by Serena Rose
“I wasn’t-” she paused.
“You were thinking it, weren’t you? Humans are so predictable.”
He said this matter-of-factly, and she found her cheeks warming up the slightest. Wasn’t that a good sign? She was warming up, instead of becoming a cold, and dead body in some ditch or dried up well? Where was his house?
“How far away are we?”
“We’re an hour away from my place, give or take.”
“What? Well, I should just get dropped off-” she stopped, seeing that familiar intersection pass by. “That was where I lived.”
He shrugged. “You can dry up at my place. I just need to take care of a few things, then I can bring you back.”
“But it’s an hour away,” she said. I don’t even know who you are.
“It’s an easy drive. Do you have to be somewhere?”
“I feel kidnapped,” she flatly said.
He shook his head and made a face. “Why would you feel that?”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
“Formalities may be done later,” he said to her. “I can assure you I don’t intend to kill you, though. Will that be enough?”
She said nothing, feeling unease growing. This man was hiding something, and what attraction she had felt for him earlier had all but dissipated into anxiety and wariness. Another handsome man could mean another psycho. Another handsome man could mean another charming serial killer.
“Not really,” she finally said.
“Well,” he continued, “there isn’t much you can do about it now, unless you open the passenger door and roll out into the freeway while I’m going beyond 90.”
Was he giving her ideas? She felt around her bag for her pepper spray, just in case.
“Look, killing you and whatnot is the last thing on my mind. I just need to check on my father.”
Was his father imaginary? She almost laughed aloud. She suddenly became paranoid, she suddenly became the most alert she had ever been. Beat that, studies, she thought. It filled her with a strange sort of excitement though, riding a car with a handsome stranger. He had this aristocratic air about him she didn’t see in everyone else. He smelled like old money. She realized she was inside a Bentley. She remembered the logo from some ad she had seen. How much did these kinds of cars cost again? More than her scholarship, she was sure.
“Your father? What’s wrong with him?” she found herself asking. Small talk? A progressive conversation? She disliked small talk, and she assumed he did, too. He had made it clear earlier when he cut off her friendly attempt with him.
He was silent for a moment, as rain lashed against their car while he drove down a long and foggy road. “He’s sick,” he replied calmly.
Cancer sick? And then, she felt that pang of empathy for him, and she disliked herself at that moment for feeling it. She didn’t bother to ask him to elaborate. She saw a frown cross his face, a mere half of a second, and then his face became stoic once more. Alright, he needed to check on his dad. She didn’t have a dad, and if he cared that much for his, then all was well. It still felt like he was hiding something far more sinister though.
There was a prolonged silence that came after her query and his response. It was so prolonged, that she found herself staring at a large wall, with the tallest wrought iron gates she had ever seen. She didn’t even see his house yet. Maybe he lived underground, a voice in her head said sarcastically.
“Almost there,” she heard him murmur under his breath.
Almost where? She still had no idea where his house was. The fog was too thick- and then her eyes widened. At the top of a hill lay a large house, it was large enough to see from where they were now. It was a neo-gothic style mansion, she recalled a portion of architectural history, with spires at different areas of the roof, and imposing stone walls. Where were the gargoyles though?
“Huh?” he said to her. “You were looking for gargoyles?”
She realized she had said that aloud. “It looks like a gothic revival house…” her voice faded.
He nodded. “The fog adds to the drama, doesn’t it? And yes, it is a gothic revival house. My ancestors built this in 1846.”
“How big is it?” she asked, interested.
“The property? A few acres. I think it was 40 acres. This lot stretches all the way to cliffs by Arch Cape. The house, well, as far as I can remember, we’ve got fifteen bedrooms, twenty fireplaces, three libraries, two kitchens-” he stopped, “sounds boring, doesn’t it?”
“You sound like you’re a well-rehearsed tour guide.”
“I guess I am, in a way, although we don’t get too many visitors. It’s too far away.”
“What about your mother?”
“I thought details were to be for later,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.
“Alright,” she said, “how far away is the gate and the house?”
“A mile away,” he said simply. “We’re a private people.”
They drove up a circular driveway, where there was a foundation in the middle of it without any water. The cherubs in the center of the fountain looked abandoned and creepy.
She felt like she had stepped into some horror movie setting.
“Alright, let’s make this quick,” he told her. “Well, I’ll make it quick.”
To her surprise, there was a butler beside her car door. “What-?” she said, gasping a little.
“It’s just Lee, he’s our family butler. Go on, he’s harmless.”
How harmless was harmless? Lee certainly did look like a normal human, middle-aged, tall and thin, with an accent that sounded like he was from England.
“Good day, madam,” he said nonchalantly.
“This is my schoolmate,” her classmate announced.
“Shall I prepare tea in the sitting room for you?” Lee asked his young master.
“Do you like books?” the stranger asked her.
Kelsey found herself nodding. “Yeah, I love them.”
“Great. We’ll take tea in the east wing library.”
What wing? How big was this house again? As soon as she stepped inside the house, she was surprised to see how everything looked like it belonged in a museum. The curtains in one sitting room were drawn, giving a good view of the forests that lay beyond. The walls were heavily decorated with some embossed cover. She couldn’t help but run a hand against it. The design was intricate, like wooden jewelry for a house.
“Like it? It’s called Lincrusta. Added on late in 1886, though. My grandpa was from England, and he found this place to his liking. Big move and all, but here we are. Lee will bring you to the library. I’ll need all but an hour.”
The butler promptly came in as soon as the stranger excused himself. “Madam, this way, please. I was also asked to give you a change of clothes, which are in the powder room, first door on the left. You may leave your clothes for drying.”
She was surprised to see modern amenities in the powder room, and French luxury brands were on a table for guests to freshen up, funny since he said they didn’t have many guests. She saw a hanger and decided to leave her clothes there. She was embarrassed to let the butler hold onto her wet belongings. He had given her a freshly pressed sweater and some joggers, it seemed. Who owned these? His girlfriend, perhaps?
Kelsey stripped, enjoying the heater’s warmth, and the clothes she borrowed. Lee was still outside when she got out.
“This way, please.”
Down a long corridor, she saw portraits of people, interspersed with landscapes. Maybe these were his ancestors. Who was he, really? She hadn’t heard about him. People like him were supposed to be popular, right? He was some gothic-living, golden boy, with dark hair and brooding eyes… she heard herself gasp as soon as Lee opened the doors to the library.
Walls and walls of books, there were ladders built in to reach them. The ceiling was high, with a glistening chandelier, polished to perfection. “You cleaned this yourself?”
Lee smiled a little. “Not
all of it, ma’am. Tea is on the table.”
“Thank you,” she said, shyly. She had never had the opportunity to be served by a real-life butler. Lee seemed nice, unlike his boss… and the stranger still didn’t tell him her name. Lee had left her alone this time, and she found herself walking around the library, her fingers skimming through the spines and spines of books, both paperback and hardbound. Her heart leapt at the sight of them. Even the book and supplies store didn’t have this much!
She walked around some more, marveling at the attention to detail. Every nook possible had a comfortable chair and a small table. Every nook had a source of light, whether from a window, or an expensive looking antique lamp. She saw a 1940s book on the history of the world, and she grabbed it, sitting beside the table where the tea was. If this was how she was to wait, she didn’t mind waiting, even if it went beyond an hour.
She found herself getting lost in the pages. She didn’t read just for studies, but she enjoyed her leisure time. This was just perfect, one of those perfect afternoons, were she had a pot of tea, with the raindrops thudding against the glass and roof, curled up on a chair, book in hand.
She heard the distant rumble of something, all of a sudden. Kelsey looked around, and she looked out the window. There were no flashes of lightning. There was another low sound, almost like a roar. Perhaps, the skies were still on a fury to keep raining… she heard it again, and she found herself closing her book. It sounded almost like an animal’s cry this time.
Kelsey stood up, and she began to walk around, wondering where the noise came from. She walked towards the door, her hand reaching for the brass handle, when suddenly, the door opened. In front of her was the stranger. She gasped a little, seeing blood streak from his nose. “Oh my- what happened?”
He shook his head. “It’s the crazy weather,” he quickly replied.
“I thought I heard something. You keep a dog somewhere?”
He smiled. “Nope, must’ve been the thunder.”
Kelsey stopped in place, looking at the ceiling. “There it is again.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hear a thing, but tea sounds about great right now.”
CHAPTER FOUR
She had heard the noise, he was sure of it. No amount of rain could have muffled his father’s screams. There was a reason why the main gate was a good kilometer away from the house. There was a reason for the dungeons that were thirty feet below the house. He arrived just in time. She was about to open the door, and perhaps, explore the manor.
“Oh my- what happened?” she said, pointing to his face.
He shook his head. He had nearly forgotten his nose was bleeding, courtesy of his father. Stronger sedatives were needed next time. “It’s the crazy weather,” he said to her, grabbing some tissue from a gilded box by the windowsill.
“I thought I heard something. You keep a dog somewhere?” she asked him.
He smiled. “Nope, must’ve been the thunder.”
“There it is again,” she said, looking around the room.
He shook his head. “I don’t hear a thing, but tea sounds about great right now.”
“It’s my second pot. Pretty good. Where did you get oolong tea?” she asked him.
“Why do you know about tea?” he said, looking at her surprised.
“My dad is- was, he was from China,” she explained to him. He took a seat across her.
“Oh, you do enjoy history, don’t you,” he commented as he poured himself some tea. He ate a biscuit as he held the book in his hand.
“What page were you in?”
“Twenty,” she replied.
“Wow. You enjoy reading, I can see.”
“A little,” she admitted. She leaned forward, closer to him. “I still don’t know who you are, but I know where you live, and I know your butler; heck, I’ve grabbed a book from your private collection.”
He stretched out a hand. “Hello, I’m William Ashborne. Will, for short.”
“Kelsey,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. “Kelsey Long.”
“Interesting,” Will found himself murmuring.
“Why?”
“If you didn’t have any Chinese blood, I’d have thought nothing of your family name.”
“You enjoy genealogy, too?”
He nodded. “A little. Long means ‘dragon,’ right?”
Kelsey nodded. “It does.”
“How long has it been since your father passed away?” he asked her.
“A few years. He died during my senior year in high school.”
“You’re an orphan?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Not really, but my mom and I went our separate ways. She’s doing her thing, I’m doing my thing.”
“Where is she now?”
“China,” she replied, after taking a sip of her tea. “She teaches there. It’s how she met my dad, who was an exchange professor of sorts.”
“You’re all alone?”
“I am.”
“Well, congratulations, you’re doing great.”
“So, I guess this is our getting-to-know-each-other moment, sort of,” she quipped. “How come I’ve never seen you before, if you live here?”
“I’ve been travelling about,” he reasoned to her. “Also, family concerns and businesses keep me busy.”
“Sorry, how young are you, anyway?” she interrupted him. “You make it sound like you’re way older than what I think you are.”
“How old do you think I am, anyway?” he asked her.
“Twenties? 24? 25?”
“Close enough,” he told her. “Currently 25.”
At least he wasn’t lying. That was the age on his driver’s license, that was the age on his current school record. “How young are you?”
“24. I wanted to graduate earlier, but life happened. I had to work full time for a year, so I could get back to school. Luckily, I got a scholarship at Huntley-Thwaite,” she said, mentioning the name of the college they were currently in.
Huntley-Thwaite had been his father’s baby project, wanting to make a difference despite their male lineage’s condition. A private institution with a 100% graduate rate. It was ranked among the top small colleges in the country, putting their money to good use, at least. They had a lot of liquid assets, and he was currently in charge of all their financial movements.
His stepmother had been given a sizeable asset, while his sister’s trust fund would be ready in a few years. He knew his sister would survive on the sizeable million their father would leave her. Once time came, she would pretend he’d never existed at all. She would grow older than him, physically, and if people saw that, questions would be raised...
“Right,” he said, realizing his thoughts had been drifting once more. “A scholarship. I guess I’m looking at either a hard-working person, or a genius.”
“I could be both,” she said.
He gave a short laugh. “Whatever makes you feel better?”
“You’re not very pleasant,” she suddenly said. “Well, you are, with all your manners and talking, but you have a mean streak.”
He was silent for a while, flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”
Her face reddened, and he felt her body heat increase despite the rain and the cold. She was sincerely embarrassed. “Well,” her voice dropped lower. “It’s true.”
He shook his head, almost laughing aloud. “You’re the first person to call me out like that. I’m not used to it.”
“Because you’re so used to people sucking up to you?” she said. And then she reddened again. “Sorry. It’s just that you were so rude earlier. I mean, I was being nice to you-”
“And you expect people to be nice to you because you were nice?”
“I don’t,” she replied bluntly. “And maybe I thought wrong about you.”
His head cocked sideways. “What did you think about me?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”
“Indulge me,�
�� he told her, one finger on his right temple, as he leaned on the chair’s handle.
“I said I was sorry I even mentioned it,” she said, sounding strained this time.
“You were passionate about it earlier. And you needn’t apologize for an opinion,” he said, his eyes piercing into hers. He could tell she was getting uncomfortable about his gaze.
“It was a personal opinion, one I shouldn’t have said aloud.”
“What? Afraid you’ll upset your ancestors?” he said.
She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ve always been careful, I’ve always been complacent. This was some terrible lapse with words.”
“And judgement, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “You do have a mean streak in you. And that’s all I’ll have to say about it.”
“Because you were taught to keep your mouth shut if you couldn’t find anything nice to say,” he finished for her.
The young and suddenly defiant woman before him said nothing.
He laughed sardonically. She was going to be like every other woman he had ever met, she was going to be like every other human, insipid, with warped ideations, and being nice was all just a ruse, as always.
“The rain’s stopped,” she said, looking out the window after a minute of silence.
“And?”
“And you’re supposed to bring me back to the city.”
“Right, because I said so. What makes you think I won’t renege on my earlier statement? What makes you think I won’t murder you, and dump your body somewhere around this estate?”
She frowned. “If you wanted to, you could do it now. But you left me here to enjoy tea, to read a book. For what? To make my last moments quiet? So, you could gain my trust? How many dogs do you have that they’d howl that much? How big are your dogs?”
He was taken aback. “It’s none of your concern. And yes, you’re right. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have stopped wanting to get to know you better.”
“Ashborne is the name of your manor. I have a feeling it isn’t your real name.”
One brow rose up. “What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “People like to name their homes differently. It’s part of history.”
