The Valentine Circle

by Reinaldo DelValle

  He wouldn’t take too much of her time. He’d just go in and ask her a few questions. If she felt ill about his presence, he would turn around and leave immediately. He reached for the doorknob as Lucy took out her violin.

  Silas stopped and waited. Listening to her play was captivating, but soon he realized that something ailed Lucy. After a minute into the song, her playing began to falter as she started to hit a few flat notes. At first it made sense, Silas thought, especially after what had happened to her sister just hours before.

  No, but this was different. There was something strange happening with Lucy, and it drove Silas crazy not knowing what it was.

  Again she played her violin, and like the first time, there came a point where she began to carelessly hit a few flat notes. What concerned Silas was the fact that the mistake wasn’t readily obvious to Lucy, and thus she kept playing, oblivious to her error. But to the girl playing next to her, it was quite noticeable.

  A boy came out of the washroom. He walked up to Lucy after standing still for a few seconds, listening to her play. He called out to her, but Lucy didn’t pay him any attention. He called out again, this time in a louder voice, and Lucy finally stopped playing and turned around.

  “Oh, hey, Jonathan. How long have you been listening to me?”

  “Long enough to know you were hitting a couple of odd notes here and there,” Jonathan replied, laughing it off. “Are you all right?”

  “I was what?”

  “You couldn’t hear yourself?”

  Lucy froze, as if caught off guard by his remark. “Of course I could hear myself. Yes, I heard the notes. I’m not really trying to play. I’m just casually going over the music.”

  “Casually playing? That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

  “What do you want? I’m not in the mood today.”

  “Nothing. Just saying hi, is all.”

  “Well, hi. Now leave me be, please.”

  “Okay,” Jonathan said, putting his hands up, gesturing to Lucy that he wasn’t going to bother her anymore. Lucy turned her back to him.

  Yet Jonathan just stood there, curious. He lifted up his right hand and snapped it about a couple of feet from her right ear.

  Nothing.

  He snapped again, and Lucy didn’t move an inch. “Lucy?” he called out. “Lucy?”

  She didn’t hear a thing.

  Finally, he tapped Lucy on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

  “What do you want now?”

  “Did you not hear me snap my fingers?”

  Lucy thought for a moment, realizing that she’d failed to hear the snap. “Of course I did. I’m not deaf.” She became increasingly defensive. “Just let me practice.”

  “Fine.” Jonathan backed away with a worried look on his face.

  Silas stood watching from behind the door. He saw the whole thing happen, and he knew right there that Lucy was losing her hearing.

  Poor Lucy. Music was her life. What will she do if she were to lose her hearing? He watched her as she put her violin down; the bow she threw down on the table with some force. She leaned over, her arms shaking from all the pressure she put on the table, as if she were pushing down with all her weight, angry from the thought of never being able to play the violin again. Her eyes glassed over, and her lips quivered. Silas knew that the last thing he wanted to do was to confront her now. How embarrassing it would be for her, not to mention it would be awkward for the two of them to talk in her current emotional state. He wanted to comfort her, but that was out of the question. He’d have to see Lucy some other time. He’d have to wait for answers, and hopefully figure out why she meant so much to him. Damn.

  He turned around and made his way down the stairs and out of the building. The day grew colder, and snow fell in thicker waves. He couldn’t get answers from Lucy, but at least he could go searching for the boy, the supposed father of Darcy and Claudia’s babies. Mr. Grant had told him that he might be working at the docks near the harbor and that’s where he should head first. He waited until he spotted a carriage head his way, and using his newfound tricks, he silently jumped on the back of it, hanging on with both his hands, keeping his head low and his chin tucked into his chest.

  After about half an hour, and after switching carriages a few times, Silas reached the docks. It was early afternoon, and the fog had yet to lift away. Bells rung in the distance, and once in a while a loud ship’s horn would scream forth from the horizon. The brown and musty wet docks stretched down the length of the harbor, and everywhere he looked there was nothing but gray mist and lit-up lanterns. A few workers slaved away along the docks, storing away ropes and organizing equipment.

  At last he came to the main dockhouse. An old man sat on a chair beside the entrance to the building. He was gutting fish, readying them for supper. Silas showed him a glimpse of his badge.

  “That’s a nice little toy you have,” the old man said with a hardened voice.

  “It’s no toy.”

  “What I meant is that that little shiny trinket is useless around here.”

  “Keep thinking that.” Silas hardened his eyes, neutralizing the old man’s equally tough stare.

  The old man paused and took a puff from his warm pipe. “What is it I can do for you...Officer?”

  “I’m looking for a boy.”

  The old man smiled. “Well, then, you’ve veered way off course. The brothels are a few miles down, in the opposite direction.”

  Silas grinned. He looked him over, spotting a pencil in his shirt pocket. “What do you use that for?” he said, referring to the pencil.

  “Pardon?”

  “The pencil—what’s it used for?” With a quick jerk, Silas stealthily grabbed the pencil from the man’s pocket.

  “I’ll let you wrap your head around that one for a second, lad.”

  “Fair enough.” Silas raised the pencil up. “For writing, no?”

  “You’re a smart one, aren’t ya?”

  Silas smiled. He bent over and picked up one of the dead fish, holding it up to the old man’s face. “A pencil can be used for many other things. For instance, it can be used as a spear.” He took the fish and lobbed it up towards the wall in front of him while simultaneously spinning and releasing the pencil forward with so much force that it skewered the fish onto the wooden wall, as if Silas were playing a game of darts. The fish’s guts poured down the length of the pencil. “Oh dear, I’ve gone and made a mess.”

  The old man grumbled under his breath.

  “Now, I’m looking for a boy that works here. Do you know anything about that?”

  “We have a couple of boys here that we use from time to time,” the old man said reluctantly.

  “Do you really?” Silas said in a sarcastic manner. “And are they legal? I mean, are they on the books?”

  “We don’t keep up with...books.”

  “Isn’t that something? So, where are these boys, then?”

  “They only work during the night shift.”

  “Of course they do,” Silas said, getting impatient. “And when they aren’t working the night shift, where do they stay?”

  The old man didn’t say anything.

  Silas opened up his coat and grabbed his own pencil. “You know what else I can use this for?”

  “We get them from the orphanage downtown. We have...an arrangement.”

  “And where can I find this orphanage?”

  “Next to the brothel.”

  “There aren’t any brothels in Boston.”

  “Sure, just like there aren’t any ships on the water.”

  Silas grinned menacingly.

  “That’s all I know. I’m really sorry, Officer, for not being able to provide you with anything else.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re heartbroken.” Silas smiled then turned and walked away. “Enjoy your fish.”

  The old man took a puff of his pipe as he returned to cleaning his supper.

  Across town, Silas managed to h
itch a ride with a couple of unsuspecting carriages, and eventually he reached the orphanage; it was indeed next to a brothel, though it wasn’t advertised as such. The pleasure shop was disguised as an herbal store for mature adults. It read: Madam Ovary’s Emporium. Cheeky.

  He stepped up to the main entrance of the worn-down building and knocked, creating a great echo inside the massive seven-story orphanage. The door opened with a loud creak. An old woman answered the door. Her reading glasses were too big for her, and she had hands that were bigger than a man’s.

  “What is it that you need?” she said.

  “Good evening to you as well,” Silas quipped, but she kept silent. “Right.” He showed her his badge. “May I come in?”

  “And why would I let you in, Officer?”

  “I just want to inquire about a couple of boys that live here.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I heard that a couple of boys of yours are hanging around the docks at night, working for the dock master.”

  The old woman fidgeted. “And where did you hear that?”

  “From the dock master himself.”

  “Strange. He’s not the type to give out false information.”

  “Well, he was sort of persuaded to give me what I wanted.” Silas stared at her coldly. Unfortunately, his hardened stare didn’t faze her.

  “I know him. He’s prone to lying. We have no boys that work at the docks. They have plenty of work to do around here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  Silas sighed. “Maybe I can take a look inside and ask around.”

  The old woman laughed in his face and shut the door.

  “Seems like in this city, everything has to be done the hard way. It never gets easy.” Silas stepped back and took a look at the building. This should be an easy climb.

  He reached the roof within a few minutes. Once up there, he rushed towards the access door. It was sealed with multiple locks. It’s like a prison in here.

  Silas looked around. Where to now? He walked over to the ledge and scaled down a couple of stories until he saw a window he could jimmy open. He took out some tools he had in his pocket, tools that he’d brought with him from Japan, and in a flash, opened up the window. He stepped inside.

  A couple of lanterns lit up the large room. It was big enough to have eight twin beds lined up in two rows. The sheets were dirty, and the furniture was dusty. I could get an infection just from walking through here.

  He made his way out of the room and into the hallway. It was a long, narrow corridor filled with many doors. As he took a couple of steps forward, he began hearing a rumbling sound coming from the other end of the hall. A wave of children headed his way.

  Swiftly, he found another bedroom and sneaked his way inside, leaving the door ajar in order to watch the commotion enfold in front of him. About ten boys, all different ages, ran across the hall towards the main stairs. Must be suppertime.

  When they all had left, he breathed out a sigh of relief. He turned around and suddenly noticed three toddler-aged boys staring back at him as they sat on the floor next to their beds, playing with a few of their toys.

  “Oh, uh, hello. I was just—I’m the new, um, guard. I’m just checking the security around here.” He looked around the room. “Um...everything looks good. Yes, so...good night.” Silas hastily left the room. “Ugh.” I need to get this done fast. Too many eyes about.

  He started to make his way towards the stairs when a memory abruptly entered his head. It was a memory of himself as a child, in a village somewhere, stuck inside a huge makeshift orphanage, watching a group of children run by as they made fun of him for being a gaijin, a non-Japanese. The vision was so powerful that he felt faint, and his knees weakened. He took a couple of deep breaths and shook his head in order to regain his wits. What the hell was that? What was I doing in an orphanage? He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. More kids?

  It wasn’t. It was the evening janitor coming in to work his normal shift. Silas doubled back and hid himself inside a patch of shadows near a large window. He watched the man walk towards a small room where he kept his equipment. After the man had shut himself inside, Silas escaped the shadows and made his way over to the room. He knocked on the door. “I’m sorry that I have to do this,” Silas said once the man opened the door. He quickly pinched the man’s neck in such a way that it put him straight to sleep. He caught the man before he could fall to the floor and then gently lay him down inside the room. He took the man’s clothes off and put them on. Grabbing a toolbox, he exited the room.

  Making his way down the stairs, he reached the second floor, where he found a couple of large rooms. The first room housed the eating hall, while the other served as a large playroom. Doing his best to fit in, he walked down the hallway until he reached the children’s play area. Inside, he found a few groups of boys playing with their toys. He walked up to one group of kids, all around the age of ten, and knelt down beside them. “Hello there.”

  They turned to him, confused. “Where’s Mr. Wiggins?” one boy said.

  “He’s indisposed, unfortunately. So he can’t make it tonight, not for at least a few hours. I’m here to help him. I was just wondering where I could find the nearest washroom?”

  One of the kids pointed towards the far end of the hall.

  “Thank you, good sir,” Silas said, eliciting a smile from the kid. “Oh, one more thing. I’m to deliver a message to one of the boys staying here. I don’t remember his name. I believe he’s one of the older boys who go off to work at night, over by the docks. Do you know him?”

  The boys looked confused.

  “Right, of course you wouldn’t know if he went off to work or not. Um, do you boys ever notice two of your friends sneaking out at night on a regular basis, two older boys? Maybe you’ve passed them out in the hallway in the middle of the night? Do you know whom I’m talking about?”

  One of the boys said yes.

  “You do? Well, do you know where they are so I can deliver a very important message to them?”

  “One of them is not here anymore. He was taken to another orphanage, but he never did much sneaking out, only once in a while whenever he needed to help out with certain shipments as he used to call them.”

  “Oh, and the other?”

  “The other is Oliver. He used to sneak out quite often.” The boys laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Sometimes he used to come home early in the morning with the biggest smile on his face. He’d wear the smile all day long. The other boys used to call him Smiley Ollie.”

  “Heh, of course they did,” Silas replied, making the connection in his head. “And where is Smiley Ollie?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Perfect. “Now, we need to be hush-hush about this. We can’t have the headmaster finding out about the message I have to give to Ollie.”

  “Just follow me.” The boy stood up and walked out of the room. Silas followed. They walked all the way down the hall until they reached the back stairs, which then led to a large basement.

  “He’s this way,” the boy said.

  In a basement?

  They stepped across the damp and dark basement until they came upon a large door leading to the building’s backyard. Stepping outside, the boy began to shiver.

  “Why would Oliver be out here?” Silas asked.

  “They’re all out here.”

  “All out here?”

  “Yes, all the dead.” The boy used his hand to demonstrate the makeshift graveyard in front of him.

  Silas’s chest dropped, breathing out all of his disappointment.

  “He’s over there.” The boy pointed towards the back.

  “How long has Oliver been taking his earth bath?”

  “Just recently.”

  “I see.” Silas slowly walked up to the boy’s grave and knelt down in front of the tombstone. It read: Oliver Barrow. 1867-1885. May you
rest in His arms. He rubbed his face with his hands, sighing as he became increasingly frustrated with his dead ends. “This case just keeps getting stranger by the hour.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “What is it?” Silas turned around.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing here?” the old woman said as she stood near the entrance to the basement, staring him down, clenching her manly hands as her cheeks sank in.

  “Like I said, it never gets easy.”

  *

  I’M GETTING RUSTY, POSY THOUGHT. She took her stance as she grasped her fencing foil, a very light and thin sword used for dueling practice. She’d stolen it from a man she met down in Virginia a few years back, not wanting to pass up on the opportunity to rekindle her beloved childhood passion. She’d been fencing in secret since she was ten, taught by her father in private, and was once regarded by her male peers as dangerously quick and efficient. However, for the few recent years that she’d been with Horace, her fencing skills had declined. Horace didn’t appreciate Posy taking up a “man’s sport,” as he called it.

  Fencing was very popular with the social elites, but Horace had always shied away from it, thinking it promoted a careless aggressiveness in people. Horace was somewhat of a pacifist, which didn’t sit too well with Posy, and when Horace learned of Posy’s prowess with a blade, he immediately rushed to stifle any rumors of his intended being associated with a man’s sport, especially since he himself was not man enough to take up the blade against his own peers.

  Posy and Horace’s relationship was complicated. Ever since she was a little girl, living in the middle-class suburbs of Athens, Georgia, Posy had always dreamed of escaping her hometown and finding herself a well-to-do husband who would raise her to the status she always knew she deserved. She may have been middle class, but she was very well educated, privately tutored by her academic father, a professor who taught in the University of Georgia’s agricultural department. Moreover, she was as beautiful as the morning sun, having an exotic, glamorous face, characterized by her feline features, high cheekbones, and her crystal-clear blue eyes.