6|No, You're Not

The numbers ten and thirty were displayed on the screen of my phone attached to the car phone mount, The Rolling Stones’ Sympathy for the Devil croons on a low volume by the speaker. It was drizzling rain when I left Coffee Hut, but the weather had been kinder as soon as I exited the freeway.

Because the road was wet with rain and my tires hadn’t been exactly in good condition, I was driving at a snail’s pace. At this rate, I will reach the Vitale estate before midnight, hopefully. The constant uphill and the lack of street lights, or any source of light for that matter, made this trip somewhat melancholic.

All my GMC’s headlight spots through the curves of the taxing road were tree after tree. It’s like driving through endless darkness. If the town proper was quiet, this place was eerie.

Luckily for me, road signs indicate how close I’m getting to my destination. I’ve been watching for those, like eyeing a suspect I’m hunting. It’s the only sane thing I could do while the song changed to The Beatles’ Don’t Let Me Down.

When I lost a bet at that stupid football game, Eloisa made this playlist for me back in college. I will not admit this to her, but I fell in love with her choice of music, so even until now, it’s been my go-to road trip jam.

Yep. This is a road trip—a sudden one.

A breathy sigh slipped past my lips when I saw the sign saying I was entering private property. I’m finally at Vitale Estate. This Mr. Valentin is a hard man to find. I wonder if his friends spend this much effort if he invites them for brunch.

I took the left turn, following the road sign’s instructions, leading me to a narrow dirt road nestled between nothing but bleakness.

I decelerate my already slow speed with additional caution, since I’m only following the dirt path. It looks like I’m entering an untouched territory, hidden in the mountains far from civilization, until I reach an arch made of stones. It has the words Welcome to Vitale Estate with a six-pointed star in the middle.

I can’t help but remember the same symbol engraved on Rivera’s forehead. And also, I kept seeing the symbol in my dreams. Glimpse after glimpse like an endless loop for the past nights.

Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts as lampposts lit the road. Glad that I finally found a sign of civilization.

The road I’m driving on now was void of the imposing trees. There seemed to be an empty field on each side of the road, and to my utter surprise, I could see the twinkling stars from my vantage point.

Huh.

This was the first time I saw a clear sky in this town. It’s usually cloudy even in daylight.

I followed the street lights, which led me to a gated mansion manned by two stone-carved lions on each side. Surprisingly wide open, the sky-high gate was lit up by pale yellow fence light. Driving to the roundabout, I was in awe at how stunning the mansion was. There are probably fifteen or so bedrooms in this three-story building, if my calculation is correct.

It has a welcoming ambiance, even with its historical-looking architecture. It mirrors one of the houses Eloisa, and I saw when we went on vacation to Italy, made of grey stone walls adorned with spacious balconies and loggias.

I stepped out of my car, still star-struck that the estate rumored haunted by the townsfolk of Salvatore Hills was as picturesque as this. The aesthetic of this house is a work of art.

I climbed up the double stairwell leading to the expansive porch. Nestled between two massive pillars was an oakwood double door. Eyes still admiring the arts carved on the stones, I reached for the lion’s head with a ring trapped in its closed mouth, attached to the door, knocking three times.

About a minute passed, and I knocked again when no one answered. Silent footsteps echoed soon from the other side of the door. Awareness washed over me at the loud ringing of my heartbeat in anticipation of seeing Mr. Valentin.

It’s not him, although I was still stunned at how attractive the man was. I’d put him around the same height as Mr. Valentin with brown catlike eyes. It was a no-brainer that I woke up the man, still in his white shirt, grey pyjama pants topped with a thick black robe open in the middle. His salt and pepper hair pointed in all directions, sleep etched in his face.

If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it.

“Can I help you?” he had that sweet English accent that made me feel like I was standing in the door of some royalty.

I swallowed hard, keeping my hands to my side, clenching. “I apologise for coming here unannounced, but I was wondering if Mr. Valentin is home.”

Beneath his long lashes, he regarded me with a blank stare. “You are?”

I pulled out one of my cards tucked in my wallet and handed it to him, introducing myself in the process.

He studied the card with furrowed brows, lips pursed in a thin line. “Detective Grayson, is this an official visit? Can I ask what trouble he got himself into?”

“Oh, no. We bumped into each other in town, and I believe he has my journal.”

The man, who I haven’t gotten the name yet, tilted his head to the side. “You drive all the way here in the middle of the night for a journal?”

I sighed, closing my eyes to compose myself. It’s been an eventful week, and being on the other side of interrogation is not something I’m fond of. “It has everything I have on a case.”

He hummed, head bobbing once, eyes assessing me. “He’s not home, Detective.” A slow, mischievous smile stretched his lips. “But you can come in. It’s cold, and I have this house all to myself.”

Not home? The side of my eyes twitched in anger. I drove here for almost two hours only to find out that he wasn’t home and why did this jerk ask me all those questions?

Well, it’s not anyone’s fault I am here, so I have no right to be mad at all.

Even if my patience was hitting rock bottom, I still managed to be civil and told him I’d be waiting for Mr. Valentin’s call. I thanked him for his time and took the road back to town again.

~~

I went to Seattle on Saturday and spent the night at my parents’ place, waiting for Mr. Valentin’s call, but none came. I’m wondering if the annoying jerk gave my number to him or not. If he still wouldn’t make contact with me on Monday, I’ll probably drive back to that mansion to follow up.

With my eyes trained on watching the bubbling lavender soap spun inside the washing machine on Sunday morning, my phone rang with a call from an unknown number. I hesitated for a second, heart hammering inside my chest before swiping the receive call icon.

“Rory Grayson,” I answered, breathless. Why the heck am I breathless? I was just sitting here in the laundry room, listening to the machine wedge on the wall as it hummed and did its purpose.

“Good morning,” the deep voice on the other line said. I don’t know how it’s possible, but my heart gained more speed, pulse accelerating at recognition. “This is Eli Valentin. You were looking for me?”

Eli? He doesn’t look like an ‘Eli.’ Why do I even care?

I chewed on my lip, on my feet now, pacing the laundry room. Glad that I was alone, or they’d probably think there’s an emergency at work. “Uhm, yes… I was. I bumped into you last Friday at the Coffee Hut.”

He made a silent hum. “You ran away from me.”

I halted on my steps. “Excuse me?”

If I’m not mistaken, I could hear a smile while he spoke. “You asked me if I was the man in your dreams, and then you ran off. Am I correct?”

My skin prickled with flames of mortification. And here I thought he wouldn’t make fun of me.

“I was having an awful week.” Explaining my side to him is not my obligation, but I felt the need to protect my dignity.

He hummed once again. “I got your journal. Is that the only reason you’re looking for me, or do you have more questions?”

My eyes narrowed to slits at the teasing tone in his voice, just in time for the washing machine to beep that it’s done with the wash time.

“I need my journal. Can we meet somewhere, or can I come to you if you are busy?”

“I’m in Italy for business, and I won’t be back until Friday.”

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. Apparently, he heard me because he chuckled. The sound was so deep and sensual I wondered if his grey eyes squinted the same way they did in the cafe. “Sorry.” I sighed, taking a seat on the waiting bench, rubbing my temple.

“It’s alright. I asked the cashier if she knew you, but she told me you’re new in town.”

“Yeah, just moved in, and I’m still getting used to living alone.”

“I understand. That must be hard.”

“A bit, yeah…” and it suddenly hit me. I’m making a conversation with a man I barely knew over the phone about what I feel.

“It’ll get better. Don’t worry, I didn’t read your journal. It’s also the reason I kept it instead of leaving it there with the staff by the café.”

“Why not? Most people would.”

“I’m not most people.” No, you’re not. It’s puzzling that you have the same voice as the man in my dreams, I wanted to say, but decided against it - wouldn’t want to sound even weirder than I already feel. “Tell you what. When I get back, I’ll show you around town.”

“Are you asking me out?” I pressed a hand over my mouth, realising I was flirting with a man I knew nothing apart from his name and the fact that he’s gorgeous.

“Yes.”

I can’t deny the fact that my curiosity is killing me. This silly part of me wanted to say yes, find out if he was indeed the man in my dreams and why I was dreaming about him in the first place. I don’t know him. If I did, I would surely remember him, so I said, “I’ll think about it, Mr. Valentin.”

“Eli. Please call me Eli, Aurora.”

“It’s Rory, Eli.”

A pause took its toll before he said, “I’ll see you soon, Rory,” making my heart skip beats.