Until Next Time,
Written by: Karsol and Tempest
Eyes flung towards the courtroom doors as they creaked loudly and opened to the massive hallway; the crowd outside flared up and rushed to the entrance. The first people to come out were clad in barongs and paid no attention to the crowd as they waited out the doors.
After a while, a man in a suit came out. The bodyguards surrounded him instantly, keeping him a safe distance from the crowd that continued to push forward towards him.
“Mr. De Castro, the judge just gave your case a not guilty verdict. How do you feel about this decision?!” one reporter shouted through the wave.
“Well,” De Castro tried speaking through the crowd’s noise. “It’s certainly a breath of fresh air for everyone involved, and I’m sure the jury made their decision fairly anyway.”
Another reporter pushed past the previous one with his microphone toward the politician as he spoke up. “Mr. De Castro, what will you say to those who are still adamant about your alleged covering up of extrajudicial killings during the previous administration’s term?”
With his shoulders straightened and hands hidden behind him, De Castro leaned into the reporter’s microphone and looked into his eyes, poised and unblinking. “I would say that those looking for nothing never shut up about anything. Those kinds of people like to point a finger at the slightest twitch of a muscle and call it proof.” The reporter’s face scrunched up, his further questions swallowed up by the sea.
JV felt the bodies surrounding her squeeze against hers, each one frantically rushing to have their questions addressed by the politician through his wall of bodyguards. The heat and sweat of the mass of clambering limbs in front of her were brutal to navigate through, but she had picked up a few techniques from her few days as a journalist on the field. Still, her experience of going through the smoldering remains of a fire in a barangay could not compare to the mass of humanity she was swimming through.
Another reporter, who raised their toes just to peek above the ocean of heads, spoke up as well. “But Mr. De Castro, what about the rumors that your alleged cover-up had something to do with the incident with your previous competitor, Christina Bayani?! Many claim suspicion of your alleged hand playing a card in this!”
Mr. De Castro’s eyes flicked toward the direction of the voice but did not face it. “I have nothing to say regarding that matter. She was a great competitor, one that lit the fire in the hearts of many, and we are deeply mourning for her loss.” He immediately started walking again, hastily and uncaring for the questions thrown his way, the crowd shifting with him.
The headache JV felt worsened the further she was from the politician. It jittered in her skull as she wished for her bed or a delicious bowl of bacsilog. Despite this, she pushed onward towards the eye of the storm. The crowd followed De Castro towards a wide ramp that led to the lobby. Seeing the crowd thinning out, JV danced around a hundred legs, knocking the outsides of her shins, and worked her way ahead of the crowd. She saw a gap in the swarm as she leaned into it and stretched her mic out before stepping on a shoe and falling to the ground. The crowd dispersed around her, and she found herself in front of the shiny black shoes of the politician.
“And who might you be, hija?”
“I’m JV, sir, a correspondent for The Solidarity.”
“Well, JV, seeing as you came crashing from the crowd, I assume you also have questions for me?”
It was a moment of clarity. The question that started JV’s whole foray into the mess she laid herself in. She brushed her polo and pointed her mic directly at De Castro.
“How do you respond to the numerous accounts of police officials that were implicated in the unjust killings of 45 individuals being arrested for money laundering with accounts that are traceable to your bureau?”
De Castro’s eyes flickered every so often toward the cameras, plastered a signature smile, and laughed. “Your people truly have been working hard for the past year trying to make sense of baseless accusations. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this conversation short, as I have another meeting to attend to — ”
“I have invoices from your office to top police generals with amounts in the millions from days immediately after the arrests.”
JV pulled out his tablet and showed De Castro and the crowd receipts and statements of account, which showed his name in green highlighter.
“Sir, how do you feel about your office being at the forefront of covering up for the killings of dozens of innocent civilians — ”
Before she could finish her sentence, De Castro grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled her forward. “I have had it with your newspaper. It’s people like you that drag the news media down to the ground.”
JV looked him dead in the eye and said, “Then, would you give us a word about your son’s secret dealings with Police Major Dizon?”
He balled his fist and rewound his arm, aiming straight for her stomach; his bodyguards fanned out and surrounded the two. JV shut her eyes and cringed as she braced herself.
But nothing came.
She tensed momentarily before finally opening her eyes to find a man before her, gripping De Castro’s forearm.
“Mister, it is not wise to rush to violence.” The man pulled De Castro away from the journalist. The man donned a suit, with his hair slicked back, his right hand’s hold on De Castro unyielding. He wore a black three-piece suit with a matte bowler hat top and a smirk on his face. The bodyguards raised the batons to apprehend the man, but they were quickly broken apart by the crowd.
De Castro tried to yank his hand back to no avail; the grip on his forearm only tightened in its hold. “What the — ? Who are you?”
The man brushed his mustache along the tip of his nose. “Mister, would you be so kind as to comment on this audio recording of you with General Ponstan regarding the 50 million pesos worth of bribes?” The man raised his phone in the air for all to hear, the voice of two men bouncing along the hallway walls. De Castro’s face paled the moment he heard his own voice.
“General, we both know they didn’t really do anything, right? Why don’t we come to a compromise?”
“Sir, with all due respect, if this ever comes out, we will not get out of this alive.”
“The 50 million speaks for itself, yeah? Maybe after this whole thing blows over, you can… look over some of the POGOs in Pasay?”
“…What POGOs?”
A round of laughter was heard from the device before the recording came to an end.
The hallway was left silent.
Tension filtered through the air, but none dared to speak.
“Mister De Castro.” The man turned away to face the crowd around them. “Would you kindly explain to your constituents the state of your account? I taught the men in Dapitan how to get a better way to earn a living, but you are born from shame to instigate disunion among the people in your profession.”
De Castro’s face twinged in disbelief, stammering to find anything to defend himself with.
With a swift and curt nod, the gentleman slid opposite the crowd’s sudden torrential rush toward De Castro. JV could barely believe her own eyes as a stray foot knocked her to the floor. Her head rattled and buzzed but was allayed when a hand and an arm gently propped her up. He reached out another hand in an offer of help.
JV took his hand and raised herself up. “Thank you for helping me back there, sir. But I would like to ask, if it’s alright with you, how did you find that kind of information?”
“Well, there is enlightenment in experience, along with a few informants.” The man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled slightly. “You seem quite young, madam. Naive, too, by the looks of it, to be so forthcoming and bold.”
Her face flushed. She scratched her temple and let out a wry chuckle. “I… didn’t exactly mean for that to happen; it was the heat of the moment.”
The man looked on at the mess echoing in the distance. “It is not just your objective as a writer to wrestle with the subject, but to stir the hearts of those who listen, to commit to justice the feelings engendered.”
“I- I’m sorry.”
“Do not worry. As I have said, you’re still young; you’ll learn the trade in no time. After all, a nation’s youth is the hope for the future.”
“Thank you. May I please have your name, sir? For reference, of course! I’d like to contact you in case we find another ploy. Your help would be meaningful.”
He chuckled loudly, garnering the attention of a few reporters.
“Jose, my dear.” He replied before beginning to walk off.
Her eyes widened. The antiquated mannerisms, the eloquent speaking, and the period-era getup — she didn’t want to make conclusions based on hunches, but all the evidence pointed to one answer.
How or why he was there in the present time, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t simply let go of this opportunity of a lifetime.
She tried to run after him, but the remainder of the crowd strayed off from the multitudes surrounding De Castro and started approaching her one by one with their microphones in hand flashing cameras. With the crowd effectively blocking her path to him, she could do nothing but watch him disappear from the hall, a single sentence resting on the roof of her mouth.
Hanggang sa muli, Pepe.
