The Witness

Chapter 21 - Martyr

For two seconds, the TV screen was black. Then the camera came into focus.

The footage was grainy, jerky, and black-and-white. It gave its surroundings a bird's eye view, indicating that it was hung high up, probably a security cam. In the bottom right-hand corner of the screen were the date and timestamp: 01/18/99, 9:25 PM. The night Sylvia died.

Joaquin and I were talking in the church at that very moment, Rosa thought.

Four shadows were leaning over a car in someone's garage. It was so dark that their faces could not be seen. "She won't wake up," one of them said. "She has to be dead."

"Are you sure about this?" another said.

"Father Gerard will back us up," said a third voice. "After all the things he did to Sylvia? Remember, his reputation is also at stake. He's going to protect us, for sure. He has to."

"So we're going to Manila then?" said the final voice, and Rosa gasped, recognizing it instantly as Sherwin Martinez's. "Tim, you said something about your dad's warehouse?"

"Yeah, the one near the church. We can get an oil barrel and some cement. Throw her inside, dump her into the bay, and no one will notice." Tim was panting. "No one will notice."

So it's premeditated, Rosa thought. Except that Sylvia wasn't dead, not yet. Things didn't go as they planned.

"We have to do this now," urged Sherwin. "I'll call my dad. He's done stuff like this before, to criminals."

"Oh god," gasped Mely, on the other side of the screen.

"And his friends were on it, too," said another boy. "If we screw this up, and they get it trouble, we're fucking dead."

"Hurry the hell up, then!" Sherwin slammed the cover of the trunk and jumped into the car. The rest followed suit, and the car drove off.

The footage ended there.

"Well, I think that answers all our questions." Steven ejected the tape and turned to Rosa. "Do you still have Terry's number?" She nodded.

Steven sighed. "Okay, here's the plan. We've got to reach out to Terry Lauzon without crossing paths with his family. We have to get him somewhere safe. He's the most crucial witness in this case, next to Rosa."

"How will you do that?" Mely asked.

"I'm thinking as I go along. Obviously, there's no return address. But we know where the kid studies. We'll talk to the principal, and we'll discuss things in his school, Lord willing." He turned to Rosa again. "You're joining. You convinced him to come forward. Seeing you there will encourage him further."

Mely sank on the nearest sofa. "This case is putting all of us in danger. Steven, are you sure--"

Steven's smile was sad. He went to his wife, leaned down, and kissed her. "Yes," he said. "That boy has a sick mother, five siblings who adore him and are dependent on him, and an entire life ahead of him. We can't let those goons take another life."

Mely still looked uncertain. But then she nodded. "Alright, take care, the both of you. The kids and I will pray for you and the progress of the case."

"It's progressing at a remarkable rate," Steven said, his tone optimistic. "Ever since that radio interview. People aren't so afraid to defend Joaquin anymore." He looked at his watch. "Let's go, Rosa. Before traffic gets heavy."

***

There was no time to pass by the law office and discuss matters with Char, Owen, and Inspector Gustavo, although before they started driving Steven sent a text message explaining everything. Well, almost. "Just that another witness has come up, one with actual footage and information as vital as yours," Steven explained to Rosa, who sat on the backseat. "No names in the text. We might get tapped by those who run things. So now we're going to Terry's school first, to talk to him and place him somewhere safe. Then we'll deliver the tape to Denise Nunez. The police can't be trusted." He paused and made the sign of the cross. "We're almost there, Rosa. Hang on. Always believe that God finds ways."

Rosa nodded, realizing with a pang of guilt that she'd led her new family to believe, even to this point, that she was a Christian. It was almost like lying.

One day, when all of this is sorted out, I'll tell them the truth, she thought. After Joaquin is freed, and Sylvia's killers are jailed. One day. They'll understand, I'm sure of it.

They started driving. It was still quite early and not a lot of cars were on the road. Surrounding them were strips of unused lands, empty lots with tall overgrowth, and chain-link fences with posters that read "NO TRESPASSING." Rosa suddenly remembered how she arrived at the Alinsangan residence for the very first time--sitting on the backseat of a taxi, her face bruised and her heart thumping, afraid and unafraid at the same time. That day felt like a million years ago.

On the reflection of the rear-view mirror, Steven's face scrunched into a frown. Rosa frowned too, wondering what was wrong. Then a few seconds later Steven swerved off the highway, rather abruptly, to make a U-Turn, turning up his speed and aiming for a narrow strip of road not far into the distance.

When Rosa finally noticed the black van trailing behind them, it was too late.

The impact created a thunderous explosion of sound and sent tiny shards of glass piercing into a smoke-darkened sky like fireworks. The heat, coming from Rosa's side, was unbearable. Smoke filled her lungs and nostrils. Her heart palpitated, her left side screamed in agony. She couldn't move her left hand. It took some time for her to lift her right. Then, with all the strength she could muster with the good arm, she pulled herself through the window, scraping her legs with the shards of glass, until she was out of the upturned car.

Blood trickled down her forehead and into her eye. Quickly, Rosa rubbed it off. Stay alert, she told herself over and over, don't space out. Don't space out, not now. The trunk of the car was totaled; a wheel still spun just inches over the leaping flames. Rosa craned her neck to take a look at the front seat, hoping against hope. She saw a bloated life bag, and underneath, a crumpled body with a twisted neck. A smashed-open head hung grotesquely from the neck, on the verge of breaking off from it, slowly dropping mushy chunks of red. Brain parts. Steven's brain. Steven was dead.

An ugly sound emerged from Rosa, a sound she could not recognize. Grief. Never as intense since the day her father died, almost ten years ago.

And again, she didn't notice. How her wailing alerted those who had known all along. The black van had stopped at the intersection, its trunk dented but not wrecked. The next thing Rosa felt was an incredible pain on both sides, worse at the left, her joints at the brink of being torn, her body suddenly hollow and her throat suddenly devoid of air. She tried to make a sound but the loudest she could muster was a gasp. Two men had lifted her by the arms without any gentleness, without a semblance of human tenderness, and they dragged her into the van. She didn't fight back. She couldn't. Her mind had clouded again, her eyes were teary but distant. Her face was blank. Even when they started driving away from the burning car and Steven's corpse, even as they tied her hands with ropes, even as Tito Geoff turned around from the front seat to smirk at Rosa and tell her, "You really didn't believe you'd get away with this, did you?", she didn't budge.

"We'll have fun with her later," Tito Geoff continued. "Come to think of it, thank god she didn't die too." The other men laughed.

Rosa stared straight ahead. All their words were just noise to her. Her gaze was fixed at the rearview mirror, but not at her reflection on it, the stunned and battered face that she couldn't recognize. No, she was looking at the rosary swinging from the handle of the rearview mirror, the brown wooden beads and the tiny, restless cross, tugging desperately at her consciousness. Nudging her with a strange familiarity. Begging her to wake up.