claimed him, a simple smile broke across his face. He knew that he had given the man nothing, forcing him to suffer one more day of failure, and one more day of safety for Rosalie.

The dying smile enraged Ulrich in an awkward emotion that boiled his blood. Once Rolf returned with the rope, Ulrich tied the noose himself, wrapped it tightly around Vicenzu’s neck, and hung his body himself over the other archway.

“Now all of Sicily will know what will happen to fascist insects who defy our influence,” Ulrich said, as he plucked another cigarette from his pack, “Raid what you wish from the winery’s basement, but be quick. We must not miss our rendezvous with Nadine, and Elmar.”

The three men nodded and paraded back into the winery. They quickly found the stairs that led down into the basement, and disappeared into the darkness, cackling like wild dogs as they descended the steps. Rosalie was miraculously still in her hiding place beneath the giant stained-glass window, perfectly camouflaged in the pitch black shadows.

Crippled by fear, she cursed herself for not finding the courage to even attempt to intervene. Even though she was covertly concealed, had a loaded rifle, two pistols, a dagger, and ample time to kill at least one of the soldiers, she could not allow herself to risk being caught, or killed. She needed to get back to Corrado and inform him that a Nazi death squad was searching for something that their parents had mailed from Casablanca, and how they were now hunting her. She also needed to tell him that the Nazi commander told Vicenzu that their parents were still alive.

Her brain swelled with confusion, questions, and ideas on how to bring these men to justice, but she couldn’t take her enraged eyes off of Ulrich, who was once again leaning against the archway that Vicenzu swayed from, smoking another long cigarette. She leveled the barrel of the rifle against the top of the sill, and placed his blue eye in the center of the scope’s crosshairs, while her right index finger caressed the trigger. She was about to squeeze it when Rolf, and Lutz came barreling up the staircase. Their arms were wrapped around wooden cases of clinking wine bottles, and wool satchels overflowing with cheese, and meats were strapped to their shoulders. Erich emerged a moment later, balancing two large crates of red wine in his arms, while three of the meat and cheese satchels dangled from his hips.

She lifted her finger from the trigger and eased the barrel back into the cover of the shadows. Her moment would have to wait.

Ulrich led the way to the truck, and opened the rear door so his men could begin loading it with their Sicilian treasures.

“Should we torch the winery?” Lutz asked.

“No. I do not want to risk the bodies being burned. There is a message here that needs to be received by the people. They need to see the blood. They need to see their faces,” Ulrich said.

“What about the third brother? Shall we leave his body to rot in the dirt?” Rolf asked.

“I almost forgot about him. Thank you, Rolf for reminding me.” Ulrich said.

Ulrich rummaged around the back seat of the truck, and pulled another thick rope from a metal crate beneath the seat, and began to tie a noose.

“Rolf, make sure he is reunited with his brothers. Lutz, go with him and help hang him from the arches. Erich and I will finish loading the goods into the truck.”

Lutz and Rolf marched over to Taviano’s dead body. They each grasped an ankle, then dragged him into the center of the courtyard. Lutz placed both of his thick arms beneath the armpits, and lifted the body to its feet. Rolf slipped the noose over the head, and tightened the grip around the neck, tossing the opposite end of the rope over the top curve of the arch that Vicenzu hung from. Lutz then dropped the body to the dirt, and the two men each grabbed the dangling rope, and heaved Taviano’s body into the air.

Finished with their task, they ran back to the idling truck, and helped Erich and Ulrich finish loading. All four men then hopped inside, and the Mercedes of death slowly crept through the neighboring olive grove, then rumbled down the narrow entry road, leaving Rosalie, and the Milici brother’s in its suffocating wake of blood and dust.

Rosalie finally abandoned the shadows, and stepped out into the night. The moonlight enveloped the three swaying bodies in a sinister, silver aura, casting a haunting curse across the entire vineyard.

She wanted to cry more than anything, and grieve for her bosses, but time for her had never been so crucial. She fought back the emotions of her broken heart, held back her tears, and ran back inside the winery. She opened an unlocked, large closet door just beyond the entrance, fastened both of her palms around the leather handle bars of the bicycle, pulled it free from the closet, mounted it, then began pedaling as fast as her legs would allow.

Her initial instincts were to follow the Mercedes, maybe shoot at them from a distance, taking out the tires, causing them to crash, and die, but she knew she couldn’t kill them. At least not yet. She had questions about her parents, and these men had the answers.

She followed the wake of the truck until the road came to a wide fork. The dirt wake trailed off left, but Rosalie continued right. If she was going to get these answers, she needed back up, and an extra pair of hands that could fire a rifle.

She needed her brother. She needed Corrado.

So she headed home.