Lighthouse

Where the Silence Colided

Chapter Eight

The surroundings had fallen into silence. Though the steady pour of rain could still be heard, accompanied by the mournful whistle of the wind, it was no longer as fierce as its first violent surge. It was a sign that the storm was finally retreating—leaving behind its scars upon the very place where a great love was meant to meet its destiny, yet fate had denied it.

The dim light spilling from the lone streetlamp seemed burdened with sorrow, as though even the pale glow itself mourned the tragedy that had unfolded beneath it. Yet the rain, relentless and cold, began to wash away the marks left behind, cleansing the place as if trying to erase the pain etched into the night.

The victims had already been rushed to the hospital, while some were taken by grieving relatives with the help of the barangay officials and the provincial hospital staff.

Still, Irene’s tears would not cease for the fate that had befallen her sister-in-law and her own brother.

Her muffled sobs escaped behind the bandana pressed tightly over her mouth. She could not accept what had happened—two lives exchanged for the fragile breath of an unconscious child.

The tragedy had been immediately reported to the authorities, especially for the passengers of the bus that had come all the way from Manila.

And as relatives of the deceased arrived one by one, Irene stood among them, there to claim the bodies of Jared’s parents.

“Do you recognize this one?”

The attendant gently pulled back the sheet covering the face of a woman.

Those gathered slowly shook their heads.

Irene could not help but glance at the woman who looked as though she were merely asleep, untouched by death except for the stillness that clung to her. Though traces of dried blood stained her skin, her beauty remained unmistakable—haunting, almost unreal.

“Let’s go.”

The voice came from Irene’s older brother, who had rushed from Manila to take care of the remains of their youngest sibling and his wife—the mother of Jared.

“I’ll take the child after the mourning is over. I’ll raise him in Manila and make sure he studies there.”

“Yes, Kuya. He should never know what happened.”

“In time, Irene. Even if not now.”

On the third day, morning sunlight greeted Anselmo as he pushed open the small window at the side of the lighthouse. Unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded elsewhere, his thoughts were fixed only on the little room with its modest garden—a place he had prepared for himself and Elaine.

No matter how exhausting the work had been, he never minded. His heart was too occupied with the coming dawn of their reunion.

Only three more days, and he would finally see Elaine.

The thought alone filled him with restless anticipation, a quiet whisper of hope echoing in his mind.

With unusual energy, Anselmo began cleaning the surroundings. Though the place was still far from beautiful, people had already started visiting it, drawn by the quiet charm of the lighthouse and the promise of what it could become.

“Anselmo!”

It was Irene, breathless from hurrying, clutching little Alfred tightly in her arms.

“Won’t you be attending tomorrow?”

He paused, confusion crossing his face.

“Attending what?”

Tears silently streamed down Irene’s face as she began to tell him everything.

The words fell like stones.

Anselmo stood frozen, the color draining from his face.

“The child?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“He’s alright,” Irene answered between sobs. “They’re taking him to Manila after the burial.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Anselmo finally said, his voice low and burdened. “At least… to walk them to their final resting place.”

“Thank you.”

Though they rarely had the chance to speak because Anselmo was always busy, it never changed the truth that they had grown up together—bound by the quiet familiarity of childhood, where words were often unnecessary because understanding had always been there.

What needed to be finished had finally come to an end.

The last flower cast into the grave came from Anselmo’s hand. Though he and the departed had never been particularly close, as fellow townsfolk, they were bound by the quiet familiarity of shared roots—as if they were never truly strangers to one another.

Anselmo gently patted Alfred’s head.

“Study well. And from time to time, come visit the lighthouse.”

Little Alfred gave a shy nod.

“I’ll head ahead now.”

“There’s a small gathering at the house,” Irene said softly.

Anselmo shook his head.

“No, Irene. I have a visitor arriving from Manila.”

“Today?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He turned away then, lifting a hand in farewell.

Filled with quiet joy, he returned to the small garden he had carefully made for Elaine’s arrival.

Until nightfall, sleep refused to visit him. His mind was too busy counting the hours.

After that night, only tomorrow remained for him to endure.

One whole day, one long night—

and then, at last, he would see Elaine for the first time

By that time, Elaine’s father had already returned home, shaken and restless from the news he had received.

“You mean to tell me it has been more than three days, and none of you even thought to look for her?”

The maid, Maria, stood frozen in silence, unable to lift her gaze.

“Do you know something? Weren’t you always with her?”

He turned to Maria sharply, his voice edged with anger.

“N-No, sir… I don’t know anything. She didn’t tell me where she was going.”

“I’ve already filed a police report. I’ve used every bit of influence I have.”

The weight of his frustration filled the room like a storm waiting to break.

Just then, the telephone rang.

Erik answered it.

A tragedy had occurred in the northern province. According to the police reports, most of the passengers involved were from Manila.

“Impossible!”

Elaine’s father’s voice cracked with disbelief and dread.

“Who would she even go to in some distant province?”

Maria could barely breathe. Fear gripped her chest—not only from the thought that her employer might question her further, but from the growing terror that something terrible might have happened to the young woman.

At that moment, Erik remembered following Elaine the day she ran away.

It had led him all the way to the bus terminal.

But he had convinced himself then that she was only hiding, because he knew Elaine had no relatives—no friends even—in the northern province.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Erik said firmly. “There’s nothing to lose if we check.”

“And where exactly are we supposed to look there?”

“At the hospital the authorities mentioned.”

The room fell silent.

Sometimes, the silence before the truth was far more terrifying than the truth itself.

.