Vengeance

Everything was random. It was a bit strange that of all people, fate chose to play with my life, hung me in its randomness. Random circumstance is scary.

The smell of the rotten flesh, of the decaying lumbers and of the rusty irons burdens my nostrils, piercing through my senses as I sat in a wooden chair, chained and tied up. The cord that knotted my wrists at the back was secured at the chair’s backrest and my legs were constrained to two separate sacks of stones. The cord was an electrical wire; its outer covering was peeled unevenly exposing the red and white slender rods.

I have been in this situation for eleven straight hours now. My left wrist was scraping to the copper rod, wounded my skin. I felt the pain every time it deepened into my wrists, and I thought it would be more tormenting in the next hours, unless, there would be deliverance--something called miracle--to get me out of this mess.

Where I am?

This question kept me floating. I do not know. All I know, when I was brought where I am now, there were sounds of engines, roaring, like big trucks, and two or three minutes later, they were all gone and silence became a home. Not that it comforted me. Sitting here wasted in the middle of nowhere was hell itself. Silence though, was better than the voices that echoed nothing but the plan about me, of how to eliminate me when the time comes.

I do not know them personally nor what were running in their minds but I know their faces, have seen them at school and in the strangest place where I should have never been. Yet instinct told me that this whole thing has something to do with it. I heard them talked about it for some time.

My eyes hurt behind the piece of linen cloth that was placed slightly slanted at the left side, its edge sunk at my lower eyelid. Darkness was baneful. Perfect. Now I knew what torture means. For everything that was happening, hope was a farfetched thing. There was no escape, no assurance, no salvation, and just plain freedom--death.

The people that abducted me were not really the typical kidnappers. First, I was not a kid anymore. I was a seventeen year old Architecture freshman. Second, there were no negotiations about a ransom between them and my parents. But even there was one; they would get nothing because we do not have money. My parents were fish vendors in a public market and I was a scholar who was trying so hard.

The wind blew calmly but whispered an impending doom. Footsteps echoed through the disjointed iron gates. I shifted my head, hoping to have a better attention. They were the same footsteps that kept on lingering from time to time. When they come, something in me shivered. I put away the lump on my throat but failed haplessly.

One strong hand clenched my hair, tilting my chin up. Hard breathes and air of local whiskey greeted me as the person spoke close to my face.

“So are you ready to talk little brat?” the voice was of a male. He was always the one who talked to me. But I do not know if he was the leader of the pack because everyone seemed to be in command.

“Who are you?” I asked. My tone betrayed the panic inside me.

“It’s not necessary,” said a female voice. This was the first time I heard her talk. But I noticed her voice before. There were two or three of them, the females, in the gang. “You’ll know soon.”

“I don’t think it is right,” another female commented, the most reluctant of them all.

“Shut up, Irish!” the male shouted. “We are doing this because we need to. This is for us. So stop talking nonsense, will you?”

He pushed my head away. That was good because the smell of liquor was killing me. I heard the other girls grumbled, saying something to Irish that appeared to stagger her. I never heard her talk again.

The male, who I named Whisk, that’s obvious enough, walked away and told Irish to stay. She was hesitant but could not have the guts to disagree.

There was silence.

“Irish Merced?” I broke the quietude.

There was a sudden sound of uneasiness from her. I knew it, she was Irish Merced, the one whom my cousin Ehra accompanied to the Phi Beta... I could not remember the name of the fraternity. My cousin has invited me once to the brotherhood but I refused. My mother would kill me if she knows about it. She had witnessed so much news about youngsters got killed in the initiations by many fraternities.

And the worst, Ehra had suffered the fate. I was not able to protect her. I could have stopped her. I should have told her not to be with those people. But she was so stubborn.

“Irish?” I said, wondering where she was seated. There was no reply. “Untie me...”

 There was a thumping of a foot against a wooded hollow box.

“I can’t do that.” She gasped between breathes. “Shirley will not like it.”

“Who is Shirley?”

“Aaron’s girlfriend. You’ve seen her around the Campus.”

It was all clear to me. The male was Aaron and not Whisk. And Shirley, if I could remember, was one of the seniors in the Phi Beta whom Ehra kept on talking about as the “pretty face in the high heels”, which to me was a sign of insecurity rather than fascination.

“Can you please untie me?” I asked again. It was hard to breathe.

There was a sudden uproar. I could feel her impatience took a notch higher. “Shut up! You are not allowed to talk. I don’t even need to answer you. So just shut up!”

“Why are you doing this?” I cried without noticing it.

“I said shut up!” she got closed to me.

Irish pulled the collar of my uniform and slapped me. Her palm was soft that all I could feel was the gust of wind it brought. It seemed that physical pain do not exists anymore.

“I know you are not that bad...” I said, almost a whisper. I felt her anxiety, the terror, that when everything fails, her life would be miserable.

She slapped me again. I tried to utter something but the words won’t come out. Two more slaps came rushing in. I could almost feel the pain but there was no resistance from me. I wanted to embrace the strikes, to feel that I am still alive.

“Don’t play mind games with me!” She yelled, her breath suffocating me. She was drunk too, but there was a scent of a lemon.

“Irish!” a voice echoed through the walls, another male. This one was a baritone, more commanding than everyone.

Someone pulled her out of my face, heard her yelped, uttering a name like Lander, no, Lancer. Then a conversation between him and Aaron started, more like an argument. His voice was filled with alarm.

They were talking about death. Someone they know has died last night. I could hear Shirley joining the discourse, said something about revenge, yes, someone was taking revenge.

The girl that was unknown to me spoke one thing that sent shivers down to my spine.

“Ehra killed him...” she said.

Lancer deliberately disagreed with her. “That’s nonsense. She’s dead! She’s not coming back. That’s why we got her. She will tell us who are trying to kill us!”

I knew Lancer was referring to me to give him the truth. The truth was I have no idea who was hunting them. I do not know what was going on. Ehra was dead, yes, but said she was haunting them?

Would it be possible?

“What we’ll do?” Shirley asked. Her voice was trembling.

Footsteps came close. Then bony fingers choke me to death.

“Tell me,” it was Lancer. “Who killed Boyet?”

I fought for air, tried to get loose, but his hands were strong that I could almost see my end.

“Stop it!” Aaron was there to save me. “You’d kill her.”

“That’s the plan! You moron!” was the immediate reply.

“Not until we know who is trying to kill us. We’ve lost two, Sarah and Boyet, don’t ruin the plan!”

I gasped for air as he let go. My throat hurt, my limbs shook, and my heart beat faster than usual. I bent, my head almost touching my knees as I breathed, feeling the freedom of being alive again. Pain was everywhere. It was strange to feel it again.

“Where’s Diana?”

The question was inaudible but I thought Aaron was referring to the other girl. Someone walked out of the area and hurried steps followed.

“Where are you going?” I asked, shouting. Not that I wanted them to stay but being alone here was a dilemma. “Let me out!”

A slap on my face shut me up. I recognized the tender palm. Then there was a clamor. Someone was engaging her. I could tell that she was fighting back.

“Will you stop it?” It was Aaron. “Don’t push me.”

The clamor stopped. A deep sigh came out of his throat, hers was a sob.

“Let’s go home. I can’t stay here any longer. I am not a killer. Let Debbie go.”

For the first time, in a long run, I heard that name, barely recognized it. Debbie, was it me?

Aaron protested, “Lancer will kill us. You know him very well. He got gun. We are in this together. In Phi Beta Epsilon, there is no turning back. To betray is a sin.”

There it goes, the Epsilon.

“I don’t care about the Phi Beta anymore! All I want is to go home. Forget everything. I have nothing to do with this. Lancer, Shirley, and Boyet, they were the ones responsible for Ehra. They have overdone the initiation! They killed her! Not us! We have nothing to do with this.”

The truth hurt, crushing my heart to pieces. Now I know Ehra did not died in a car accident like the news was telling about. Before the car crashed down into the bridge, a fraternity rite has tortured her and these people knew exactly what happened.

I felt the urge to break down, tore the cord apart and took vengeance for her. My mind was burning with hate but my body was too weak. All that I could do was to feel the agony of helplessness. But if fate turns around, I would not hold back.

I would kill them myself.

“Let’s go home....” Irish cried harder.

“Nobody is going home.”

The words stole my attention. It was Lancer.

Dread filled the air. I could hear the shallow, anxious breathes of the two.

“Put down the gun, man....” Aaron pleaded. Lancer was pointing a gun to them? “She was just saying things she don’t know. Calm down, man.”

“She’s talking too much!” Lancer’s voice was full of anger.

A click.

“No!” Aaron screamed. Then there was a struggle between two masculine. Irish was nowhere to be heard. She might have a shock.

Two gunshots pierced the air. My chest bolted in terror. I lost my balance, fell to the ground, back first, pressing my hands under the backboard of the chair. A grievous outcry escaped my throat. I rolled over to my side to salvage my hands getting hurt even more. Dusts smoked to my face as my right elbow scratched against a metal sheet. Its rusty edge cut through my skin.

The struggle continued but the sounds became bleak.

A shot.

A scream. It was Irish.

At last, I saw the light when the linen cloth that blinded me was torn. It hurt though, the radiance of the coming dusk: orange and red, shining through the holes of the dilapidated warehouse.

The fight ended. Aaron was calling Irish, he seemed weak.

“Irish!” Lancer yelled, fired one shot above. He stood up, Irish at gunpoint. She was petrified and did not move an inch. “Say goodbye, you freak.”

“Irish, run!”

Aaron engaged Lancer in a grapple fight, giving her time to run. She bolted away but Lancer managed to shove Aaron and followed her. Aaron got up and pursued them.

A mundane silence loomed as I labored to get up. Finally, I sat the chair against the corroded galvanized wall. My body trembled in anticipation. Blood dripped in my arms, my left forehead and chin; my wrists were swollen.

I closed my eyes to adjust my vision. But as soon as I shut them, the atmosphere dropped to the point that it was freezing. The back of my head became heavy and the next thing I noticed, I could not open my eyes. Felt like something was forcing them to remain shut.

Then cold breeze kissed my cheeks.

“This is for us....” a whisper, so subtle but dominating.

Thoughts drilled in. the voice, I could not be wrong.

“Ehra!” I screamed to the top of my lungs. At that time, I regained my sight.

Wind stormed above me, its coldness penetrated into my bones.

“Debbie,” I heard a ghostly chant.

“Ehra?”

The wind moved out, leaving the realm in tranquility.

I called out her name again. There was no one there but me. It was when Aaron came hastening in. Initially stunned at the girl he saw sitting down like a battered soul, he grasped at my arms and untied the cord and then my feet.

“I’ll get you out of here.” He said. There was fright in him.

I saw Irish came and halted at the entryway. Her once white uniform was now drenched in dirt and sweat. Her long black hair was a sight of tangled weeds. She moved to us. In her eyes lied a failing courage.

“The main gate is close....” she declared. I saw her fingers quiver. “Chains all around.”

Lancer did it, I swear.

“Where are the others?” Aaron asked. He carried me in his arms. He has firm muscles and a body of an athlete that made me looked like a little girl in his chest.

“Diana is dead.” She gasped. “Shirley, I can’t find her.”

“And Lancer?”

Irish shook her head. “I don’t know. Shirley screamed and seemed to be in trouble and he seeks her out. I heard him fired and then I hide away.”

“Who killed Diana?”

She trembled. “I saw her dragged Diana.”

“Who?”

“Please, let’s just go.” She hastened to the entryway.

“Wait!” Aaron followed her immediately. I was a little heavy and it gave him some trouble to trail her.

“She said she will kill us all! I don’t want to die!”

A shot.

Irish fell back and run to us, hiding behind Aaron. There was an indiscriminate firing. I could hear Shirley screamed. Then Lancer came, gun on the left hand, which was bleeding, turning his shirt from yellow to orange. The terror on his face was unfathomable.

“Give her to me!” He commanded Aaron, his eyes on me, putting us at gunpoint as he forwarded.

Irish, obviously out of panic, attacked Lancer, speared him at the abdomen, bringing him down. Aaron instinctively put me down and rallied to constrain him.

Rapid shots reverberated into my senses. I saw the two boys battling for the gun, Aaron clenching to Lancer’s wounded arm. Irish, on the other hand, lied on the smoking ground, her hands at her left thigh. In the darkness of the coming dusk, I saw blood.

One last shot resonated. Aaron fell down to his back, his knees curled up.

I tried to scream but there was nothing but a miserable sound. Irish was immovable, no, not dead, she was breathing. My eyes unconsciously shifted to the gate. Beneath it a circle of wind began to shape, and the smell of burnt flesh masked the spot.

My body was too weak to move. I stayed crawled, leaning to a pile of wooden boxes.

There she was, appeared after the wind shaped the dusts in the air. She was beautiful with eyes that captivate.

“Ehra...” her name tasted sweet in my tongue.

I saw her mouth spoke my name.

Someone coughed. It was Lancer, struggling to get up, breathing hard, and holding the gun.

His presence triggered something. I saw the sudden hatred in Ehra’s eyes.

Dread struck me when Ehra’s fair skin started to change into purple and death black. Her face deteriorated.

I tried to warn him but I just could not. Nevertheless, he put me at gunpoint.

Too much fear, too much terror. I felt my life drifted away.

Lancer was too late to realize the forthcoming carnage that stood behind him. When he turned around the death-like Ehra was an inch close to his face. He had no time to scream.

She seized his neck, her fingers deepened into his skin, made him suffer. Ehra’s mouth opened wide, revealing a vacuum of maggots and insects. Then came the worst, in my blurring perception, I saw Lancer shuddered. His skin slowly decomposed and greenish fluid gushed out of his membranes, the arteries snapping like busted rubber bands. Soon he was a rotten piece of wood. Piece by piece his skin peeled off to the ground.

My head ached in an enormous pain. The world began to fade; darkness covered the horizon and blinded me totally. The last thing I heard before everything turned to black was the soft whisper of the wind, breezing away out of the gate, into the shadows.

There was light when I opened my eyes. A light that was soothing, free and serene. A feeling I never had for a long time. My body was lying in peace: no cords, no chains and hurt, just plain but sweet repose.

I felt like I exist.

A door opened. It took me a lot of strength to shift my head to see who entered the door. She was someone who I thought do not deserved to be here, locked with people who needed medical attentions, but to the world where beauty was a primal weapon or the only thing you’d ever need to survive.

She was beautiful, so mysterious, and she wore white. Soon enough, she made me realize where I was. I saw four single beds lined up at both sides of the room, me being at the second bed at the right, with people occupying each one. Some of them have bandages in some parts of their bodies. Most have at least one relative attending them. I saw two or three women wore the same white outfit.

I was in the hospital.

I looked at her in the eyes, and down to her nameplate at her left breast. Cara Luistro, I read. She attended to the patient at my right, checked her dextrose which in not time would be empty.

I recognized the girl in the bed.

“Irish...” my voice was not as loud but she budged to stare at me. Vacant eyes met mine.

“What happened?” I asked myself as I turned away. I might find no answers but it did not matter anymore. Irish survived, that was more important. She didn’t deserve to die. She was a victim of a random circumstance, just like me.

And Aaron? I don’t know.

Aching for some dose of medicine in my veins, I closed my eyes, recalling all the things that took place.

A week after Ehra’s funeral, I was abducted at the front gate of my school. Two men in bonnet grabbed me and dragged me inside a car. That was half past nine in the evening. I came home late that night as usual. It was my fault, I know.

I was tied up and blinded. I guess the trip was a two hours travel when we came to stop. And the rest was history.

These were all about Ehra, I realized. The Phi Beta thought that someone from our side was getting even with them because they believed that we made out what really happened to her. They were wrong.

We were above suspicions and accepted her death as an accident.

But life was a mystery. At the end it would set all things into places. It would find justice for every burden.

And it did. Ehra took matter into her own hands. Her soul could not rest in peace. There was something missing, something forgotten--the truth.

Buried in darkness, her spirit was craving for light. I believed she haunted them to find vindication. She killed Shirley and Diana. Lancer was the finale. She might be the one responsible for Sarah and Boyet’s killings.

When I got out of this bed, I don’t know what was waiting for me.

I heaved a sigh, turn my head to Irish, she was awake but immobile. Then I noticed that we were alone. Cara was not there. The people were gone. All the beds were empty and appeared they never been used. I was puzzled.

Intuition made me gaze to her again. And that was when I saw Cara with a smile, an odd smile. I saw her gripping tight on Irish’s hidden arm. Irish was having a tremor.

“What are you doing?” I asked Cara, forcing my mouth to speak.

“I’m doing this for us...” Cara’s voice was subtle, like a whisper of the wind.

“No!” The tone hit me. I knew that voice!

Cara’s eyes were burning with hatred. And I saw something familiar in them, someone who I knew very well.

“No... Not her!”

I saw Cara’s face decomposed. Her white cloth became a host to dark greenish fluid and maggots broke out of her skin. Irish squealed; her body twitched.

I screamed out loud, calling for help, but there was no salvation. It was too late for Irish. She panted her last breath.

I heard the final buzz of the machine that read Irish’s heart beat. It was flat. She was gone.

“Ehra....”

The name was not sweet anymore, it rot in my tongue. The truth revealed itself. It was more than finding justice. It was vengeance, pure hate.