DEadpOetSsOcIeTy

Entry 2:  Their Story

I have seen their faces.  It was a confounding scene I have witnessed.  If last time I saw morbid deaths of victims, I came face to face with cold-blooded suspects. 

I have felt their side of the story.

It was already half past eleven in the evening and my notebook only had few scribbles on it.  That would only mean one thing.  No big story for the night.

            Beside me, at the backseat, was Des busy arranging her things in her bag.  I rolled down the window.  The street was free from deafening sirens.  No alarm.

            Next stop, home.  I assured myself. 

            “CIDG lagi toh nga sakyanan.  Naa gyud to’y sulod.” exclaimed Kuya Moy2x while making a sudden U-turn along Banilad Road.

            Or not. Mr. Disappointment rubbed its mocking face in of front me.

            The patrol car ran at a speed from 40/kph to 60/kph.  By the time we reached the Cebu City Police Office, other radio reporters were bustling around the corner of the front lobby.  Sir Ferdinand signaled me to go with him inside the room.  I grabbed Des’ arms and we went down the lobby where some of the police officers ogled us evidently.

            “Masscom intern mo day? Mga gwapa lagi kay mo.”, whispered one of them.

            Kita ka’g bala nga mosulod sa imong baba ron. I was tired and easily pissed off.  But the atmosphere changed once I sat beside with one of the suspects’ wife inside. 

Sir Ramil Paican, the TV Patrol news reporter, was already there. Sir Ferdinand Maños introduced us to him.

            “Kumusta man internship ninyo dri ABS dai?  Wala mo gi daog-daog aning Ferdinand?” he said while laughing. I just gave a faint smile.  I was staring at this woman beside me.  She was wearing a pair of shorts and loose shirt.  Her black slippers covered with earth dust.  She had her hair pushed back with a rubber band in what seemed like a quick makeover.  She touched her knuckles restlessly; eyes glued to the other door in the room.  I followed her gaze and I’d read the sign that said Interrogation Room.  His husband must be in there.  She was indifferent from Sir Ramil’s continuing funny remarks or the entertaining evening show on the flat-screened television in the office. 

            Sir Ramil must’ve noticed my silence and turned his attention to the woman. 

            “Asawa ka anang naa sa sulod, ma’am?” he said evenly.

            “O.  Nakuratan man lang mi’g kalit nga nisulod man ni sila unya gipusasan na la’g kalit akong bana.  Gikan pa intawn mi’g Carbon.” the woman said while glancing at the door from time to time.

            An officer came out from the interrogation room and signaled Sir Ramil to go inside.  I followed.

            Inside was there men alleged to be thieves riding motorcycles.

            One was dark, tall and sturdy with straight hair extending to the earlobes.  The second one had chinky eyes with fair complexion and medium in height.  The last man, and seemed to be the oldest, was short and had curly hair and guarded eyes.  All wore the same expression.

            Was it guilt or confusion written on their faces?

            They kept on shrugging their heads while the officer reported his information to the media men gathered in the room.  Some took pictures of their faces one by one.  Each of them faced the camera as if it was Medusa.  They cannot look at it directly.  And I, same, to them.  I cannot bear to add the scrutinizing stares they already had.  Were they innocent?  Or they simply seemed to be. 

            “Unya day, nalingaw ka nga masscom imo gikuha?”  Sir Ramil suddenly blurted out the question after we got out from the room. 

            “O kaayo, sir.” I answered.

             Or I simply seemed to be.

                Entry 1:  Lives Taken            

            Receiving
an alarm, ABS-CBN’s patrol car turning into a dashing bullet, arriving at the
crime scene, seeing the grotesque dead body, and suddenly I forget why I am
there. I am seeing every incident as if
it’s my first time. 

Welcome to
the real media world, Bai , I mumbled to myself. So help me God.

 I
stared at the dead man on the sidewalk at Osmeña Boulevard. He had his back on us. His front contour faced towards the wall of
the building. His hands landed limply
over his head. The bullet that pursed
in his left rib left a crimson color on his blue shirt. Witnesses said he was
still able to run at about a hundred meter before hitting to the ground. Suspect rushed away. Suspect remained unidentified.

 I
remained glued to the ground. Sir
Ferdinand approached me and handed me his radiophone. I stared at it blankly.

 I
can’t do it! Not a live report like this! My head was screaming.

 He
must’ve read my mind. “Ah tabangi na
lang ko kuha’g details.” he said.

 My
mouth seemed too dry to speak as I interviewed some people nearby. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as
I jot down the details. I ended up
gathering only a few. 

 “La-ing
shooting alarm sa Lapulapu.” I heard Kuya Moy2x said. 

We quickly got back to
the car as soon as we got the details needed. I listened to Sir Ferdinand as he did his flash report while the thing I
was at turned into a dashing bullet again.

 We
arrived at Camelia where the incident took place. The police siren played red and blue disco lights during the
humid night. 

 “Taga
ABS mo, miss? Ulahi na nu-on kaayo mo.”
said a woman standing by her gate in the neighborhood.

 Oh
the reason behind our delay was nothing big. We just came across with some dead man a while ago. Nothing big really. I answered her in my mind.

 Do
people really view media as a hound hungry for a heinous story?

 A father
was shot three times while he was in his CR. A man entered his house, went to the CR and shoot him then and
there. Two shots at his head, one at
his neck. Suspect, wearing white shirt,
hurriedly dashed off from the house and rode his motorcycle. Suspect remained unidentified.

 His
twenty-two year old son was shocked when he went back to the house after he had
his cellular phone reloaded at a nearby store. I saw him sitting at his neighbor’s front yard. Some were futilely attempting to comfort
him. I can’t describe the look on his
face.

Sure, I’ve seen
these kinds of crimes, murders, homicides, whatever they name it. I’ve seen them on TV. I barely grasp the details. It hardly took my attention. But it’s different when you’re there in the
actual crime scene; knowing you’re breathing the same air as this dead guy used
to breathe with. Sure, my full
attention was already there but I’d still end up empty-handed with details.

 What
will happen to his son? Will he be
fine? Traumatic? How long will he be
able to handle such grief? Will the
killers hunt for him too?

 My
senior reporter, Sir Ferdinand, caught my eye.

 Snap
out of it, Bai! Get a grip of yourself and remember why you’re there. Do your job. Do this right!

 Ask
how the suspects got to enter their house? What time did this happen? Where
was he shot? How many times? Are there any witnesses? Who are involved in this story? Names and details, details, DETAILS!

 Do
this right. But what is right when the
right thing to do seem not to be right anymore? Even if I’ve no longer seen it not on TV, I’d still barely grasp
the details I need.

 The
radiophone tripled its weight in my trembling hand. I requested Sir Ferdinand
not to let me do the news reporting for that time again. 

I can’t seem to
focus on my tasks.

 Two
murders in one night. I shivered at
the mere thought of it.

 All
I knew that life turned cheap. It
became easy to kill.