A BAG OF WORRIES

After speaking to Paul and failing to convince him to stay back and not walk into this dangerous web again, I stumble inside the police station, my mind reeling and my emotions swirling like a hurly-burly within. I am indeed intoxicated with the baffling and paralyzing terror of the beckoning twists and turns of the chapter that, until a few seconds ago, I had thought that I had closed for good. But what a misconception!

The brainstorming inkling that the man I was certain that I had vanquished was inexplicably alive is slapping me like a tidal wave. The thought itself is weakening every bit of me. My vision is becoming inexplicably vague, and my steps are faltering as I find myself in a hand-to-hand struggle with a surreal reality that I would like to term a very bad dream.

“What in God’s name is happening? How possibly could this be true?” I forced words in the form of tremors from my dry mouth as my sweaty, uncontrollably wobbling hands felt the rising temperature on my forehead. My heartbeat can be heard from a distance, throbbing with pain and the fear that has surged in me and made me its habitant.

After joggling for some seconds that seemed like a whole decade, my legs finally gave in to the tormenting fear. I lean against a nearby wall, my breaths coming in ankle-deep gasps as I battle to get a grip on the overwhelming surge of emotions. Choler, discombobulation, and a profoundly fundamental sense of mental rejection cut through my veins, invoking a catastrophe of burning and paralyzing emotions. A sense that threatened to strike me dead.

Deep inside, I want to continue believing that I am just being paranoid and getting worked up all for nothing because, how in the devil’s name? Then again, after putting everything into consideration, the strongest sense still remains that I cannot delude myself by trying to console myself with a weak lie. The facts are that everything points to one thing: that monster is miraculously breathing and yet again, once again, coming after me. My bones screech with fear as I battle to sustain my breathing system with the little amount of air that I am able to amass.

"How?" The question lingers on my quivering lips, whispered into the air as if expecting a response that could magically ravel out the cryptic turn of events.

I take in deep breaths in an inutile gamble to get a hold of myself, and I give my mind a moment to cruise back to that moment of Ejay, my tormentor's demise—the visceral memory of confronting him, the surge of empowerment when I had believed that I had put an end to the nightmare. My mind replayed that historical moment when I had stuffed the monster with bullets—countless bullets. That moment when I, the souls that were present that day, and even the heavens witnessed the end of the doom.

But now everything compromises what we all saw that day. What we have been believing these past few days. We had embraced the lie too tight, and now the truth will not just tear me alone but everyone. The wounds, both physical and emotional, had begun to heal, but now they have been ripped open anew, shedding doubts and insecurities.

This is not good for anyone. This bleeds terror. This denotes that an even bigger catastrophe is about to befall. What again? More blood? More innocent lives lost? Why, God? Why are you letting doom reign again? Why did you have to bring this monster back to life? How many more lives need to be lost just for you to kill this monster?

Just what?

Why couldn’t he die? Is he a cat, or perhaps a breed of a cat? Does he have nine lives?

The world around me seems to blur as I grapple with the implications of these new, horrifying discoveries. I clench my fists, feeling the tremors coursing through my body—a mixture of hysteria and impotence. I wonder why tears are not falling. They are the only ones missing to give a divine picture of how terrified and broken I am right now.

"I can't go through this again." I murmured, my voice choked with distress and skepticism.

For goodness sake, after months of being caged, I had mustered every ounce of courage to face that monster son of a she-devil and overcome the fear that had held me captive for so long. And I did. And I won. And I was in the clouds with that sense of victory. I had embraced a semblance of peace, a fragment of freedom that I thought I had finally earned. I have been basking in the unruffled peace and glee of victory. But now, all that feels like an illusion shattered by a cruel twist of fate. I curse that monster! I curse fate! I curse whatever and whoever is keeping that son of the witch alive!

I feel adrift in a sea of uncertainties with all these freaking torrents of thoughts and emotions. All the assurances of the detectives and their promises to unravel the mystery and protect me and my sister now feel sunken in the face of this inexplicable resurrection of the monster. I mean, if he can conquer death, what can they possibly do to him? And for how long can they keep us safe?

Questions swirl in my mind, tormenting me with their unanswered nature. But the biggest quiz banging my head is—just how? I shot that monster before everyone else. How on earth did he survive all those bullets? A deception? Was it something like a cruel game orchestrated by someone with inexplicable motives?

All in all, whichever the case, by thinking that such people as Ejay do not merit a second chance, I had thought wrong. The devil has proven me wrong by giving me a second chance. I have to go to war with him on this phase again.