Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XI: Disturbed

Sister Lita and Monsignor Alvez confirmed that it was Sister Mary Peter’s corpse the police found floating in the famed river of Pasig—a district of Intramuros—the following morning. Her eyes were gouged and her body was bloated; it was obvious that she experienced summary execution. She was frozen still in the morgue, yet they know that she didn’t die in peace.

            As soon as they received the call from the Intramuros police about the incident involving the two nuns sent to St. Peter the Fisherman Parish, the extern sister implored to be cleared of her appointments and volunteered to be sent to the walled city herself along with their abbot. The second she heard of Noumenon’s assignment, she has been anxious. It sounded too much of a task for her adoptive daughter who’s about to profess her final vows, particularly that the parish is situated where she doesn’t want to go back to. 

            She knows all about her greatest fears. She had watched over her when she started to live in their monastery. She witnessed how the then little girl was consumed by her trauma and how she almost went insane from losing her biological mother and in fear of a father she said was after her life. 

            Until it occurred that a thirteen-year-old Noumenon wanted to hurt herself by bathing in boiling water. She believed that dying first was better than getting killed by her own father. Sister Lita was just in time to snatch the kettle from her, and it was at this point that she had to intervene. 

            From then on, Noumenon forgot her father’s face and identity, and the negative emotions associated with that person were alleviated. Having come back to this place, however, may evoke them again, and this was what Sister Lita feared. 

 There were two police officers guarding the novice’s ward when they arrived.

            “I’m Monsignor Carlos Alvez from the Carmelite Monastery of the Blessed Virgin Mary and this here,” he pointed out his companion, “is Sister Lita.” 

            “How is she?” The extern sister asked.

            “She’s recovering.” The taller of them replied.

            “May we see her?” Monsignor Alvez said.

            “Of course, Father.”

            When they got inside, Noumenon was awake and there was a teenager whose hand was wrapped in a cast with her.

            “Monsignor.” She saw him enter first followed by Sister Lita. 

            “Mama!” Noumenon wanted to stand. She was beyond glad that she came. She isn’t just her adoptive mother. She has also always been her confidant and her moral compass.

            Yet she didn’t reciprocate a smile. Even the abbot didn’t want to make a comment. 

            “Noumenon,” she uttered. 

            She never really preferred calling her by her other name, since it feels like she drifts away from the essence of their bond. She gazed at what became of her. Her face and body spoke obvious of how she was beaten black and blue. She embraced her yet careful not to hurt her by the warmth. 

            “You shouldn’t have come here,” she told her. “You should have protested. You should have reasoned out.”

            She then detached herself. “You didn’t want to come back here, right? Why didn’t you decline?”

            She looked at her in the eye. Her tears started to fall, and she buried her face deep on her chest. “I was so scared, Ma. I didn’t know what to do. I let a child die in front of me.”

            Sister Lita could only caress her hair, for she could not find the right words to console her. She let her cry; she let her pour out all lament. She wished she could make her forget about all of this again.

            “Shhh. None of it was your fault.” 

            Monsignor Alvez could only watch from the side line quietly. He didn’t know what to say. He was also partly blaming himself for what had happened to Sister Mary Peter. He was, after all, the one who sent them there in the guise of a field observation. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for their cardinal insisting and putting pressure on their monastery to handle the undercover investigation.

            “We thank God that you’re alive, Sister Mary Dymphna. At least, you are.”

            The quizzical expression on her face lasted only a few seconds, since they had then decided to tell her about what happened to her senior.

            She was stunned as she clamped a hand on her mouth. This was followed by an overflow of her anguish. She felt like a fool. When she found the alleged letter of her senior, her gut had signaled her to be suspicious of that. Yet, she brushed it off. She didn’t want to suspect Monsignor Cabrera or the sacristans. More significantly, she didn’t want to disappoint her notion about the goodness of those people. This has always been her major flaw. She trusts people too easily even when she is a complete stranger to their real colors.

            They then heard someone clear his throat. It was Elmer who’s been with Noumenon since earlier.

            “I should probably go out. Excuse me.” 

            The extern sister stopped him. “Oh, sorry.” She turned to the novice. “Who is this, Anak (means “daughter” at this time)?”

            Noumenon listlessly wiped her tears. “This is Elmer, Ma. He’s the sexton at the parish. He was the one who brought me to this hospital and informed the police about what happened.”

            “Thank you so much for saving her, Elmer.”

            The teen scratched the back of his neck and forced a smile. “I didn’t really do much. When I managed to escape from the crypt, I found her lying unconscious in the altar, and the sacristans and Monsignor Cabrera were already corpses.”

            She turned her attention back to her adoptive daughter. “Who killed them?”

The Intramuros Police Headquarters is a prominent building at the heart of the walled city. It’s a 1 400 square meter-structure that has over a thousand personnel just a few blocks from the city hall. 

            As much as he respected Chief Paquito Miranda, Aeon didn’t like how he yelled at him. His superior’s body is as narrow as his tactlessness and he didn’t hold back as he highlighted how fruitless the lieutenant’s investigation regarding the serial killer was.

            Kriing! Kriing! Kriing! This has been the constant and loud ringing of the telephone on the chief’s desk. He stared irritated at the device before he looked furious towards the inspector. 

            “Do you see this nuisance that I have to deal with for three straight days? The media is on frenzy. They won’t calm down until we give them something about ‘Cross.’ You’ve been onto him for years, lieutenant, yet we still have nothing!”

            His voice reverberated on the four corners of his office, but what was louder to Aeon was the sound of the vainness of the steps he took. 

            “I apologize, sir. I will be doubling my efforts this time.”

            “You better triple those because the mayor is expecting us to resolve this within a month.”

            The expression on the lieutenant’s face became stern. It seemed easy for a politician to suppose that. Sure, Aeon didn’t doubt his own capability, but he isn’t pursuing an ordinary criminal. He is after an evil persona who’s very keen in not leaving behind the slightest hint about who he is and who—always—gets away with murder. 

            Aside from the late Councilor Melvin Nograles, Monsignor Miguel Cabrera was also revealed to be a supporter of the mayor and was, in fact, present during his inauguration ceremony. He could pass as his friend since the NGO giving his parish food supplies every two months has a personal connection to him.

            Aeon still strongly believes that he needs to stay out of this case even if the baby-faced politician claims that he’s sympathizing with his dead friends because he has not a single clue about this. For the officer, Mayor Diamante is but a typical politician in his mid-thirties whose major aim is stay influential and powerful through perfuming his reputation. Moreover, he thinks that he just won because he aligned himself with a dominant political party. He may also want to sponge off from this case since he’s looking to continue a second term as the mayor of Intramuros.

Aeon was then in front of his computer while replaying in his head a lot of times what Noumenon had told him.

 “He’s an albino.”

 “What makes you say that?” He asked her back at the hospital. 

 “His skin is very pale, and his eyelashes and brows are the same with his complexion.”

            This was an astonishing development in their investigation. Absolutely no one in the past could give them anything specifically detailed other than his infamous “red eyes”—let alone surviving to tell this tale.

            An albino person has a congenital deficiency of pigment in the skin and hair which makes these white. This very well fits the novice’s description of him. Likewise, an albino’s eyes which are unable to bear intense sunlight are also supposed to have deep red pupils and pink or blue irises. If they consider the few witnesses’ accounts, this was close enough.

            When she also said that she reached about his ears, accounting her height, they conjecture that he reaches five feet and eleven inches. So, that very morning, the police lieutenant tasked a group of his subordinates to look into the official registry of Intramuros and investigate all males suffering from albinism residing in the city.

Peering through narrow gaps was a pair of alert glossy eyes. His black vertical pupils seemed to breathe in the details below him while he crouched inside the ceiling air vent. Discreetly, he had been observing the private ward where two policemen were standing by. It has already been three hours since he came, but it looked like they had no plans in leaving the room unguarded.

 The woman inside was someone he had no idea of and whom he had not seen in person yet. Her picture was only emailed to him, and his boss mandated to capture her immediately. He didn’t know what was so special about her, yet he had no choice. He isn’t specifically afraid of his boss, but he thought how annoying it would be to have a politician on his scaly tail just because he refused or failed to do what was ordered.

 He could easily take care of the two officers. Snapping their necks would just be a walk in the park; however, his boss has given him caution not to stir too much attention. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t mind though as long as he gets the job done then get compensated. He was really trying hard to restrain himself, but he realized that for now, he has to behave and think it through, especially after he saw the arrival of someone whose face was featured a lot of times in the news. He is no ordinary crime fighter; he’s crippled several of the most rampant of criminals.

 He might need some help. He smirked. “Let’s have a showdown, Lieutenant Aeon Ginto.”