THREE
The evening was stormy. Mr. Stevens and his grandson, Ryan, were on their way home as the rain kept pouring intensely with thunder striking eerily in the sky.
"We should've gone to your house, son," said Mr. Stevens warily, his eyes gleaming from the blue light in the sky. "This rain won't stop now; are you really able to drive this way?"
"Don't worry, I know this road better than you think," Ryan said confidently, and he meant it. His muscular arms gripped the steering tightly, tentatively avoiding all the weak spots as he kept driving the large SUV.
Ryan was an epitome of handsomeness; tall, athletic built, with amazing facial features that deserved more than one glance. He was also a matured guy, with a very stronger personality than his actual age.
"Okay, if you say so." Mr. Stevens pulled a bottle of Scotch.
"I thought the doctor forbade that," Ryan remarked, scowling, and it was always a fool's errand.
Mr. Stevens was crazy for whisky, but it wasn't enough for him to be an alcoholic, thankfully.
"Son, if I die, I'll just die," he said. "Might as well do it as a happy man instead of a sad, old bag of bones!"
"That famous speech," Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Mr. Stevens added, "I'm not spending a few of my last days in the world like a warrior who's left his wife and kids at home." He cleared his throat at the burning sensation upon chugging the drink, and it was enough to make Ryan shake his head to the sides.
"I was able to convince the shareholders about the redevelopment deal," Ryan said, finding the distraction from this horrendous weather. He glanced at his grandfather as he added, "Considering the cost and benefit analysis, it wasn't hard getting the majority on our side."
"I knew you'd do it; I had absolutely no doubt," Mr. Stevens remarked, a proud hint in his smile. "Now you can focus on getting the permit, and by luck, I know someone who can work on it as soon as possible."
Ryan nodded, marveling at his upcoming project.
Mr. Stevens was the founder of the SK group of companies. They owned plenty of buildings, apartments and shopping malls, among other things. Ryan was the CEO of SK Real Estate, one of the best in the country. He'd taken over the reign upon his grandfather's retirement.
He was the best, nevertheless, and even admired by many as the youngest entrepreneur compared to many in the real estate industry.
His eyes were careful on the road. But suddenly, out of the blue, his attention was stolen by the bemusing sight. He briskly hit the brakes, staring outside attentively via the side window.
"What is that?" he thought out loudly, squinting his eyes at the sight of a person hanging on the tree, holding it tight.
It was a woman, Ryan comprehended, and she seemed in deep trouble.
"Hold on a second, Grandfather," Ryan announced while unbuckling his seatbelt.
"What's going on? You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Stevens barked over his whisky.
"Over there," Ryan uttered pointedly, and the old man caught on immediately. "Can you see it? I think it's a person."
"Yeah, I can see. Is it a woman?" Mr. Stevens asked, squinting his eyes beneath the pair of spectacles.
"I'll go check," Ryan said, determined to unravel the mystery.
It was a scary predicament, but he was far from any fright.
"Be careful, son," Mr. Stevens said, sounding displeased with the idea somehow.
He was probably worried.
Slamming the door shut, Ryan hastened though the treacherous raindrops and peered his way towards the subject of his attention. It was indeed a woman, and he had no time to think or wonder of her deal.
"Here, hold my hand!" he urged, narrowing his eyes as the rainwater harassed his sight.
"I . . . can’t," the woman uttered faintly.
“Of course, you can. Try harder. I got you.” Ryan grabbed her hand sharply, followed by the bag hanging barely on her back. “There.” With all his strength he held the tree for support as the ground was very slippery.
Eventually he pulled her up and out of danger. He could tell she'd slipped, given the slope and the mud smeared in her clothes and sneakers. But how did she end up like this? He wondered to no avail while taking her away from the slope.
"Are you okay?" He was holding her tight, her stance unstable. However, she eyed him up, only momentarily, unable to decipher a thing.
She was in shock.
Puffing the dripping water on his face, Ryan witnessed the woman burying her face on his chest, both drenched, for the rain wasn't friendly even now.
"Hey, can you hear me?" He tried to wake her but it was useless. "Damn!" With a single grunt, he lifted the unconscious woman in his arms, carrying her bridal style, and scurried towards the car.
"Oh God! Is she okay?" Mr. Stevens opened the backdoor in a hurry.
"Not sure," Ryan replied, and smoothly placed the lady inside. He pulled the jacket on the backseat, and covered her hastily, fully aware that it wasn't helping a thing.
"What is wrong with her? What was she doing here? I don't even think she's from around here!" Mr. Stevens' gaze was profuse towards her.
"I doubt she's from here, or else she wouldn't be in this place." Ryan started the engine.
Wondering about the mysterious lady in the rain, Ryan and his grandfather arrived at their home some time later. It wasn't a nice ride, but their safety was all that mattered.
The lady was carefully placed into the bedroom, by Ryan himself, and asked the lady housekeeper to help on changing her and other details.
"Do you think she'll be fine?" Mr. Stevens asked as Ryan descended the stairs in his drenched clothes.
His dark brown hair was damp, his shirt half-buttoned, and the kind of look no woman would hesitate peeking a second glance at.
"She will be," he answered while drying his unruffled hair with a mini towel he was holding.
"Okay, go ahead and change before you catch a cold," Mr. Stevens said.
"You, too, you need to eat and take the medicine!" Ryan stipulated, making the old man with curly grey hair roll his eyes. "Grandfather!" he snapped.
"Yeah, yeah, I will." Mr. Stevens disappeared slowly, holding his button that aided his limping caused by a minor stroke.
"What a stubborn old man," Ryan mumbled.
"I heard that!" Stevens grunted.
Moments later, Ryan ventured back inside the guest's bedroom. He wanted to check on her before calling it a day. She was deeply lost in a slumber, her long, golden-brown hair tied up into a ponytail.
A soft, stirred sigh escaped Ryan, wondering all over again on what she was possibly doing in that rain. He simply huffed, arms folded across his chest, not knowing what to reckon on the matter. It was strange.
Sighing, he marched over and pulled the covers to her neck, his eyes taking in the proper sight of her. Well, she looked normal, he thought. And she was . . . pretty? He shrugged, for he'd seen way more pleasant women than she was.
And suddenly the sound of a phone call buzzing shot his eyebrow up. It was coming from that lady's bag, he comprehended.
Unhurriedly, Ryan grabbed the backpack and fished out the phone that was still in good shape, despite the odds. He checked the screen and it was someone named 'bestie'. He glowered a bit, before sliding the receiver.
"Finally you have decided to turn on your filthy phone, huh?" A female voice rose, making Ryan frown incredulously.
He'd even moved the phone away from his ear so as to recover from the sharp voice of that bestie. Women! He smirked.
Clearing his throat, Ryan started, "Um—"
"Hey, do you have any idea how worried we are? Where are you?" the lady kept shouting.
Sighing, Ryan uttered, "I'm sorry, but the owner of this phone had a minor accident, so—"
"What? An accident?" she snapped.
"Well—"
"What happened? Is she okay?" she interrupted him, and he frowned hard.
Damn it! Couldn't she let him finish? Ryan thought irritably.
"I'm not sure exactly," he articulated, annoyed, and explained how she'd found her. "Long story short, your bestie is fine." He shook his head, exhausted.
"But hey, how can I trust you, huh?" she asked, irritating him further.
Just how did he get himself into this? He nearly blurted out.
"Hellow?" she repeated.
"You have no other choice but to do it, that's all I can say," Ryan snorted. "Do you actually think I'd pick up your call if I had any intention of killing her?"
"Huh?"
"Yeah, or what else are you suggesting that I could possibly do to her?"
"Well . . ." She stammered, and within a second or two, another voice filled Ryan's ear.
"Excuse me." It was an old, male voice. Ryan's face twisted bemused as he made a small pace. "How is my Claire? Is she doing okay?"
"Yes, she will be fine when she wakes up in the morning," Ryan replied, trying hard to be polite.
"Thank you," the old man said. "Thank you very much for helping her."
"No problem," Ryan retorted. "In case you're worried, I'm calling from Kerensky Stevens' residence," he said reassuringly.
"Oh, I know the place," the old man replied and they talked for a while until they hung up.
Ryan placed the phone on the nightstand. A soft sigh escaped him as he contemplated the whole predicament. His gaze naturally found the sleeping beauty, making his lips part.
"Claire, huh?" Ryan muttered, his eyes watching the sleeping woman. "Interesting." His smile was sly.
The storm had finally passed. A beautiful morning came. Colorful flowers made the garden alive as the shining sun rays penetrated the windows, brightening every corner of that huge classic mansion.
Waking up with fatigue, Claire found herself in quite a strange place. Instinctively, her eyes faced the white ceiling above, the image coming out blurred, and her heart skipped a beat right away.
Was she dead? What was this place? She asked herself, panic pooled in her face.
The cemetery . . . Bruno . . . the rain . . . And . . . Oh, she was thirsty.
Clearing her dry throat, while attempting to get up, the memory of last night came back so vividly. It was all clear, except the part of her being rescued. However, she could also remember the feeling of being held into some strong arms amid the rainfall.
"Oh God," she breathed, struggling to stand up from the bed.
"Take it easy, miss," a soft voce muttered, surprising Claire. A woman walked in, holding a stack of towels or something before putting it down. "How are you feeling? You were burning with fever a while ago, and I had to sponge you a little."
"I'm fine, but my body aches all over." Claire was helped into a seat by the old lady. "What happened, and where am I?" she asked in a scratchy voice, looking around the Victorian style bedroom.
"You don't remember?" the old lady, who was the housekeeper, queried.
"Not much," said Claire.
"I think you had an accident and my boss helped you." The lady explained the situation, before introducing herself as Martha. "Here, drink this." She handed Claire a cup of ginger tea.
"Thank you, Martha," Claire said, smiling faintly. So they helped her? She muttered inside. "I'm sorry for the troubles I caused you all." She glanced at Martha apologetically.
"It's okay," Martha said softly, her smile warm. She was short and plump. "I've prepared you a warm bath and clothes; Mr. Stevens and his grandson are waiting downstairs."
Mr. Stevens? Grandson? They were all confusing Claire but she chose to keep calm.
"Um, thank you," she murmured, taking a small sip of her tea.
"Well then, call me if you need anything," Martha said, and with a nod from Claire, she disappeared.
Being left all alone now, Claire slowly abandoned the tea and paced towards the large window. She at least managed to smile at the sight of a green garden filled with flowers. However, the idea of meeting the Stevens made her a little nervous.