The Man Who Couldn't Stay Dead. (Part 2)

MILAN, ITALY. JULY 25th 1999. 3.45pm.

Paulo stooped over his cluttered desk examining a large diamond through a loupe. His client stood silently by. Suddenly, Paolo shouted an obscenity and jumped out of his seat. The diamond shot into the air and rolled along the floor. The loupe flew in the opposite direction.
“What the hell ?” exclaimed the angry client as he chased his diamond across the floor.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought I saw something. A face.” Paulo was pale and shaking.
“A face ? In my diamond. You are crazy. I'll take my business elsewhere. Maybe you should take more water with it next time.”
The client stormed out of the office. Paulo didn't try to stop him.
He walked over to where his loupe lay on the floor and looked at it as though it were a fizzing stick of dynamite
Slowly and very gingerly he picked it up. Holding it at arms length he tried to look through it again, but his nerve failed. He threw it into his desk drawer and followed his usual routine after a bad day. A stiff drink.

LONDON, ENGLAND. 2005

Sixteen year old Anthony no longer sees his psychologist Not since Dr Sankis' best selling book came out featuring years of Anthony's therapy.
He remained anonymous of course, but it was no secret to many.
The fits, the bleeding scar, the diamond obsession, the star birthmark, the past life memories set off by all manner of things. A certain song, a time of day, a sultry evening, the smell of lavender. Even on one occasion, rap music from the flat upstairs. Then of course, the Italian peculiarity. After his Italian experience with Dr Sankis, Anthony returned home that day fluent in the language that he'd never spoken before.
He now spoke Italian most of the time. But his parents considered the 'Italian Renaissance' as they called it, a blessing. It was a watershed that saw Anthony become a far happier, less anxious child, as though a black cloud had vanished from over his head.
The books helped too. Anthony read two types of book obsessively.
Anything about Italy and anything about precious gems. Preferably diamonds.
On rare occasions he still had his 'visions' and fits but they didn't seem to bother him so much. He made more sense of them now. Each one added another piece to the jigsaw. And now the jigsaw was almost complete. Anthony didn't share his thoughts with his parents out of respect for their feelings, but he was now convinced that he was not their child. For many years he secretly thought he was adopted. Now he realised that his parents really were his genetic family and he loved them as any child would.
More so because he knew the trouble and anxiety he had caused them.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong. That he was only passing through on the way to somewhere else. The deeper his Italian obsession became, the more certain he was of where his life belonged.
And it wasn't London.

MILAN, ITALY. 2014

It was almost 25 years since Paulo Solquine had become the sole owner of Star Diamond Dealers thanks to the 'disappearance' of his partner.
At least that's what he'd told everyone.
Police, family, business clients had all been told the same story.
Antonio had been depressed for months said Paulo. He'd threatened several times to end his life. He repeated this story to the authorities for years. All lies. But eventually Antonio Petrini was officially declared dead by his own hand.
In the following years Paulo led a louche life of wealth, drink, women and shady deals that turned the once respected Star Diamond Dealers into a company to be avoided by reputable clients.
As a result, the business was dragging along the bottom, surviving from day to day on borrowed money. Mostly from unpleasant Italians with mortician's faces and bulges in their jackets that were not the Gideon's Bible.
They were getting impatient for a return on their loan and the eye watering interest was growing faster than Paolo's bar bill.
He needed to find some serious money fast.
Twenty five years ago, there had been rumours of Paolo's ex partner, Antonio Petrini purchasing a very old, hugely valuable ring for Star Diamonds. A flawless, blood red ruby surrounded by a circle of five immaculate diamonds. Old clients spoke of it in almost mystical terms.
After Antonio’s 'disappearance.' Paolo had searched for the ring for years. He'd ransacked the office, only finding addresses of several safe deposit boxes that produced nothing. Bank vaults were checked. Solicitors offices, all used by Star Diamond Dealers. He'd searched Antonio's car before selling it. He'd searched Antonio's house and even the dead man's clothes hanging in his wardrobe. Nothing.
He'd concluded that the stories were just that. Stories. The jewellery business was rife with such legends of mythical gems. In reality, nobody ever saw them outside of museums or coffee table books.

MILAN, ITALY. AUGUST 15th 2014. CAFE REALE. 7.30pm

Twenty four year old Anthony sat outside Café Reale on a busy street in an off beat part of Milan. This was now his third visit to Italy. On each occasion he'd walked for miles, along streets, main roads, back allies looking for the memories inside his head.
He didn't know what to expect.. A building, a shop, a house, a square.
He just felt that he'd know it when he saw it. But how ? He'd never been to Italy before in his life.
But Anthony knew in his bones that he'd lived in Italy. If it wasn't in this life then it must have been in another. How could that be possible ?
He also knew with awful, cold certainty how he'd died. He'd seen his death many times in his fits and flashbacks, and each time, he saw more valuable clues. The last earthly images of a murder victim. Himself.
On his first visit he wasn't even in the right City. But Turin just didn't feel right.
Then he read of a small off beat area of Milan known for it's jewellery trade. He looked up some old pictures of the area and immediately knew. This was it. Like finding old photos of a long ago holiday and being transported back to those days.
When Anthony walked the streets of Milan on his second visit, he knew he was home. He felt like a kidnap victim or a slave who'd been given his freedom and returned home after years of captivity. Some buildings were different, roads were new, whole blocks were modernised, but it was still recognisable as home. And it felt good. It felt right.
He was drawn to Café Reale. It made him feel happy, even nostalgic.
Yesterday, sat at this same table a middle aged waiter had greeted him like an old friend, saying something about it's been a long time. But seeing Anthony's confusion and realising how young he was, he backtracked, apologised and went about his business. But somewhere inside Anthony, it gave him a good feeling. A feeling he'd never had before. Of being home, amongst friends. Of belonging.
Often, he thought he recognised something that had significant meaning, but he just couldn't pull up the memory that would drop it into place.
Not surprising when the memory wasn't even from this life. Can memories continue across different lives ? Down the generations ? Bloodlines ? Anthony had to believe they could, otherwise this was all just his imagination.
Three days ago in a bar, he thought he knew the female manager. She was late forties, pretty in a world weary way. He'd performed a classic 'double take' when he saw her. She saw him too and stopped dead in her tracks while serving a customer. She stared open mouthed, beer pouring over the rim of the customers glass. Only the customer's shout regained her attention and pulled her gaze away from Anthony.
He'd made a mental note to return to that bar if ever he completed his business in Milan. What was his business in Milan ? He wasn't sure himself. If he though about it too long it was too insane to consider.
To find his previous life. Before he was murdered. To find old friends. Family. But most of all, to find his own murderer.

Anthony moved his coffee cup to one side and spread a street map over the table. Most of the map was covered in red ink denoting every road, street, muse, back alley that he'd already walked. He was at a loss where to try next. Out of nowhere, a gust of wind lifted the map off the table and into the face of a passing signorina, wrapping itself around her head and shoulders. Anthony jumped up, full of apologies as he helped remove the offending map. He expected a fiery blast of Italian anger, but when the lady's face was revealed they both froze, staring at each other. It was the manageress from the bar. They stood there, bemused and tongue tied, both feeling that long ago attachment of a familiar face but not being able to put a name to it.
“Do I know you ?” the lady asked eventually, without the expected anger but with genuine curiosity.
“I don't think so. I'm not from around here.” Anthony's response felt weak, unfinished and even untrue. He felt the same familiarity and wanted to say more, but what ? Where would he start to explain ?
“You remind me of someone I once knew. A long time ago.” she said almost fondly.
Something about her voice turned somersaults inside Anthony's head.
A feeling he often got before his flashbacks. He couldn't let this moment go, but he couldn't think what to say that wouldn't sound insane. Then he caught the aroma of her perfume.
“You're wearing Acqua di Parma. That was always my favourite perfume.”
Anthony had never smelt that perfume before and wouldn't have known it from Old Spice.
'Where did that come from ?” he thought to himself.
The lady looked at him long and hard. “Is this some kind of joke ?” she said, now with a hint of anger. Anthony was puzzled. “No. I just like your perfume. It is perfect for a summers evening like this.” The lady gasped, put her hands to her mouth and sat down hard on his vacant chair. Anthony quickly motioned to a passing waiter and requested a glass of water. The lady looked as though she was about to faint.
“He always said that.” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
“Said what ?” Who ? asked Anthony, as a knot tightened in his stomach.
“A man I once knew, long ago. He loved this perfume, especially on a summers evening like this. You even look like him.”
Anthony could feel the glimmer of a light coming on. He was starting to get excited, but he didn't want to frighten the stranger any more than he already had.
“What was his name.” he asked cautiously.
“Antonio. Antonio Petrini.” The glimmer of light in Anthony's head burst into a supernova. That was it. That was his name.
He couldn't help himself. “Yes.” he shouted. “That's it. That's my name.”
He put his hands to his head in excitement and his unbuttoned shirt flapped open.
The lady saw a star birthmark on his left shoulder. She let out an enormous scream and fainted.

MILAN, ITALY. AUGUST 15th 2014. STAR DIAMOND DEALERS. 7.45pm.

Paulo was sat in his office, unshaven, feet on table, swigging shots of hard liquor. He hadn't seen a client in weeks. Through the open window, he heard a scream from the streets below. These days, that wasn't unusual. Horse play or a lovers tiff usually.
But this one seemed to reach inside him and touch a nerve, a memory, an emotion. He rose unsteadily from his chair and went to the window.
In the street below was some kind of a commotion. People crowding around a café table.
A waiter flapping a towel at a figure lying on the ground.
“Probably someone had too much to drink.” he thought. The irony passed him by as he returned to his chair and his liquor.

LINK TO PART THREE
http://www.abctales.com/story/mayman/man-who-couldnt-stay-dead-part-3