ZEN
"Zen! Wake up!"
I jolted awake, fumbling for my glasses on the side table. "I'm up!" I groggily yelled as I put them on. The familiar room came into focus, and I realized I had fallen asleep without changing my clothes.
"Welcome back," I muttered to myself, heading out of the room while trying to tame my messy hair. The delicious smell of Mama's cooking greeted me from the kitchen.
I peeked in. "Hey, I told you I could manage on my own."
She turned off the stove and faced me. "I just can't leave you alone in this house."
We had spoken to Aunt Sarisa last week. She was in the province and had sent me the house keys.
God.
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, no one's here but me. Aunt Sarisa herself said the house is under my name."
Mama didn’t respond. She just prepared breakfast, and we ate the garlic fried rice, eggs, and hotdogs she made. I needed the strength because I planned to start working as soon as Mama left.
It wasn’t long before she left, giving me numerous reminders. She departed in the afternoon, leaving me with food. I could take care of myself... I had been living alone in a rented apartment for years. But Mama was overly cautious. I hardly remembered the details of Noah's death since I was young when it happened. They said Noah once tried to murder me, thinking I had broken into the house to steal. Aunt Sarisa had just adopted me then, according to Mama. Eventually, he left me alone and stayed quietly in a corner. He did consider me family. Yeah—I was wrong. I still remember it, even though I'm now twenty-seven and a lot of time has passed.
Well... I don't know if there was something wrong with his mind. But from what I recall, he excelled in class and sports. He was cunning and smart, quiet, but strong and large for his age.
Even Aunt Sarisa couldn’t handle a 12-year-old kid like him.
"Thank God he's dead," I whispered, taking off my glasses. I massaged the bridge of my nose, listening to the silence of the entire house.
This house has two floors, with six rooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a spacious garden, and a living room. It's too big for just one person like me. But I need peace.
I need to study this... case.
Why are there no leads in these murder cases?
I put my glasses back on and leaned back in my swivel chair, staring at my desk, cluttered with photos, articles, and confidential files... recorders I've been listening to repeatedly.
This makes no sense.
Same patterns of killings.
But who—and where is the murderer?
I swallowed hard, remembering the Dela Cruzes.
Everyone thought that once the Dela Cruzes were gone, the Philippines would be quiet. The Dela Cruz children in the past received harsh treatment from society, and they all ended up as murderers. And now, they're gone... but when will these crimes end?
This is... murder. This isn't just a simple crime that's easy to solve. Innocent people were killed. And the maddening part is, we have no leads—even with DNA evidence, we can’t identify the perpetrator. We can’t find anything—we have no idea—we're literally going in circles.
I stood up from my chair, left the room, and went downstairs to the living room to calm my mind. I lit a cigarette and looked at the photos and paintings on the living room wall.
A portrait of Noah. There were also some of Aunt Sarisa’s graduation pictures. She was really, really beautiful. No wonder why... why a Dela Cruz went crazy over her. She survived that hell. But it resulted in her having a child with that Dela Cruz—that was Noah. And I am so thankful that he's dead.
I can't remember his face anymore. But I do remember his sudden bursts of violence. It was terrifying. I saw him. I witnessed how he killed those little birds—how he snapped the kitten's neck—I still remember it—even if I can't recall his face, I remember his actions... that's why I'm here now, working to protect others.
I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I don't want innocent people to suffer...
But it seems like... nothing's changing.
I approached the wall and stared at Noah's photo.
They're... blurred. Even the portrait hanging there is puzzlingly blurry. I can see he has a face there—but I can't make out who—ugh, fuck it. I remember now, when Aunt Sarisa painted, she had a habit of making her subjects' faces blurred. That was her style.
But...
I stopped. I glanced towards the bathroom door and saw it slightly ajar. It was dark inside. Naturally, since no one else was here but me... Weird, I think I saw someone. In my peripheral vision... I saw someone walk past the bathroom door.
I need some rest. That's it. I've been working on this case for months without proper rest or sleep.
I exhaled a puff of smoke. I looked at the faces on the wall and smiled slightly when I saw a painting that I was sure was of me. My face was also blurred, but it was beautifully and skillfully painted—
I froze.
I glanced back at the bathroom. My eyes widened.
I—I saw it again.
It was a man.
I swallowed hard. I reached for my gun at my side, pulled it out, and pointed it in front of me. I removed the safety and let my barely smoked cigarette fall to the floor.
Am I just... dreaming? I saw it. It was standing there—watching me—but now it’s gone and—
Am I just tired?
Slowly, I approached the slightly open bathroom door. I was alert, feeling the quiet surroundings.
I gently pushed the door open. Carefully, I felt the wall and pressed the light switch.
The room flooded with light.
Silence. Only the faint dripping of water from the faucet could be heard.
No one was here—no man.
But my adrenaline was still pumping.
I mean—I saw it—it was a man—well-built, tall, and—
I lowered my gun and weakly sat on the floor. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and exhausted...
"Yeah..." I sighed, holding my forehead. "I'm just tired..."
Shaking my head, I stood up. I turned off the light and closed the door. I walked back to my spot. Maybe I should just sleep tonight so I'd have strength tomorrow.
Besides, the rain outside was heavy, and I could hear it from inside. It is indeed raining heavily.
But I froze again and stared at the floor.
I looked around the room, but—
Where is my cigarette?
******
I woke up early the next morning, feeling a bit more rested. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and cool. I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, hoping the fresh air would clear my mind. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional car passing by.
As I walked, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the figure from last night. But there was no one there, just the empty streets and the sound of my footsteps on the wet pavement.
I reached the park at the end of the street and sat on a bench, staring at the playground equipment. It was eerily silent, no children playing, no laughter. Just the quiet hum of the city waking up. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
"Zen?" a voice called out, startling me. I turned to see my neighbor, Mrs. Martinez, walking her dog. She looked concerned.
"Morning, Mrs. Martinez," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Are you okay, dear? You look a bit pale," she said, her eyes filled with worry.
"I'm fine, just didn't sleep well last night," I replied, forcing a smile.
She nodded, but I could tell she wasn't convinced. "Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. We've missed seeing you around here."
"Thanks, Mrs. Martinez. I'll keep that in mind," I said, standing up. "Have a good day."
"You too, Zen," she said, giving me a sympathetic smile before continuing her walk.
I headed back to the house, my thoughts racing. The figure I saw last night couldn't have been real. It must have been a product of my overworked mind, a hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion. But the fear I felt was real, and I couldn't ignore it.
When I got back home, I decided to take a closer look at the files and evidence I had gathered. There had to be something I was missing, some clue that would lead me to the truth. I spread the papers out on the kitchen table, sifting through them one by one.
Hours passed as I poured over the documents, making notes and drawing connections. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn't notice the time until my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I glanced at the clock and realized it was already past noon.
I made myself a sandwich and ate it quickly, my mind still focused on the case. As I finished my meal, I felt a renewed sense of determination. I couldn't let fear and doubt cloud my judgment. I had to find the truth, no matter what.
I returned to the kitchen table and continued my work, examining every detail, every piece of evidence. The hours flew by, and before I knew it, the sun had set, casting long shadows across the room. I turned on the light, determined to keep going.
Suddenly, I heard a noise coming from the living room. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly stood up,
my eyes fixed on the doorway. I reached for my gun, which was lying on the table, and carefully made my way towards the sound.
I entered the living room, my gun at the ready. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside. I scanned the room, but there was no one there. Just the furniture and the shadows cast by the dim light.
"Who's there?" I called out, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.
There was no answer, just the eerie silence of the empty house. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Maybe it was just the house settling, I told myself. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
I moved to the window and peered outside, my eyes straining to see through the darkness. The street was empty, the houses dark and quiet. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, but there was no one there.
*******