The Valentine Circle

by Reinaldo DelValle

  He set the glass down with a large thud, exhausted. He turned his head and noticed his old military hat hanging atop a sturdy coat tree. During the recent war he’d fought for the North, and he’d fought bravely, yet there were a lot of things he did during the war that later came to haunt him in his dreams, and, alas, they also came during his waking hours.

  He put the hat on, and instantly, he was struck with a vision of total chaos. All those memories of men being slaughtered, children screaming, and women raped rushed into his thoughts like a derailed train, crashing against his battered conscience. Cringing, he quickly took the hat off and quietly placed it inside one of the dresser drawers. His hands shook for a moment.

  He reached for another drink of scotch but then caught himself. His wife hadn’t liked him drinking. She had endlessly pled for him to stop.

  He did—after she died.

  He crunched his fist into a ball, thinking of his poor wife, struggling to keep his glassy eyes from tearing up. It worked. He turned around, making his way towards his big, comfy chair.

  Wait. Something caught his attention.

  He saw the door to Silas’s room was slightly open. Curiosity getting the best of him, he decided to head inside. The room was scrupulously neat and clean. Everything was in its proper place. Belloc thought that strange for some reason. Men are not known to be neat.

  Silas didn’t have much in the way of personal items except for his uniforms, his spare shoes, and the bag he had with him when he was found on the ship. He searched every nook and cranny, peeking inside drawers and pockets, under pillows and layers of sheets.

  Nothing.

  Lastly, he turned to the mysterious bag Silas had brought with him. He searched its contents, coming upon the hidden pouch that Silas had accidentally opened the night he was found. It was empty. He then noticed a number of other pouches, still unopened. His brows furrowed.

  He took out a small pocketknife and used it to cut one of the pouches open. Inside, he found a bag full of what appeared to be throwing knives with strange Japanese markings on them. There was a vial of liquid attached to one of the knives. He placed the items down and reached for a second bag that was inside the pouch. This one was full of white, powdery balls, each about the size of a key lime. Perplexed, Belloc carefully put the items back in their place. Immediately, he walked over to the study, diligently searching the bookshelves. He went from book to book, looking for a specific one he’d bought a long time ago. Frustrated, his hands started trembling when he realized the book might not be in his collection.

  Found it! He wiped away the dust from the cover. It read: “Ancient Mysteries of the Far East.” He went over to his chair and sat down, burying his nose deep within the book. As he searched, he came upon a chapter titled: “The Mountain People of Japan.” His eyes lit up.

  “Mountains?” he mumbled to himself as he took out a small journal. Fidgeting in his seat until he found a comfortable position, he hunkered down and began scribbling away.

  ***

  SLAM! After falling for three stories, Silas hit the first fire escape, landing without effort. He twitched and leaped onto another fire escape across the way. Stretching out his arms, he grabbed the railing like an expert trapeze artist, and using his legs, hooked himself to the iron bars, plastering his body onto the side of the flimsy iron structure.

  Looking out into the dark space under him, he let go, diving like a missile with his arms to his side and legs close together. Before reaching the snow-covered pavement, he bent his back and dipped his chin, allowing him to roll forward and end up with his arms and legs stretched out, ready to pounce on the ground. A second later, he hit the snowy surface on all fours.

  Quickly, he rolled to the side in order to clear himself from the path of the two drunken ladies that were heading his way. Startled at first, the women reacted indifferently, as if believing they’d only imagined Silas falling from the sky.

  “It’s snowing men, Gloria.”

  “That’s the drink talking, Janice,” her friend replied. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you home,” she slurred, her last word trailing off into the frigid winter night.

  Silas stood up, bewildered by what had just happened. How could I? He stared up at Posy’s window, sitting nine stories above him, and shook his head in disbelief. He looked over his hands and body. No wounds. Nothing broken. A jump like that would have to take years to master. Who the hell am I?

  He knelt down in order to gather his thoughts, struggling to remember his past, yet to little avail. He put his hands inside his officer’s long coat in order to get them as warm as possible. Inside his right pocket, he found something. Taking the envelope out, he was once again reminded of Lucy. “If I know who she is, then there’s a good chance she might know who I am. She has to.”

  He glanced down and saw that near the top left of the envelope was what seemed to be his return address in Japan, a small post office in an even smaller village. But the words that stuck out, five of which he failed to notice back on the ship, were the ones near the postage. “Return to sender,” he whispered. Underneath the stamp, roughly scribbled in blank ink, were the words “Not Accepted.” He stuffed the envelope back into his pocket. Why didn’t you accept my letter, Lucy?

  Silas roamed the city, keeping himself on the sidewalks and off the streets, away from the street lanterns’ revealing glow. Even though it was dark, he could see clearly, as if the sun had never set. His senses were more acute in the darkness, being aware of all the atmospheric sounds surrounding him, especially the far-off conversations he could easily hear whenever he passed a group of people talking amongst each other. He was becoming quite familiar with this ability, even coming to terms with its unique abnormality.

  Silas came to a stop near the corner of a bright building about one block away from the School of Arts, where the letter had been addressed to. Nervously, he waited for the long, impressive cable car to cross in front of him as it rang its bell, signaling the last trip of the day.

  Yet, before he took his first step, he froze, like an animal sensing danger coming its way. His eyes hardened, and his face stiffened. He turned his head back in order to scope out the horizon. He searched every building and shadowed corner he could place his eyes on, then he focused his gaze on the roofs of the stores and town homes. Finding nothing of importance, he turned back and continued his way towards the school, picking up his pace as a precaution.

  As he approached the School of Arts, he noticed an abandoned alleyway on his right. Finding an opening, he sneaked in, disappearing into the shadows. A second later, he popped up from the rear of a building directly across from the academy. A few long leaps and he reached the top ledge. Gracefully, he pulled himself up onto the flat roof, landing on the soft ballast gravel. The falling snow increased in density, so he took his coat and pulled it up, using it as a shield over his head. He made his way to the front ledge of the building. From there, he could see Lucy’s building across the way.

  He knelt down in order to get a better look at the people inside. The whole seventh floor was lit up. There were a number of dancers and musicians staying up late, meticulously practicing their craft. Silas didn’t know what Lucy looked like, except for being blonde with blue eyes, so all he could rely on was the possibility of someone catching his attention, perhaps igniting a vivid memory of her. Yet as he bounced his eyes from person to person, he saw nothing that would jolt his memories. No, not them. Where is she?

  Near the corner, all the way to the right, Silas saw a movement, something he’d perhaps seen in a dream, but he could only see the girl’s shoulders. Wanting a better view, he jumped onto the roof’s ledge and scaled down the building’s wall to a nearby fire escape. Now he could see straight into the heart of the seventh floor and into the room where a handful of students practiced with their instruments.

  Two young girls played on their flutes, and beside them, a man cleaned his aging trumpet. Silas strained his eyes as he caught a glance of the
girl he’d seen earlier. He felt a tingle swim into his toes.

  Turn around.

  The young woman raised her arms as she swayed back and forth. In her left hand, she held a small instrument, and with her right, Silas saw that she grasped a long bow. The young woman played the violin with a unique sway and undulation that made Silas’s eyes light up. The way she moved her hair, the sudden twist of her neck, exposing her ear and nose, triggered a memory inside Silas’s mind. He was in a forest, reaching out to someone. It was her. Lucy. And in the vision, she turned back to him as they departed, flicking her hair, twisting her neck, with that glimmer in her eye. It has to be her.

  Instantly, a storm of nerves shook him, grabbing his bones and squeezing them tightly. A slow whirlwind spun inside his stomach, seeping up to his chest and spreading out over his shoulders. His limbs trembled, and his neck turned red. Silas knew this feeling. He’d experienced it before. Heartache.

  At last, she turned around, and Silas’s heart leaped after her. Seeing her face, he began to wobble and lose his grip as he continued watching her from afar, desperately hanging onto the fire escape as the snow fell on top of him. Seeing her long blonde locks and warm blue eyes made him break out a small grin. Finally, he’d remembered something from his past, something he could grasp onto, something concrete. Maybe that’s why he was in Boston, because of her. It was Lucy. He was confident about it.

  But after a moment of feeling a small glimpse of joy, his mouth drooped. He looked at the envelope he held in his hand. The words “return to sender” sunk in deep, piercing his heart. Why would she reject it?

  Feeling defeated, he quietly scaled down the building, jumping softly onto the ground. He lost himself in the shadows, waiting for hours as she practiced, contemplating whether he should confront her and ask if she knew him.

  Early into the wee hours of the morning, the lights inside the building flickered off. The students readied themselves to leave. Lucy stayed behind with another girl, making sure they didn’t miss anything before heading out for the day. At last, she extinguished the last lantern and made her way downstairs. Here she comes. But Silas soon realized that he wasn’t the only person stalking Lucy.

  Like a cat reacting to a distant sound, Silas perked up his ears and turned his head towards his right. He heard the sound of footsteps sinking into the snow about fifty feet away. He slid further back into his shadowy corner, waiting for the mysterious person to pass on by.

  Soon, a dark silhouette walked past him, like a formless ghost gliding across the snowy surface. Once it neared the street, it stuck itself to the shadows painted across the far corner from where Silas stood. Silas honed his eyes on the shadowy figure, watching it squirm inside the darkness. Up ahead, Lucy exited the school, letting the door slam behind her. She and a friend walked up to the street corner and then parted ways. The shadowy figure leaned its head to the left in order to get a better look at Lucy. Silas could now tell it was a tall man standing under a ridiculous top hat.

  Is he after Lucy? The mere thought of it made Silas’s blood boil, and he inched himself closer in order to get a better look at the man who threatened the only link Silas had to his past. Silas stretched his neck. The man reacted, turning towards Silas. Instantly, Silas retreated back into the shadows, merging himself with the darkened wall. Wait. He heard me? He’s good.

  The man searched Silas’s corner, and Silas, being able to see clearly at night, suddenly caught a glare of the man’s eyes. After a tense moment, the shadowy man, feeling a bit anxious, decided to turn back and leave. Watching the man escape into the night, Silas then turned his head towards the street, but unfortunately, Lucy had already disappeared.

  Quietly, Silas broke off from the wall and stepped out into the moonlight. Lowering his officer’s hat and tucking his chin in, he kept a low profile as he walked down the street, trying to get a glimpse of Lucy up ahead. Clumps of thick snow fell down all around him, obstructing his view. It was pointless. Knowing he’d lost her, he stopped and sighed. What did that strange man want with Lucy?

  He smelled something in the air and realized it was the man’s scent that had lingered in the winter snow. “Wait a second—that smell. It’s like…flowers.”

  His face hardened as if he’d just discovered a prey he could hunt and trap. “No flowers like that bloom around here.”

  ***

  “Aha!” Belloc yelled as he leaped out of his chair. He scurried over to Silas’s room, darting towards his bag. He took out one of the strange darts he’d found earlier and compared it to the picture inside the book. It was nearly identical!

  “From the mountains of Japan,” he said with a smile. “My, my, Mr. de San Michel, you are an interesting character.”

  A shadow flickered inside the room.

  The hairs on the back of Belloc’s neck stood up, and he turned around, fearing the worst. He let out a small gasp when he saw Silas sitting on the windowsill, legs crossed together.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Good man. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  Silas grinned with confidence. This wasn’t the quiet and troubled Silas. This was a different Silas sitting in front of him.

  “I could’ve saved you the trouble, then. If you only knew that if you get the slightest cut from the dart you hold in your hand, you’ll be dead within ten seconds; seven seconds when the air is cold, like tonight.”

  Belloc looked down at the dart he held in his hand, and with his fingers shaking, he let it drop onto the floor. Silas slid into the room and approached the dart, bending over to pick it up.

  “I didn’t mean to snoop, but then again, that is what I do: I snoop.”

  Silas smiled. He knew exactly what he meant.

  “I was just trying to figure out who you are.” He showed Silas the book. Curious, Silas grabbed it. “That dart you have there, it’s from Japan, from the mountains. Do you remember any of that? Do you remember where you got the dart or who gave it to you?”

  “I don’t. I only know how to use it.”

  “Use it?” Belloc said, his curiosity piqued. “I see.” He turned to the windowsill. “How did you get up here anyway?”

  “It seems I have a knack for scaling walls. Is there anything in this book that speaks to that?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was. Wait a second—aren’t you supposed to be with Posy, filling out reports for tomorrow? What happened?”

  “She fell asleep.”

  “Yes, she tends to do that. I’ve overworked that poor girl.”

  Silas gave the book back to Belloc. “Here. Keep this. You’re better at investigative work than I am.”

  “Am I?” Belloc said, referring to Silas’s strange but effective detective skills. “Are you sure about that?” He grabbed the book.

  “I’m sure of it.” Silas took off his coat. “After I freshen up, I’ll get to work on those reports. I’ll have them done by morning.”

  “No need for that. You’ll need your rest. We have a funeral to attend tomorrow.”

  “A funeral?”

  “Yes, we’re attending Miss Decamps’s memorial service, and I hope to get friendly with some of the families that’ll be there, no doubt sharing secrets with each other. I want you there. I want you...learning those secrets.”

  “I see.”

  “Plus, I caught wind that some of the girls that were close friends with Miss Decamps are going to be there.”

  Silas raised his eyebrows.

  “There’s one girl in particular who used to be Miss Decamps’s dearest friend. I would like to talk to her. Her name is Darcy Reilly.”

  “Reilly?” Silas was instantly reminded of Lucy. But Boston was privy to a plethora of people having Reilly as a surname. Could she be related? No, it can’t be.

  “I’ve known the Reillys for a long time,” Belloc continued. “I’ve even met Darcy on a few occasions. But it’s actually her sister that I truly know. I used to tutor her—Lucy.”


  Silas’s eyes quivered. “Lucy?”

  “Get some rest, Silas,” Belloc said, walking away. “I have a very special job for you. You’ll befriend Darcy’s sister, Lucy, and see if you can find out everything you can about her sister's relationship with Miss Decamps. It’s imperative that you do this.”

  Silas breathed in whatever amount of air he could take in, his heart bursting out of his chest.

  “We leave on the morrow. Good night.” Belloc shut the door behind him.

  *

  POSY COULDN’T STOP SHAKING HER LEG. Her eyes were locked on Silas, piercing him like a stab to the chest. Every smack she made with her chewing gum drove him closer to insanity.

  “The windows on the carriage are here for a reason,” Silas said. “They offer much better scenery than my face. Just look at those lovely trees.”

  Posy grinned. “I can’t make the trees squirm like I can you.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you all alone. But you were asleep, and it was just better for both of us if I left.”

  “You left the window open,” Posy said as she shifted her legs and began shaking the other one. “I had icicles on my nose.”

  “Really?” Silas said, losing focus. “I mean...look, I’ll do anything to make it up.”

  Posy had a warm thought cross her mind for a millisecond, then she was abruptly brought back to reality. “You will now write all the reports for this case.”

  “Wha— Fine. If that’s what it takes to get you to...then...well, that’s perfectly acceptable.”

  “I’m glad we could work this out.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re relieved.”

  “Look lively,” Belloc interrupted. “We’re here.”