Not That Innocent

Surprised as I was by Madam Cynthia, I couldn't dwell on her any longer. The moment I looked around the house, I was momentarily stunned. I still vividly remembered how the door was kicked flying and how Jullian blasted the wall behind me, but I had seen none of that when we returned. It was as if everything had been a lie, a product of my imagination.

Just then, I heard Jullian speak.

"Ah, the filter's at it again."

"Um, what do you mean by that?" I couldn't process how the house fixed itself, as though it were a sentient being. Nevertheless, I suppose a house repairing itself was nothing compared to suddenly waking up in somebody else's body.

Jullian was tightening the screws on his "arm" when I turned to face him. I didn't even notice when he took out a screwdriver or where he got it from.

"You remember what I told you earlier?" he asked me.

"Which one?"

"That we are only side characters? That every earth is just this one big narrative and stuff?"

"Yeah," I answered. "I pretty much remember all of it. But what about it?"

"You see, um, just think of it as an automatic response. Every earth needs a narrative to survive and keep existing. Like a life support. If people stopped doing things, it's equivalent to its death, so it will generate scenarios to keep the narration going. And it needs to be big, like wars or something. If it sensed an outsider who might potentially disrupt the narrative, they would be filtered out, including the damages they'd done. It will then heal itself and eject any outsiders. So, the poacher you saw earlier? Unless he finds a way to infiltrate through the great filter, he wouldn't be able to bother you. For the time being, that is. You get it, right? "

'Yeah! I totally understand it. Thank you very much, Jullian!' I sarcastically responded inside my head.

Understanding something is totally different from actually accepting it. Even now as I am writing this, I still find everything to be absurd despite its "simplicity". I don't doubt even a seven-year-old will understand it. It was too simple to the point of absurdity.

"Anyway," said Jullian. "I'll be leaving for a while. Since that old hag told me to assist you, I plan to observe this earth first. Of course, if you get into trouble, just draw this symbol on any door, light three candles, chant the words at the back and I'll arrive. For now, do your best to act like your character if you don't want the world to force it into you. And trust me, you wouldn't want it."

He then handed me a piece of paper with a crude symbol drawn on it. A wonky circle with a triangle in the middle. And inside the triangle was a stick human with its left arm resembling a stick gun. At the back were the following sentences: "Jullian Foster, creature of lore. Through doors and candles, answer my call. Reveal who you are, and appear in form."

"After you memorize it, burn it. Obviously, don't tell anyone about it, not even Arkira," he then paused, as if remembering something. "Ah! I suggest you stay in your room for 24 hours too. Whether it's regression, reincarnation, or transmigration, we inherit the body's memories. It's the world's way of maintaining consistency, and it's quite a painful experience. I couldn't help you with that."

Just as he finished reminding me, he already summoned the bronze door, waved his "real" hand, and disappeared with the door.

I just watched all these in a daze. I doubt anything that will happen afterward would surprise me anymore. With all the crazy things happening back to back, I find myself starting to go numb.

Back then, I still hadn't realized that my coping tendency as a kid was the one responsible for the numbing. I tend to dissociate as a kid, making up a whole magical world inside my head. A happy and safe magical place where I am really cool and everybody appreciates me. My havoc haven. As a result, I don't really recall much of my childhood.

But as the numbing started, no magical place arrived. Instead, what came was a very intense headache that felt like a relentless pounding in my head, as if a heavy weight was pressing down in my skull. It was as though every beat of my heart reverberated through my brain, causing sharp, stabbing pain and pressure. I screamed as I gritted my teeth and pounded my forehead against the hard floor accompanied by nausea and dizziness.

Fragments upon fragments of memories flooded my head in a sporadic manner. I thought my head was about to explode into a bloody mess, and I even imagined myself running around that tiny, cramped space like a headless chicken. It was so damn painful that I'd rather be executed by a guillotine.

Then I found myself having a conversation with a woman. She was the classic blond hair, blue eyes with a hint of naughtiness, and an hourglass figure - about as tall as me. She was really pretty; the head-turning type of pretty. She was Florence and it dawned upon me that I liked her. No, it wasn't me, but the former owner of my body. Inigo liked her in a kind of obsessive way. This was one of the memory fragments that invaded my head space.

"By the way, I like your hair today," she complimented. I could vividly feel how happy and restless Inigo felt as though they were my own emotions. It was kind of creepy, but I was helpless in that situation. All I could do was watch while being bombarded by various emotions.

"Um, thanks. I thought my hair needed a haircut this morning. Glad you liked it."

They went to a cheap but decent restaurant. Florence's disgust was evident, but she smiled nonetheless. Of course, Inigo was blind to this. Their conversation moved on to what their parents did for a living. Her family owned a coal mine and liked to invest in railways and transportation, but Inigo had to lie, saying his father was a successful banker when it couldn't be any further from the truth. In fact, his father was sent to a prison for political dissent. It was only thanks to his mother's pension that he was able to study at the elitist University of Salalona.

"Uh, by the way, Mr. Andrade, d'you happen to know Mr. Richard?" she asked. Inigo's full name was Inigo Estrella Andrade.

"Richard Alvarez? The one in my purposive communication class?"

"Exactly!" Florence half-exclaimed, half-whispered. Although Inigo didn't like that the conversation was leaning towards another man, he was kind of relieved to find a common topic in which he didn't need to lie by the seat of his pants. "You see, I really, really, really don't like that guy."

"Why do you say that? I didn't expect you to have such, well, that kind of feelings towards him. He was always quiet in class though."

"You know my cousin, right? Kristina?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you see, he was invited to the debutante ball last week at Kristina's request to her parents, liking him and stuff, and can you believe what he just did?"

"What?" Inigo asked as he took a tiny sip of Salalona red wine.

"After they danced, they headed to the garden. Of course, I followed, rooting for Kristina's confession, but I definitely, absolutely cannot believe what he told her."

Florence paused, her breathing getting hard, and she continued in a low, deep voice, trying to imitate Richard's manly voice. "I'm sorry, but you're not my type.

"Well, he could have stopped there, you know? But no, he just had to be rude.

"I'd rather you move on. There's so much more to life than dating. 

"He could have said that nicely. I mean, I have nothing against what he said but it's the tone, you know? The tone!"

While "reliving" this particular memory fragment, I, Fidel, couldn't help but criticize this woman. She wasn't any better than Richard either. If she had any tact at all, she wouldn't have shared this unfortunate event with anyone else, considering her cousin, especially not on a date.

Then the memory fragment shattered and moved to the next one, and I couldn't believe what the f*ck I just saw.

It was night at the Salalona campus. Richard and Inigo stood side by side, looking at Florence's corpse. Her face frozen in permanent horror.

An ominous black aura glowed in Richard's hands as he pointed it towards Florence's corpse, melting her skin and flesh, reducing her to nothing but bones. She would have been unrecognizable had it not been for her uniform and ID.

The next morning, Inigo was casually reading the Salalona Daily newspaper as though he hadn't just murdered someone. On the front page was the macabre, slightly censored image of Florence's corpse on campus. The killers were unknown, and the police had no clues as to who did it. Her parents offered a large sum of money to anyone who could find them.

But you know what troubled me the most? It was the fact that Inigo read the newspaper with no emotions whatsoever, making all the hairs on my body stand on end.

Turns out, he wasn't as innocent as what I had seen in my recurring dreams.

More memory fragments flooded my head as the pain continued to intensify in a grinding crescendo. It was like watching a fast forward film from a bygone era that overlapped each other.

The scene in which Inigo was reading the newspaper shattered like a mirror, zooming in a flash to the date before it disappeared completely. What followed next was an unfamiliar place. Only that this time, it was presented in a first person point of view and exactly because of this that I will be using the word "I" in describing the following scenes instead of Inigo.

In this scene, I was dressed in an olive green tweed jacket over a silk, cream-colored shirt with tailored trousers. I was carrying a suitcase with my left hand and beside me was Richard.

Now, at first glance, nothing was problematic at all. Of course, if you ignore the fact that they just killed someone but regardless, what I found weird about this was the rather high end clothing when Inigo was supposed to be a pitiful slum boy as my recurring dream portrayed him to be. I guess I was missing something.

Anyway, we seemed to be in a train station and we were boarding the steam locomotive called "The Pegasus". We were quiet the whole time when the scene was abruptly cut and replaced by the sight of an overgrown manor.

Vines and tall grass overtook the lawn and the gate. Broken windows, destroyed statues of gargoyles on either side of the entrance.

We entered, effortlessly climbing over the gate and down to the ground. The whole place was as quiet as it could get. Too quiet that we could even hear our own breathing, and the sound we made when stepping on the dried leaves was too loud to my liking.

Anyway, the door creaked as we pushed it open. Richard and I weren't really speaking at all, so I had no idea why we were there in the first place. But as we reached the parlor, I could already guess why. Amongst the various paintings on the wall was a family painting. A wife and a husband. An elder sister and two younger brothers. And I recognized the two people in there. 

They were Arkira and Inigo when they were younger. With this, I made a hypothesis. Inigo's family used to be filthy rich. But what happened?

Besides, this painting confused me. The husband and wife, I understand. But who was the youngest kid? He was just about seven years old in the painting.

However, since I was merely watching the scene through Inigo's eyes, I couldn't watch it much longer. 

We headed to the basement in no time and were stopped by a black-painted door.

I kneeled to open my suitcase, pulled out the few clothes that were used to hide the hidden compartment beneath and handed them to Richard which he took without a word.

I lifted the thin slab of wood revealing a tin box silently waiting underneath. I took it out, put back the clothes and tossed the tin box to Richard.

Inside it was a rustic bronze key that exuded an ominous aura. And as if sensing it, the manor shook a little. I could almost feel its excitement. Like a puppy who was happy to greet its owner after a long day of work.

The windows and doors opened and closed. The dusty carpets flapped, sending dust everywhere. The cutlery in the kitchen made some noise and the grand piano in the parlor played on its own.

It was a scene straight out of a horror movie. But the "me" in this scene didn't even flinch nor did Richard. As if already used to this scene. And without waiting, we opened the black door using the key. Only then did the manor "calmed down".

The candles on either side simultaneously lit on their own as we entered the room. It was circular and there were some strange symbols all over.

But the most eye-catching of all were the writings on the floor: "This world is sick. No one will save you here. Leave!"

Then the scene shattered for the last time. Still from a first person point of view. This time, however, there was no more Richard. I was all alone by the sea under the full moon at night. The water was making these wild, towering waves and enveloping me was a silver glow as I had eye-to-eye contact with a giant, sea serpent.

My image reflected on its eyes and upon seeing it, my heart skipped a bit. Instead of Inigo's face like what I was expecting, it was mine.

It was Fidel.