by Oz Mari G.
“Our family asked me to look for my cousin, Anza. I believe you gave her a ride from the lodge and dropped her off here?”
This was the practised spiel he agreed on with the Soledad family.
“Yes. I told them that already,” the man said with a nod.
As Manuu Soledad told him, Mang Andong seemed very open and cooperative. Veren’s tablet was open and ready to note what Mang Andong would say. He was also taping their conversation, so he could review it later.
“Yes, Sir. My uncle told me you did. Did you notice anything about her? Did she say or ask you about anything during the ride? Was she carrying anything with her?”
Mang Andong was quiet for a moment as he dredged his memory.
“No, I don't think so. She just said thank you when she first got into the truck and thank you when she got off. She saw this coffee shop and asked to be let off here. That’s where I dropped her off.” He pointed to the open space across from the coffee shop.
Veren looked out at it. There was nothing of note on that side of the road.
“Did she ask to be dropped off at this coffee shop in particular?”
“No ... not really ... I guess I just assumed. It was early morning, and this coffee shop is popular with the local teenagers. I thought she needed breakfast,” he said.
Veren looked around and realised that Mang Andong was right. It was now getting filled with young people, coming in small groups of two or three.
“Did you see her go into the shop?” He wanted that clarified.
“No, but I looked at the side mirror and I saw her cross the street. That was it.” The man took a careful sip from his styrofoam cup. “I hope you find her. She's so young,” Mang Andong said, his face serious, his tone touched with concern.
“I hope so, too, Sir,” he said. “Thank you for your help.” He shook the kind gentleman’s hand for the second time.
When Mang Andong left, Veren got out to the front of the coffee shop and surveyed the area. There was nothing of note until he realised there was a small travel agency three doors away. It was closed at the moment, but it could be worth looking into later.
When he got back to his table, the manager of the coffee shop hovered near it. He had requested to speak to her earlier, but she was not in yet. She was here now.
“My staff said that you were looking for me?”
A human female in her mid-thirties asked this with a slight frown on her face. She smelled of cinnamon, baked bread, and the coffee powder that dusted her right-hand sleeve. She must have ground some coffee beans and transferred them to a jar.
He nodded.
“Yes, I just want to ask some questions about my missing cousin. We believe she may have stopped here two days ago.” He handed her the picture of Anza. “She looks like this.”
The woman looked at it, trying to recall. “I’m sure I didn’t encounter her—I’m good with faces. Approximately, what time do you think she might have come in here?”
“Around eight to eight-thirty a.m.”
“My assistant may have come across her. I was on the afternoon shift two days ago. He won’t be here until after lunch, around one p.m. You can come back to ask him later,” she suggested.
“Thank you, I’ll do that,” he said, nodding.
“Anything else I can help you with?” she asked. Her unremarkable facial features changed into something pleasant as she smiled.
“Ah ... What time does that travel agency next door open?” he asked.
“Oh, you mean the Travel Bug? That office has been closed for a few months now. They transferred near the City Hall,” she replied.
“Oh, okay. I’ll check them out.” He stowed his work tablet into his backpack, zipped it close, then slung it over his shoulder. “I will return here at one-thirty p.m., if that’s okay.”
“Sure. See you later,” the manager said.
He left the shop and walked to the nearby Travel Bug to examine it. Faded stickers of airline logos and posters of tourist sites and destinations covered the dirty glass doors. There was a sign on the wall that said, ‘WE TRANSFERRED TO OUR NEW LOCATION.’ A map of the new address was included. He snapped a photo. This was where he was going next.
If Anza came here, she must have looked at the window display. He noticed the most prominently displayed picture was Batanes island, and remembered the destination shots she had posted on her social media.
The island might appeal to her poetic soul.
He had a gut feel about it, and was convinced she went to Batanes, but his mind told him not to jump to the conclusion. He didn’t know her very well. Batanes Island might not meet her standards. She grew up in comfort and luxury. The island’s rustic reputation might have dissuaded her.
He walked to the travel agency's new location, a mere four blocks away from their old one. Their new office was cramped, with mismatched tables and chairs, set back-to-back with each other. Two old metal file cabinets were set against the far wall. It had the usual chaos of phone ringing, a pair of dusty computers, and plastic inbox trays piled high with various documents. Though the staff accommodated his questions, the interview yielded nothing. Anza didn’t go there at all.
He spent that morning walking around the area. He noted the structures he passed by: small stores, and some middle-sized houses in between commercial spaces. Anza would not take up residence here, he thought. It was too close to their mountain lodge. If she had wanted to disappear as she stated in her letter, she would go somewhere else. The city would only be her jump-off point.
He asked some locals who he encountered along the street where the bus station was, and they directed him to it. It was another couple of blocks away. He found a big, covered area with greasy, gravelled ground. The air stank of petrol and burnt tires. There were about ten buses parked. He noted the various destinations the bus company covered, and his spirit sank a little.
If she took one of the buses from here, she could be anywhere.
He interviewed the ticket officer, a man in a grimy brown shirt and a paunch. While the man was sure he had never encountered Anza, he was kind enough to call in the bus drivers and their assistants to ask if they saw her on any of their trips. No one had seen her. Of course, it was possible they just didn’t remember seeing her.
“Maybe she went to Batanes,” the ticket officer said out of the blue.
It made Veren’s heart jump. “How do you get to the island from here?” he asked.
“You fly. There’s no other way.” The ticket officer shrugged. The man turned to the line of ticket buyers that accumulated behind him during their discussion.
Veren walked back to the coffee shop to have lunch and waited for the assistant manager. His thoughts were full of the possibilities of Batanes. He would need consent from Anza's parents to secure her flight information if she flew there. The airlines would never give it to him otherwise.
The coffee shop was full of diners when he arrived. A smiling manager welcomed him as he entered.
“You're back. My assistant will be here in half an hour. Will you have lunch while you wait?” she asked, her smile turned expectant.
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” he said, and smiled back in response.
“Good. Thank you for contributing to the local economy.”
She looked around for a second and found him a seat in the shop's corner. He ordered coffee and meat pie.
Forty-five minutes later, the manager brought the assistant over and introduced him. He was a younger man, though older than him, with a pleasant, round face.
“Mr. Albareda, this is my assistant. Clyde, Mr. Albareda here wanted to talk to you about his cousin. He’s looking for her and was wondering if she came here during your shift two days ago,” she said in a manner of introduction.
He shook the man's hand, and they both sat down together at his table. He showed Clyde the picture of Anza, who looked at it, his brows knitted together.
“I think she came in here and bought a drink,�
�� he drawled.
The information raised his hopes.
“Did she say anything? Mention anything at all?” he asked, mentally crossing his fingers.
“Not to me. But she spoke to the guard briefly before she left. I think she was asking for direction,” Clyde said.
“Can I speak to your guard?” Impatience rode him.
“Sure, let me call him.” Clyde raised his hand and beckoned the guard over, who approached them.
“Yes, Sir?” The guard inclined his head to Clyde.
“Manong, do you remember this girl?” Clyde showed him the picture of Anza. “She was here two days ago.”
“Oh yes, I remember.” The guard’s face brightened in recognition. “She asked me where the airport was, and how to get there,” he replied.
Veren’s heart jumped in excitement at his words. That was a solid lead.
“Did she say anything else, Sir?” he asked, wanting to make sure.
The guard shook his head.
With a thank you, he left them and hurried to the airport. He knew where it was. Half an hour later, he was in a queue at the ticketing office. As expected, the airline staff would not divulge details of Anza's flight. He expected it, but it was still frustrating. He would lose some time to secure the required affidavit.
With one last effort, he tried to get the cooperation of the counter staff. A female human who, he realised, was flirting with him. He gave her his best smile as he pleaded his case. She shook her head regretfully.
“I really can't—it's company policy. Besides, Mr. Albareda, she would have needed a written consent form from an adult to book her flight. She's a minor.”
That information made him sit up.
“Is there any other way that she could have gotten a seat without the consent form?” He was so sure in his gut that Anza took this route. She would not travel by bus anywhere.
“Hmm, well, if she booked through a travel agency, then we can only check her in. And the only thing we would require during check-in is her ID,” she said.
“Where is the closest travel agency?” he asked her, his own smile conspiratorial. Hers widened.
“There are three in the building next door,” she replied. “Try the first one on the left,” she added.
He took her hand and clasped it tightly in gratitude. “I will look for you when I check-in,” he said.
She looped her hair behind her ear, looking up at him from behind her lashes. For a moment, he was thankful for the genes he inherited from his parents, whoever they were. To be decent-looking had definite benefits.
Veren rushed to the building next door and went to the one the ticket officer hinted at. He got lucky. He encountered the woman who handled Anza's airline reservation and ticket. She confirmed his hunch. Anza flew to Batanes Island that same day. She was lucky to have caught that day's flight by chance.
Veren booked himself for the following day. He was fortunate the low season made it possible for him to secure a seat, as flights to the island were only three times a week. The travel agent said that during peak periods, the seats would be booked to capacity weeks in advance.
With a satisfied sigh, he contacted Anza's father to inform him where he was going. It took him a few minutes to pacify Manuu Soledad and convince him not to fly to Batanes, as they do not know exactly where she was, and she might just bolt again if spooked.
He took a room in an inn close to the airport and to spend the rest of the day researching about the island Anza disappeared to and reviewing her files.
Batanes Island’s population was too small to support an Aswang, much less a community. No viable source for victus, or fresh human viscera that he needed to stabilise his human form. With his consumption of sustenance yesterday, he would have five days to find and bring Anza home before he would need to fly back to the mainland to secure his victus.
It was best to focus on his target.
He needed all the information he could find out about Anza. His mission required him to approach her incognito. Her father didn’t want her to be returned by force or by guile to the family, he wanted Anza to come home voluntarily. Manuu Soledad was afraid that if forced, she might run away again, never to be found.
She could not know that he was an Iztari. Based on what he found out about her, she could be wilful. This meant he needed to be as cunning as he could be to convince this girl to come home on her own accord. Sedating her into unconsciousness was not an option.
It’s a pity… That would be easier.
Anza looked around at her rented room. The room was neat, with pastel-coloured walls, floral curtains and bedspread. Everything about it appealed to her, especially the beautiful garden view and the cosy verandah. The breeze that wafted from the open door brought the fragrance of jasmine, which covered the garden below.
She really liked it here. It made her feel safe and at home, but she would have to leave this place to find cheaper accommodation and a job.
When I find a stable job, I will come back to this room and rent it for a day as a reward. Hopefully, it won’t take long.
She needed to find a job before she ran out of cash. The money she had withdrawn from the ATM two days ago would not go very far. She would have taken more if there was no maximum limit, and she didn’t want to make another withdrawal here, as that would pinpoint her location. Her father would trace her through her credit card and ATM use. Paying in cash was the way to go for her.
She missed her father and stepmother. And she was guilt ridden for ruining their holiday. By now, her parents would be frantic. And for sure, they had already deployed the Iztaris after her. Hopefully, she had covered her tracks well enough. She hoped that when they’d find her, she would be settled and have a good job to convince her father that they could leave her behind to live on her own and be independent.
With a heavy heart, she picked up her backpack. Another day of looking for a job. A glance in the mirror startled her, her look still unfamiliar. She had her hair dyed a lighter brown, cut shorter just past her shoulders from its usual waist length. She styled it in a more sophisticated way.
The negative feedback from the jobs she applied to was mostly because of her age. No one wanted to accept her because she looked too young. Today, with her new hairstyle and the full make-up, she looked older. Hopefully, this would also help hide her from the Iztaris.
On her itinerary today: quick breakfast first, then an entire day of job hunting.
Four hours later, she was unsuccessful, tired, and demoralised. She didn’t have any experience and couldn’t provide any references from any of the locals. They gave her pitying looks, advice to go home and focus on her studies, and sent her off. No one wanted to hire a strange girl who looked like she had never done a day’s work in her life.
Her footsteps were as leaden as her heart as she sat down on a plastic chair outside a small, local eatery. She was hungry, thirsty, and close to tears. A prepubescent girl approached her with a laminated menu.
“Miss, what would you like to order?” she asked, without glancing at her, her focus on the small pad of paper in her hand, pen poised to write.
Anza took a deep breath to steady her emotions and glanced at the menu. She had scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, which was not adequate fuel for all the walking she did this morning. She ordered noodles and a boiled egg for protein. She must learn to live and eat simply until she could afford it.
Her food arrived, served hot by the same girl. The server also placed a cold, light brown beverage on the old, Formica-covered table.
“I didn't order this ...” she began. She wanted to keep to her budget, to stretch her cash as far as she could.
“It's free with every order. It's house iced tea.” The girl informed her, her tone dispassionate, and then left her to usher in a couple who just arrived.
Anza mumbled her thanks to the girl’s departing back. She felt overwhelmed by a stroke of good fortune, and a wave of self-pity followed in its wake. Her ches
t tightened as she tried to control the expanding pain that bloomed in her heart. Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She breathed deep and tucked into her noodles to stem the desire to cry.
But she couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks. She was truly alone, in a situation she made for herself, one she still believed was necessary for her future.
It was hard to chew when her jaw was taut with the effort to keep her sobs in. She was thankful that the noodles, aided by the broth, just slid down her throat. The hot broth warmed her stomach and soothed even her throbbing heart.
It fortified her.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. Crying would not help her situation. She wiped the tears on her face, resolved to continue her search for a job. She forced herself to finish her noodles and the egg. Her appetite left her two spoonfuls ago, but she needed to eat and didn’t want to waste food. She had the rest of the afternoon to accomplish her immediate goal. She needed fuel.
With renewed faith in herself, she considered what her new strategy would be. This time she needed to find a reference, and she had an idea who she would approach. A glance in her hand mirror told her she needed to fix her face. Her mascara smudged when she wiped her hand across her eyes, and her tears created tracks on her cheeks. She didn’t know how to fix her makeup without her kit.
She got up and proceeded to the ladies’ room.
Ten minutes later, fresh-faced and determined, she went back to her inn. She needed her landlord’s help. Hopefully, Mrs. Bassig would be generous enough to extend her a helping hand.
Veren wanted something to perk him up. His flight was an unpleasant experience. It was delayed and the voyage itself was bumpy. He was hungry, and he lost time. Anger borne out of frustration tightened his chest, but it was useless to fume about the wasted morning.
He would have to make up lost ground in the afternoon.
The outdoor seating in the coffee shop provided an ambience that suited the area and his need for a calming influence. It reflected the spirit of the island—quaint, cosy, and relaxed. The wide cream and brown awning overhead softened the sun’s glare, and the breeze that ruffled his hair was lukewarm.
