Chief Inspector Miguel Esguerra stretched his arms out as he sat on his chair at the Cebu Provincial Police Office. It was a Sunday, a day supposedly quiet he could come home at lunch and not be missed, and yet somehow he found his hands full with the Salvatore case on such a dreary morning when the sky still threatened rain.
The call from the station about the suspicious death of a husband, wife, and daughter had come in at three, way too early to be bothered by anybody other than your pregnant wife, and had interrupted his peaceful sleep. He'd begrudgingly dragged himself from bed, dressed in his over-stretched uniform, and kissed his wife on the forehead before setting out on his motorcycle for a fifteen-minute ride to the adjoining barangay.
He lazily glanced at the clock hanging by the far wall in front of his desk. Even if the thing hadn't been large enough he would've still been able to see it was only ten past nine in the morning. While most people in town had either aged to farsightedness or suffered poor eyesight despite their age being a quarter of his, his own had only started to show signs of deterioration a year before. Perhaps it was simply not in his genes. Or maybe it was because he'd grown playing out on the streets, unlike the young ones of that day and age who went out simply for internet access so they could play online games and talk to other people on face-something or some other social media. Though most likely it was both, he thought.
The CI shook his head. Where had the good old days gone to? But no, he should stop himself from such train of thought. He was getting sidetracked again, and as most times his mind had drifted to his complaints of what the world had evolved to. He had to learn to accept change soon enough. Besides, what he should really be doing was getting a head start on the paperwork he'd be asked to submit before the day ended. He and that seemingly bright young officer he met at the scene had already finished questioning the priest who reported the incident robbing him of a day of perfect idleness, and what came out of that was more work he needed to get done. Of course he wanted nothing less than drive home, declare himself sick for the rest of the day, and crawl back under the sheets of his comfortable bed, but such luck seemed to not be on his side that day. It didn't matter what he wanted. His responsibilities would come first.
He sighed, a whisper of a groan coming out with the lazy act. At the back of his mind the CI knew he should've been more alarmed and not reluctant to deal with the new case. But with more than twenty years of service under his now-too-tight belt, it seemed nothing could faze him. Not anymore.
After that initial shock he felt at the scene had faded, which had caused a bit of a temporary drive, that familiar apathy had easily settled back in his core. He should be ashamed of it, he knew, though the thought of bothering himself with caring for somebody who was already dead didn't seem worthy of such troubles. He used to be like the younger officer he'd met. Perhaps it was seeing that spark in the man's eyes, reminding him of how he'd been so eager and dedicated when he'd first started, that had ignited that flame in him which had been long put out by the disappointment that was the law and order system of the country.
His mouth curved down to a frown. He was no longer the naive man he once was. No matter how much he wanted to get his blissful ignorance back, he could no longer deny the hard and bleak realities he'd already witnessed. He simply understood at present that such was the brutality of human nature. It was kill or be killed, or in some cases kill just for the heck of it or some version of the same twisted rationale. He'd simply seen too much. He reckoned it wasn't exactly a good sign.
The thought of retiring flitted in his mind as he stared out the window next to his beat-up wooden table with the ink and coffee stains that spoke of the hours he'd spent sitting on the same dismal spot. He placed a hand over his bulging stomach as he leaned back on his cushioned chair and cringed at the offensive protrusion that dominated more than half of his upper body. He was well almost in his fifties and the years of chugging down bottle after bottle of beers with the other policemen had given him a round and tight belly that made him look like a big old tadpole. The drinking was a necessity if he wanted to remain on the good side of most of the other members of the force and he really didn't want to make an enemy out of anybody. Though he wasn't the type to deliberately kiss-ass, all those foregone nights he'd spent wasted rather than helping his wife raise their kids did make his rise through the ranks admittedly less difficult.
YOU ARE READING
Incarnated
Horror"It is from sin that we were cursed, and from repentance that we were made." --xx-- Adelaide comes from a family of exorcists who has the unusual ability to use their own bodies as temporary vessels to contain demons prior to their banishment back t...
