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It had been around a year since the deaths had started, that much Diavolo was sure of, if not the actual amount. Now, they are gone. Completely absent. Disintegrated. Disappeared. The impending sense of doom that had accompanied him through the past months wasn’t there. He didn’t think he had ever been more grateful for something in his entire life.
As the don of a mafia organization, he had never needed gratitude. Loyal subordinates would take care of him at every turn. No, that wasn’t right, Doppio would take care of him at every turn. He would take care of the both of them, albeit unknowingly.
None of that matters now, does it?
Ignoring his internal fears and pushing them to where he can’t hear their screams, Diavolo finally gains awareness of his surroundings. He’s warm. Pleasantly so. Not too cold, not too hot, the sort of temperature Sardinia would be in May.
May was always his favorite month.
Now that he took the time to actually look around, he realized he was in a small room that he didn’t recognize. Lifting his head, his alertness levels spike. He was sprawled in a large bed with lavender sheets, the fabric soft and light. The window was drawn open with the pale blue drapes blowing in the gentle breeze that rushed past. He could hear the sound of the waves in the distance.
He always spoke of wanting to retire in a small cottage by the sea one day.
Something wasn’t right. Diavolo was sure of it. The deaths were supposed to go on for eternity, as reluctant as he had been to accept it when it first started, it was a fact he had come to be aware of. That vermin blond defector wouldn’t risk the chance of Diavolo ever coming back, hence his fate. Surely another death was about to hit soon, his intuition must be wrong.
It has never been wrong before.
Untangling himself from the sheets, Diavolo struggles to get up. His limbs ache after being cut off countless times, sliced open, or burned. Steadily making his way towards the door, his hand hesitates above the handle as his eyes catch on the slightly open closet door.
Freezing in place, his heart rate began speeding up. Those are Doppio’s clothes, he’s sure of it. Walking over and nearly tearing the flimsy door off its hinges confirms it. It’s his dear Doppio’s clothes, their clothes, sloppily placed onto hangers and hung on the short rack at eye-level. Shoes that seem to have been hastily straightened line the bottom wall of the closet, along with a spare garment or two that had fallen, leaving the hanger above bare.
He almost laughs. Whether out of uncertainty, relief, or fear, he doesn’t know, but a pool of emotions starts bubbling inside of him. Doppio could be here . His most trusted person in the entire world, who he had never been separated from for years until the unfortunate events of a year ago, could be here. It had felt so empty, so empty inside his own head as he died over and over again.
I’m not used to being alone.
He longed for the connection again. Without it, he felt exposed, empty, like he was missing a part of himself. He needed no one. He could survive for years without any sort of human or animal contact. No one except for Doppio.
The closet looks like it was hastily cleaned and put together—typical of Doppio; he’d often forget to take the time to tidy up his living space, always too focused on his work. Diavolo missed the long nights he would spend watching as Doppio scrawled out responses on piles of paperwork.
Continuing a glance around, the evidence became more apparent that Doppio had been here. A small hairbrush stood on the nightstand next to the bed, one with a pink swirl pattern on the back, along with a few hairpins lying in disarray. The desk contained these traces as well, with small things like the same brand of pen that Doppio liked to buy sitting out alongside a few novels that he would read on a occasion, though some he didn’t recognize, and a small notebook.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Diavolo rushed out of the room, completely throwing away any caution he still had left. “Doppio, are you here? Am I finally safe? How did I get here? Have you been okay?” His pleads echoed off the walls as he dashed through the empty rooms
No one was in the bathroom, though recently dried toothpaste still lined the sink.
No one in the kitchen, though the smell of some sort of meat cooking—chicken perhaps?—still wafted through the air.
There was no one. No notes, no anything. He… he couldn’t have been gone for too long. Perhaps he had gone out somewhere, to the market, just to get some fresh air, anything else. He’d be back soon, he must be. Diavolo was tired of being alone. He needed his Doppio.
There has to be some trace of where he went.
Rushing back into the room he’d originally found himself in he continued his search. The notebook. There might be something in the notebook.
Opening its pages delicately, like an intricate spider web that could tear at any moment, Diavolo scanned through its pages quickly. It was mostly small things. Notes or reminders to get things done, and occasionally a small journal entry detailing the happenings of the week. This was Doppio’s handwriting. He had most definitely been here, and for quite a while, according to what the pages had to say.
Closing and picking up the notebook to bring with him as he continued his search, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor from the inner recesses of its pages. It landed face down on the carpeted floor.
Bending down and turning it over revealed a semi-lengthy, handwritten note with his name at the very top.
Boss,
I’m assuming you’ll find this sooner or later; it’s always been a talent of yours to know exactly what to do, which is why I put it inside this notebook for safekeeping, just in case. You must be wondering where I am by now, and I apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you. You can find more details about how you—we got here inside this notebook, but I bought this place, for you—for us.
When you were put in the death loop, we both were—technically. As long as one of us is in it, the other doesn’t have to endure death eternally. I worked hard to get you this place where you’d be safe. Don’t worry, I was careful. No one will be able to find you here, and you’ll be able to have everything you ever wanted and ever need.
I’m sorry for taking so long, a year passed before I could gather the necessary supplies. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. Knowing that I’m doing this for you is enough to get through it.
You're safe now. No one can hurt you, just like you always wanted. I’ll cut our ties so no one can drag you back to that hell once I make the switch.
Stay safe boss,
Doppio
Diavolo fell to his knees. The torture was over, just like Doppio had said. It was all over except… Doppio was gone. Forever. With no way of coming back. Diavolo hugged the notebook tightly to his chest and started to cry. He had everything he had always needed, a safe place to be where he could live comfortably, yet why did it feel so alone? He had escaped, but at what cost?
His thoughts raced inside his head, kneeling there for as long as possible before exhaustion began to consume him, yet he couldn’t seem to calm down. His last thoughts as the dark void of unconsciousness began to take him were of Doppio undergoing the same things he would have done anything to get out of, eternally.