A Beast in Venice: (Literary Horror set in Venice) by Michael E. Henderson Page B

into the brick-filled gate.
    “Fuckin-A,” Brigham whispered. “Not again.”
    Blood streaked the paving stones, ending at the wall. The sound of wooden heels running on the pavement echoed from the surrounding buildings, making it impossible to tell where it was coming from. After a few seconds, Brigham realized someone was running toward him from around the corner. Although unusual for anyone to be running there, he had no reason to be concerned. Then two men appeared. One pointed at him, the other bore a police baton. They strode toward him. He sprinted over the bridge in front of the Mendicoli, then to the right. At the next bridge, another man came toward him from the left. Brigham crossed the bridge and dashed toward Campo San Barnaba. Simply running into the campo yelling for help would do no good. The city was packed with crazies for Carnevale, and one more person yelling would be ignored, even by the police.
    At Campo San Barnaba he ran for the canal, did a cannonball, and landed with a great splash in the middle of it. He gasped for air in the icy water. People hurried over to help him get out. His assailants had vanished.
    A couple of police officers trotted over. Within a few minutes a fire boat arrived, followed by a police boat. This was why he jumped in. Although the city was crisscrossed with canals, to hear the splash of a person hitting the water was unusual. It always drew a crowd and got the police involved as well as firefighters and an ambulance.
    The tide was low, so he was able to stand up. The murky water came to just above his waist. As he waded to the steps, he bumped something floating just out of view under the surface. Whatever it was, it seemed to be secured to the bottom by a weight. A couple of firefighters helped him climb out of the frigid water and gave him a blanket as the police came over to investigate. Thankfully, he wasn’t the first American to find himself in a canal in Venice, so they didn’t act as though it were a federal crime, simply an inconvenience.
    “ Documenti ,” one of the cops said, holding out a hand.
    Brigham didn’t relish being the subject of a police investigation, but he liked being alive, and causing the ruckus was the only real choice he had. The police in Venice were not the heavy-handed brutes one encounters in the US. These two cops were actually attractive young women. One was tall with shoulder-length dark hair, and the other had long hair, dyed blond. They examined his soggy identity card.
    “Why you jump into canal?” the tall one asked.
    “Some men were chasing me.” Brigham wrung water from his coat.
    The cop pulled her head back in disbelief. “Chasing you?”
    “Yes, I was back by the Mendicoli, and they started to come after me.” Just as he had started shivering, he gladly accepted a blanket from one of the ambulance folk.
    “Why they chase you?”
    Brigham shrugged. “I could only speculate.”
    The tall cop frowned. “What? I don’t understand.”
    “I don’t know why. I could only guess.”
    “What would you guess, signore?” asked the blonde, crossing her arms in front of her.
    Now here was the dilemma. He thought he knew why he was being chased, but would the police believe that? Should he take them there and show them the blood? Of course not. The blood would be gone. And what if he told them about the man disappearing into the wall? He would end up in the drunk tank. On the other hand, he didn’t want to make a false report to the police. It wouldn’t be a lie to guess and tell the cops that he was guessing. He didn’t really know why he was being chased. Was it a lie to leave out a material fact? Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he ought to just keep his mouth shut. Not wanting to go to jail and not wanting to spend the night trying to explain a cockeyed story, he proceeded carefully.
    “My guess is that they were going to rob me.”
    “But you do not know?” the blonde asked. He liked the blonde better, for some