100 days story of Dan

Chapter 4. Darkness Falls

The residual warmth of Aling Nena’s Karinderya, the comforting scent of garlic and old wood, clung to Dan for only a few steps before the pre-dawn chill of Sta. Mesa began to seep into his bones. It was that dead hour, around three-thirty in the morning, when the city held its breath, caught between the dregs of one weary day and the hesitant promise of another. Streetlights cast long, skeletal shadows from a few parked tricycles and the lone, ancient acacia tree across the road, its leaves rustling faintly in a breeze that carried the metallic tang of the nearby Pasig River and the distant, ever-present hum of Manila.

His mind was still a maelstrom. Sarah’s face, contorted in rage and pain; Agnes’s terrified sobs; the stinging imprint of Sarah’s palm against his cheek; her final, hurled words: "Never come back!" He pushed the thoughts away, or tried to. He needed something to cut through the turmoil, a moment of sharp clarity, however fleeting. A cigarette.

Rico didn't sell them inside. Dan walked the few paces to the small, brightly lit sari-sari store (neighborhood convenience stall) bolted to the side of the older karinderya building. Its wire-mesh front was a mosaic of single-serve shampoo sachets, colorful candies, potent local coffee packs, and, tucked in a corner, various brands of cigarettes offered by the stick. Jomar, the young vendor Dan vaguely recognized from previous late-night visits, was still there, though his previous drowsiness had been replaced by the alert boredom of someone nearing the end of a long night shift. He was idly flicking through channels on a tiny, crackling portable television balanced on a stack of soap boxes.

"Jomar," Dan said quietly.

The young man startled awake. "Oh! Sir Dan! Magandang umaga po." (Good morning, sir - polite/formal.) He blinked, trying to focus, then offered a more alert smile. "Pasensya na, Sir, medyo antok pa." (Apologies, Sir, still a bit sleepy.) "Ano po sa inyo?" (What can I get for you, sir? - polite/formal.)

"Isa ngang Marlboro Lights, Jomar," (One Marlboro Lights, please, Jomar.) Dan said, pulling a fifty-peso bill from his wallet. He leaned against the counter for a moment, the tension in his shoulders still palpable. "Kamusta ka naman? Ang pamilya, okay lang ba? Kumikita ba itong tindahan mo?" (How are you? Is the family okay? Is your little store earning?) He asked it casually, a habit from his younger days when he knew everyone in his neighborhood, a genuine interest that often surprised people who only knew him as the tycoon.

Jomar's face brightened at the personal inquiry. "Okay lang naman po, Sir Dan, salamat sa Diyos." (We're okay, Sir Dan, thank God.) "Si Nanay, medyo hirap sa rayuma, pero lumalaban. Yung mga bata, ayun, pasaway sa eskwela." (My mother's having a bit of trouble with arthritis, but she's fighting. The kids, well, they're being naughty in school.) He chuckled softly. "Itong tindahan, sapat lang po pang-tawid araw-araw. Konting sigarilyo, soft drinks, chichirya. Malaking bagay na rin po, Sir." (This store, it's just enough to get us by day-to-day. A few cigarettes, soft drinks, junk food/snacks. It's a big help already, Sir.)

While Jomar turned to get the cigarette and then carefully counted out the change from Dan’s fifty, Dan felt a sudden, pressing need. The beers from earlier, perhaps. He glanced around. The street was deserted except for them.

"Jomar, sandali lang ha," (Jomar, just a moment, okay?) Dan murmured, then stepped around the side of the small, brightly lit stall into the deeper shadows at its back. An old, gnarled acacia tree stood there, its roots buckling the broken pavement. Finding a suitably dark patch beside its trunk, partially shielded from the street, Dan quickly relieved himself. It was a moment of stark, unglamorous humanity, a brief surrender to a basic physical need, the city’s pre-dawn quiet disturbed only by the faint hiss against the dry earth. He felt a strange sense of detachment, the billionaire CEO pissing in an alley like any other man. The absurdity of his life, the chaos of the last few hours, seemed to crystallize in that mundane, slightly sordid act.

He quickly composed himself and stepped back towards the light of the stall just as Jomar was flattening out his change.

"Eto po, Sir Dan," (Here you go, Sir Dan.) Jomar said, handing him the single cigarette and the coins. "Bente-singko po lahat." (Twenty-five pesos all up.)

"Salamat, Jomar." (Thank you, Jomar.) Dan nodded, pocketing the change. "Ingat ka." (Take care - informal.)

"Kayo rin po, Sir Dan. Ingat po sa daan." (You too, Sir Dan. Take care on the road - polite/formal.)

Dan stepped a few feet further from the stall, towards the edge of the narrow sidewalk, closer to the quiet, empty road. He turned his back slightly to the faint breeze, cupping his hands around the tip of the cigarette as he flicked his gold Dupont lighter. The flame flared briefly, illuminating his weary, handsome face – the deep lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples.

He drew in the first deep drag, the smoke a familiar, slightly harsh comfort in his lungs. He exhaled slowly, a thin plume vanishing into the pre-dawn gloom, his gaze fixed unseeingly on the dark stretch of asphalt before him. In that instant, with the city holding its breath around him, there was a fragile moment of near-peace, a tiny, still point in the swirling chaos of his life.

Then, the world tore itself apart.

It began with sound – not the distant rumble of an approaching truck, but a sudden, savage ROAR, an engine pushed to its absolute limit, erupting out of the preceding quiet like a predatory beast. No horn, no warning screech of tires fighting for purchase. Just that monstrous, accelerating bellow.

Dan’s head snapped up, his hand still holding the cigarette halfway to his lips, his heart lurching with a sudden, primal terror.

A blinding glare. Headlights, appearing from nowhere, impossibly bright, searing his retinas. They hadn’t been there a second ago; the road had been empty. Had they been off? The car – a dark, non-descript sedan, he registered in a split-second of frozen horror, the same vague shape he’d subconsciously noted earlier – was on him, eating the distance with terrifying speed, swerving directly, deliberately, towards him.

There was no time to react, no time to even cry out.

Impact.

A monstrous, sickening thud that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the street.

From Dan’s perspective: an explosion of white light. An incredible, irresistible force hitting him like a freight train, lifting him off his feet, sending him airborne. A brief, nightmarish kaleidoscope of sensations: the rough scrape of asphalt against his cheek, a starburst of agonizing pain in his chest, his leg, his head. The cigarette flew from his numb fingers. A fleeting, tilted image of the indifferent, starless sky, then the gritty, unforgiving concrete rushing up to meet him. Then, only a profound, encompassing darkness.

From Jomar’s perspective at the cigarette stall: he’d been watching Sir Dan light up, then idly glanced at his tabloid. The sudden engine roar made him jump. He looked up just in time to see the dark car, like a phantom, materialize out of the shadows and plow directly into the well-dressed man. Sir Dan was flung into the air like a child’s discarded doll, limbs flailing for a horrifying instant before he crashed back down onto the road with a sickening finality. The car didn’t even pause, didn’t slow. Its taillights, two malevolent red eyes, receded rapidly, disappearing around the corner into the darkness from which it had come.

Jomar stared, his mouth agape, his mind refusing to process what his eyes had just witnessed. Then, the shock broke, and a strangled cry tore from his throat. "Diyos ko po! Tulong! Si Sir Dan! May bumangga kay Sir Dan! Tulungan ninyo!" (My God! Help! It’s Sir Dan! Someone hit Sir Dan! Help him!)

He scrambled from his stall, his legs like water, rushing towards the crumpled figure on the road.

From inside the fleeing sedan: only the frantic rasp of breath. Hands, slick with sweat, gripping the steering wheel in a death lock. Wide, terrified eyes staring into the rearview mirror, reflecting the rapidly diminishing lights of the karinderya. A choked, half-sobbing gasp. "Nagawa ko… Nagawa ko…" (I did it… I did it…) The words were a twisted litany of triumph, horror, and disbelief. The driver wrenched the wheel, taking a sharp, unlit side street, then another, a rat disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys of the waking city.

Back at the scene, Rico, alerted by Jomar’s screams, burst from the karinderya, his face a mask of confusion then dawning horror. A few sleepy-eyed tricycle drivers, roused by the commotion from where they’d been dozing further down the street, started their engines, their single headlights cutting anxious beams through the gloom as they cautiously approached. Chaos erupted. Shouts. The frantic tapping of fingers on a cellphone screen, a trembling voice calling for an ambulance, for the police.

Dan lay still, sprawled awkwardly on the cold asphalt, a dark stain already beginning to blossom beneath him. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the lightening sky. A few feet away, the Marlboro Light he’d just bought lay on the ground, its tip still glowing a faint, fading red, a tiny ember in the vast, encroaching darkness.

In the distance, the first mournful wail of an approaching siren began to cut through the pre-dawn air, a sound too late, a promise already broken.