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  Restless, he sat up on his bed and stared at the window across the room. Since his phone was now gone, he has no means to contact Freddy, and more importantly, he won’t be able to take any evidence with him.

  Marisol didn’t die for nothing. He thought as he stood up and approached the window. Just as he was about to draw the curtain, something broke the silence.

  WITH TREMBLING FEET, he trotted on the cold marble floor, barefoot and bruised. Every part of his body was aching. Each step spiked a sharp, mind-numbing pain up his backside. Yet, pained as he was, he walked down the halls silently with his one hand on the wall and the other clutching his robe close to his bare chest.

  He took the service staircase that night – a route he only took when he felt too ashamed to even set a foot on the building’s main staircase. Each step he took brought silent tears to his eyes. Finally, after what felt like a thousand agonizing steps, he reached the ground floor. As he trodden through the West wing of the building, he shut his eyes and let his feet lead the way. He had his hand on the cold walls, and just when he was almost near his room, he knocked a vase over.

  He looked at the broken shards on the floor, his eyes focusing on the sharp edges of each broken piece. It took him a moment to realize the mess he’s made, and when he did, he ran as fast as he could.

  KANE OPENED THE DOOR in such haste that he almost stepped on a shard of ceramic on the floor. He peered his head through the doorway and heard soft, steady thuds echoing through the vast hallway. He carefully stepped over the broken vase and followed the sound of the footsteps down the hall, where he saw droplets of blood on the floor.

  At the end of the hall, there was a half opened door. Kane quickly ran back to his room and picked up a huge chunk of the broken vase. He walked down the hall once again, but more carefully this time. He followed the droplets of blood to the door and listened.

  He heard muffled grunting coming from the inside, followed by a couple of loud thuds. Carefully, Kane nudged the door open and stepped quietly inside the white room. At the other side, he saw a man, hunched up against the bookcase and sobbing silently. He wore nothing but a stained white robe, and there was a streak of blood that ran down his legs.

  With steady steps, he walked towards the man and held the shard behind him. He had a mop of jet black hair and skin as white as snow. Kane stopped short in his tracks.

  “Clarke?” He whispered. Suddenly, the sobbing stopped.

  “It’s past 12, Kane. You have work tomorrow. You should be asleep.” He whispered in raspy, exhausted voice.

  “I should be saying the same to you,” Kane said as he dropped the shard on the ground. He looked around the big white room and saw nothing of interest, aside from the pair of blood-stained pants that hung at the top of the wall above the now empty bookshelf. Everything that once stood on the shelf was now on the ground.

  “Do you ever get that feeling that someone is always watching you?” Kane hesitantly whispered as he stared at the pants. Clarke turned around and followed his gaze.

  “Don’t worry, it only records video.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Clarke said quickly as he tied up his robe and knelt down on the ground to pick up the fallen books on the ground. Kane saw through his face that he was trying his best to keep the pain at bay. Whether it was out of pity or cheer madness, Kane found himself helping Clarke Tristen pick up the books and figurines from the ground.

  “I know those stains.” He found himself whispering. What the fuck am I doing?

  “Stains?” Clarke said as he struggled to get up. He winced as stood upright and he winced as he bent back down.

  “I’ve seen that before. The walk, the blood. Now it’s just a question of who did it.”

  Clarke stayed silent as he tried to lean against the small shelf.

  “I’ve seen that on my friend. Her name was Marisol Campbell. She was a journalist. A very beautiful one too. Then, one day, someone also saw that she was beautiful while she was walking down her own neighborhood back in Manhattan.” Kane said as he watched Clarke clench his jaw and grind his teeth. “I’m guessing you already know what happens after that.”

  In his time in the force, Kane realized that there are only two kinds of criminals: the good liars and the bad liars. The bad liar’s biggest mistake is that he always makes up an unbelievably far-fetched story from scratch, whereas the good liar takes the truth and twists it to fit his needs. Both were criminals to Kane, yet both taught him a valuable lesson. Kane only knows one good liar and that was himself.

  “How do you know her?” Clarke whispered as he dropped his head low and turned away from him.

  “Well...how do you know her, Clarke?” Kane said as he stood up and walked over to him. He set the books down on the shelf and looked him in the eye. “How do you know her?” Kane saw it in his eyes – the faint flash of recognition, the brief expression of guilt, and the lingering look of rage all mixed up in his cold blue eyes.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW HER?” Kane half-whispered as he grabbed his face with one large hand.

  “Easy there, big guy. You have no idea what you’re messing with here. He has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “Who?”

  “You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Clarke looked at him with wild, unblinking eyes. Confused, Kane pushed him away.

  “You know I noticed something about you, Clarke,” Kane whispered as he looked him up and down. ”While Dennis ran me through the ministry today, I noticed a very distinct uniform. Every single one of ‘em wore a pretty rosary. All of them, except you. Why is that?”

  Clarke just looked at him and smiled.

  “I think you already know why.” He said as he tightened his robe. “I saw it hanging in your rear view mirror yesterday. Isn’t that nice?”

  Kane said nothing.

  “I’m sure it is, Kane,” Clarke whispered as he went back to fixing the rest of the fallen books. For the first time in a long while, Kane had to think back again. He stood there, looking at Clarke like a lost puppy. Blood was dripping down his legs yet he seemed completely unfazed by the pain.

  “Go to bed,” Clarke said as he grabbed his pants from the wall, revealing the crucifix.

  “Why didn’t you tell him?” Kane said. “You saw me pick up the gun. Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “Let’s just say I never saw anything, to begin with. You remind me so much of someone. She knew the price she’d have to pay but she did it anyway. Whatever you plan on doing is your choice. It has its own consequences...and this time around, I’d rather not be a part of it.” He said as he limped out of the room, leaving Kane feeling even more lost than he had before.

  Chapter 11

  Nearly 20 years ago, in a gloomy September evening, a woman wrapped in a dark cloak paid a visit to a certain church on the outskirts of town. In her hands, she carried a beautiful baby boy. She walked hesitantly into the empty church with her knees threatening to buckle under her. Timidly, she approached the dimly lit altar. With every unsure step she took, she tried her best to keep the tears at bay.

  Finally, the woman reached the foot of the altar. She looked up at the cross and let one tear slide down her cheek. She gave the boy a soft kiss on the forehead and laid him down the stairs before running off, never to be seen again.

  20 years later, that boy stood in front of the same church in his black clerical uniform. He stared blankly at the altar from afar and wondered what she must have been thinking as she stood in the exact same spot he was standing on. Why did she leave him? Was he so awful that she decided to pass on the burden to someone else?

  Shaking the thoughts away, Clarke limped towards the building. He rarely takes the main door nowadays since his discovery of the secret passage behind the church. Father Dennis had told him about it a week ago when he made him run a “special errand for the good of the Lord”. But today was a special day. Today was h
is “birthday”, and birthday boys shouldn’t go skulking around secret entryways.

  With a struggle, he knelt down on one of the benches at the back and bowed his head. As he closed his eyes to pray, all he could think of was how idiotic he’s been acting for the past weeks. He let his guard down, and let himself fall prey to disappointment. He held on to a small sliver of hope and yet even that turned into dust.

  Nearly a month ago, there was a new church goer who went by the name Marie. Clarke found her rather odd simply because she was new and she was oddly curious about him – something that doesn’t happen every day. She would swing by almost every day and talk to Clarke in a manner he had never been talked to before: he felt like he was talking to a friend.

  He grew up alone and afraid in a big house that always seemed so empty. The silence was his only constant companion, loneliness became his best friend. Clarke never knew what his parents looked like. He didn’t know what books they read or what their favourite passage was. He never had many friends aside from the occasional passerby who would always get shooed away by some pent up old nun. Having someone to talk to who is not a priest or a guard or even a nun was foreign territory to Clarke.

  As time went by, he realized that he was starting to like her company. He liked it when she asked him questions and she liked it when he gave him straight forward answers (which were frankly all that he could muster at the time). She gave him companionship; he gave her what she needed. Soon enough, the questions became too sketchy and the answers needed to be more detailed. People were beginning to notice her presence, and a certain priest was beginning to dislike the idea of Clarke hanging around the yard with a stranger. Their friendship became harder and harder to maintain as he sat in the distance and watched them talk.

  “So, how long have you been here?” She said, eyeing the church in front of them. Mass had just ended and people were just starting to leave. Even through the small sea of people, he could still feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of his head.

  “I’d say about 19 years.” He said in a low voice.

  “Wow, 19 years. That’s impressive.” She laughed. He watched as her soft pink lips curled at the edges. He watched her eyes, fixated on the rosary hanging on his neck. “So I bet your mom is really proud to have you. You know, to have a son who loves the Lord.” She said, giggling.

  “I wouldn’t know about that.” He said, trying his best not to sound off. “Growing up in a church, that’s...it’s something else.” He flashed her a tight-lipped smile and let his gaze drop to the ground.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for starters, you make a lot of unusual...acquaintances.” As the words slipped through his tongue, he can’t help but remember the look on his damned face as he entered his room years ago. That was the first of many visits.

  “Like who?” She said as she casually shifted her gaze to the church. “Like that guy?”

  Clarke didn’t need to turn around to know who was walking towards them. Through the years, he’s grown used to the sound of his heels, walking towards him. He knows it more than he would like to.

  “Yeah, like that guy.”

  Struggling to keep his balance, Clarke got off his knees and sat down on the bench. There were only a few people paying their respects to the Lord that day, which didn’t really come as a surprise to him since people rarely visit on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon.

  It’s been almost a week since his encounter with Kane and so far, the man hadn’t made any advancement. Yet, somehow, he knew that soon enough, he’s going to pounce on him like a lion. He could feel his dark, watchful gaze burning through the back of his head whenever he walked around the compound, and that, along with the oppressing stares of the cameras, was all too much to handle. So, to relieve himself of the pressure, he decided he would take the time to pray.

  Still, as he sat there in the holiest place he knew, he found no solace in prayer. Relief never came to him as he muttered “Amen.” As he sat there looking up at the cross, he knew that from that day on, happiness will always remain a distant memory that he can never relive again.

  “Nothing’s changed after all.”

  “Excuse me?” He heard someone say from behind him. When he didn’t look, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, making him turn his head to the sound of the voice. His eyes met a friendly, smiling face. The face suddenly disappeared however as soon he caught sight of his face. The man studied him intently with brows furrowed in curiosity.

  “Can I help you?” Clarke whispered, trying not to be rude. He looked past the man and saw Dennis standing by the doorway, looking around the room. Clarke pried his eyes away from the priest and looked back at the man in front of him.

  “Yeah...” The man said, “I’m looking for a man. I think you might have known him. His name’s Kane Bamidele.”

  As the words slid off his tongue, Clarke slowly felt his mouth run dry.

  “Did he send for someone?” Clarke thought to himself. “Is he coming for me?”

  “He’s a friend of mine. He actually went here for – uh – a family thing. Can’t really say.” The man stammered. “Anyway, he led me here. If I’m not mistaken, this is the Power Assembly Church of God, yes?”

  “No that can’t be...I never did anything wrong...I never did anything wrong. Why am I worried?”

  “Yeah...you’re in the right place, I guess,” Clarke mumbled. His eyes went back to Dennis who was now casually walking towards them with his hands tucked behind his back. “Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to walk away as fast as you can and don’t look back.”

  “Why? I just got here!” The man said, visibly bewildered by the sudden shift in Clarke’s attitude.

  “Just trust me,” Clarke whispered. “Please.”

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Dennis said with the most innocent smile Clarke has ever seen on someone like him. The man jumped in surprise when Dennis suddenly put his arm on his shoulder. “I’m guessing you’re new here. Are you in need of any assistance? Directions, perhaps? We do get an awful lot of lost tourists here.”

  “There’s no need for that, Father, I already...”

  “I was not talking to you, Clarke,” Dennis said, shooting him a dangerous look. “I suppose you already know how rude that is, right?”

  Clarke felt himself descend back into a state of submissiveness. He knew that look all too well, and if he pushed it any further, the threat buried beneath that shroud of innocence Dennis had put up will come crashing down on him mercilessly.

  “No, it’s okay, mister. Clarke was already taking good care of me,” the man said, pushing Dennis’ hand off his shoulder. “I really should be going anyway.”

  “Oh, don’t leave so soon. Service hasn’t even started yet!” Dennis said, gripping the man firmly but gently on both shoulders and assisting him around the bench. “Now, while we wait for it to start, why don’t you tell me why you need to see Kane so urgently?”

  “Well, it’s nothing really...like I said, he’s a friend” The man mumbled, “listen, Father, I really do need to head back. Long ride home.”

  “Well, if you came all this way, no use in leaving so soon!” Dennis laughed. Clarke gave a nervous giggle and so did the man. Clarke was always worried whenever Dennis would laugh. Usually, that meant he made a huge mistake.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me your name and your purpose here, son.” Dennis said as his eyes drifted towards Clarke. “I don’t bite.”

  Clarke suddenly felt his hairs stand up on end as he said that. Flashbacks of the nights before ran through his troubled mind. The smell of whiskey, the blood, and the gnawing pain in his behind all came back to him in one painful wave of emotion. He tried his best to remain calm.

  “My name is Freddy,” the man said.

  “Well, Freddy, what is your purpose here?” Dennis said, looking deep into Freddy’s eyes.

  “Like I said, I came here looking for Kane. He told me he might be offered a new job h
ere, but he never came home since and he phone isn’t reachable” the man said. Uncomfortable, he shifted his eyes to the statues on the other side of the room. “I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

  Clarke could have sworn he saw Dennis’ eyes glow as Freddy mention Kane’s name. Shivers ran down his spine as a smile found its way to Dennis’ lips.

  “Kane Bamidele? You’re in luck!” Dennis said, “A few days ago, he came here looking for work and I just so happened to be the one who gave him one. Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  Without saying another word, Dennis assisted Freddy out of the pew and into the aisle. Clarke heard him mumble a few other things on the way out of the church but it was already too late. Dennis already had his claws wrapped around his neck before he even knew it.

  Finally, Clarke was once again left in peace and quiet. As he sat there, looking up at the cross a curious thought ran through his mind once more,

  “How did he know my name?”

  Chapter 12

  “Nothing makes sense!” Hopeless, he threw the stack of papers all the way across the room. It was nearly midnight, almost time for his shift. His job was fairly simple: make rounds every hour and rally back to his post in the back yard porch of the living quarters. Nothing more, nothing less.

  It’s been almost a week since he saw Clarke, and so far, the man hasn’t done anything suspicious enough for him to spark his interest. The blood, the injuries that could have been hiding under that robe was none of his concern. The man kept a strong face as he limped from here to there, and Kane watched him from afar as he did. There was just something so different about him, and no doubt Marisol thought that too.

  He spent the entire evening sorting through the “evidence” that Marisol managed to dig up, and none of it proved anything other than the fact that she sounded like a complete lunatic.

  On August 26, she wrote the following.