Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXIX: Another Chance

She could never find relief in Cross’ ultimatum. It is cruel, but who is she to complain when she had deliberately made herself be involved in his ways? She drearily pondered on it and on the fact that she isn’t exactly unlike his nature. She might, after all, be more sinful than she currently is.

When Dr. Dunong invited her for lunch, she didn’t have the appetite to swallow the food. The physicist knew that something significant had happened between her and his friend, but he didn’t permit himself to pry. Whatever is the connection that binds these two, it interested him, and he didn’t want to spoil anything at the moment.

It was already past noon, but her uneasiness will never pass as she grew more apprehensive of what is to come. Would she really be able to endure another chance at murder? Could she become evil? Could she become more atrocious than the master murderer himself? Then and there, she started to regret her decision to have asked for help from him. The flood of questions in her mind put her in a tumult. And in the first place, why had she forgotten an important memory of long ago? She couldn’t really be thankful that she forgot about it, and it didn’t haunt her till now. On the contrary, it didn’t help her at all.

Noumenon stayed at the lounge of the Dunongs’ bungalow. Here, Sister Lita sprang in her thoughts. It was only two nights ago when she was forced to journey to the netherworld and left her confounded about who she actually was and what she was extraordinarily capable of. Her now late adoptive mother, as she had figured out, could manipulate memories, and it didn’t take a genius for her to ascertain that she played a cunning role in the loss of a number of those, particularly about her father.

In her disorientation, she buried her face on her palms. She didn’t know what to do; it seemed that she won’t ever be given the opportunity to escape what has been prepared for her—a brutal stroke of destiny. This led her to believe that what’s happening is karmic; this may be what’s in exchange for her giving up being a nun, and God may be punishing her for it. She thinks that He has started to let her endure the consequence of abandoning the church in order to pursue vengeance. Still, she needed to find a solution not to transform to a complete criminal.

She took a deep breath then looked beyond the frame of the huge window to her right. It was there that she vowed to herself that she will never turn out to be what she doesn’t want to be.

The sun had turned closer to red; Cross’ time limit was within less than an hour. Noumenon looked to have composed herself as she pointed the gun to the unmoving man still confined to a chair. She stared at him with no vivid honest expression.

The vigilante, nonetheless, produced a lopsided smile. He conjectured that she may have learned to embrace the reality of her circumstance. He couldn’t wait to see her ruin her long established purity.

However, she presented him something else. She lowered her gun then turned to face the master murderer.

Undaunted, she said, “I can’t shoot him.”

Cross, nonetheless, hid his vexation behind a thrifty smile. “And why is that? Pray tell.”

Carefully, she approached him and displayed the gun she almost used to supplement the torment of the poor man. “I see no need for this weapon anymore. He’s already dead.”

Noumenon felt sorry towards the demise of that man. After all, she had supposed right. He didn’t have long to live. Nevertheless, she had to admit to herself—though cruel—that she was quite relieved, for she didn’t have to dread the murderer that she would have turned out to be.

He quietly retrieved the firearm from her hand, then looked at her with readable disappointment. “That’s the point,” he said as he glanced at how the sun had surrendered to the horizon, “You still failed to kill that man.”

Suddenly, he kicked her gut which roughly pushed her to the floor.

“Ackk!” she gasped because of the pain—excruciating—that could have made her faint. She stared up towards him.

Cross smirked and pointed the gun to her forehead. “Farewell,” he told her.