The Missing Link

020. Crimson

Raine and Zane set off for Santa Clara, unaware of what awaited them. Santa Clara, one of the sitios tucked within the Entiera District of Nueva Aurora, lay beyond the city's heart. They navigated their way through the bustling center, slipping down to the tricycle terminal beneath a crowded supermarket. From there, they'd catch a direct ride, though few ventured out that far—the distance alone kept most at bay.

"Are you certain…" Zane began as they trekked the long road, the skyscrapers shrinking behind them. They sat side-by-side in the tricycle, with another gentleman by the driver, bound for the heart of Sitio Santa Clara in Barangay Manggahan.

"I'm still not convinced," Raine replied.

"But you’ve no idea what I was about to say. You didn’t even let me finish," Zane countered.

"You were going to ask if I believe these phenomena stem from some dark, malevolent society dabbling in black magic, and I’ve answered—I’m not convinced," Raine retorted. "Am I right in thinking you've already embraced that theory?"

"I believe there are countless things in this world beyond explanation," Zane replied.

"Yes, you mentioned as much before, when you brought up the universe and solar system," Raine noted.

"Did I? Funny—you remember that, and I've already forgotten," Zane chuckled.

"Odd, isn't it? I can't believe I still recall it," she murmured, her gaze drifting to the road beside her. "Those mythical things are hard to define, yet they resonate with something buried deep within us."

"Could you elaborate?" Zane asked.

"Just keep it in mind," Raine replied, her gaze catching the road sign: Barangay Manggahan. "This is it."

"It?" Zane echoed, glancing out the front to see the sign they’d just passed. "Now will you explain?"

"This is where the first ‘pagpakara’ happened," Raine said.

Zane’s brow furrowed, intrigued by a word he hadn't expected her to know. "You speak Bikol?"

Silence enveloped them as the tricycle rattled along, punctuated only by the low hum of the engine. Raine’s gaze roamed the streets, absorbing every detail—the faded shopfronts, stray dogs nosing around for scraps, the worn posters peeling from walls, the old, tall trees scattered around the area.

At last, they pulled up outside a modest house, its paint chipped and a light glowing faintly from the porch. A quiet tension hung in the air, as if the walls themselves held secrets. This was the home of the victim’s friend.

“You go in first. I’ll look around,” Raine said as they neared the gate.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the medical expert here—you can assess them first. Meanwhile, as an instructor for the university’s paper, I’ll do what I do best,” she replied, giving his shoulder a quick tap before slipping away into the street.

Zane pressed the doorbell, and moments later, Mrs. Suarez appeared at the door, her face lighting up as she spotted him. It seemed she’d been expecting him; perhaps her client had already given word of their arrival, just as Eteri had sent Raine the address.

“Come in,” Mrs. Suarez greeted warmly, holding the gate open as if she'd rehearsed this very moment. The faint smell of lavender wafted from the pathway, mingling with a quiet tension that lingered just beneath her polite smile.

“What’s your impression of Amara Turner, then?” Zane asked, settling into his seat after the interview with the couple. Their son was asleep upstairs, and the living room felt cloistered—windows and doors tightly shut, as though shielding them from the weight of the conversation.