Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER X: The Lieutenant

“Get down on the floor now!” The masked man with a revolver announced as soon as he, along with another trying to act threatening, came inside a convenience store. There were only five people there at that time: a kid getting a liter of ice cream, two high school girls getting a few bags of chips, and the widower owner who’s also the cashier attending to a 6’1 guy paying for his booze. Petty robberies commonly happen inside Intramuros especially here where it’s close to the outlying areas of the city.

            “I said GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR NOW!” He repeated.

            The customers fearfully obliged; they’d rather not oppose and risk their lives over some bills—well, that is except for one.

            The robber—irate—set his attention on the tall guy wearing a khaki jacket and a black cap matching his denim pants. He seemed unbothered by their presence. He was still smiling as he stood in front of the cashier waiting for his ten cans of beer to be registered.

            “Hey, dude! Are you deaf?!” He angrily approached him and pointed his gun on his face.

            The man turned to him, and the robber realized that even when he was beaming at him, he is intimidating. And it isn’t just because of his height. Everything about him is overwhelming. He is a mix of a Maharlikano and a Greek god. He is naturally tanned close to golden. His face is square and symmetrical. Likewise, a look at his lean and toned physique, one would know he has immense physical force.

            “Oh, I’m sorry. You were saying?” His tone was friendly.

            The robber with the gun gulped, yet he’s not going to cower to someone who’s a foot taller. “Don’t f**k with me, motherfucker! Do you wanna die? Huh?!”

            He connected his revolver to his forehead yet was then shocked when the man caught his hand and raised it on the ceiling as he fired a shot. He winced as his arm was then twisted.

            “Ow, ow, ow! That hurts, man!”

            The tall guy then jabbed his face twice, making him collapse on the floor and lose grip of his illegal firearm. With his nose bleeding and his ego hurting, the robber refused to forfeit. He was back on his feet as he launched a fist. His opponent, on the winning end nevertheless, smoothly dodged and grabbed it. He elbowed his joint then his face and pinned him back to the floor with a raging kick to his breast.

            By the entrance, the robber’s accomplice instantly realized that it was a mistake to come here, especially after the guy who defeated his partner took out and quickly snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. He needed to get away fast.

            “Can you please watch over this person for a while? I need to catch the other one.”

            The widower reluctantly nodded while he picked up a can of beer from the counter.

            The accomplice found it to his relief to have then ridden their getaway vehicle. He glanced on the side mirror of the motorcycle and saw the officer exit the establishment with a beer in his hand. Already far, he wouldn’t possibly be able to catch him.

            The cop sighed and said to himself, “Why does something like this have to happen during my leave?”

            He raised his left knee as high as his chest and slightly bent his body, then, swung the unopened can as forceful as he could. This made him reminisce his college days as a baseball player.

            Twak! Boogsh!  Came the impact of the hard can on the robber’s skull followed by the sound of the vehicle skidding then toppling on the road. The onlookers gasped. For a second there, he actually saw stars in broad daylight.

            While the robber lied inactive ahead, the officer dialed a number on his phone. “Hey. Good morning. I need some backup.”

            Shortly after, a patrol car arrived and took the robbers away. He went back to the store to collect his beer, but he wasn’t charged anything as gratitude of the owner to him.

            The customers gathered around him, and one of them inquired. “May we know the name of our hero?”

            He chuckled. “I’m no hero. I’m just Police Lieutenant Aeon Ginto. At your service.”

Aeon loves conversations, particularly the ones that are worthwhile, yet he had to leave the store to go somewhere quiet.

            He was raised in a family of four. His father is a retired police general, and his mother was the secretary of the Health Department during the previous administration.

            He is proud that the surname “Ginto” lives up to their family’s luster since he, at this point, also takes pride in having become a Police Lieutenant at the age of 37. Many call him a genius, and some from his s*x not only envy how ripped his body is but also how perfectly chiseled his face is that several women would die to date him.

            In all that he is, he doesn’t prefer to act like a snob. He loves the company of others. He’s like your classmate who never forgets to smile and greet you and his teachers. Behind that façade, however, is a man whose heart is warped in regret and a man who is now majorly driven to kill the notorious “Master Murderer.”

            He once had a sister—a year older than him. She wasn’t anything wicked like the French queen who was beheaded and whom she was named after. She was a free spirit who lived to relish in her crafts. She loved to write, and she loved being involved in anything intriguing and sensational. That’s why she studied at a top university and graduated as a journalist.

            Yet early that morning in the cemetery, there on the tombstone in front of him, is the name “Antoinette Ginto” whose death indicated the twenty-third of April, 2024.

            “Hi, An. I’m already here. Papa’s arthritis is at it again, and Mama still doesn’t want to be here,” he said as he carefully placed the bouquet of irises in her sepulcher. He recalled that this was her favorite, but it’s only after she passed away that he’s able to give her flowers.

            “Quite a peaceful day today, right?” He sat down by her grave and settled his cans of beer near. “Cheers!”

            It was during her twelfth year in the professional field that she gained international recognition after she published a book entitled “The Untold Faults of the Maharlikan Government.” It contained the alleged crimes that the incumbent president and his allies committed, in order to win the 2022 elections and take control of the entire country. The very same year she wrote and published that book, she was found dead with a split head in their front yard.

            Speculations arose that she may have committed suicide since she couldn’t take the intense persecution she received from the current administration’s myriad of supporters—that maybe she got depressed and chose to run away from it all.

            However, Aeon managed to be there the night when his sister died. She was at her bedroom’s veranda. Peculiarly, she was holding a pen whose sharp tip she aimed at her own neck. Seemingly, she was struggling—struggling to take control of her own body while her eyes shined a bright red.

            “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.” Tears streamed down her face.

            “An!” He rushed over to help her.

            But, she was already too close to the railings, bent over too much, and fell headlong to the concrete ground.

            “No!” He howled as he immediately looked down at where she fell.

            Beside her body, however, was a figure very unfamiliar to him. It was robed in gray, and it placed something on his sister’s body. He immediately took out his gun and aimed it at it.

            “Get the hell away from my sister!”

            The figure decided to look back at him, and the policeman realized that he was a man whose searing red orbs were the only thing he didn’t conceal.

            The investigation had then pointed out that Antoinette Ginto took her own life. All angles of the case pointed to that direction, yet her brother believed otherwise. Aeon is hell-bent in his notion that the man who wore his sister a metallic rosary was the one responsible for her death even if no one took his side at that time.

            A few months later, the Maharlikanos saw the beginning of a streak of peculiar suicides endemic in Intramuros. All of them wore metallic rosaries around their necks so the public, especially the media, then inferred that there was some indomitable force behind this. They soon realized the existence of a serial murderer when an eyewitness sprang to divulge what he beheld.

            “I saw him.” The man with quivering chapped lips told the police. He requested to maintain his anonymity in fear for his life.

            “He was there when my employer put the muzzle of his gun inside his mouth and killed himself.” The man was a janitor, and his employer was a businessman who owned five supermarkets.

            “Believe me, officers. Someone was there. Someone with the devil’s eyes was there in front of my employer while he took his own life.”

            The entire Intramuros Police force then leaned to Aeon’s claim, and instantly, he was put in-charge of the case just as he wanted, since his sister is recorded the first victim. But it was hard to imagine at first, for who would think that the only thing the alleged menace does is convince his prey to commit suicide?

            There was then public uproar and the media’s hype turned the case into a national sensation overnight. It was at that point that the name “Cross” rampantly reverberated within the high walls of the city.

            Nevertheless, surprisingly, the addition had a similar background to the others: he was suspected to be involved in something illegal. Among the victims, he was one of those who were speculated to be spearheading a drug syndicate, while some were said to have connections to terrorism. And the others, only after having died, were exposed to be linked to human trafficking and white s*****y.

            That is why no matter what the authorities or the aggravated populace term him, there are those who also glorify his deeds. Cross, for them, is no major villain but a deliverer of justice who punishes those who spread and make profit of criminality in the walled city.

            Aeon, however, doesn’t want to be swayed by the presumed silver lining in the vigilante’s murders. To him, a cutthroat is a cutthroat, particularly the one responsible for Antoinette’s death. If what those who idolize the vigilante say were valid, then why would he have killed his sister—a mere journalist who was only critical of the government?

            “An,” he said to her grave. “I will catch him, and I will surely kill him for you. I promise you that.”

            He, on the contrary, actually blames himself for not being able to save her and for being a failure through the years. He doesn’t even know where to start identifying who Cross really is. It seems impossible to catch someone who doesn’t even leave behind a concrete trace except for mere rosaries which they can’t even extract the subtlest fingerprint. The few witnesses have inconsistent testimonies and did not see his face vividly. He’s like an illusion that some even think he may just be fabricated by frightened minds.

            Brrrrrt. Brrrrrt. Brrrrrt. He felt his phone vibrate inside his jacket’s pocket. “Chief Miranda” registered on the device’s screen.

            He tapped the “Answer” button and talked courteous as usual. “Yes, sir. Good morning.”

            “Get your ass back in here, lieutenant.” The chief said on the other line.

            “But sir, I’m still on leave.”

            “Haven’t you watched the news?”

            He didn’t want to tell him that he’s only been drinking and binge watching MBA games. “Sorry, sir. No. Why?”

            He heard his superior exhale exasperatedly. “There’s been a huge incident at the parish in Barangay Laurel. We have reason to think that Cross was there.”

It was dark, and it was cold inside the huge house where she was trying to get out. Noumenon didn’t know why, but she felt that she shouldn’t be here. Looking around, she confirmed that it was a bungalow and a bizarrely quiet one at that. She rubbed her arms because the air felt chillier. She wasn’t aware how long she had been looking for a door that leads outside, yet mysteriously, she’s still stuck inside.

            Alas, she found herself in the living room. The fireplace was lit, and she heard the crackle of the burning wood. She was late to notice the man sitting on a big chair adjacent to it.  She halted.

            He must be the house’s owner. She thought.

            “Um, hello,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here. Can you please tell me where I can get out of this house?”

            The man turned his head slightly to her direction, giving her only a glimpse of the side of his face, creating a silhouette.

            “You’re cold, aren’t you?” The man asked. “Why don’t you come here and warm yourself?”

            “Uhm, thank you for the offer, but I need to go back to our monastery. Sister Lita and Sister Jessica are probably worried about me.” She needed to decline, for something didn’t seem right.

            The man then stood, but he still didn’t turn around. “Are you sure, honey?”

            Her eyes widened. There was only one person who called her that. Even after thirteen years, though she may not remember his face, she can still clearly remember how he addressed her.

            He shifted to face her, but before she could see how he looks like, she scrammed as far away as possible. Her tears started to fall. She was afraid—very afraid—that he might be able to catch up to her. She bit her lower lip hard to trap her scream; she didn’t want to give herself away.

            She didn’t know where she was heading, but thankfully, she spotted an open door. She ran towards it. Before she could reach it, a hand emerged from behind and wrapped around her neck. She felt his breath on her ear.

            “Why are you still alive?” He whispered.

            Then, she felt someone gently shake her.

            “Wake up. You’re only dreaming.” The voice was reassuring like a remedy soothing her fears.

            She slowly opened her eyes and a cleanly shaven face was the first thing that came into view. He was sitting on a stool, and a guy younger than him was standing behind.

            He took out a handkerchief and gingerly wiped the tears she wasn’t aware of until this initiative. “It appeared that you had a nightmare. What was that about?”

            She started to cry, and it wasn’t because of her cuts and bruises covered in bandages or of the trauma she received from the parish. It was because of a long-held fear that descended upon her again.

            “I dreamt of my father.”

            The policeman was intrigued why dreaming of her father made her tearful. It appeared, nonetheless, that it wasn’t remorse; it was dread. He wanted to know more about it; on the other hand, he didn’t want to pry, especially not now after what transpired in the St. Peter the Fisherman Parish.

            He cleared his throat. “I’m Police Lieutenant Aeon Ginto, Sister, and this is Police Master Sergeant Leo Sawali.”

            “Hello, ma’am.” The junior officer greeted.

            The lieutenant continued.  “Apparently, you’re confined in a hospital, and you’re in a private ward. You’re now also under police protection.”

            “How long was I out?” She asked.

            “You’ve been asleep for almost a day. It’s already evening.”

            She tried to sit, but Aeon immediately restricted her from paining herself. “Sir, how did I get here?”

            The sergeant answered. “It was the sexton named Elmer, ma’am. He brought you here and then went to the Intramuros Police to ask for help.”

            Noumenon couldn’t believe it, yet she felt relieved. “He’s alive? W-Well, how is he?”

            “He’s actually next door. He just suffered a minor injury. He said he broke his hand in order to free it from being shackled to a wall.” Aeon said.

            She buried her face in her palms. “Thank God. Virgin Mary, thank you.”

            “The incident is all over the news, but rest assured that we’re keeping your identities confidential. Also, your monastery has been informed.”

            She looked at him. “Thank you, sir.”

            “Elmer told us about the five dead girls in the crypt.”

            There was then silence between them. Neither she nor the two policemen were comfortable about where this topic would lead to. “We have not disclosed this detail to the media at this point, and we will further investigate the monsignor’s pedophilia.”

            Her expression gloomed. “I was late to recognize what was wrong inside that parish. I had been careless. Sister Mary Peter, my senior, is also missing.”

            Aeon placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about that, Sister. The Intramuros Police will sort this thing out. And regarding the other nun, we’re also in the middle of figuring out her whereabouts.”

            He leaned back. “What we really need the most now is about what happened to Monsignor Cabrera and his lackeys. It appears that you’re the only one who can humor us about this.”

            Noumenon recollected the events still fresh in her memory. She suddenly reached for her neck. The vigilante’s grip left a lingering sensation.

            Why aren’t you dead?

            I… don’t know.

            “Sister?” Aeon pulled her back to her senses. “Who did this to you?” He referred to her injuries.

            “The moment Monsignor Cabrera knew that I learned about his secret, he and the sacristans beat me up until I lost consciousness. When I managed to wake up, I saw that the sacristans were already dead, and I was just in time when the monsignor plunged the crucifix to his own chest.”

            “He killed himself? Why would he do that?” It was an utter wonderment for the sergeant, but his lieutenant already had an idea about what really occurred, particularly with the metallic rosary they found on his neck—the same string of beads they got from previous victims.

            “I don’t know, but you see… I met the masked vigilante named ‘Cross.’”