Lethal Lilac

CHAPTER 9

Echoes

Wala si Grant. The kitchen was quiet, the hum of the fridge the only sound that filled the emptiness. I moved mechanically, a stranger in my own body. Wala akong kailangan isipin, wala akong pakialam.

I opened the pantry, reaching for the ingredients, feeling the cold surfaces under my fingertips. It was simple, easy—grab, prepare, cook. No thoughts. Just motions.

I cracked the eggs, the yellow yolks spilling into the bowl with a faint sound.

I mixed the eggs and rice together, the action almost calming in its simplicity.

Niluto ko ito, walang pakiramdam, just filling the silence, filling the space. The heat of the pan, the sizzle of the oil—it all felt so distant. Parang hindi ko nararamdaman. The smell didn’t reach me, the warmth didn’t touch me. I simply cooked because that’s what I was supposed to do.

Pushing the thought aside, my hands moved mechanically, slicing through the vegetables, the knife pressing into them without any thought behind it.

I took a deep breath, the cold air brushing against my skin as I opened the window. The breeze carried a faint chill, one that cut through me but didn't quite pierce the numbness.

I ate without tasting, each bite just a hollow action. The food was nothing. The plate in front of me wasn’t real. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate anyway. It was a distraction, maybe. Something to fill the void that didn’t seem to end.

After finishing, I set the dishes aside, the clatter of the plate against the sink echoing through the silence. My fingers automatically reached for the soap, and I washed the dishes. The warm water flowed over my hands, familiar, soothing in a way. It felt like something I used to do, something I had done before.

I scrubbed the plates, the rhythmic motion of my hands moving as though they had always known what to do. My mind wandered, drifting back to the orphanage. The same routine, the same feeling—empty, quiet, unnoticed. Washing dishes there, alone, no one to talk to. I didn't even remember the faces, just the cold, the isolation. My hands were still moving, still cleaning, still scrubbing away remnants of food, but my mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

I didn’t want to think about the orphanage. Hindi ko na gustong alalahanin pa yun.

But my feet moved anyway, like they were trying to escape something. Without realizing it, I was walking towards the library. Hindi ko alam kung bakit. I didn’t question it. I didn’t care. My body moved as if it had learned the path, following the pattern of movements, even when my mind had no intention.

I pushed open the door to the library, the familiar scent of dust and old paper filling my nose. I walked deeper inside.

The shelves, endless and full, towered over me like giants. Hindi ko alam kung anong hinahanap ko, kung meron man. I reached out, not knowing why, but pulled a book off the shelf. The cover was blank. Like everything else.

I opened it.

At first, the pages were still the same.

Empty. Silent. Nothing.

But then... a photograph.

It was black and white, blurry edges around a group of people. They were standing together, facing the camera, some looking stern, some smiling, but in the center—there was a child. The face was familiar, but not mine.

Hindi ko siya kilala. Yet, there was something about that face, something that made my chest tighten. His eyes, staring back at me. I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. My fingers touched the edges of the photograph, but it felt distant. The image didn’t feel real. Hindi ko maintindihan. The eyes of the child seemed to pierce through the paper, but I couldn’t name what I was feeling. I couldn’t name what I was seeing.

I shut the book with a snap, the sound too loud in the quiet of the room. My hands were shaking. I set it back on the shelf and stepped away, but the photo—those eyes—were still there in my mind. Still staring.

The echo of my steps as I walked out of the library was louder now. The house felt heavier. Each hallway felt more suffocating, each step more unsteady. I couldn’t remember when this place started feeling like a prison.

But now, with each echo behind me, I felt it. I tried to shake it off. Hindi ko dapat pakialaman yun. It’s just a photo. Just an image. But the weight of it lingered.

The footsteps behind me returned. Faint. Almost imperceptible, but there. I paused. My heart skipped, then pounded faster. I looked over my shoulder. Wala. Walang tao.

But the silence was deafening. I started walking faster, almost running, and the footsteps followed. I told myself it was nothing. The echoes would fade. But they didn’t. They kept following me. They kept getting louder.

The sound of my own heartbeat was drowning out everything else now. My steps were slower, unsure. I could still hear the echoes behind me. They weren’t real. I kept repeating it, but the weight of them didn’t fade. I could feel them everywhere.

And that’s when it hit me. The echoes weren’t just footsteps. They were reminders. But of what? I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember.

I walked faster, but they didn’t stop.

Through the house. Through the empty rooms. Through the silence.

And they wouldn’t let me forget.