When Love is a Question Mark
Chapter 93: James?

Chapter 93: James?

The boat cut through the dark water, the motor humming softly. Timmy held onto the side, his eyes fixed on the villa in the distance. The ride was short, but the silence stretched it out, making every second feel longer.

The air was cool, and the salty spray occasionally hit his face. He didn’t mind. His focus was on the flickering light ahead, the villa looming dark against the night sky.

As they neared the shore, Timmy spotted the local men waiting, their faces barely visible under the faint moonlight. He nodded at them. They nodded back without a word. There was an unspoken understanding. Tonight could bring answers, or more questions.

The men led him up a narrow, winding path toward the villa. The crunch of their footsteps on the gravel was barely audible. The night was strangely quiet, the kind of quiet that made even a whisper sound loud. Timmy’s mind raced, guessing what they might find.

As they got closer, Timmy saw a faint light flickering in one of the windows. His heart quickened. He motioned for the men to slow down, moving with caution. They crept closer, careful not to draw attention.

The villa stood before them, dark and imposing. For a moment, Timmy hesitated, a small voice in his head urging him to turn back. He took a deep breath and nodded to the men.

"Let’s check it out," he whispered. "Keep quiet. We don’t know what we’re dealing with."

They split up, moving in the shadows, trying to remain unseen. Timmy’s pulse pounded louder with each step, a reminder of the weight of what they might discover.

They circled the villa, searching for a way in. Timmy motioned for two of the men to check around the back. He and another man approached the front. The faint sound of waves in the distance made the silence feel even heavier.

Timmy reached the front door and tried the handle. It was locked. He wasn’t surprised, but it meant they had to be more careful.

"Check the windows," he whispered to the man beside him. They moved along the side of the building, searching quietly.

Soon, they found a window slightly open. Timmy hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. He gently pushed it open. The window creaked, making him freeze. He listened, waiting for any sign of movement inside. Nothing.

He squeezed through, the man following closely behind. Inside, the air was stale, carrying a hint of dust and dampness. The room was dark, but Timmy’s eyes adjusted quickly. It looked like an old living room. Furniture was draped under sheets, and a faint musty smell lingered.

They moved cautiously, drawn by the dim light from down the hall. It was the same light Timmy had seen from outside. His heart pounded louder as they approached it.

The light came from a partially open door at the end of the hallway. Timmy’s hands felt clammy, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He reached the door, pushed it open a little more, and peered inside.

A small lamp on a table cast a soft, yellow glow around the room. A man sat by the window, his back turned to them.

Timmy’s breath caught. For a moment, hope rushed through him. The face, the hair, the features—everything screamed James. For a second, Timmy believed they had finally found him.

"James?" he whispered, his voice cracking a little. It was barely audible.

The man turned, and their eyes met. Timmy felt a chill run down his spine. The resemblance was uncanny, but as he stared longer, he noticed subtle differences. The eyes weren’t quite right. There was a hardness to the man’s expression that James never had.

"Who are you?" The man’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. No recognition, no warmth.

Timmy’s heart sank. The man wasn’t James. He just looked like him. As Timmy focused, the differences became clearer. The shape of his jaw, the way he held himself—it wasn’t James.

The man’s face darkened as he looked at Timmy and the others. His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing in my house?" he said, his voice louder now, tinged with anger. "Who the hell is James?"

Timmy felt a wave of embarrassment and panic. He had been so sure, but now it felt like everything was falling apart. "I’m sorry," he stammered, trying to stay calm. "We thought you were someone else. We didn’t mean to intrude."

The man stood up, his movements sharp, glaring at them. "Get out. Now," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I don’t know who you’re looking for, but it’s not me."

Timmy raised his hands, trying to diffuse the situation. "I apologize," he said, forcing himself to meet the man’s eyes. "This was a mistake."

The man’s glare softened slightly, but his jaw was still tight. "You’ve got ten seconds before I call the police," he said, pointing toward the door.

Timmy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "We’re leaving," he said, backing away slowly. "Sorry for the trouble."

They turned and made their way out, their steps quick and silent, not wanting to provoke the man further. Once outside, Timmy’s chest felt heavy, and the cool night air did little to ease the disappointment weighing him down.

As they walked back to the boat, one of the men spoke up. "What now?"

Timmy’s mind raced. How was he supposed to explain this to Samuel? He had come hoping to find answers, but instead, they had hit another dead end. "We’re going back," he said, his voice flat. "I’ll figure out how to tell him in the morning."

The boat ride back was quiet, the low hum of the motor filling the silence between them. Timmy sat there, staring out at the dark water, his thoughts tangled. He had been so close, and now he had nothing.

As they neared the shore, Timmy glanced back at the villa, a flicker of frustration sparking in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this, that he had missed something.

When they docked, Timmy stepped off the boat, his legs feeling heavy. He turned to the men. "I want you to look into that guy," he said, his voice firm. "Find out who he is and why he’s here."