The Witness

Chapter 26 - Baptism

And all she could remember from that moment was running. Not knowing exactly where to, or how fast, or how far, just running. And as she ran, she thought. She remembered her uncle, how he terrorized her since childhood and how his entire family stood by him. She remembered all those years of fear, dreading his nightly visits, feeling disgusted by the sight of her own body, never being able to wash his hands off her skin. Years of humiliation and secrecy, years kept hidden by her mind's defenses. And she ran on, clutching the tapes closer to her chest, stopping only twice or thrice to retrieve what had skidded on the ground before resuming. She heard her classmates' laughter, and the sirens, and Joaquin's voice. She could see Sylvia's sweet smile before her, and Miguel as a toddler, peering curiously and cluelessly down at his father's coffin. She could see her father. She could see Steven Alinsangan. Anger filled her heart. Tears blurred her sight. Thunder roared overhead and she resisted the urge to scream back. She kept running.

Until she reached the nearest building, a squat, square establishment only slightly larger than the chapel she'd left, and with a pointed roof that made it look like a church, but it didn't seem to be one. Still holding the tapes, Rosa entered the building alone. Her footsteps echoed. There were rows and rows of wooden pews, smooth and polished and dark brown, not unlike the pew she had laid on what felt like hours ago. Other than that--emptiness. No statues on the sides, no candles, no Bibles. Not even a crucifix.

Panting, Rosa looked around for answers. There were glass windows high up, just below each slant of the ceiling, but they weren't stained windows. However, they were open just enough to let the sunlight stream through, glowing and golden. Which was odd, Rosa would think much later. Because it had been thundering when she entered.

"Hello."

Startled, Rosa turned around and saw that a little girl of maybe ten or eleven was sitting on one of the middle pews. Her hair was tied in one long braid to her side, the way Rosa wore her hair when she was around that age, before it happened. The little girl wore a plain, unadorned, cream white dress that reached below her knees, another thing that struck Rosa odd only much, much later. It looked old-fashioned, like a child's nightgown from a pre-war book.

Rosa walked towards her pew and sat next to her, placing the tapes on her opposite side. "Hello," she began, and the little girl watched her intently. "I'm confused," Rosa continued. "What is this place, exactly? It looks like a church. But something's...missing."

"Everything is missing," the little girl replied. "And it's better that way."

Rosa paused. There was something oddly mature about the way the child talked. It was not the carefree bluntness that often came from children of that age. Something else was behind it--a fierceness.

A protectiveness.

"Trust me," she repeated. "It's better this way."

Rosa looked up to the ceiling, noticing that the sky had darkened. But it was only for a while.

The sun returned and the little girl began to talk again. "There used to be statues here," she said. "And a huge crucifix, with Jesus nailed to it. But I got rid of Him. I got rid of everybody."

"How?"

"I smashed the statues." The child said this without flinching, and her eyes had narrowed with a look Rosa recognized at once as anger. "And burned the crucifix. Then I threw them away."

"Why did you do that?" Rosa asked gently. This was not just any other anger, she realized. This was the anger of the betrayed.

In the little girl's eyes were tears. But she still looked at Rosa without flinching. "Because I don't believe in them anymore. I believe in nothing, and it's better this way."

The sky had darkened again, and it stayed dark.

"What's your name?" Rosa finally asked, and only then did the little girl look down.

"My name is Rosa," she replied, and Rosa saw her at last.

She knew she had to tread carefully.

"How old are you, Rosa?"

"Eleven."

"What happened? Why did you do that?"

"You're not going to believe me. No one will."

"That's not true. Your uncle is a liar."

"I know. That's why no one will believe me. No one can help me so there's no use speaking out."

"That's not true. That's not true at all, Rosa. Listen." This time, it was her own tears she blinked back. "Listen. I know you don't believe in anything right now, but one day, you will have to."

"It's better off this way."

"That's not true," Rosa protested. She leaned closer to the little girl but did not dare touch her. "That's not true. That's what your uncle wants you to believe, that no one will care. That everyone will forget. But you must believe me, things can change. You can make other people listen."

"I don't believe in anybody or in anything anymore."

"You will have to," Rosa urged, and finally mustered enough courage to reach her small hands. Little Rosa flinched, but she slowly looked up. Their tear-stained eyes met and locked. "You will have to. The whole truth will depend on it."

"But I'm scared."

"You won't always be," Rosa consoled her. "Well, to be honest, at this point, I'm not sure yet. But that's what I believe in. That one day, I won't be scared anymore. You just need to believe."

"I need to see it before I believe."

"Then you won't be able to believe it at all. Believing means taking a leap, doing something risky even if it scares you, because you hope that it will lead to something better."

"But how? How will things get better? Will things ever get better?"

"If you believe it will."

"But I don't."

"Then I'll give you something else to believe in." Rosa reached out and wiped a tear rolling down the little girl's cheek. "One day, before you believe that anyone will believe you, somebody will."

"Somebody will?"

"Somebody will see you in a church and ask you what's wrong. And everything--" She took a deep breath. "And everything will start from there. You will do big things. Unimaginable, crazy things. Brave things. Just to make people believe what you saw."

"But will they believe me?"

"Some will, some will refuse to. It doesn't matter. For the first time, you will believe that things will get better. Then things will actually start getting better."

"I don't believe that yet."

"No, given what you're going through right now, maybe that's too much to ask." Rosa sighed. "But believe me when I say that one day, you will find something--a lot of things, actually--to believe in. Just hang in there." Rosa smiled through her tears. "Have faith."

The little girl said nothing. Then, suddenly, she opened her arms and embraced her. Rosa wrapped her arms around her in return. Then, she took off her crucifix necklace and placed it around little Rosa's neck. The child gasped and held the crucifix pendant between her fingers.

"Thank you," she said, smiling through her tears. "I believe you."