The Missing Link

022. Discombobulated

As the clock struck six, the Suarezes and their guests gathered around the dining table. A spread of rice and various dishes awaited them—jackfruit cooked in coconut milk, lumpiang shanghai with sweet and sour sauce, and a plate of fried fish.

“I’m sorry if this is all I could manage—” Mrs. Betty began, only to be gently interrupted by Raine.

“No, no, don’t apologise, Mrs. Suarez. This is more than enough, and you’re very generous,” Raine assured her.

“Hold those sneaky hands, Vincent,” Mr. Aaron chided, spotting his son reaching for a lumpia. “We should pray before eating, remember?”

“Sorry, Papa,” the little boy mumbled, pulling his hand back.

“In the name of the Father…” Mrs. Suarez began, making the sign of the cross, and the others followed suit. After the prayer, they began their meal.

An unsettling quiet filled the room, each family member seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Tension simmered between the couple, casting a heavy silence over the table. Once dinner ended, Mrs. Betty moved to wash the dishes in silence, while Mr. Aaron settled in the living room, his eyes fixed on the flickering news reports. Little Vincent slipped off to the bathroom to brush his teeth, the distant sound of water the only noise in the still house.

As Raine and Zane started to head upstairs, Mr. Aaron glanced over his shoulder, his voice a low murmur. “I strongly advise you two to stay inside tonight—and don’t even think about opening a window,” he warned, peeking towards them for a moment. “There are forces out there… forces no one should dare disturb. Some of us have seen them. We’re lucky to still be alive.”

Night had settled in, the steady chirping of crickets filling the air. A cool breeze slipped through the window, rustling the curtains in the room where Raine and Zane were staying. The spacious room held a double-decker bed, each with its own mattress, and a window that offered a view of the shadowy left side of Sitio Santa Clara.

Zane slipped off his tennis shoes and sat on the lower bunk, facing the window. He pulled out his phone, its screen casting a dim glow as laughter and jests echoed from his short video clips.

“Could you lower it a bit, Mr. Nuñez?” Raine murmured, her gaze fixed outside.

Zane obliged, chuckling softly at the video. But soon his laughter faded, his attention drifting toward Raine, who stood silently by the window, her figure outlined against the dim light filtering through the glass.

“Are they all asleep by now? From your reports, how many people live around here?” Zane asked, turning off his phone.

“The whole barangay holds nearly two thousand, though I’d say this sitio has just over a hundred,” Raine replied.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, joining her at the window. Through the glass, they could see the vast fields, the scattered dots of streetlights, and the faint glow from nearby houses.

In the center of the rice fields, three small islet-like patches of land rose, each bearing a few houses, connected by a narrow pathway leading from the rice mill near the late Amara Turner’s house.

“You can see her house from here,” Zane observed. “A bit distant, but still visible due to the way the road curves around.”

“It is,” Raine murmured. “But isn’t it strange, Amara living alone? I haven’t got any information on her family. I should’ve asked my cousin.” She frowned. “What a fool I am.”

“Stop that. One simple oversight, and you’re talking nonsense?” he chided.

“The lights are out. The inspector and his crew must have finally pulled back, leaving someone new to guard the place,” Raine observed.