Apartment Thirteen B

13-B III

I woke up still in Apartment 13-B.

But something inside me had shifted.

Gone was the fog.

Gone was the soft denial.

I remember.

Elijah.

The gunshot.

The blood.

And my father walking away like he didn't just take someone from me.

I stared at the morning light filtering through the curtains, habang yakap ko 'yung kumot na parang huling bagay na naiwan sa 'kin ni Elijah.

He wasn't beside me. But the warmth lingered.

Parang hinintay niya lang na maalala ko bago siya tuluyang mawala.

"Coward," I whispered, voice shaking. "Takot kang tuluyang mawala ako sa'yo, kaya binuhay mo 'ko sa gunita mo."

At ako?

Takot din akong mawala siya kaya hindi ko hinanap ang totoo. Hanggang ngayon.

That afternoon, I walked into the Valerio estate.

Black dress. No makeup. Eyes sharp.

I didn't knock.

Pinagbuksan ako ni Yaya Tessie.

She froze. "Mira..."

"Nasaan siya?"

Her eyes filled with fear. "Anak... hayaan mo na."

"Hindi 'to para sa akin lang," I said. "Para 'to kay Elijah." nangilid ang luha ko saka sya nilampasan.

I found him in the study.

Same man. Same suit. Same perfectly ironed sleeves.

The man who taught me how to fire a gun.

The man who shot the only person I ever wanted to marry.

"Tapos na ang laro, Dad."

He looked up from his whiskey glass.

"Ah. Bumalik ka na sa matagal mong kwarto ng multo," he said flatly.

"No," I said. "Bumalik ako sa katotohanan."

He sipped calmly. "Did he finally tell you? Or did your guilty little brain finally give you the truth?"

"You don't even regret it?"

"Regret?" He laughed, slow and bitter. "You were going to destroy yourself for him. That bastard son of a w***e"

"Don't you dare," I snapped, slamming my badge on his desk.

"I'm not just your daughter now. I'm a detective. I reopened the case. And I'm naming you as a suspect."

His face twitched.

Just for a second.

Then calm again.

"You won't get far."

"I don't need to get far," I said. "I just need to speak. And you know me, Dad. Once I start talking, I don't stop."

I walked out of that house with the weight of war on my shoulders.

But this time? I wasn't alone.

That night, I sat again in the empty Apartment 13-B.

This time, he didn't appear.

No voice. No piano. No warmth.

Just silence.

"Alam kong naririnig mo pa rin ako," I whispered. "Hindi pa 'to tapos. Pero sinimulan ko na."

I looked around the room where our love bloomed and died.

"Hindi ko na 'to tatakbuhan. Hindi kita kakalimutan. Hindi na."

From the hallway, wind passed. A soft hum, like a sigh.

And somewhere in the quiet,

I swore I heard his voice say,

"That's my girl."

There's something cruel about waking up in your own bed after reliving someone's death.

No Elijah beside me.

No warm tea.

No sarcastic jokes about my socks.

Just white ceiling.

Thin sunlight.

A phone buzzing with reality.

"Ma'am Mira, update po sa reopened case"

"Ma'am, may witness na po tayong pumapayag magsalita."

"Ma'am, 'yung dating driver po ninyo. Willing mag-testify sa galaw ng ama ninyo that night."

I should've felt powerful.

Like the version of me in the reports, brave, fierce, decisive.

Pero ang totoo?

I've never felt emptier.

I submitted the complaint. Official. Clean. Heavy.

I sat in front of the board. Explained the motive. The cover-up. The bloodline secrets. The silenced threats. The scandal.

And all of it...was real.

For them, it was a case. For me? It was my love story, reduced to statements and crime scene photos.

That night, I passed by 13-B again.

I didn't go in.

But I placed a small note under the door.

It said

"I'm doing it. I hope you're still proud of me."

In the following days, I cried in the shower.

I skipped meals.

I wore his old shirt under my blazer to hearings.

Sometimes, I found myself whispering out loud

"Kung nandito ka pa, anong sasabihin mo?" But silence always answered me back.

Until one night...

I dreamed of him. Not like before. Not glowing. Not perfect. Not full of warm light.

But real.

Disheveled hair.

Dark circles under his eyes.

Blood on his collar.

He was sitting by the piano.

And he looked at me with pain.

"Mira, you have to let go."

I reached out to him, voice cracking. "But if I let go... mawawala ka."

He shook his head.

"I was never supposed to stay this long. You just kept calling me back."

My hands trembled.

"No, please. Just a little more. I still have things to tell you"

"You already did."

"You always do."

"You always will."

And then he smiled.

Soft. Final. Beautiful.

"Thank you for remembering me."

I woke up gasping.

Pillow soaked with tears. Room dark. And beside me, silence.

But this time?

There was peace in it.

Not absence.

Just peace.

I went back to Apartment 13-B one last time.

Opened the door.

Let myself in.

And said, out loud

"Thank you for loving me when I couldn't love myself."

And somewhere inside me, I heard his voice again.

"You were worth it. Always."

The courtroom was too cold.

Or maybe ako lang 'yon.

Hindi ko alam kung nilalamig ako sa takot o kung 'yon na 'yung katawan kong matagal nang natuyuan ng init.

Nasa harap ko si Dad. My father. Calm. Collected. Untouched.

Behind me, rows of strangers and vultures disguised as press.

And there I was.

A woman grieving a ghost the world never knew existed.

"State your name."

I stood.

"Mira Valerio," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Detective."

"Relation to the accused?"

"Biological daughter."

I held the mic tighter.

"Willing victim. Emotional hostage. And the only witness to his crime."

The room buzzed. Pero wala akong narinig kundi 'yung sariling t***k ng puso ko na paulit-ulit, parang sirang alarm clock na hindi mo na kayang patayin.

"I'm here to talk about Elijah Alvarez," I began.

My voice cracked.

"But before I tell you how he died... let me tell you how he lived."

I took a breath.

Then bled.

"He was my home," I said.

"He made me laugh when I forgot how. He was kind in ways that didn't need an audience. He folded my laundry wrong, but he always made sure I ate after every shift. He'd wait for me when I got caught up in work, even if I came home past midnight. And when I had nightmares, he'd hold me like I wouldn't break."

I blinked back the flood.

"Pero hindi siya tinanggap ng pamilya ko. Hindi siya tinanggap ng ama ko. Hindi dahil masama siyang tao but because he reminded him of a sin he committed years ago."

I looked at my father.

"The son of his former mistress."

They didn't know that.

The crowd gasped.

But I kept going.

"Elijah didn't even know at first. But my father did. And instead of owning up to his past, he erased it."

I let the silence thicken. Let it hurt.

"The night Elijah died... it was raining. We were supposed to leave that night. Magtatago kami, magsisimula sa ibang lungsod. I was packing. He was holding my hand. And the door opened."

I felt my voice falter, but I didn't stop.

"My father entered with a gun."

My hands shook.

"I can still hear it. The click of his shoes. The silence that fell right before he pulled the trigger."

I pressed my fingers to my lips.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."

The room was dead quiet.

Not even a cough. No movement. Just pain.

"He didn't die because he was violent, or dangerous, or wrong for me. He died because he was inconvenient to a man who didn't want to be reminded of what he did."

I turned to the judge.

"My father didn't just shoot my boyfriend. He buried a part of me with him."

The lawyer objected.

"Your honor, the witness was emotionally unstable at the time of the incident. Her memory-"

"My memory came back in pieces," I cut in, voice shaking. "And I wished it didn't. Kasi walang sinuman ang dapat makaalala kung paano unti-unting nawawala ang taong mahal nila habang nakayakap sila sa katawan nitong duguan."

I pulled out a printed copy of the crime scene photo.

Elijah's outline on the floor.

Blood soaking the wood.

And my shoes, black boots, right at the edge of the frame.

"I was there," I said, voice hoarse. "I tried to stop it. But no one listens to a daughter when she says her father is capable of murder."

Tears blurred my vision.

I wiped them away.

"I'm not asking you to feel bad for me. I'm asking you to see him. To know that he existed. That he loved me. That he deserved to live. That he was more than a scandal, more than a bastard, more than an inconvenience."

I looked at the jury.

At the faces that couldn't meet my eyes.

And I delivered the only line that mattered:

"If love like that is a crime... then maybe we were both doomed from the start."

After the hearing, I stood on the steps outside.

The press swarmed. Cameras flashed. Mics in my face.

"Detective Valerio, any final statement?"

I smiled bitterly.

"Justice doesn't fix everything. It won't bring him back. But it means he didn't die invisible. It means someone fought for him."

That night, I passed by Apartment 13-B.

But I didn't go in.

I left a single rose at the door.

And whispered,

"I'm finally letting you rest."

There was no reply.

No piano.

No voice in the air.

But for once?

That silence felt holy.

I thought after testifying, there'd be some kind of relief.

That I'd sleep for three straight days.

That I'd wake up not aching.

That I could listen to the sound of rain without remembering the sound of a gunshot.

Pero hindi ganon ang nangyari.

I sat on my apartment floor, surrounded by unopened mail, cold coffee, and silence I no longer feared but didn't exactly welcome.

I was free.

But still hollow.

I visited Apartment 13-B less and less. Eventually, I stopped altogether.

I kept waiting for the ache to fade.

But grief, I learned, doesn't end.

It just changes shape.

One morning, around three weeks after the trial, may natanggap akong envelope.

Cream-colored. No return address. No markings.

Except for the name on the front.

For Mira.

The handwriting?

It was his.

At first I froze.

I didn't even open it right away. I just stared at it like it was ticking.

Like opening it would undo all the closure I fought for.

But something in me whispered,

"One last time."

So I opened it.

Inside is a letter. No date. No salutation.

Just... him.

His words.

Mira,

If you're reading this, it means you remembered. Maybe not everything. Maybe not all at once. But you remembered enough to let me go.

Thank you.

I know you'll carry guilt. Because that's who you are. But please know that I never blamed you. Not once. Not even in the moment it all ended.

The love we had... it was real. Even if the world couldn't handle it. Even if it wasn't meant to last in the way we wanted.

I hope you fall in love again, Mira. I hope this time, he gets to stay. I hope he sees what I saw, the fire in your soul, the softness in your stubbornness, the miracle of how you laugh when you think no one's watching.

But if you don't... if it takes time... that's okay too.

I'll wait. In every song. Every quiet. Every cup of tea you forget to finish.

Because love like ours doesn't vanish. It just changes clothes.

And you, Mira,

You're the only person who ever made dying feel like something I'd do again.

-E.

I didn't cry.

Not at first.

I just held the letter to my chest, and let the warmth bleed through paper.

Let the words rewrite the hole in my heart.

Let the silence answer, softly

"I remember."

Later that night, I visited 13-B.

One last time.

I didn't bring flowers.

I didn't whisper into the hallway.

I just sat in the middle of the living room floor, turned on the voice recorder, and said

"I forgive you. For leaving. And I forgive myself. For trying to forget."

The wind passed through the window.

No voice.

No vision.

Just stillness.

And in that stillness is Peace.

"Detective Valerio. Reassigned ka na."

Ma'am Lazo's voice snapped me out of my daze.

Nasa HQ ako ulit. Back to work. Back to reality.

Black blazer. Hair tied. Eyes clear. Or at least, that's what they saw. Inside? I was still relearning how to live.

"New case. Discreet. We're giving you something light to start with," she said, sliding a folder toward me.

"Suspicious disappearance. Taguig. Her name is Camila Reyes. Twenty-two. Journalism student. Last seen with an unnamed male companion two weeks ago."

I opened the folder.

Initial witness reports. CCTV grabs. Street angles.

Nothing stood out

Until I reached the second to the last page.

And saw a name.

One that stopped my breath.

ALVAREZ, C.

Relative. Male.

Listed under "Reported recent companion before disappearance."

My hand froze.

Hindi Elijah. Hindi same address.

But that name...

Alvarez.

I scanned the record.

"Caspian Alvarez."

Age; 26. Freelance musician. No prior offenses.

Last known residence: unknown.

Last confirmed contact with Camila four days before she went missing.

Blood relation to Elijah?

Undisclosed.

Tumigil ang mundo ko sandali.

Caspian.

Caspian Alvarez.

And now here it was, haunting a different report, sa ibang folder, sa ibang taon.

But the pull?

The same.

That night, I sat in my apartment, staring at the file.

Tinawagan ko si Lazo.

"Ma'am... sinadya niyo bang ibigay sa akin 'to?"

"No," she said. "Why?"

"No reason," I lied.

But something inside me twisted. Because this wasn't a coincidence.

I dug deeper.

Searched hospital records. Birth certificates. Family logs.

And found a blurry digital archive.

One record, dated twenty-seven years ago.

Name: Caspian Reyes.

Mother: Isabelle Reyes.

Father: Unknown.

But then handwritten, scrawled at the bottom:

"Half-brother of Elijah Alvarez."

Blood drained from my hands. He had a brother. And he never told me.

The next day, I went to the Reyes address listed from years ago. No answer. But the neighbor peeked through her screen door.

"Hinahanap mo si Caspian?"

I nodded.

"Umalis na siya nung isang buwan. Laging may dalang gitara. Tahimik. Pero parang laging binabagyo 'yung loob."

My heart pounded.

"What do you mean?"

The woman's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Madalas siyang tumitig sa pader, tapos tatawa mag-isa. Minsan naman... umiiyak siya habang tinutugtog 'yung 'Clair de Lune.'"

I swallowed.

That was Elijah's favorite.

I wasn't supposed to care this much.

Caspian Alvarez. Half-brother. Musician. Ghost in someone else's file.

I should've filed the report. Passed it off. Focused on the missing girl.

But when I saw that name...And read that middle name...

I heard Elijah.

I pulled the strings.

Traced every last known movement.

CCTV sa may terminal. Bus ticket to Lucban.

A boarding house under the name "Reyes."

A neighbor who swore he'd catch him humming the same tune every 3AM.

Clair de Lune.

Of all songs.

I went there.

Old boarding house. Cracked gate. Faint smell of coffee and rain.

Pagbukas ng isang medyo may edad nang babae, halos hindi na siya nagtaka.

"Detective?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I figured someone would come eventually. That boy kept asking weird things. Kept saying someone was following him."

"Following?" I echoed.

"Yeah. Pero ang sabi niya..." She leaned in, whispering,

"think I'm being followed by a memory that doesn't belong to me."

I felt it in my spine.

The room was bare.

Except for a mattress. Some books. A broken cassette player.

And a journal.

It was thick. Handwritten. Sloppy. Intense.

Page after page of music notes, sketches, thoughts.

But in between, may mga tanong.

Scrawled across margins.

"Who is E?"

"Why do I see a woman in my dreams calling me 'Elijah'?"

"Why do I cry when I hear her name?"

I sank to the floor.

He didn't just exist.

He was remembering.

But not his own life.

Elijah's.

Sa huling pahina ng journal, may drawing ng isang babae.

Messy sketch. Hindi tapos.

But it was me.

And under it, in trembling ink

"I think I loved her before I even met her."

I had to find him.

This wasn't just about Camila anymore. This wasn't about another missing person.

This was about a connection so deep, so strange, so painfully familiar... It was like grief had split into two people and the other half didn't know why he was bleeding.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay in my bed, Elijah's letter on my chest, Caspian's journal beside me, and an impossible question looping in my mind

If he's not Elijah... then why does my heart recognize him?

Lucban was supposed to be quiet.

And it was.

Too quiet.

I arrived at the terminal before dawn, hand on my badge, but heart not sure if this was still part of my job or something more personal.

The girl, Camila, was still missing. But my gut told me this wasn't random.

Caspian was in the middle of something. And I wasn't the only one looking for him.

The first sign was small.

A missing witness, old neighbor from the Reyes boarding house who's gone overnight. No traces. No forwarding address.

Then, Camila's last message to her roommate vanished from police records.

I requested the original file.

Corrupted.

I checked the security footage again from the café Camila last visited.

This time, the footage was different.

Same timestamp. Same setting.

But Caspian wasn't in it.

My fingers tightened on the table.

Someone was scrubbing the trail.

And that only meant one thing

Someone was scared of what he knew or what he was becoming.

I found the break by accident.

I was having coffee at a roadside diner when I heard the chords.

A street guitarist outside.

Faint. Off-key. But painfully familiar.

Clair de Lune.

Not the whole song, just the opening notes.

The way Elijah used to hum it when he thought I wasn't listening.

I ran out.

The guy looked up...wrong person. Not Caspian.

But he said, "Someone taught me that. Guy who stays by the old abandoned church up the hill. Quiet dude. Long hair. Doesn't talk much."

I blinked.

"Did he have a journal?"

The guy shrugged. "I dunno. But he sings sometimes. And when he sings... parang hindi siya totoo."

I followed the trail up the hill.

Overgrown path. Half-collapsed fences. A forgotten chapel and a single tent near the side.

I slowed my breath.

Dahan-dahan akong lumapit.

"Caspian?"

Nothing.

"Caspian Alvarez?"

Still no answer.

But then

From inside the chapel, may boses.

Soft. Raspy. Almost...scared.

"Hindi ko na alam kung ako pa 'to."

I pushed the door.

And there he was.

Curled in the pews. Thin. Pale. Eyes wide like he hadn't slept in days.

And those eyes?

They were Elijah's.

His gaze snapped to mine.

And before I could say a word, he whispered

"You're the woman in my dreams."