However much I want to stand by her, I have to go to work too.
I believe I have made it clear to that lady nurse that she will do everything to keep Eloisa from the nutcase asylum. Still, why can I not remember what happened in that nutcase asylum entirely? What had happened that day that my brain is locking away? As I walk out of the hospital, I try looking straight ahead. This might help me recall everything. As I try to recall that memory, it was that same flashes of a cold winter day, electrocutions, and torture. Nothing more.
Maybe I'm just a bit tired. Maybe I need to sleep it all away.
*
I arrive at the newsroom with my colleagues working their butts off. As I log my entry, another colleague of mine rushes in front of me as he hands his story to his editor. The paper sure is busy. Besides us having to make the stories, we have to print and edit it on the same day. There is no cause for delay because we have to publish it by tomorrow. Major TV outlets still depend on local papers for their news. Lucia City Times is just one of these primary sources.
Should I head out today and find a story? I don't know. I believe I have delivered enough to the table. Maybe they can just wait until I solve this de la Rama case and the other deaths related to his. I toss my briefcase on my desk without ceremony. Even though it lets out a bang when I tossed it, my next cubicle colleague does not even mind to see that I am already here. That's just how busy they are.
In my tired self, I drag myself to the water dispenser. I need some water. While taking sips, I look up at the news. It seems that the newsroom chose to play AMC TV's noontime news. Nothing much is going in the country. It's just the same. It's the same petty crimes of robberies, murder, and minor abuse. No one even watches this except for me right now. My colleagues just use the TV as some sort of white noise. Quite odd indeed.
After those petty crimes, some sort of breaking news interrupts the basic flow of their stories.
"This just in," the anchor at the TV says while reading her papers. "Mateo Jonathan Macedo, son of former CEO of AMC TV Amasio Macedo inherits AMC TV and all its subsidiaries. After a meeting of the board of directors of AMC TV, Macedo is also declared CEO of AMC TV. Here is reporter Selena Lopez at the AMC conference hall with her news."
What I heard from the TV just flies over my head. Mateo is alive? Mateo is actually alive? Is this what Ysabel meant when she said that I have to see for myself what happens? I don't understand. How could Mateo inherit the company? As I try to listen closely to the news, all the words just fly over my head. Each sip I take from my cup of water is like a sip away from reality. The TV does not speak to me, but my colleagues do.
"Hey, isn't that our reporter. What's he doing there?"
"TV says he's the new CEO. Who knew that that ambitious lowlife is actually an elite?"
"Is he the reason why Rosanna is slacking recently? I mean, we are all roaming around Lucia City looking for fresh stories, but Rosanna, she's just coming and going without any fresh articles."
"I wonder why she's still here."
"The boss likes her. After that paper about de la Rama and the Concepcions, our paper is selling like crazy. The masses sure do love a good gossip."
Of course, good ol' colleague rivalry. So, this is what it's all about? That article Mateo and I wrote. As I listen to their conversation, I can feel myself crumpling my cup into a ball. In my anger, I can feel my eyebrows meet.
"A good gossip that destroys the integrity of journalism, that's for sure," one of my colleagues continue.
"The boss sure does love anything that sells or anything that sucks, if you know what I mean."
What the hell? How could he say that so lewdly with a wink to my colleague? That's it. I toss my paper cup at the nearest bin and gave him the hardest slap I could do.
"What did you just say?" I ask bluntly while pointing my finger to his face. I could feel the heated atmosphere around me. All of a sudden, the newsroom is quiet. Reporters stopped typing their articles. Interns stopped walking around with their heavy paper load. Even the TV is turned off for the sake of our argument.
"Oh, you have no answer?" I continue. "You think I'm a slacker and a sucker, right?"
He does nothing. All he could do is look at his feet. "I did not mean to say that. We were just kidding."
I can't bear it. As I was about to say something, I turn away from him and face my colleagues. "And does anyone here have to say about me? Are you going to accuse me of sleeping my way towards my position?"
"We mean you no offense, Rosanna," he continues. "It was not – "
"And I thought we are supposed to be united in letting the truth prevail instead of spreading rumors about one's colleague," I interrupt him. I look at everyone's faces. They could not say anything. I don't care about my words. The boss might fire me for this, but I will not let my colleagues trample me around like a rag doll.
With all eyes on me, I take my camera and my notepad sitting on my desk. I put my heels back on and take my briefcase with me. "I'm taking the AMC TV CEO story!" I exclaim in front of everyone. "Maybe it's time not to slack anymore and write another article. You know, so people won't accuse me of being a sucker."
*
So, AMC TV, we see each other finally. I stand before the grand building of their headquarters. I stand before this building as a reporter. I put on my ID as a Lucia City Times reporter. Lucia City Times is the most neutral when it comes to its news. We do not ally ourselves with any other media company. Our CEO, the boss, is just an ordinary man and all of us are ordered to let the truth prevail without bias. Even the government reads our papers due to its honest news reporting.
That's when it hit me.
They will not entertain an interview with me, a rival media company. I stand before this building as a representative for the most neutral news company in the country. I find myself with no choice. I take off the ID. I shall have to face this another way.
I pull out random papers from my briefcase. I put away my notepad and camera. With my head held high, I enter through the revolving doors without any hesitation. As I walk towards the reception, I take out another ID, my Social Security ID. In front of me, I see the receptionist taking an urgent call.
"Hi, I'm here for the job interview," I say confidently to the receptionist.
"For what job, ma'am?" the receptionist replies.
"Reporting, miss," I say to her.
From the other side, I can hear the busy nags of the caller for the receptionist. "Madam," the receptionist says to the caller. "Please hold. I have something to do right now."
I present to her my ID just so I could have some sort of identification. "Here's my ID," I say to her to get her attention again.
"Ma'am, you are quite early for the interview," she says. "Hours, in fact."
With the phone balancing on her shoulder, she takes my ID and gives me a building pass. "Can I have the email that AMC sent you for the interview?"
Oh, my god. Just when I thought my plan is going well. I thought they'd just let me pass if I told them I'm here for a job. The receptionist takes to the phone again. "Madam, I'm afraid we can't do that. It's far beyond the scope of my job. Why don't you take this up with human resources? I can't…"
That's when I thought. She's distracted. She turns away from me and rummages through her files. Quickly, I take the building pass and put it on.
Well, I guess my plan is going well. I enter the elevator with a smirk on my face. Finally, at least, some answers on what happened to Mateo.
"Where to, miss?" the elevator man asks.
"Conference hall."
*
As I step out the elevator, I see the conference hall before me. Several reporters are waiting outside with their recording devices and camera. I don't know if these are resident AMC reporters, but surely, if there is a crowd, Mateo must be here. I fight my way through the crowd of reporters.
"Reporters, we cannot let you all in. We are closing the doors right now."
When I hear those words, I run my way. Just one chance. I need to talk to him. Several reporters fight their way for the opening. I must win. I need to get inside. I see the doors of the conference hall closing. Just when I was about to get inside, it closes before me.
No! It can't be the end. I see my peers' indifference towards this. They can move on and find another thing to report on, but this. I'm not here to report. I want to see him. (Well, I can report on this, too)
Looks like I have to wait this out. I walk around the halls outside the conference hall. The halls are adorned with windows that look over Lucia City. Lucia City, if not for the horrors the elite is doing to you, you are a beautiful city. I put my hands over the window as if I would take the city for myself. Unfortunately, I can't do that.
Then, from a distance, I hear a man talking. That voice. It rings a lot. I look at the man walking with his phone on his ear. He is all but alone. And that's when I realized. I can recognize him even if he was a mile away. He still walks steadily like a formal knight in greeting.
"Mateo!" I call out to him.
And all of a sudden, he is stunned to see me. I approach him so suddenly that he looks aghast to see me here.
"I shall call you later," Mateo says to the caller at the other line.
"Why haven't you called me?" I ask him.
He says nothing. His face cannot even portray the feeling he is having. All he could say is just a few words towards me. "Miss, are we of acquaintance?"
He's playing a game. He has to be. "Mateo, you know me, don't do that to me now," I say insistently, trying to take his hand. "You know, Lucia City Times. We are journalists. Don't play that game now."
And then, he breaks away. He takes my grip off his. He cannot even look at me in the eye. Dear god, surely this is just another game. Please, this is a game!
"Miss, please, I know nothing of which you speak," he says quietly.
I look into his eyes. There's something about his eyes that say if he is lying or not. He might be cunning, but this time, he is not. His words. That is not Mateo. He does not speak that way.
This must still be a game. I try to take his hand again, urging him to be true to me. "We were investigating several mysteries before you were confined in the ICU," I say again. "I caused you to be in the ICU."
All of a sudden, he breaks away again and steps away. "What?" he says, aghast. "Miss, how could you do that to me? I do not remember these events of which you speak."
"No, I did not," I say again. "There was someone that drugged you and there was nothing I can do to stop it. Mateo, please, help me now and return to finish what we started. Once that's done, return to your grand life now. I need you now. We need to finish this."
I can feel the tears forming in my eyes. Still, something tells me that he is not playing a game anymore. He does not even say anything. All he does is shake his head, shake his head as if in denial. He turns away from me and looks over this serene view of Lucia City. That's when I realize. He does not remember. He can't remember his journalistic past. He can't even recognize me. In my denial, all I could do is shake my head and the tears in my eyes.
In our silence, guards show up. Times up. Looks like I've been caught at my own game.
"Ms. Aguinaldo, come on," one of the guards says to me. "You are trespassing our headquarters. You should not be here at all."
I did not even fight. I just come with the guards. As we walk away, I can see him still staring at the same windowpane. I turn again to him. "Mateo, please, don't play the game now," I say again. "Remember me, Rosanna Aguinaldo."
All of a sudden, he stirs. He looks at me as if he is trying to remember who I am. At least something is happening. I follow the guards once more. I do not even know why I'm saddened with his memory loss. It is not because I lost a piece that would imprison Ysabel, but I seem to have lost a friend. He cared for me and he looked out for me. As we walk, I could feel the tears falling out like rain in a stormy night.
So, he is indeed alive, but barely. I lost him. Mateo is gone. The Macedo heir is back.