Prologue
1990 Words
August 6 of 1995
One powerful push upon his chest and the man fell down with a loud thud. He’s around his early forties. Tall, straight, healthy frame as a result of a luxurious healthy life from birth. Wrinkles were a natural part of this face. Not because of stress in managing a well-known Group of Companies, but because he's a jolly person despite his exemplary status in society.
People in the higher hierarchy often have weary faces, distorted with all the problems in their empires which, fairly enough, they worked hard enough to obtain. In whatever means and effort they exerted.
The fallen man has a genuine heart, and a down to earth, which deviated him from most of the men with the same clothes as him.
But his face was twisted in fear now. A big question mark embedded in his expression. He failed to voice out the question as he was roughly pushed down the floor. His thick silk satin robe that reached his feet created a pool beneath him.
He’s prepared to sleep when death enters the door of his home, together with his four dark shadows. The huge mansion now shrouded with the ambiance and stench of death. Terrifying was an understatement.
Following the man’s fall was a shriek from a lady. Her rich maroon nightgown paired with his husband’s robe. She hastily walked to them to offer help but even she was shoved down. The soft fabric fell with her. Her back slammed against her husband’s chest. A full gasp escaped her lips. Her careful, delicate fingers seized her round stomach ― protecting the three-month-old baby in her womb.
The lady was indeed a beauty. Her long smooth hair was down behind her. She’s tall and slender. Despite the sweat of fear sticking her forehead, her eyes were a brilliant color of hazel. But the room was dimly lit, it appeared to be black to the intruders. Her terrified frame quivered, anxiety kicking in.
The fear crawling in on their skin was not for their own lives, but for the unborn child that they have been praying to have for ten years now.
Together, they looked up at the mysterious man with wide, pleading eyes, almost unseeing because of tears. He perfectly blended with the dark like he’s part of it. The couple found each other’s hand on the soft carpet, clasped, and squeezed hard.
“W-What do you want?” Finally, the man bravely asked, but rather tense.
He knew he had to be calm and composed inside his home. His own safety. A semi-automatic pistol was resting on the bottom drawer beside the bed. It’s been years since he last checked on it. He’s not sure if it’s still there, but he wanted to believe it was. No one would take care of it but him. He remembered the dread on her wife’s face when he decided to purchase it and keep it in the house.
But it was for protection, he reminded her. About all of the businessmen he knew of possessed firearms. In fact, they seemed to be collecting many. He only bought one so as not to scare his wife.
They don’t believe anyone would hold a grudge against them and harm their family. They have been nothing but kind, giving, and favorable to everyone. As far as they’re aware of. There’s no superior and inferior to them. All remained just and fair.
“Are you Mr. Celestino?” They were startled by the man’s gruff voice. It was unfamiliar, gravely calm, and young. Oh, so young.
The lights in the room were dim. The huge and heavy curtains were closed. The soft fiery lights were coming from the cupboard lights and beneath the huge flat-screen television, and the two lampshades on either side of a king-sized bed.
If it had been a little lighted, they would have noticed how young the tall silhouette in front of them was. Too young to be holding a dangerous weapon. The height wasn’t enough but one of the many standards that made him capable of the job. Eligible. Fitting. Standing stiffly, towering over them without remorse on his face. His fingers were not even flinching. His breathings were calm.
The couple could only stare at the gun pointed at them. The young man was set to kill them. Death was written all over his eyes. His shadows fell upon them. The simple touch of it sent chills to their bones.
Unlike the other four men with him, his face was bare. The shadow of darkness was enough to cover little of his face. He didn’t care if they memorized his profile. They’d be soon dead anyway.
“I… I am,” Mr. Celestino stuttered. He thought about lying. But he also thought the young man was mistaken. He couldn’t remember a single person he had an argument with, profound to go further above reasons. There must be a big misunderstanding. He believed the man would take his gun off them once he realized who they were, that he'd only mistaken them.
But as he confirmed his identity, the gun jerked towards them. The lady gasped. She knew it was a bad decision to tell the man the truth. But there’s no way denying it. The proof was all over their house. They could search for seconds and they would find out the truth in an instant.
Mr. Celestino lifted his hand to start making negotiations but the mysterious intruder shook his head before he could even start.
“I am Julio Santayana,” the young voice was smooth and rich, and low, but resonated around the master’s bedroom. “I am to kill Mr. Antonio Celestino and his wife.”
It’s like death himself was talking to them, announcing their death sentence. Mr. Celestino’s frame went rigid. While her wife, unable to control herself, whimpered and kneeled on the floor. Her husband reached for her with his shaking hands, trying miserably to comfort her.
“Y-You’re too young for this… Is there any way we could get out of here?” He felt bad for the young man to have this kind of job. He had been donating to hundreds of charities to help young kids and prevent them from going the wrong way. He wished he worked hard to save this man as well. “Or at least, tell us who ordered you?”
Julio glanced on his wristwatch to dismiss the man’s request. His movements were casual and smooth. “Five minutes to twelve,” he announced. “August 6 of 1995―”
“No!” the lady screamed. At the interruption of his words, Julio darted his gun to her. Her husband quickly moved. He wrapped his arms around his wife to protect her. But Mrs. Celestino was already in a panic. She desperately rocked her head. Tears after tears covered her delicate face.
“Not, my child, please! Not my child!”
“What child?” His tone was cold. Not even curious, or sympathetic. He sounded as if asking what’s right and left, or why it’s dark at night and bright in the morning. Disinterested.
“They don’t have kids, Julio,” the other man with him responded. He was standing by the door with the other three men, a silhouette of bulky, tall men in the dark, waiting for the time to finally end the job. Although with the same height as Julio, the man’s voice didn’t sound young. It was strong and hoarse. The couple concluded Julio was the youngest of them.
Mr. Celestino shook his head in disappointment. Not for the young man but for himself, and to the people in his clothes. They failed to look after their kids. They failed to take care of and provide for today’s generation. It was their fault that the youngs have to live up to this kind of living. Now they’re coming back to them to pay for their negligence.
He’s not sure if this was the first job for Julio. He looked so good with his role. Natural. His fingers never twitched against the gun. His frame was steady, as well as his arm. Not a single hesitation or doubt in his eyes. In fact, it didn’t showcase any emotions. He’s too composed for someone who’s about to assassinate a person. He’s used to it.
Mr. Celestino wanted to offer him something more than this line of job could offer. Not only for their lives but for the young man as well. He’s willing to give everything if that’s what it takes to save him. However, they didn’t come here for money or for a savior. They’re here solely to eliminate them.
“I’m p-pregnant! Please, let my child live!” his wife started to beg and continued before the other man butted in. “I’m three m-months. Please, let my child live!”
The gun lowered to the lady’s stomach. The disinterest was on Julio’s face. He didn’t care if he accidentally pulled the trigger and killed the unborn child right away. The couple shakily wrapped their arms around each other in an attempt to protect the child.
“You’ll be dead anyway. The child will only be miserable,” one of the men by the door cruelly said and glanced on his phone. “Two minutes.”
The lady became more frantic. “Please, let my child live! P-Please, I’m begging y-you!”
Julio's eyes met with Mr. Celestino. The fear left the rich man’s eyes. He accepted what’s bound to happen. He didn’t agree with his wife and disliked the idea of their child being left alone in this world. But then again he didn’t also believe the man would let anyone in his family live.
Accepting their faith, the man tightened his hold around his trembling wife. For the last seconds of their life, he wanted to reassure her. They were each other’s first love, always grateful for meeting each other despite not having kids in the early years of their marriage.
He remembered how excited and happy they were when they learned they’re pregnant. Finally. After ten long years ― the almost lost hope.
So that was the kind of happiness given to them before they leave the world.
He treasured the memory. He wished to have it for his next lifetime. If possible.
The small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. He gently, but slowly tapped his wife’s back. He enjoyed the life he had, especially the years with her. They had a really well-off life than anyone he knew.
If someone like Julio would be the one to take it, a lost youth as a fruit of his negligence and the society, he’d be more than willing to surrender.
He had forgiven him even before he decided to pull the trigger. He saw the bullet go off so he closed his eyes to receive it. To let the man, named Julio Santayana, know that he had forgiven him.
The gunshot was hushed by a silencer. Another pull on the trigger and the huge house that was often crowded with happily welcomed visitors went still, silenced by an unexpected intruder.
- Writer
