10
It's raining outside.
"I'm hungry," Lincoln suddenly speaks amid the sound of the rain.
I turn my head, "I will ask the chef to make you a meal."
"I would prefer if you cooked for me," Lincoln pauses. "You were almost robbed, I helped you. making me a meal to thank me, I'm not asking too much, am I?"
He makes a good point.
I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge, "What do you like to eat? There is chicken, beef, fish, mushrooms..."
Lincoln follows behind me, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, "Tomato pasta, with a basil leaf on top."
Fifteen minutes later, I bring the pasta to the dining table.
"You don't eat?" Lincoln looks at the solitary plate.
I shake my head, "I'm not hungry."
He sits down and picks up the fork, "Then keep me company while I eat."
I sit in the chair opposite him.
Lincoln twirls the pasta, "How has my brother been treating you lately?"
"Not bad."
"You are lying, he doesn't go home at all," Lincoln raises an eyebrow at me.
"Since you know, why are you asking me?"
"Alright, alright," he smiles and changes the topic, "If you need money, my company can offer you a job that pays more than your teaching assistant position at the art studio. Do you want to come?"
I lightly frown, leaning back in my chair, "I studied fashion design, not something related to architecture."
Lincoln puts a bite of pasta in his mouth and nods as if he is eating a Michelin star dish.
"Ali," he says after swallowing, "Have you noticed you act like a completely different person around me? Like—" he narrows his eyes, elongating his words, "a cat with claws."
I almost snort, "Anyone interacting with you would develop a self-defense mechanism."
The rain outside gets heavier.
In a daze, I recall the last time I had a meal with Lincoln here; it was a snowy night.
Why is it that whenever he shows up, the weather is always bad?
"The rain is too heavy, the mountain road is slippery. I'll stay here for a while before leaving," Lincoln finishes the pasta and stands up to wash the dishes.
But he quickly assumes the role of the host, turning on the faucet and asking me, "I am going to make a cup of coffee later, do you want some?"
I shake my head and head upstairs.
The phone in the living room rings at this moment.
This landline, now almost purely decorative, rarely rings, and if it does, it is usually for service workers like plumbers.
So the butler answers it.
I am already at the bedroom door but stop when I hear the name Mateo.
I turn my head and see the butler's expression growing more serious.
"Mr. Mateo said he would call you half an hour ago, but now he is not answering his phone?"
"He might be in the office now, hold on, I will contact his secretary."
I look at the rain outside and suddenly have a bad feeling.
The old mansion is halfway up the mountain, and the road down has many sharp turns.
I have witnessed Mateo's driving speed before.
Before we got married, his father forced him to take me to the old mansion to meet me.
Sitting in the passenger seat, I almost threw up everything I had eaten the day before.
I hurriedly go downstairs and change my shoes.
"Mrs. Ali, where are you going?" The butler calls after me, holding the phone.
"I'll be back soon!"
I hope my suspicion isn't right.
Because of the rain, I drive very slowly, sticking close to the dry drainage ditch along the mountain side. On the way, I only see two cars coming from the opposite direction, both driving slowly with fog lights on in the heavy rain.
I do not know how long I have been driving, the heavy rain beating on my eardrums, my heartbeat growing faster.
Dark clouds spread across the sky, as if it were the end of the world.
Then, at a certain moment, I see a section of the guardrail on the curve of the road is broken.
This is very dangerous. With such low visibility and slippery roads, if the driver didn't see it or he was driving too fast, the tires could easily skid...
Suddenly, alarm bells ring in my ears.
I park the car on the roadside and look at the broken guardrail, hoping I am just exaggerating.
But the reality stands glaringly before me.
In addition to Daniels family, there are others living on this mountain; maybe it is not Mateo?
I comfort myself, take out my phone, turn on the flashlight, and shine it down. There is a sharp slope, about several stories high. With the help of the flashlight, I vaguely see something metallic reflecting light.
I take a closer look, and my throat tightens suddenly.
The metal has two colors, one dark and one light, just like the color scheme of Mateo's favorite Maybach.
"...Mateo!" I call out.
The stones in the mountain echo back to me.
I think I must call the police immediately, but my phone shows no signal here. I remember that the emergency number 999 isn't restricted by telecom signal issues, so I try to dial it.
However, it seems to be a location problem, as there is no signal at all.
I stare at my phone in a daze, rain hitting my face.
I get back into the car and continue driving down the mountain. When my phone finally gets a signal, I immediately call the police.Then I get out of the car and walk up the mountain in the rain.
Returning to the broken guardrail, I get down on the cliff edge and shout again, "Mateo!"
A burst of rain drowns out my voice in the valley.
I kneel on the ground, my mind in chaos. I have several options, but none seem ideal. People can bleed, go into shock, lose consciousness—anything can happen.
Life slips away in minutes and seconds; I don't know how to buy more time.
Would seeking help back at the old mansion be faster? I don't know. The police said they would arrive in twenty minutes, but in this weather, can they save anyone? I don't know.
Even half a minute of thinking feels too long, so I decide to go down and check on Mateo.
If he is unconscious, I must wake him. If he has a severed artery, I must stop the bleeding immediately.
As it gets darker, I turn on my phone's flashlight and tuck it into my chest pocket for illumination. I first lower my legs and then inch down the rocks.
My phone battery is low, but without the flashlight, it's too dark to descend.
I think, it's okay. Once I'm down there, I can use Mateo's phone to call for help.
I carefully climb down. The rocks here are very sharp, and I face away from the valley, letting the rain hit my back.
But my hand slips, and a rock cuts a gash into it.
The pain momentarily blurs my consciousness, but I hope time slows down. Time is life. I think, if I save Mateo, he might treat me better and grant me a request.
I could ask him to save my mother.
But if...
...
I lose focus for a second, my center of gravity shifts, and I suddenly lose my balance and tumble down. Fortunately, I'm wearing several layers, so the stones cause dull pain but no serious injuries.
I groan softly, get up, and wipe my hands on my clothes, then quickly head toward the car.
Indeed, it is the familiar Maybach, and the visible part of the license plate matches.
The car is overturned in the rocks, its doors deformed from the impact.
I shine my phone's light inside, calling out, "Mateo!"
"Mateo!—"
...
"It's you."
Mateo, who had his head drooped, lifts his head with difficulty when he hears my voice. He opens his eyes and gives me a grim smile.
Seeing the fresh blood on his forehead, I am startled, "Where else are you hurt?"
He shakes his head, "My leg is stuck."
"I'm here to save you," I say.
He seems to hear a joke, "Save me? You should be happy if I die."
"I— we signed a prenuptial agreement. If you die, I get no money, so why would I be happy?"
"Wow，sometimes you are right," Mateo chuckles, then slowly closes his eyes.
"Hey! Don't sleep! Hey!"
At this moment, I hear the faint sound of a car above and see two headlights in the darkness.
I wave my already heated phone's light source at them, shouting.
The rescue team has arrived.
The car responds to my signal, the high beams stop, indicating the car has parked. Then I hear two car doors slam shut in the rain.
Two people in raincoats come down from above. I wave to them in the rain and realize one of them is Lincoln.
"Put this on." He throws a raincoat from his backpack for me to wear and then moves to open the car door.
"Why are you here?" I pause, thinking this question is not important now, and change to, "Do you know anything about field rescue?"
Honestly, I think the police will arrive soon; and given the strained relationship between Lincoln and Mateo, if something goes wrong during the rescue...
"Mr. Lincoln is a former president of the American Mountain Rescue Association," the man accompanying Lincoln says. I recognize him as a security guard from the old mansion.
"I often hiked in North America, so I do have some experience," Lincoln says, looking at me. His gaze sweeps over me from head to toe, finally landing on my hand.
"I'll disinfect and bandage you first." He takes out a first aid kit from his backpack.
I am stunned, "Your brother is still in the car..."
"He doesn't matter; it's better if he dies."
My throat suddenly feels blocked, and I can no longer say a word.