“Stop me if you’ve heard this before. It’s a locked room, there’s one victim. All signs point to suicide. There’s a note left for family and friends. It all seems like an open and shut case, but there’s something that catches your eye. On the note there’s a circle, the same kind that you’ve found on another suicide weeks before. You think it’s a coincidence, but you see the same circle on a suicide case weeks after. You think that there may be something to this symbol, so you look over old case files then you find more notes with more circles. There’s no pattern that you can see, different ages, different backgrounds, but you know there has to be something that you’re missing, something that ties everything together.”
“Stop it Ernesto. I get it you don’t think there’s anything there—”
“You think it might be some sort of suicide cult, like what happened in Japan in the 70s. There’s just too much of a pattern that you can’t ignore. You spend all your free time digging through the cases, interviewing the families, reopening old wounds. Your superiors tell you to stop, but you can’t. There’s something driving you and it won’t let go. You turn over every stone, every shred of evidence you can find, but there’s still nothing solid, nothing that ties the suicides together.”
“Ernesto. Stop.”
“It slowly becomes your life. You take it home with you to the point where your wife can’t stand to talk about it. Every waking moment of your day is devoted to finding some kind of lead that will get you closer to solving the case.”
“Ernesto!”
“But there’s a part of you that doesn’t think the case can be solved. You think that it’s all been a waste of time. So what if there’s a random circle that happens to be on the suicide notes of some troubled people, it could just be some coincidence. There’s no way that these many people are all connected somehow. They’re just too different.”
“Please stop.”
“But there’s something that just keeps driving you. You know in your gut that the circle means something. Something that ties all of this together, but you just can’t figure it out. Your friends all tell you to stop, that this isn’t worth losing your job and your relationships, but you don’t listen. This is something bigger than you now, something that you can’t explain.”
“…..”
“You know, deep in your soul that everything is connected and that there’s something bigger that’s going on. You try to tell your friends and anyone that will listen, but they close their ears. They don’t want to listen to what you have to say. So you go online, spread the word to as many people as you can, it doesn’t matter that your wife left you, it doesn’t matter that your friends don’t call you back. People need to know what’s happening.”
“Please.”
“Now you’re in what’s left of your house, piles of papers surrounding you. Interview notes, stolen evidence, witness statements all around. You can’t let go of the feeling that something’s going to happen.”
“It will.”
“There’s nothing left except—“
“Shut up!”
“Except that feeling.”
“You don’t know what it’s like. To know that something will happen. To know that you’re the only one that can warn people about whatever it is. You don’t know what it’s like to sacrifice everything you have to make sure that people know something is coming!”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s been another suicide. That makes four this month, all with no seeming connection except—“
“The circle.”
“It was on every note that the victims left.”
“You think that there’s something to it then?”
“I don’t know if I believe what you believe. All I know is that there have been more and more suicides and all of them have the same symbol left behind.”
“It must mean that it will happen soon.”
“What will? You’ve been at this for years and you still can’t tell me for sure what is going to happen.”
“It has to do with the circle.”
“But what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well we have to figure it out.”
“’We?’”
“I still don’t know if there’s a pattern to all of this, but my gut is telling me I have to find out.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank me when we get answers.”
Jomar Gallante stared at the gun in his hands and thought about better yesterdays. It had been two weeks since the dreams started. The bags under his eyes were heavy and the empty coffee cups and energy drinks that littered his apartment were starting to smell.
He didn’t want to close his eyes. That’s when the dreams came. It was always the same. The days were the only solace he had against the onslaught of the terror.
He couldn’t remember what exactly happened in the dreams, though that might be a small mercy that the Lord gave him. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his throat dry from screaming. No matter what he took they always came. He looked at the broken alarm clock on the side of his bed and the scratches on his body.
He prayed that God would forgive him for what he was about to do.
“Ernesto look at this.”
“Quiet! I’m already in hot water for bringing you to a crime scene. I don’t want to get kicked out too.”
“Look at the pool of blood.”
“What about it?”
“The shape. It’s like the other suicides.”
“You’re sounding crazy, it’s all gravity. The blood just pooled that way.”
“It looks like it’s laughing.”
“I took a big risk bringing you here and you’re talking nonsense. Nothing is laughing at us. Let’s focus on what we know. This is the third suicide this week. The first victim was a 50 year old father of two, the next one a 26 year old call center agent and now—“
“35 year old single male. Lived alone in his apartment. The neighbors said that they could hear screaming from his room every night the week before his suicide. They said he had nightmares.”
“Were those nightmares bad enough to lead to all this?”
“Maybe. If only we saw what he did.”
“If we did we might have ended up like him.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s nothing connecting the victims. They lived in different areas, different socio-economic statuses. Their paths never crossed.”
“Except for the circle.”
“I’ve asked forensics to look through their computers and there’s nothing in their histories that looks like that symbol. Unless you count Google Chrome, but I don’t think it’s telling people to kill themselves.”
“….”
“It was a joke. At this point I don’t know what our next step is. It’s the same story and if you’re right and something big is going to happen then we have to act fast.”
“…”
“Hello? Arturo?”
“Sorry I was just looking at the moon.”
“First the crazy talk and now you’re getting distracted. You need to keep your head in the game.”
“Yes.. yes.. sorry. I don’t know what I was doing.”
“Well hurry up. We need to get out of here before anyone spots you.”
“Alright…alright.”
Ernesto couldn’t look Sarah in the eyes. Arturo had been missing nearly 5 days and he was running out of options.
“Ever since he became obsessed with that case I cut all ties,” she said.
He knew she was right. They hadn’t talked for nearly eight months. Ernesto sighed and thanked Sarah. She was his last lead, now he was out of options.
Had someone taken Arturo? Was it connected to the case? Or did his sanity finally break?
Ernesto looked at the night sky, the full moon hung in the air with a mocking glow.
He prayed his friend was alright, but there were other cases and crimes to think about.
He started his car and started the long drive home.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Bakunawa myths
Anggitay Illustration by Abe Joncel Guevarra
FB: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008285862780
