"What are you doing here?"
There is no better answer to that question as, "I should be asking you the same, sir. I didn't know you play the violin to the extent that you are a virtuoso."
He lets out a half-meant laugh. "You think you know a person, but you don't."
I look at him closely again. I could have sworn that day at the church was real. I saw him in his look of a youth, but now, I can't even tell. As he was about to leave, I call out to him. "You were right about that day at the church."
With just those mere words, he turns back to me. "What day?"
"Tell me, was that time real? Was that time you told me about the Macedos real? Have I been just hallucinating about it?"
He gives me that sly smile his annoying self would give. "What do you think? Let's try the Socratic method. Do you think you saw me at church? What church was this? How did you see me that day?"
And just like that, he plays another game. Then again, was it indeed real? "You were in your look of a youth," I say to him, remembering that day. "The leaves of autumn fall about yet one green leaf lands on my shoulder. You pray in Latin, which is quite odd because – "
"You never heard me speak Latin," he says in reply.
"Right, and then. . ." the words just come out like vomit of anger. "You betrayed me! You let her take me! I was shooting bullets to her men and yet, you just stood there. You did not even bother calling the police. She could have killed me."
"But, she didn't," he says back. "I know she won't kill you. She only kills those that actually have claims in her fortune."
He then turns away from me and beckons me to walk with him. "Come on. Let's not talk here."
I don't know where he wants to go, but I just follow him. We go through the same staff-only passage way that leads up into the second level. However, instead on going to the second level, we head up two more floors. We reach the end of the passageway with a door that leads to some room. He opens the door with rusty hinges. In his brief struggle to open the door, I see him smile when he finally opens it. It turns out that that door leads to the rooftop – the highest floor of the Metro Arts Theater. A pretty sight indeed. In this full moon night, the stars shine bright. From up here, I can already see the streetlights light like flickering fireflies. The skyscrapers of Lucia City tower all around us. I hear the chirping of the crickets in this night.
"Pretty place isn't it?" he says as he notices my joy.
I know he's trying to be nice, but I let that not get to me. "It still does not excuse why you let me be taken. It still does not excuse why you have that serious look again. Tell me, was that look you had only a wig?"
He just shrugs. "I don't know. What do you think? You already learned that that day was real." Suddenly, he just falls into silence. "She drugged you, didn't she? That's why you doubt your judgment of whether that day was real."
"She said she wanted to see me," I say lowly. "She promised that she will not kill me because she is afraid of you. You are the only one she seems to fear."
He says nothing. Instead, he just looks up the night sky. "Why would she fear you?" I ask again.
"Ms. Aguinaldo, you have seen what I could do," he says in reply. "That time at the bar was one example. I can do many things that not even you can fathom. But, let's just say that I did some things that she fears I'd do again."
And still, he plays that game again. I can already feel the scorn rising within me. "You are truly a man of many things, sir," I say tartly. "Professor? Violinist? Son of an elite? Liar? Fornicator? What are you? How could you force a woman to abort a child for your sake? How could you not acknowledge the child as yours?"
Not in the slightest he takes me seriously. He just smirks to himself. "You know the funny thing about rumors, Ms. Aguinaldo. It's not how ridiculous some of them are, but how it can ruin a person's life."
"But do you think it is still a rumor that the brother of your accompanist believes you are eyeing his sister?"
He turns to me all of a sudden. "Ask yourself that, Ms. Aguinaldo. You saw how I act at Ferrydell University. I may act like your friend back then, but I never crossed the line. I play the fiddle, but I will not fiddle around. These rumors will truly never stop plaguing me until I die. Just like how women such as Ysabel plague me."
The bitterness in his voice rings like bells in a Sunday. "I know you are mad at me," he continues. "I know why you interrogate me like this. But, that day at the church, I did nothing because I wanted you to see what you're getting into. Just like what I got into when I met her. I thought I'd escape that life when my father chose a way out of it, but it just keeps returning to me. Just like her."
He left me speechless. I do not know who to believe anymore. Attorney Guevarra looks at him with suspicion, but the man I see here is nothing but a man who does not want a part of it. I want to console him by holding him, but he just breaks it off. In this rooftop, the ledges that decorate this theater act as accents for the building itself, but right now, he sits on it, looking down – looking down at the guests walking their way home. I take a sit beside him. Unfortunately, as I look down, I can feel the bile build up my throat. Maybe, I'm not one for heights. I take a step back away from the ledge.
"I see you fear the heights," he says casually as he continues looking down. "You don't really fear the heights, Rosanna. You fear what lies down there. You fear of falling, not the heights itself. However, sometimes I wonder what it must feel like to jump – just jump away from these troubles. If only forgetting is just one jump away."
As he says those words, he rises to his feet. I see him spread his arms as if he feels the wind all around him. In my haste, I pull him back away from the ledge. "No, don't do it," I say to him as I put him on safe ground. "The world needs you. I need you."
He just lets out a pitiful smile. "You love me, do you, Miss Aguinaldo?"
I have no words to say. I was taken aback for I did not know he would say that. I could feel myself flushing with his words. "I, I – "
"You know the thing about love, Miss Aguinaldo," he interrupts. "It passes when you are not meant for each other." He sighs as if the very words reflect his own. All he does is look at the night sky again. "It passes like the fleeting seasons. Seasons come, seasons go, just like love."
With another sigh, he looks at me straight in my eyes. No expression. It was as if he was just trying to read me. "That's all I have to say about that, Rose," he says gently. "Time is kind to you. Spring will come after winter."
With a tap on the shoulder, he leaves me be on this rooftop. I never thought a secret I thought I would keep for years will be discovered in just mere minutes of talking. And yet, he was right. I love him. I really do. That is why in spite of all the warnings Attorney Guevarra says, I believe none of it. Waters may form in my eyes, but I just shake it off. It's not rejection when there was never really nothing to begin with.
Inhale. Exhale. I repeat it five times. I am stronger than this.
*
The following day at work, I could hardly do anything. All I could do is just try and help the copyeditors. After all, this was my line of work before I was assigned on the field. Though the field is better, I seem to like this more now. It's way less complicated to edit papers than to actually make them. Senior copyeditor. What a title. Not even chief, but enough to help me pay the bills.
After my 8-hour shift, I find myself already cracking my knuckles. I guess it's a long day. I put on my trench coat again and head my way out. As I walk outside, I already feel the strong breeze coming my way. The trees have run out of leaves. Winter is near. I tuck my hands inside my pockets to keep it warm. It's getting colder now.
I walk the stone pavements with my heels clattering all around, just like the other office workers all around me. In this brief moment of peace, I find myself actually reveling in it for this is one of the few times I can breathe.
"Miss!"
And just when I thought I'm at peace, I began to look around again for someone that's calling me.
"Miss, over here! Look to your left."
It turns out that that chipper of calls comes from a man inside his car. I look closely, and oh, my god! There's the man with his winder rolled down. He sits on the driver's seat with him calling out to me. I never thought he'd actually look for me – Mateo!
"Mateo, what are you doing here?" I ask to him as I peak inside his car. Snazzy car, I must say. It's one of those luxury cars that cost a literal arm and a leg to buy. I mean, it's just. . . I can't even describe it.
"Miss, I wish to speak with you," he says gently. "I understand you know of things that I do not understand, or know, at the very least. Can you come inside so we can talk?"
I gladly obliged to his request and get inside the passenger seat. It's even more beautiful on the inside. The leather finishes, the soft cushions, the warm feel. It's just so perfect, well, perfect for this man, the new CEO of one of the most famous media outlets in the country.
"You said something about things I do not remember," he says, looking away as if the memories he has is a mile away. "Well, do forgive me. I have lost, as you said, a great part of those memories. It's quite odd that I woke up in a hospital bed not remembering anything. All I can remember is that I was about to go to a young lady's house to court her."
Young lady? Courting? Oh, my god. Is the last memory he had a time where he and Emma just met? I am taken aback. I don't know what to say. "Do you perhaps know the name of the young lady?" I ask, safely.
"My parents said I should attempt to woo Ms. Emma Concepcion so that they might engage on a partnership with her company as her father's only heir," he explains innocently. "But then, someone told me that it shall not be that way as she is somehow already betrothed to a dead man."
Even his speech troubles me. I don't remember a time when Mateo was like this. "You already did that. And somehow. . . " – the words come off as wrong to me. I don't want to say it because I know it's false. – "you cheated. You wooed her into your keeping and you cheated."
In his face, I see a realization dawn on him. "I would never do that," he says proudly. "I'm a Macedo. I live an honorable life for it is in our blood. I have a general for a grandfather. I have a father with an integrity for news. To do so would be a dishonor in my name. I can imagine my father disowning me and taking away my inheritance."
Poor innocent Mateo. Honestly, I miss his old self. I miss the way he takes risks and fights for journalism. "You did. . . " I say hesitantly. "You were disgraced, and you were forced to live a life on your own."
"What did I do during those times?"
"Journalism. We investigated a death and met the woman who drugged you into your current state. She is the cause of your memory loss."
"Who is the woman?"
Without the slightest hesitation, I answer him. "Ysabel Javier."
"You. . . you must have mistaken," he stammers. "Ms. Javier has been good to help me pick up the pieces. On the day I was hospitalized, she told me that a woman did drug me. That reflects your story, miss. Unfortunately, saying that a helpful woman is my supposed enemy is quite ludicrous, miss. With my parents missing, she helped me take over AMC TV. I owe her a favor."
Ysabel. How could you turn my partner against me? Just hearing her name triggers a fire within me that doesn't go away. "No, she is the one that took your parents away!" I exclaim. "Don't believe a single word she says."
In my words, all he does is look away. "Frankly, I do not know who to believe now," he says calmly. "Thank you for the time, miss. This is a lot for me to take into consideration. I appreciate your words."