ROGUE ANGEL - Book One: The Beginning

Chapter Four

I SURPRISED myself when I got a good night’s sleep despite my troubled mind. Perhaps I was too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to think of anything else except hitting the sack. And it was a good thing too; I woke up feeling fresh. After getting out of my bed,I flung back the curtains and was greeted by sunshine the color of honeycomb-yellow streaming in through my window. It was a pleasant sunny morning and the cloud-free sky was bluer than blue. 

After my morning ablutions, I went down to the cafe beside the lobby to feed my growling tummy. Entering through the glass door, I noticed that its interior, from the warm cappuccino aroma to the casual couches, had a Starbucks-kind of feel. However, unlike the American coffeehouse chain, this place was devoid of customers. So Sirius was telling the truth when he said I was their only guest.

I was served English breakfast – two fried eggs, toast, bacon, beans,and coffee – while I sat at a corner with glass-paneled walls. From here I had a perfect view of the world outside. Most of the buildings in this part of the town were over a century old. Traffic was sparse, and senior citizens, in flip-flops and T-shirts, were huddled together, either chitchatting or reading papers in shabby coffee shops along the street which also housed a Chinese clan association, an optical shop, a locksmith, and a hair dressing salon. I took a deep breath and let some air out slowly. The atmosphere here was so laid-back;I liked it. I wish I could trade my existing messy state of affairs for this type of nice, relaxed lifestyle.      

“Happy morning, Miss King,” a deep voice greeted me. “Slept well last night?”

It was Sirius. I was so engrossed with the sights that I didn’t hear him approaching. I nearly couldn’t recognize him too in his casual wear.

“Likewise,” I replied with a smile. “And yes, I slept like a log, thank you. Join me for breakfast?”

“Thanks, just taken mine. So, are you still planning to go to Ng Chan Villa today?”

I nodded.

Sirius chewed his lips. He seemed apprehensive ... or excited. I couldn’t tell. He thought for a moment and said, “Then you’ll need a local guide. That place is not easy to find.”

“And who would be brave enough to take me there? Like you said, it’s haunted.”

“May I sit down?” he asked without answering my question.

“Be my guest.”

He pulled a chair and sat opposite me. Following that, he took out his cellphone from his jeans pocket and while swiping his finger on its screen, he said, “You know, ever since you mentioned Ng Chan Villa last night, my fascination with its owner got the better of me so I Googled it. This is what came out from my search. It’s quite an absorbing write-up. Here, have a look.” He passed me his phone.

Intrigued, I scrolled through the contents:

Spencer Wang (1930 -1962) was an enigma.

He appeared suddenly in Ipoh right after World War II and in no time at all made a name for himself investing in stock markets and real estate. His worth increased tremendously, and was at one time conservatively estimated at $120 million dollars. He was said to be so rich and powerful that the British Resident (equivalent with today’s Menteri Besar’s post) and the Sultan of Perak were obliged to take advice from him in running the state.

In 1959, he built the fabulous Ng Chan Villa, meaning “Five-Story Villa”, a Neo-Classical designed mansion. It was the grandest private residence at the time of its completion in British Malaya and located on top of the hill overlooking the whole of Ipoh town.

He shunned publicity and kept very much to himself. A photographer who was commissioned to take his portrait in 1960, the only one in his lifetime,described him as tall and lean with a face of a lucky dollar; his expression was warm and pleasantly cheerful; and his large eyes sparkled of diamond.  

He was married to a Chinese woman whose name is unknown and she bore him no children.After his death, an aura of mystery surrounded his age when a fluke 1917 photograph taken in Shanghai showed him as a young man in his late twenties at a banquet standing near to Dr Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of modern China.If Spencer Wang was born in 1930, it was utterly impossible for him to be with the doctor thirteen years earlier. On the other hand, if he had lied about his age,he should be at least 70 years old in 1960, yet he didn’t look a day older than 30 when his portrait was taken. 

The secret of his eternal youth, however, died with him when he and his wife perished in a fire at his mansion in 1962.

Beneath the article were the two said photographs. I looked closely at the images of Spencer Wang. The writer was not exaggerating, they did lookalike; the slicked-back hairstyle, the big sparkling eyes, and the friendly disposition. It was an incredible discovery to say the least. And another thing. Although I had never seen Spencer Wang before, I knew he was the one whom I needed to save. But how could I save someone who was already dead?

“Ng Chan Villa is not visible anymore as the hill is now engulfed in lush, bushy vegetation,” said Sirius, disrupting my train of thought. “And the forest has eaten away the path leading to it. Only someone who knows that area well can take you to the mansion. You need the Special One.”

“And who is this Special One?” I asked, returning the cellphone to him.

“That would be me,” he answered, grinning a clownish grin. “I told you my grandparents used to live there, remember?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” I said. “I only recall seeing you shaking all over when I asked about Ng Chan Villa. Perhaps ‘the Frightened One’ would suit you better.” I chuckled.

Sirius blushed. “Yeah, I admit I was a little nervous back there. But that was last night. Today I am asking myself: what kind of a man am I when a woman like you has no qualms entering Ng Chan Villa where I fear to tread? This is something unheard of! So here I am at your service.”        

“Ah, and I suppose now you are the Proud One.”

“Whatever, as long as I don’t end up as the Dead One,” he laughed,sticking out his tongue and making a hanging gesture.

There was a pause. I looked at this man who appeared slightly older than me. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight perhaps, but I was confident he had yet to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. He seemed to have a quirky sense of humor from his antics. And he laughed like a loon. However I was very comfortable with that. I never trust anyone who doesn’t laugh; it’s my nature. And he smelled good. Must be his cologne; it had that fresh, woody scent. 

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, sipping my coffee.

“Oh, let’s just say I like to help people out, especially the pretty ones. Moreover, today is my day off and since I have nothing to do, well, why not?”

“I see,” I said. Actually I didn’t see it. His reason was such a flimsy one. My intuition told me he had another motive in taking me to Ng Chan Villa but chose not to reveal it. So what was he really after? Should I press him further? In the end I decided to put it off until later as right now his assistance would make it much easier for me to locate the mansion.  

“So, anytime when you are ready, Miss King,” he said, getting up and excusing himself. “I’ll be at the lobby.”

“Okay, and please call me Alison. One more thing …”

“And don’t concern yourself about the expenses; I’m doing this for free,” he interposed as if he knew what I was about to ask him. Well, he guessed wrong.

“That’s very kind of you, but what I really wanted to ask was whether you’ve heard of The Fellowship?”

“You mean the title of the first The Lord of the Rings trilogy novels?”

“No, I mean an organization or something like that.”

He thought for a moment. I held my breath.

“Nope,” he said at last, much to my disappointment.

“Do you think you can Google it?” I then suggested.

“Good idea,” he answered, taking out his cellphone from his pocket again and began tapping. Half a minute later, he said, “Only three results come out:the book and the movie pertaining to The Lord of the Rings, and the name of a Christian organization in the United States.” 

“That’s not what I’m searching for,” I sighed. “Nothing is mentioned about The Fellowship in Malaysia?”

“No,” he said, holding the phone out to let me see the web results. “Is it important?”

“Not really,” I lied. It was important, but I didn’t want to tell him that just like he didn’t want to let me know his true intention of taking me to the Villa. Looks like both of us had our little secret.

“By the way, sorry if I sound like a busybody but are you wearing colored contact lenses?” asked the Nosey One. “Your eyes are green. A unique color indeed; it showcases your individuality.”

“No, I was born with them.”

“Wow, that’s amazing! I mean, it’s so very rare for Asians to have green eyes. In fact this is the first time I’m seeing it. Are you Chinese?”

“No, I am Malaysian.”

Sirius smiled. “Yes, of course, we both are.”

We left the hotel in my Kawasaki with him riding pillion and carrying a waterproof knapsack containing a small first-aid kit, a couple of flashlights,some energy bars and two bottles of Spritzer.I must say he came well-prepared for what supposed to be a half-day adventure tour.    

I rode quite fast, doing a steady ninety, rumbling over the asphalt road, the shadow of my motorcycle and ourselves stretched out on the ground behind us as we headed east. There were only a few vehicles ahead of us and I zigzagged past them like a snake. As the minutes ticked away, the buildings became fewer and fewer. Before long, the countryside began taking shape; herds of cows were grazing on the fields, and huge oil palm estates loomed over the winding road.

We talked very little during the journey. It was not possible anyway with the warm roaring wind slapping our faces and scattering our words in all directions. But I did manage to hear him say he was raised by his paternal uncle, an abusive person and an alcoholic, when his parents died in a car accident. He was never close to his guardian and as soon as he was able to fend for himself, he left the house. Presently he was staying in a flat provided by the hotel where he had been working since its opening four months ago. Why he liked dishing out his not-so-happy family life was beyond me. Maybe he thought I was a good listener.    

“Slow down on the next curve and enter the first lane on your left,” he said, almost shouting. “We need to pass through the plantation. At the back of it is the hill. That’s where Ng Chan Villa lies hidden.”

I acknowledged him with a thumbs-up. A few moments later, I pulled off the road and came to a gravel path surrounded by tall oil palm trees, their trunks wrapped in fronds that gave them a rather rough appearance. And the distinctive pungent smell of their orange red fruits was evident. 

Just a little while longer and everything will become crystal clear to me, I thought, feeling thrilled and happy at the same time. Easing on the throttle, I stared out at the vast plantation,absorbing the tranquility of this place as we slowly passed along it, my tires crunching on the loose gravel. Under the shade, the air here was cooler too. 

All of a sudden the thundering sound of motorcycles revving behind the trees about us intruded like a vulgarity. Out came six riders in their scramblers, all of them dressed in black and helmets with heavily tinted visors,speeding towards our path. Four of them were brandishing guns.

“Oh my God, they’re armed!” said Sirius in alarm when he saw them. “Who are they?”

“They are … friends,” I rambled as my mind was somewhere else; searching for an escape route to be exact. I had a pretty good guess who they were:scumbags from The Fellowship. They knew we were coming this way and they had stationed an ambush.

The next instant, one of them fired a shot at our direction. Luckily it went wide.

“Friends?” shrieked Sirius,his face turning pale. “Friends don’t go around shooting at you!”

“What can I say? They love me to death,” I retorted, trying to remain calm.  “Now hang on tight. We’re gonna fly!”