CHAPTER 28
SYRAH
Seyren's POV
Breaking news!
A woman was found dead, her hands and feet nailed to the door of her house, and her eyeballs missing. The victim had previously been a target of Liam Alcantara, the notorious serial killer who has since passed away.
Meanwhile, Dr. Kevin Carter, a prominent figure in the medical community, was discovered lifeless in his clinic. He had ingested two high doses of medication, leading to a fatal overdose. Authorities suspect he took his own life, as indicated by the cuts on his wrists that suggest a prior attempt.
Liar.
Both of them met their end by my hand.
Why?
Because they knew the truth and needed to remain silent.
I did them a favor and sent them to heaven myself.
In this dimly lit room, where shadows dance around me, I sit on the edge of a bed, the flickering light of the television casting eerie patterns on the walls. My eyes, void of any emotion, are fixed on the screen.
A routine was interrupted when the TV displayed two grieving families, their cries for justice echoing through the room, pleading for answers and retribution for their lost loved ones.
Seeing their anguish, my heart twinges with an unfamiliar sensation, as if pierced by a blade or gripped tightly by an unseen force.
Surely, my heart feels pity once again.
I'm becoming too soft.
I can still recall the cold, calculated steps I took to silence them forever.
The woman, her screams muffled by the sheer terror in her eyes, and the doctor, his final moments spent in a futile struggle against the inevitability of death.
Each detail, meticulously planned, executed with precision.
They were necessary sacrifices, collateral damage in my quest to keep the truth buried.
Yet, here I am, haunted by a flicker of remorse, an unwelcome guest in my otherwise steely resolve.
The families' tear-streaked faces, their sobs of desperation, stir something within me that I thought long dead.
Perhaps it's the remnants of my humanity, clawing its way back to the surface, reminding me of a time when I, too, felt love and loss.
Guilt is not a thing.
I'm a monster.
"Hindi ikaw ang iniisip mong ikaw, Syrah" A woman's voice, one I hadn't heard in a long time, suddenly echoed in my ears, cutting through the silence that had become all too familiar. It was a voice that once brought comfort and warmth, now a haunting reminder of what I'd lost.
As I turned to my side, it felt as if I had been transported to another world, a world where reality and memory intertwined.
In this world, my mother was alive, healthy, and full of life. She wasn't just a fading photograph or a distant memory; she was right there beside me.
I saw her sitting next to me, her presence almost surreal. She was smiling, her expressive eyes locking onto mine with a depth of love and understanding that seemed to pierce through my very soul.
"Mama," I wanted to speak loudly, to call out to her with all the desperation that had built up over the years, but all I managed was a whisper, fragile and broken. My vision blurred, and for reasons unknown, genuine tears of sorrow streamed down my cheeks, unchecked and unashamed.
"Kita mo yan, paano ka magiging devil o monster kung ikaw mismo ay umiiyak at nakakaramdam ng lungkot. My baby Syrah is not a monster, okay." Her voice was soothing, each word a balm to my wounded spirit. I felt a lump in my throat as my mother touched my cheek, her touch as gentle as I remembered.
I could feel the warmth of her body, so real and tangible, yet when I reached out to touch her, my hand passed through her like she was made of mist. The heartache of not being able to hold her was almost too much to bear.
"I was born a monster, Mama. I'm a devil," I choked out, my voice trembling with self-loathing and despair.
"No you're not. Ginagawa mo lang kung ano sa palagay mo ang tama. You're doing it for love."Â Her words were firm yet compassionate. I nodded, though inside, I felt like a broken shell of a person.
"You're doing everything because you have a heart, even if not in the right way, but you have a heart, and it's this emotion that you are following," she continued, her voice tender and filled with unwavering belief in me.
"Aren't you mad at me? I'm becoming like him," I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, laden with guilt and fear.
"I will never be mad at you, my sweet girl, because I know this is where it ends, isn't it? You're going to change, right?" She looked at me with hopeful eyes, her love unconditional and everlasting. I nodded at her words, tears still streaming down my face.
As I closed my eyes, I felt once again the embrace of a mother that I had longed to feel for so long. It was an embrace that made me feel safe and protected, as if all the burdens of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.
An embrace that made me feel like a child again, innocent and shielded from the harsh realities of life. In her arms, I found a momentary refuge from the darkness that had consumed me. I knew that in that embrace, I was a child whose innocence was still worth protecting.
In that fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, redemption was possible. That even someone like me, scarred and broken, could find a way back to the light. And as my mother's voice and presence slowly faded away, I held on to the hope that her love had rekindled within me, a flicker of light in the darkness.
"You're always so soft, Syrah. Kaya hindi ko makita sa'yo ang iyong tunay na pinanggagalingan."
---
"Anong pangalan mo, baby? Ilang taon kana?"
In the middle of a room where everything is pure whiteâwalls, floor, ceilingâthere is a single chair facing a camera.
There are people inside, both men and women, all looking at me intently as I sit on the chair in the center. Their expressions range from curiosity to concern, their eyes following my every move.
Cameras are positioned at various angles, capturing every detail of the scene. Beside one of the cameras stands my mother, smiling warmly as she watches me.
"I am Syrah Emylia Valencia, three years old." I held up my fingers, two from my right hand and one from my left, and raised them to show everyone. My motherâs smile widened with pride, but the others exchanged glances, as if I were something both frightening and astonishing.
"How do you feel right now?" asked a woman standing next to my mother, her tone gentle but probing.
"Confused as to why I'm here." My response made their eyes widen, as if they were startled by my ability to articulate my thoughts so clearly.
"She knows how to speak and understand English?" I heard a man whisper to my mother, and Mama nodded, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face.
As I sat there, I felt the weight of their gazes, the intensity of their scrutiny. The room, despite its stark whiteness, felt oppressive, as if the walls were closing in. My motherâs presence was a small comfort, her smile a beacon of reassurance in this sea of unfamiliar faces.
"Can you tell us more about yourself, Syrah?" the woman continued, her eyes softening as she crouched to my level, trying to make herself less intimidating.
"I like to read books and play with my toys," I said, my voice steady. "I like spending time with Mama."
My motherâs smile grew even warmer, but the others seemed even more intrigued, their curiosity deepening. It was as if they couldnât reconcile the image of a typical three-year-old with the words I spoke.
"Why do you think youâre here?" the woman pressed gently.
"I donât know," I replied honestly. "I just want to go home."
The man's whisper turned into a hushed conversation, the words barely audible but filled with urgency. They were discussing me, analyzing me as if I were some kind of anomaly.
"Are you comfortable having all of us around?" I shook my head.
"It's annoying... Tinitignan ninyo ako na parang hindi ako isang tao." I said coldly.
And again, they exchanged looks that I despise.
"Alam mo ba na isa kang special na bata? You're here because we wanted to find how special you are. Isn't it thrilling?" The other woman, who seemed to be the same age as my mother, said with a smile.
I shook my head in response.
"Do you feel happy that you're special?" I shook my head again.
"Sad?" And again.
"Angry?" And again.
I kept saying no until they ran out of questions to ask.
My three year old body, mind, heart, and soul was already aware of everything.
My conscience was awakened the moment I turned 2 years old.
"Do you want toys to play with while we're asking you some questions?"
"Toys are for kids... I want my mama and strawberry with chocolate."
At this age, I get what I want even without a whine.
Mama approached me and sat beside me on the chair. I climbed onto her lap and leaned against her while she fed me strawberries. The sweetness of the fruit was a small comfort amidst the sterile, white surroundings of the room.
In my peripheral vision, I could see how strangely they were looking at me. Their gazes were a mix of fascination and fear, as if I were an enigma they couldnât quite understand. I overheard a man's voice, hushed but distinct, talking to a woman nearby.
"Verick will be pleased when he finds out what weâre doing," the man said, sneaking a glance at me.
"You're right, Jerome. God, I canât wait for him to get me pregnant so I can have a child like her," the woman replied, her voice filled with a disturbing eagerness.
"You're delusional, Jean," Jerome muttered, shaking his head slightly.
"Mama, why are they looking at me like that?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion. She looked around and saw the people surrounding us, their eyes never leaving us.
"Because youâre special, Syrah. You're like a princess who needs to be protected and cared for," she said softly. Her words made me smile, and I buried my face in her neck, hugging her tightly. Her warmth and scent were a soothing balm to my troubled mind.
"Ms. Valencia, please step out for a moment. We need to bring in some other children," a man said politely. Mama and I left the room, and outside, I saw other children, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Whatâs your name, and how old are you?" I asked one of the boys.
"Me? Liam Alcantara, seven years old," he replied with a hint of pride in his voice.
As the door closed behind us, the playful noises of the children faded, replaced by the murmur of the adults. Mama sat on a bench near another mother who was scolding her child harshly.
"Behave, Sky, or Iâll take you home," the angry mother said to the child who was breaking a toy with a look of defiance on his face.
Tsk! Immature child, I thought to myself, shaking my head slightly.
"Is that your child?" the woman suddenly asked my mother, her tone a mix of curiosity and judgment. Mama smiled and nodded, her expression calm and composed. I glanced at them and saw the other child's face, blank and unaware of the world around him.
It was clear he wasn't fully awake and was unaware of the world.
"Does she have psychopath blood too?" the woman asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. Mama nodded again, her eyes never leaving mine.
Whatâs a psychopath? I wondered, the word foreign and strange to my young mind.
"Aren't you afraid of your child?" the woman pressed, her voice tinged with incredulity. Mama shook her head firmly.
"Why would I be afraid of the child I carried and gave birth to for nine months? Actually, I brought her here to see how far she can go. So far, itâs amusing that sheâs blending into this society like any other human," Mama said, her tone unwavering.
They talked for a few more minutes before Skyler and his mother were called inside. The room was a flurry of activity, with children and adults moving in and out, but only a few seemed truly aware of what was happening.
Mama always said I was a smart child, so even at two years old, I was already conscious. But I knew deep down why I was called special. There was something different about me, something that set me apart from the others.
"Is this your child?" A man suddenly sat beside my mother, breaking my reverie. He was handsome and well-built, his presence commanding.
"Yes," Mama replied, her tone polite but guarded.
"She's cute. I'm Gordon Cameron, by the way," he said, extending a hand in greeting.
---
That guy... He killed my mother. The memory flashed in my mind like a dagger, sharp and painful.
To protect myself, I killed him too. It was an act of desperation, of survival, but it marked me in ways I couldnât yet understand.
On that day, it felt like I truly woke up. I became aware that in this world, if youâre not the prey, then you're the predator. It's either you are prey or predator. Even if I wanted to be prey, I was born a predator.
"Hindi ka pa rin ba pinapansin ng parents mo?" Elowen shook her head as I took a seat beside her.
"Don't worry, I'm here for you"
"Thank you, Seyren, you're the best."
Itâs not that Iâm trying to act holier-than-thou, but the parents of the Cameron siblings are fundamentally flawed.
They failed Azara in the most crucial ways.
Her emotions were consistently invalidatedâher feelings brushed aside as though they were trivial and unworthy of consideration.
As for Elowen? She was practically invisible to them, forgotten time and again, as if her existence was an inconvenience they chose to ignore.
I exacerbated the situation deliberately.
Why? For my own amusement, to manipulate and entertain myself with the chaos I created.
I orchestrated a façade where both Azara and Elowen believed I was their constant, reliable support, ever-present whenever they thought they needed me.
I turned them into marionettes, dancing at the end of my strings, hypnotized by the allure of my words.
But my approach was also strategic.
Why?
Because predators must disguise themselves.
They must blend in with the prey to avoid detection.
So, I played the part of the soft, nurturing figure in front of others. I crafted an image of kindness and vulnerability that belied my true nature.
When Verick Jeon launched his attack on our home, the authorities apprehended him quickly. I was baffled by his motives and his sudden aggression towards Azara. What drove him to such extremes?
That incident stirred something deep within me, a compulsion to investigate and understand his true motives and background.
Years of meticulous observation and research followed.
It took a long time to unravel the complete truth about him, to piece together the puzzle of his actions and intentions.
Throughout my life, I was plagued by the constant sensation of being watched.
It was a disquieting feeling, an unsettling awareness that someone, somewhere, had their eyes on me.
This sensation intensified during private moments, like when I took showers.
The feeling of those invisible eyes on me was both thrilling and terrifying, a sensation that heightened my senses and stirred a deep, unsettling excitement within me.
The thrill was palpable, a mix of fear and exhilaration that gave me butterflies in my stomach.
At 20, I graduated with a degree in criminology, fulfilling my long-term goal of reaching the top of my field. However, this achievement was part of a broader, more sinister agenda.
---
"So youâre Red Bull," I said, confronting Verick Jeon during my secret visit to the jail. My visit was a covert operation; only I knew about it. As a rookie police officer, I had the privilege of making this visit.
"And youâre Syrah, the one everyoneâs talking about. The girl who gave me a beating," he said with a smirk, our gazes locked in a tense stare.
"Youâve grown up looking quite refined and angelic," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. I met his remark with a knowing smirk.
"And you look so delicate," he added, which elicited a laugh from me.
"Iâll take that as a compliment, but Iâm not here to receive your flattery," I said, maintaining a serious tone.
"What are you here for, young lady?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"Your son and daughter... You know them, right?" I asked, watching as the smug expression faded from his face. It was a small victory to see his confident demeanor falter.
"What are you planning to do with them?"
"Hold on, I havenât revealed my plans yet."
"Eyes never lie, kid. I can see the emptiness in your eyes, like a vast, dark void," he remarked. I couldnât help but laugh again at his attempt to probe my inner self.
"Iâm not like you, Verick. I thought I could lead a normal life by mimicking others, but you awakened something in me. Now, youâll face the consequences," I declared, drawing satisfaction from the clear irritation in his eyes.
"In order to play like me. You had to have a planned game. How are you gonna pull things up?" He asked, mimicking my expression. I feel like I'm looking in the mirror.
Observing the surroundings, I caught a glimpse of some cops looking at us, reading our expression and probably our lips as we talked.
Immediately, I act like an all goody-goody.
"Play? I only play video games at home, Mr Jeon. I'm glad to meet someone like you, I hope god forgives you and your friends sin."
---
Elowen gazed into my eyes, scrutinizing them.
"I love your charcoal eyes."
"Why? Because it's hollow like a void?"
I smirked, hearing her words.
"Emotions are the biggest weakness and I don't have that. And I don't like the way you said that." My voice went deep, awakening the demon inside of me.
"I'm sorry, I just really love your eyes."
"I love yours more."
"Why?"
"Because it's useful"
---
"Talaga palang nakatakas ka. Are you living with your son?" I asked, facing the former serial killer that everyone was afraid of.
He look pitiful laying down on that hospital bed, looking at me with nothing but dead eye.
I mirrored his expression, smirking as I saw a slight surprised on his face.
It seemed je realizes it already.
Who would have thought we'll meet this way. Him being so close to me, a half a meter apart where I could touch him.
"You're killing my-"
"Bingo" I cut of his words, smiling with my lips and not my eyes.
I laughed as I found this entertaining.
"Should we play a game, Mr Jeon..." Standing up on my seat, I looked at the time on my wristwatch and feel a little bit delighted.
"Let's play russin roulette but with a knife" I murmured, opening the door open to reveal a person.
His eyes widen, filled with surprised and fear for the very first time.
---
"Say something!" Azara demanded, making me close my eyes out of frustration.
What does she really want?
"Just go ahead with the pitch." I sat up, eyes still lingered on the bird.
"I'm having hard time connecting dots here." I added, she looked at me dead in the eye, walking towards the door and locked it.
"Then let's play a game, shall we?" My brows furrowed as we walk towards me, crawling on my bed and capturing my lips.
---
"The killer isnât just murdering for entertainment. They are deeply religious, to the point of fanaticism. They believe they are executing divine judgment on those who break Godâs commandments. One thing is clear: this killer is a devout person, someone who is always in church." Skyler finished her words, eyes widening and looking so accomplished.
I looked around and see the surprised face of our team, looking at Elowen, I smirked as I found this entertaining.
You're indeed the daughter of Verick Jeon, Skyler Avellino.
You're so smart.
---
I'm a psychopath.
I have no heart.
I only have my genius mind.
"Iâm going to tell you something that no one else knows."
"What is it?"
"Iâm pregnant."
"I'm gonna be a parent?" There's an anticipation in my words.
I don't know why but this news got me excited. Not until she diminished it.
"You didn't get me pregnant. It was Liam, I let him touch me." She stood up, avoiding my gaze. Something in me break, I don't know why but for some reason, I feel like I'm going to cry.
"I thought you're traumatized. You hate being touched by others..." I sat up, hugging my knees a bit as I look into the back of her head.
Like the heaven and hell collides that time.
"He's my boyfriend-"
"What about me? What about us?"
I thought psychopaths have no heart...
They lack emotion...
"There's no us, Seyren... But you're mine."
Bakit ang sakit?
Bakit?
---
"And the ten fingers he cut off are a sign where the killer gives a warning that they will kill the victim on the day they send the severed finger of Mr. Alvarez. Although thereâs no confirmation of the actual killer, do you think whatâs happening is a coincidence? No. The killerâs intention is clear and steady, heâs targeting sinful people." Each word Skyler spoke was emphasized.
I stared at her while she looked intensely at a photo of a manâs silhouette in the center of the board.
Secretly, I smiled, loving the anger that could be seen in her face.
You've entertained me again and you never once failed, Skyler.
---
Staring at myself in the mirror, I saw myself crying. My eyes were locked onto my own reflection, each tear rolling down my face with a kind of meticulous precision.
It was almost hypnotic, the way they fell, as if they were choreographed for maximum effect.
But the truth was, this display of emotion was nothing more than a carefully constructed façade.
Each tear was as insincere as my sympathy for Anthony, who now lay in a hospital bed because of my associateâs deliberate actions.
Anthony, oblivious to the sinister machinations that had led him here, was the perfect pawn in a game he didnât even know he was playing.
I observed my own performance in the mirror, noting the redness around my eyes, the slight tremble in my lips.
I smiled at my reflection, satisfied with the convincing show of grief. My tears were fake, but my acting was flawless.
The incident where Anthony was hit had been executed with precision, and my presence in the hospital was just another part of the elaborate ruse.
I scrunched my nose, pinched my cheeks, and stretched my face, testing the elasticity of my expression.
It was almost amusing how easily I could manipulate my own features, how convincingly I could wear the mask of a distraught friend.
The sheer absurdity of it all brought a genuine smile to my lips, a rare moment of unguarded amusement.
Leaving the bathroom, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the next phase of my performance.
As I approached the ER, the sterile smell of disinfectant and the hushed murmurs of hospital staff filled the air.
The atmosphere was thick with a mixture of hope and despair, a perfect backdrop for my continued charade.
As soon as I stepped into the waiting area, Anthony's mother rushed towards me, her face a portrait of worry and exhaustion.
"Nasaan ang anak ko? Ang anak ko!!!"
---
"I'm no human, Liam. I'm fucking heartless, and I fucking love it. This world is my domain, and those who have sin will be punished, but those who lie will die," I whispered, driving him further into madness. My words were like a poison, seeping into his mind.
I could see the mix of emotions playing across his face. Fear, anger, confusion â they were all there, warring for dominance.
"You're crazy."
"No, I'm crazy in lo-" I hadnât even finished speaking when something suddenly struck me hard on the head.
The pain was blinding, a sharp, searing agony that brought me to my knees.
The pain was so intense that I fell to my knees. When I looked behind me, I saw Dr. Carter holding a baseball bat. He had hit me on the head, causing me to lose consciousness. The last thing I saw was his grim, determined expression.
---
My consciousness was awake, and I felt the strong blows to my chest. Each impact resonated through my body, a harsh reminder of my imminent demise.
I knew my end was near, and I had accepted it. What more could I do? I had already lost in Azaraâs heart. The realization was like a dagger to my soul, a defeat more profound than any physical blow.
"Anak..." My motherâs voice echoed in my ears, a sound so familiar and comforting that it almost seemed out of place in this moment of despair.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the bed of our old home, the one filled with memories both sweet and bitter.
My mother was beside me, smiling and holding my hand. Her presence was a balm to my troubled spirit.
"My sweetie, you are not a monster. You are a human." Her words were gentle, but they struck me with the force of a revelation. My mind was reeling from seeing her.
Isn't she dead? I wondered, confusion swirling in my head.
Am I dead? The thought came with a strange mix of fear and relief.
"The god has forgiven you already. Now fight for your love and make it right..." Her voice was soothing, a lullaby from beyond. Only a few seconds passed before everything disappeared, and I was back to reality.
I found myself lying on the grass, feeling so weak. Many people were surrounding us, and everything was chaotic. Voices overlapped, a cacophony of concern and panic.
There, I also found my supposed victim. We were both lying on the ground, a tragic tableau of violence and unintended consequence. I tried to stand up, even though I could barely do so, and I urged the people to move away from me.
---
"Right... You use tampons..." I muttered, my voice barely audible before I collapsed.
"Seyren!!" Azara's voice was filled with a mix of fear and determination as she rushed to me.
She held me close in her arms, and I felt her warmth, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had gripped me moments before. I felt my heart skip a beat, and the pain somehow vanished, replaced by a strange, fleeting sense of peace.
"You finally... caught me... I like it," I murmured, my voice weak but sincere. Her presence, her touch, brought me a solace I hadnât known I craved.
I didnât know why I went straight to Azara. But in the midst of clinging to life, I wanted to see her. In those final moments, she was my anchor, the one person I needed to be with. Her eyes, filled with a mix of anger, concern, and confusion, were the last thing I saw before everything faded into darkness.
---
I thought I was going to die, but I didn't.
When I woke up, I realized that I had been given a second chance. It was an unexpected gift, a new lease on life. I decided then and there to take this opportunity to live happily.
I don't really know what happiness is. It's an abstract concept, one that I've chased but never truly grasped. But now, I'm willing to change if necessary, to learn what it means to be happy.
For the woman lying next to me, holding me close, I'd do anything. Azara, with her fierce spirit and unyielding love, has become my anchor, my reason to strive for something better. If making her happy means transforming myself, then so be it.
And then there's her daughter, Azalia. A child who, despite everything, looks at me with trust and affection. I've taken her as my own, promising to protect and care for her as if she were my blood. For her, I want to be better.
I don't know what divine intervention has prompted this change in me. Perhaps an angel has taken pity on my soul, guiding me towards redemption. Whatever the reason, I'm not backing down. I'm committed to this path.
I guess I could try to be normal again. For Azara and Azalia. For my wife and child, I'll do everything within my power. I'll tear down mountains and cross galaxies if it means ensuring their safety and happiness.
This might be my chance to find my place in normality, to leave behind the chaos and darkness that once consumed me. I'm starting to feel emotions again, to connect with the world in ways I never thought possible. Maybe, just maybe, I'm no longer a devil.
Hope fills me as I lie there, holding Azara close. I want to believe that I can do this, that I can be the man she needs me to be. The man Azalia can look up to.
In this quiet moment, with the weight of my past lifting, I dare to dream of a future where love and happiness are within reach. Where I am not defined by my sins, but by my efforts to atone for them. This is my chance to rewrite my story, to build a life worth living.
And I won't waste it.
I will kill Syrah and let the real Seyren live.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
(â  â Ëâ  â ³â Ëâ )â â¥