It was odd. Simply odd.

I stood just by the fence of a closed neighborhood, staring at a house that was newer than the older homes around it. It looked somehow dark and forbidding with its red tiled facade, surrounded by smaller, white-painted houses. And I couldn't understand how it was there. How grass grew in the garden, how the tree in front of it supported a green canopy. Exactly like it had supported a green canopy through all the summers of my life.

I wasn't sure why I had come to stare at the monster for a house in the place of my childhood home. It had been lucky of my parents that they had sold the old building just before the accident.

I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned.

Why was I here?

Was it just because of nostalgia, or did this too have something to do with Little One.

Or was it because I had seen my childhood home in a dream? In a dream where I tried to follow someone inside, but Valentina wouldn't let me. Was it Little One that I was trying to follow? Little One who was just an unexplained contact in my phone. A message chain that could have been easy to delete was slowly turning into an obsession.

I had quit my job to come back to Breasinghae to find this Little One.

And I had only two clues to go by, one was the house.

And the other was a person. Valentina, a stout young woman that I kept seeing in my dreams.

What would happen if I simply walked to the front door and knocked? Would there be more clues? Or would I simply disturb the peace of someone who had built themself a new home?

But how was it even possible in the first place that I didn't remember this person, this Little One? I didn't know a name, or what he looked like. But he was a he, that much was clear from the conversation in my phone. It was a relatively new phone, only two years old. But all these two years we had been texting. Not regularly, but consistently. Except that the messages stopped last autumn.

I had tried calling the number. But no one had ever answered.

I had tried tracing it, to at least get a name, but the operator hadn't given it to me. It had been a secret number. And the last time I had tried, it had become obvious the number had been disconnected.

It was frustrating. But I also had the feeling I was ignoring something obvious. Something that was right in front of my nose. But I couldn't get it. It eluded my groping mind, like a cockroach fleeing the flashlight. Or the exam answers after a sleepless night.

I sighed and turned around.

The house was in a difficult place too, I had to travel across half the city to get to my current home where I had rented a room. My landlady was a university professor who welcomed company in her cozy house. Usually she had exchange students staying. They always needed places to live. But so did poor freelancer 3d-modelers who worked for greedy game studios.

Professor Scale Tongue had asked me to call her by her first name, Rosemary, but she was one of those ladies who aged with a dignity that made using the first name almost impossible. So, at least in my head, I called her Professor Scale Tongue.

She was a generous person and had trusted me with her car, a dark citroen, when I had lied that I was going to visit a friend at the edge of the city. Well, at least the visiting a friend -part was a lie. But the border between cities was literally located in the neighborhood.

With the public transport the journey would have taken over an hour. In a car it was closer to twenty minutes.

I left the car on the street where I had gotten it, locked it and went back to what was now my home. A lovely home on the other side of the city. But not too far from the old town and city center.

Professor Scale Tongue was reading the day's newspaper as I entered.

"Mimosa, welcome back. How was your friend?"

"Fine," I answered.

Then an odd idea hit me. I seated myself by the professor on the couch and said:

"She was actually missing her brother who disappeared a year ago. He never said goodbye or anything. And she feels kind of odd about it. She isn't even sure if she misses him or not."

"How odd." Professor Scale Tongue folded the newspaper onto the glass table by a stack of candles. "I know exactly how that feels like."

"You do?" I stared.

"Yes I do," the graying lady said. "I lost my brother to life. He sends me flowers every now and then, but we haven't exchanged a single word in years. Always when I think of him, I feel odd. A bit hollow. As if I had missed a step in stairs."

That was exactly how I felt about this Little One.

"I didn't know," I said aloud. "What is his name?"

"Plume. He is, if he is alive, Plume. But I know he is alive. Someone would have called me if he were dead, don't you think?"

"Of course," I said.

But the affirmation felt hollow in my mouth.

And what if this Little One was dead? Had he been close enough for someone to have called me?

And the accident, where Valentina had been as well, when the house exploded last autumn. What if...?

But then again, why had Valentina been there, by our old home that had been sold, if not to see someone?

I really needed to talk to that girl. She knew something.

But Valentina was hard to reach. She hadn't answered when I tried calling. Multiple times. And to every message I sent, she pleaded business. The pretext was, she was busy with a special martial arts course. From the messages it was somewhat unclear whether she was a teacher or a student there. But it was clear it occupied all her evenings.

"...the name of your friend?"

I blinked.

Professor Scale Tongue was standing by the couch, holding two mugs of tea. She offered one to me.

"The friend you went to see, what's her name?"

"Valentina Farías," I said, with no time to think of a proper lie.

Her eyebrows rose.

"Really? Valentina Farías?"

I felt my ears getting red. Would I get caught with my lie?

"She studies French Philology?"

I had no idea actually what Valentina studied. She had surely mentioned she studied when we had met at the beginning of summer, but I didn't think she had specified her major. Or if she had, I hadn't been listening.

I nodded however. It was just too much of a coincidence there would be two people with the name Valentina Farías studying at the university.

"What a surprise! She is one of my students. A very brilliant one for that. Always on schedule with everything. Except this last academic year it seems something has been weighing on her mind. We had to postpone her Master's Thesis a bit. Her course work is done now, but she still needs to write the Thesis once autumn comes. Did you go to the same highschool or something?"

I shook my head.

"No. I am a year older, I think. We met at... Ermm..."

I ran out of words. My color was rising.

I had met Valentina at the activities in religious circles. At a summer camp the Atlantean United Church arranged for young underaged people from varied Christian backgrounds.

Though we hadn't exactly studied the Bible with her. Anything but.

I hadn't turned eighteen yet. Valentina had still been in highschool as well.

I looked out the window to a beautiful back garden overgrown with high grass. My cheeks felt as if they might burst into flames any second.

I had found my own Faith only some years after that summer, and before that it hadn't seemed a big deal losing my virginity to a charming, self assured and a bit exotic girl who had dark eyes and skin the color of honey. I had been madly in love for one long summer.

I had of course known my parents wouldn't have encouraged same sex couples. And I wouldn't... I felt ashamed. Still. It had been against God. Foolhardy at best. Great sin at worst. And I had told no one.

That secret had stayed at the summer camp. I had thought I would carry it with me to my grave.

But now, when I turned around, Professor Scale Tongue was smiling widely.

"I am not judging, Mimosa. I am actually in awe. Here you are, still friends. Why don't you tell me how that happened? How did you two meet again after...?"

"I don't remember," I said. My cheeks were now less red.

"I really don't. The Christian circles aren't that wide, I guess."

I shrugged nonchalantly and took a great sip of my tea.

But I was sure someone had introduced us again. And I had a nagging suspicion who that might have been. Especially because I didn't remember.

And it really was Valentina, the devil herself, who had all the answers. Wherever she was.