CHAPTER SIX

"Okay, go ahead and change before you catch a cold," Mr. Stevens said.

"You, too, you need to eat and take the medicine!" Ryan stipulated, making the old man with curly grey hair roll his eyes. "Grandfather!" he snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, I will." Mr. Stevens disappeared slowly, holding his button that aided his limping caused by a minor stroke.

"What a stubborn old man," Ryan mumbled.

"I heard that!" Stevens grunted.

Moments later, Ryan ventured back inside the guest's bedroom. He wanted to check on her before calling it a day. She was deeply lost in a slumber, her long, golden-brown hair tied up into a ponytail.

A soft, stirred sigh escaped Ryan, wondering all over again on what she was possibly doing in that rain. He simply huffed, arms folded across his chest, not knowing what to reckon on the matter. It was strange.

Sighing, he marched over and pulled the covers to her neck, his eyes taking in the proper sight of her. Well, she looked normal, he thought. And she was . . . pretty? He shrugged, for he'd seen way more pleasant women than she was.

And suddenly the sound of a phone call buzzing shot his eyebrow up. It was coming from that lady's bag, he comprehended.

Unhurriedly, Ryan grabbed the backpack and fished out the phone that was still in good shape, despite the odds. He checked the screen and it was someone named 'bestie'. He glowered a bit, before sliding the receiver.

"Finally you have decided to turn on your filthy phone, huh?" A female voice rose, making Ryan frown incredulously.

He'd even moved the phone away from his ear so as to recover from the sharp voice of that bestie. Women! He smirked.

Clearing his throat, Ryan started, "Um—"

"Hey, do you have any idea how worried we are? Where are you?" the lady kept shouting.

Sighing, Ryan uttered, "I'm sorry, but the owner of this phone had a minor accident, so—"

"What? An accident?" she snapped.

"Well—"

"What happened? Is she okay?" she interrupted him, and he frowned hard.

Damn it! Couldn't she let him finish? Ryan thought irritably.

"I'm not sure exactly," he articulated, annoyed, and explained how she'd found her.

"Long story short, your bestie is fine." He shook his head, exhausted.

"But hey, how can I trust you, huh?" she asked, irritating him further.

Just how did he get himself into this? He nearly blurted out.

"Hellow?" she repeated.

"You have no other choice but to do it, that's all I can say," Ryan snorted. "Do you actually think I'd pick up your call if I had any intention of killing her?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, or what else are you suggesting that I could possibly do to her?"

"Well . . ." She stammered, and within a second or two, another voice filled Ryan's ear.

"Excuse me." It was an old, male voice. Ryan's face twisted bemused as he made a small pace. "How is my Claire? Is she doing okay?"

"Yes, she will be fine when she wakes up in the morning," Ryan replied, trying hard to be polite.

"Thank you," the old man said. "Thank you very much for helping her."

"No problem," Ryan retorted. "In case you're worried, I'm calling from Kerensky Stevens' residence," he said reassuringly.

"Oh, I know the place," the old man replied and they talked for a while until they hung up.

Ryan placed the phone on the nightstand. A soft sigh escaped him as he contemplated the whole predicament. His gaze naturally found the sleeping beauty, making his lips part.

"Claire, huh?" Ryan muttered, his eyes watching the sleeping woman. "Interesting." His smile was sly.

The storm had finally passed. A beautiful morning came. Colorful flowers made the garden alive as the shining sun rays penetrated the windows, brightening every corner of that huge classic mansion.

Waking up with fatigue, Claire found herself in quite a strange place. Instinctively, her eyes faced the white ceiling above, the image coming out blurred, and her heart skipped a beat right away.

Was she dead? What was this place? She asked herself, panic pooled in her face.

The cemetery . . . Bruno . . . the rain . . . And . . . Oh, she was thirsty.

Clearing her dry throat, while attempting to get up, the memory of last night came back so vividly. It was all clear, except the part of her being rescued. However, she could also remember the feeling of being held into some strong arms amid the rainfall.

"Oh God," she breathed, struggling to stand up from the bed.

"Take it easy, miss," a soft voce muttered, surprising Claire. A woman walked in, holding a stack of towels or something before putting it down. "How are you feeling? You were burning with fever a while ago, and I had to sponge you a little."

"I'm fine, but my body aches all over." Claire was helped into a seat by the old lady. "What happened, and where am I?" she asked in a scratchy voice, looking around the Victorian style bedroom.

"You don't remember?" the old lady, who was the housekeeper, queried.

"Not much," said Claire.

"I think you had an accident and my boss helped you." The lady explained the situation, before introducing herself as Martha. "Here, drink this." She handed Claire a cup of ginger tea.

"Thank you, Martha," Claire said, smiling faintly. So they helped her? She muttered inside. "I'm sorry for the troubles I caused you all." She glanced at Martha apologetically.

"It's okay," Martha said softly, her smile warm. She was short and plump. "I've prepared you a warm bath and clothes; Mr. Stevens and his grandson are waiting downstairs."

Mr. Stevens? Grandson? They were all confusing Claire but she chose to keep calm.

"Um, thank you," she murmured, taking a small sip of her tea.

"Well then, call me if you need anything," Martha said, and with a nod from Claire, she disappeared.

Being left all alone now, Claire slowly abandoned the tea and paced towards the large window. She at least managed to smile at the sight of a green garden filled with flowers. However, the idea of meeting the Stevens made her a little nervous.