The high noon sun beat down harshly as Eamon and his grandfather, Manuel, the village chief, strolled toward the nearby mart. Large trees shaded their path, and the cool breeze offered relief from the humid heat.
It was a routine they cherished—a chance for Manuel to spend time with his grandson, and for Eamon to enjoy a sweet treat from the store.
The 13-year-old skipped ahead, grinning mischievously. "Grandpa, I bet I can buy the ice cream faster than you can get to that bench!" He pointed to the pergola-like structure, a traditional pavilion shared amongst the residents.
His grandfather chuckled, low and slow. "I highly doubt it," Manuel said, as he used his cane to progress slowly toward the pavilion across the mart.
"Hehe! Wait for me there!" Eamon bolted to the store.
Manuel ambled behind, shaking his head fondly at his grandchild's infectious enthusiasm.
Inside the store, anticipation gleamed in Eamon's eyes as he darted toward the freezer. He selected his favorite ice cream—two chocolate cones as per usual—and quickly paid for them.
After discarding the lids and wrappers for convenience, he skipped his way out of the mart, eager to join his grandfather at the pavilion.
Eamon reached the pavilion and his smile faded. The bench where Manuel usually sat was empty. Panic flickered in Eamon's eyes as he scanned the area... his grandfather was nowhere to be seen.
"Grandpa?" Eamon called out, his chest tightening.
Just then, Manuel's cane tapped gently behind him. "Over here, Eamon," Manuel's voice came from the side, and Eamon turned to see his grandfather approaching slowly with a warm smile.
Eamon let out a relieved sigh. "Phew, there you are, Grandpa! I thought I lost you," he said, handing one of the chocolate cones to Manuel.
The old man chuckled again, taking the ice cream with a nod. "You won't get rid of me that easily, young man. Now, shall we enjoy these under the shade?" He gestured to the bench.
Eamon nodded, settling down beside his grandfather. "Did you see how fast I got these, Grandpa? I bet I set a new record!"
Manuel chuckled, taking a bite of his ice cream. "You're certainly quick, Eamon. Always full of energy."
They sat together in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the ice cream and the peace of the village.
"You know, Grandpa," Eamon began after a while, looking up at Manuel with curious eyes, "why did you become the village chief? It seems like a big job."
Manuel paused, considering his grandson's question. "Well, it's a responsibility that I took on to help our community. Being a leader means looking out for everyone, making sure we all have what we need to thrive."
Eamon nodded. "Like how you look out for me?"
"Exactly," Manuel affirmed, smiling warmly at Eamon. "Just like that."
He grinned, "Then can I have one more ice cream?"
"You rascal, you asked with that intention in mind, didn't you? But no, you'll get a stomach ache."
"Just one more... please?"
Manuel couldn't resist the pleading look in his grandson's bright eyes and relented.
"Alright, but buy me one too."
Eamon chuckled. "Okay! So you just wanted one as well, Grandpa!"
He gathered the remaining wrappers and threw them into a nearby bin.
"I'll be back in a bit!" Eamon ran across the street and quickly bought their second cones.
When he returned, Manuel was no longer there.
"Grandpa?" he looked around the pavilion. "Grandpa, this isn't the time for hide and seek, I have our cones!" he shouted.
His head turned to the left as he heard the sound of a distant car. He ran toward it, carrying the ice creams.
"Grandpa?" He continued to look around, his heart pounding as the ice cream began melting down his hands.
He crossed the street to the right and saw his grandpa's shoe fall from a car door—closing quickly.
"GRANDPA!" Eamon dashed toward the van. He saw two men pulling Manuel inside.
The car wasn't starting. It hadn't driven away yet, and Eamon dropped the cones, banging on the windows as he reached them.
"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HIM?" He slammed his hands more forcefully. "LET MY GRANDPA GO!" He began kicking, punching, and slapping the windows, frantic and desperate, until he ran out of breath. "LET HIM GO!"
A shadow loomed over him, and he turned, letting out a small gasp, his eyes widening in shock. His chest tightened, breath caught in the throat.
Then, complete darkness. Right before his eyes, a sudden pitch-black enveloped Eamon. He lost control of his limbs and couldn't speak—paralyzed.
A hand touched his eyes, prying them open forcefully. He saw a man's form, blurry and unfocused.
"It's positive," one of the men said.
Eamon's eyelids were released, and his whole body went numb. The car's engine roared to life, and the numbness in his body quivered, his surroundings trembling violently.
The car drove away, leaving the two chocolate cones melting on the hot pavement under the unforgiving high noon sun.
────────
As the sky transitioned from pale blue to deep shades of crimson, a middle-aged man stood by a grand stained-glass window. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room into shadows that stretched and crept, taking over the walls as daylight faded into evening.
The walls were adorned with paintings depicting impressionistic human expressions, their colors muted in the dim light. The man then reached over to turn on the lampshades, their faint golden glow illuminating the room.
An antique phonograph rested on an old mahogany table, its scratchy vinyl record playing a melody from a bygone era. The music echoed softly through the room, of melancholic nostalgia.
Beside the phonograph was a bottle of aged wine next to a crystal glass. He poured himself some and lifted it, swirling it thoughtfully before bringing it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the rich flavors that tingled on his tongue.
He swayed slightly to the rhythm, eyes half-closed, relishing the drink.
The relaxation was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, a sound that pierced through the melody. Slowly turning, his faint smile completely faded.
"Come in," he beckoned.
The heavy old wood creaked open, revealing a figure in clerical robes, face pale and drawn.
"A pleasant evening, don't you think so, Reverend Abiel?" he greeted, his voice deep and modulated, tinged with menace as he studied the priest in front of him, whose head was lowered.
"And so," he turned to face him, "What good news do you have for me?"
"We have the kid," the reverend's voice quivered.
The man's gaze sharpened with interest, a faint smile beginning to curl at the corners of his lips. "Is it positive?"
"Yes, one of the providences has confirmed," the reverend replied, unable to meet the piercing stare.
The man nodded thoughtfully, his fingers lightly tapping against the wine glass. "Then tell me, Reverend Abiel, how are our chances to force it?"
Abiel hesitated for a moment before responding, "Very likely, all records suggest the triggers have been forced by their circumstances..."
The man nodded slowly. "Good."
After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. "And the donations?"
"We have five family names lined up, and multiple houses for each. We can reel in some good donations..."
"Make sure it doesn't get to the media."
The reverend nodded with a bow.
Turning back to the window, the man looked into the deepening twilight.
"Then you know what to do," he said, taking another sip from the wine.
"It will be as you command..." the reverend replied, retreating from the room with a bow.
Alone again at the click of the door, the man remained by the window, his weak reflection merging with the night view.
His smile widened as his head swayed to the melody once more.