Chapter 9: Not A Dead End

Between the moonlight making nine p.m. look like four a.m. and the cars clogging the parking lot like a cemetery after World War II, I had gone on foot only to realize that once I reached the center point of the area, there’s no identifying which was the North, East, South, and West anymore. Discombobulation had me at seven blinks, making the following blinks utterly harmful to my eyes as they made my vision go round in circles. 

Not one out of the sea of cars had its lights on. Not one person who owned any of them was traipsing around, either. Stuck in this place had me wondering, How am I supposed to find Travis’ car, the white one with golden strips above the plate number, when almost half of the cars inside this parking lot is identical to the one he owned? 

I continued walking, unmindful of where would my feet take me this time. The veins in my hand turned blue as I squeezed the silver chain of my shoulder bag, pressing it against my waist to assure that in case someone would snatch it away from me, I’d be able to tug it back. I just love over-imagining things; it makes me prepare myself in case something unexpected is expected to happen. 

Not long after making about five meters of walk, I came across a payphone. At first, I didn’t know it was a payphone. The area was dark, and perhaps much worse than what’s the inside of my closed cabinet looked like at night, that’s why from the spot where I was standing, all I could only acknowledge was it was a booth; there was no light in it, no labels indicating it was a booth for calls, and no one inside making a call also. Until it rang, it’s when everything finally made sense to me. Considering it was empty, why would it ring anyway? 

I walked closer to the booth. The heels of my sandals thwacked against the asphalted ground in its every step. The phone continued ringing. No one was answering. 

Out of curiosity, I aimed my left ear to the side wall of the booth. It was in blue tinted glasses, so instead of seeing someone from inside, all I saw was the vivid reflection of my very own self. I fixed my hair, and attempted to observe if anyone’s going inside to pick up the call. Two minutes had gone, and the night breeze whistled. A voice followed.

“I don’t think you should check that.”  

I turned through 180 degrees. My heart hammered against my ribcage when I followed the shadow of a man slowly growing big as it walked past the dislimned glow of the only streetlight in the area. Only God knew how terrified I was when I couldn’t see the face of that man. He was as if the smaller shadow of his bigger shadow. He wore an all-black jacket, and a black beanie that covered almost the entirety of his head. He moved at a snail’s pace, swinging his hands on his sides like he was enjoying the moment. 

To my perturbation, my mouth spoke out random words on its own. “Who—who the hell are you?” 

The man straightened his head to my direction, lifting his right hand in the air. “Mr. Beauchêne,” he said. Upon hearing him, my tight breathing loosened up.

 

“Damn, Travis! You almost scared me to death!” I boomed, backing up my exclamation points with an exasperated sigh. 

“Looks like it would take you forever to find my car.” An oppressive smile picked its way on his face. He delved his hand into the pocket of his black jeans, and yanked it out when he got the keys. He tinkled them before him and swivelled around. “Do you still want to talk about yesterday?” 

“It’s too late to back off now. So, yeah.”

“Okay, then follow me. We are going somewhere.” 

Silence became our friend when we walked across the parading cars. Sound was so limited at the moment, that the only things audible within earshot were the stridulating of crickets and the howling of nearby dogs. 

After a short walk, we reached his car. It was between a red SUV and a white van few meters away from the aquamarine gate splitting open in half. We got inside his car, and I realized something when I fastened my seatbelt. This is not his car. This is different from the one he usually use when going to school. 

To enlighten my doubts, I urged myself to ask him frankly. “Not that I’m minding your business but, where did you stole this car?” 

“Stole?” Travis chuckled as he drove the car backwards to get it out of its parking space. “I didn’t stole this car. I don’t steal cars.” 

I don’t buy his lies. “So, you just borrowed this? From who?”

 

On the rear view mirror visible from the backseat where I was sitting, I saw Travis smirked. “Not quite. I don’t steal something or borrow something I could definitely afford to buy.” 

“Smooth joke, Mr. Beauchêne,” I said, still not believing in his falsities. 

He looked back at me, hands were focused on taking control of the steering wheel. “Wait until we arrive at our destination,” he said, and sealed our conversation with a thumbs-up. 

The highways were almost empty. There were few vehicles passing, but not as much as  there were on rush hours every seven in the morning where cars could barely even get out of the heavy traffic. 

For an hour, we drove past different places I was never familiar with. In six minutes after we left the parking lot mirroring the French restaurant where we agreed to meet up, we dashed past a book museum. I didn’t know that place existed around the town. In ten minutes, we went like the wind brushing off the queuing pine trees outside of an amusement park. In fifteen, we ran through a mall and a hospital—two massive buildings parallel to each other like they were meant to be together. And finally, down to the last four minutes before reaching one hour, we arched across a long, gargantuan, and aesthetically built suspension bridge that had no difference compared to the Oakland Bay Bridge of San Francisco and Humber Bridge of Yorkshire, England. The way it stretched over the sea like an extension that kept the borders of two great cities—the Jordan City and the Metro Guadalupe—together, made me roll down the tinted windows of the car and poke my head out to see a better view of the combined beauty of the twinkling glitters in the plain sheet of dark blue skies, and the skyline picturesque from afar that reminded me so much of Vincent Van Gogh’s legendary painting, the Starry, Starry Night. 

“Don’t you have any plans of telling me where are we going at all?” I asked, still calm—though sure enough this calmness wouldn’t last long. Travis is a little mysterious and suspenseful, and talking or dealing with him would require a little bravery and a heart of stone. He was not meant for weaklings. He was not meant to be with those who easily cried when ignored and easily scared when put in an offbeat situation. The likes of Samantha, Yuri, and even Geodie should not spend time with him. It’s either he will end up leaving, or they will end up anxious. 

“I don’t have time for that, Adeline.” Adeline. What a weird name that is. “But one thing’s sure. I’m not kidnapping you.”

I shot back without letting a blink interfere. “You better not. You have no idea how many bottles of pepper spray do I have in my bag right now, and you have no idea how painful this thing would be if sprayed in the eyes, too.” I moved my shoulder bag from my side to my lap. 

“Oh, yes? Is that more painful than being shot by a revolver?” 

“You have a revolver?!” I asked—and shouted. I did both at the same time. 

“Perhaps,” he answered in a flash. 

“Oh, my God! You are armed?!” 

“Not now.” 

I tried shifting from the left seat to the right, but my skirt was glued on the cold and leathered surface where I was sitting. Chills visited my back, and it crescendoed in greater amount due to the air conditioning inside the car. While letting myself quiver in the mild and penetrable goose bumps, I fathomed out how regrettable it was to wear an off-shoulder blouse while inside an air-conditioned car travelling in the middle of the night. 

“You are such a sociopath. A high-functioning one,” I uttered under my breath. I rubbed both of my lips together and diverted my gaze back to the window.

 

After some more minutes, we took a turn to the north of a crossroad, and straight ahead were two wide and sky-high walls made up of red bricks that seemed to be waiting for our arrival. Between their intersection point was a gate of iron bars painted in black, where its finials were shaped into a pointed Fleur-de-lis that came in ascending lengths.  Above it was also an arc that had wielded lions on each end and few words that read ‘WELCOME TO VILLA EXPOSITO.’ 

Travis went out of the car and walked straight to the left post. He pressed his thumb against a small box that looked like a digital biometric. When he lifted his finger up, the gate split outwards. Travis hurried back into the car, and took control of the steering wheel again. 

My jaw left hanging loose. My eyes were hypnotized by the water fountain that greeted us as the car entered through the gate. It was so beautiful, like the ones usually seen outside the five-star hotels and at the center of public central parks. It even had LED lights that made the water glowing in red, blue, and green colors. 

“Travis?” I asked, awe-struck by the scenic view of landscapes that were artistically set up on the freshly mowed lawn beyond the roads that led to a Victorian and aristocratic mansion. “What is this place?” I added, almost choked by my own words. I was—I felt completely blown away. The details of the place were so much for me to handle. 

“We’re here.” He halted the car in front of the spacious front porch. He took himself off the vehicle, and opened the door for me. I stepped outside, as he went to the car’s boot to get his knapsack. I’d bet it contained the things he used to disguise as Mr. Beauchêne a while ago. 

When he returned, he greeted, “Welcome to my humble abode.” 

“This is your home? You live here?” 

“You find it unbelievable, eh? Don’t worry, you’ll figure that out in no time. For now, let’s just go back to the main reason why I brought you here.” He opened the left side of the door, and left the other side closed. We stepped inside, and proceeded to another jaw-dropping area of the mansion—the foyer. 

An all-crystal chandelier shed down some yellow light, reflecting through the shiny porcelain flooring. There was a round empty glass table placed on top of a round grey carpet, and three clean-white couches surrounding it. On the edge of the wall, behind the couch facing the grand piano, was a human-size Trojan horse statue. Everything were placed perfectly, and the fact that the architecture of the entirety of the mansion was a mix of Roman and modern, you would definitely find it so surreal. 

“We’re just talking about yesterday, right? So why do we have to come to this place?” I said it with hesitance. Partly, I liked the idea that I was able to finally know something about Travis other than he was a son of a dead detective; and partly, I hate the idea that we had to come over to another city, to a strange place across the border only to talk about something that I wasn’t sure if would be fruitful or not. 

“Yesterday wasn’t a ‘just,’ okay? It was big deal. It could either help us gain some merit, or send us all to jail,” he said, face was serious. He began walking upstairs. The sound of his footsteps echoed inside the mansion. “What are you standing there for? Follow me!” 

Like what he said, I followed him as we walked through the empty halls of the second floor. Unlike the ground floor, the second floor had more space. There were few rooms in opposing directions—all of which had their doors closed, and another stairs by the end of the corridor. There was one room—the largest of all—beside it, and Travis came before its door to give it three knocks. After the third, it creaked open. 

“Franklin, I’m home,” he said. 

A man of mid 20’s stood before us. He was holding a newspaper on his right hand, and a pen on his left. He was tall, but not as tall as Travis, and was topless with only a sweatpants on. His body was toned; I reckoned he came to gym every once in a while. Looking at his face made me thought of someone. Like a celebrity. Or someone I would often see on the television. 

“You look familiar,” I said. Though I acknowledged the fact that it was slightly rude to say something straight away without proper greetings first. 

Travis answered. “That’s because he works as a news reporter. He’s  Stephen Florence of The Metropolitan News.”

“What? It’s you? But—”

“It’s me. I just need to fake a mustache and put on a pair of contact lenses and I’ll be the Stephen Florence you always see,” the topless guy with a newspaper said. 

“I—I don’t understand. You use screen name? Is that even legal?” 

“Yes, it’s legal. And no, I don’t use screen names,” Franklin a.k.a Stephen smiled. “But I use fake ID’s, too. Just like Travis, I use different identities depending on the occasion.” 

Confused, I followed up a question again. “But why? I mean, what for?” 

“There’s no ‘whys’ here, Rabiya. Once you’re an Exposito, or let’s say a son or daughter of a popular and well-known detective, you have to do it whether you want it or not. It’s the price you have to pay each time your old man catches a bigtime smuggler or a high-profile criminal,” Travis explained. 

After a short introduction, Travis and I left Franklin in his room on the second floor. We headed to the third floor; to the attic that didn’t look like an attic at all. It was more of a laboratory. Enclosed. Air-conditioned. And had a lot of stuff you would often find in an actual lab. There were microscopes, computers, beakers and the likes, and a lot of chemicals that I couldn’t identify because they were all unlabelled. There was also a giant refrigerator-like appliance that stored body parts like fingers, brains, hearts, intestines, and even bones and skulls. When I asked Travis what were those for, he said it was Detective Neil’s collection of preserved souvenirs from his assassinated clients—and stalker. It’s cool and horrifying at the same time. 

“Let’s make this fast and straightforward.” Travis sat on a high stool next to an experiment table. In front of him was a box covered with white cloth. “What were you doing in the crime scene? What urged you to go there?”

I sighed. This is getting serious. I let the air escaped from my lungs. “Just like you, I want to investigate things, too. And it just happened that when we got out of the computer lab, someone reported to Vhynz about what happened to Samantha. We went to her. We let her explained. And her explanation, it was so beautiful. Sleuthhounds like you, and me, and even Detective Neil himself would definitely love the way she described the crime scene. But something was off—well, for me, at least. Samantha said that the murder weapon was left there. Like it was meant to be there. Like the killer wanted to tell the public, ‘Hey, I killed her! I killed your principal! Here’s the weapon I use. Take this! Find me and put me to jail. I will surrender myself like a total idiot.’ But that’s not how killers work, right? So, I asked them to come with and look for clues.”

“Did you find any?” 

I combed my hair with my fingers. I stared him in the eyes and said, “Unfortunately, no. Not a piece of hair. The whole building was so dark for us to see things. We couldn’t use flashlights because the cops would notice. But I believe there should be at least one clue. One evidence. If the crime was done by a serial killer, he would at least leave something, right?” 

“In fact, he did. He left something.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes.” Travis lifted the white cloth that covered the box. He opened the lid, and a rusty, bloodstained handcuffs revealed itself. “I got this on the floor from one of the rooms I searched while hiding myself from you. Don’t ask me why I was there. It’s nonsense.” He wore a pair of elastic white gloves and fished the handcuffs out of the box. 

“Travis!” I almost jumped in shock. “That’s one solid evidence! But we couldn’t give that to the forensics, right? How do we examine that, then?” 

“Oh, I wish this is really a one solid evidence.” Travis placed it back to where it came from. “But it isn’t. I examined this with Franklin using our old man’s tools but we got nothing. The rust was the only thing that’s authentic. The blood, it wasn’t from the killer. It was a bird’s blood. There were no fingerprints found on its surface, either.”

“So, you mean this investigation is at dead end?” 

“No. Actually, I think this is just the starting point. If we wait further, we might get real clues. No fake handcuffs and brilliant set-ups this time.” 

I gulped. Seeing his serious face gave me the fear I never had before. So this is how an Exposito handle a case? I bit my lips. Thought of the words to say. “How should we do that? How could we know if it’s time to take action? Would there be a right time for that?” 

“All of your questions will be answered in a specific time.”

“And when is that specific time?”

“It’s easy, Rabiya.” Travis smiled. “When someone dies next.”