[Capítulo Dieciséis: Traydor (Traitor)]

BEFORE we could even take another step, the ground beneath us vanished, and I found myself tumbling, paralyzed. Marianne fell beside me, and as she dropped in front of me, the moonlight revealed the menacing silhouettes of men behind us.

"Ponerles sacos en la cabeza (Put sacks on their heads)," one of them commanded. "Rápido (Fast)!"

A rough material enveloped my head, plunging me into an impenetrable darkness as a sack was securely placed over me.

.

WHEN I woke up, I was momentarily blinded by the light within a small wooden room. In front of me stood Clara, her gaze fixed on me as she silently observed.

"Clara?"

She seemed unusually quiet, and a palpable unease hung in the air, whispering that something was amiss.

A man in a black suit entered the room. Clutched in his hand was a stick, and perched atop his head was a top hat.

Silence held me captive. Speaking felt futile, understanding unlikely, and the specter of trouble loomed over any attempt to break the silence.

"I heard that you are an educated man, Mister Joaquin," he spoke, his words a deliberate choice, revealing a keen awareness of my background.

"Y- You can speak in English?" My eyes widened as I heard the words fluently flowing from his mouth. I couldn't help but wonder about the identity of this person who seemingly held more depth than initially perceived.

He remained concealed within the shadows cast by his hat, the dim light from the lantern above the ceiling shrouding parts of his features in mystery.

"Perhaps you know who I am," he spoke.

His words carried an air of certainty, leaving an unanswered question lingering in the room.

"Where is Marianne? Where am I? Why am I here?" I demanded, my voice a mixture of confusion and frustration. The wooden chair restrained me, its unforgiving grip amplifying the urgency of my inquiries. The room held its secrets, and the silence that followed my questions intensified the unsettling atmosphere, leaving me suspended in an unsettling limbo of uncertainty.

"Don't worry, she's in good hands," he replied. "And you will be, too, if you would cooperate with me."

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my gaze unwavering as he closed the distance.

"You see, I just want you to..." He halted a few inches in front of me, dropping to one knee. Closing in, he whispered into my right ear, "I just want you to die."

Before he could even finish those words, a sharp pain sliced through my cheek. As he stood up, I noticed the knife in his hand, a trace of blood glistening from my skin.

I let out a painful cry as my heart raced faster with each passing moment.

"Ano ang iyong ginagawa (What are you doing)?" Clara's eyes widened with surprise, a mix of concern and confusion painted on her face. The language barrier shielded her from understanding the English conversation, leaving her in the dark about the unfolding situation.

"Binibini, marapat bang lumabas ka muna sa kuwartong ito (Miss, would it be fitting for you to step outside this room)?" inquired the enigmatic man to Clara.

"Anong nais mong gawin sa kaniya? Ang sabi mo lamang ay kilala mo siya kaya ay tinulungan kitang siya ay hanapin (What do you intend to do to her? You only mentioned knowing her, so I assisted you in finding her)," Clara retorted as she was forcibly pushed aside by the man.

"Clara!" I exclaimed to grab her attention before things escalated further. "Lo que está sucediendo (What's happening)?"

"Joaquín, ya vuelvo (I'll be back)!" she replied before I witnessed the door closing. "Volveré y te lo explicaré todo (I'll be back and explain everything to you)!"

"¿Explica que (Explain what)?"

"Tumigil nga kayong dalawa (Would you two just shut it)! Shut up!" the man shouted as he forcefully closed the door. "Oo na, marunong kayong mag-Espanyol (Yes, I get it that you know Spanish)!"

"Huwag mong sasaktan si Joaquin (Don't hurt Joaquin)! Pakiusap (Please)!" she shouted before her voice disappeared from the unknown corners of the room.

"Now it's just you and me," the man said, an evil grin forming on his lips.

I've just arrived in this unfamiliar town, still navigating its mysteries, and now, in this unsettling encounter, I find myself pleading for understanding.

"What did I even do to you? We just met!" I exclaimed, my words echoing in the confined space. His slow, predatory approach heightened my unease. "D-Do you even know that I am not from here? I just came here, and I don't even know anything about this place!"

"Really?" he asked, coming to an abrupt stop.

His eyes bore into mine, a malicious glint revealing hidden knowledge. "I know everything... and I mean EVERYTHING about you, Lee Jong Hee," he uttered, each word laced with a calculated intensity. Leaning in, his voice dropped to a sinister whisper, "Especially Marianne. That woman is really a great actress." The revelation hung heavy in the air, shrouding the room in an unsettling tension.

"Then who are you? Are you from around here?" I asked once more. "Show your stupid face so that I can-" My words trailed off, tension filling the air as I awaited a response in the dimly lit surroundings.

My words faltered as he finally removed his top hat, placing it on the table beside me. His face looked hauntingly familiar, and yet I couldn't summon his name from the recesses of my memory.

"You..." I spoke, a mixture of recognition and uncertainty in my voice.

"What? Ringing any bells?" he teased. "The famous, the brave, the bold, and the handsome?" His words dripped with narcissism, painting a self-proclaimed portrait that lingered in the air.

"You're from the real present time?" I asked, a hint of disbelief coloring my words.

"More like from the near future where you..." He halted, his eyes shifting back towards me. "Anyways, that would be revised when you die tomorrow in the hands of those Spaniards!"

"The future? What do you mean?" That was the moment when everything around me seemed to crumble bit by bit. Realizing I was in the past was not easy to accept, but now, knowing there was a near future became an even harder pill to swallow.

If only I could slap my cheeks at that time, I would do so to confirm if I'm dreaming. Yet, the pain from the knife wound felt all too real.

"Don't waste your energy because tomorrow, you will finally meet your doom," he continued, his words hanging ominously in the air.

"If you're from the near future, what might happen if I die in the past? Can I go back to the present time?" I inquired once more, seeking clarity amid the unfolding enigma.

"That only happens in dreams, Mister," he replied. "Bye-bye! Sleep tight, and don't let the bedbugs bite." His cryptic farewell echoed, leaving me to grapple with the surreal reality closing in around me.

"Wait! Get me out of here! I need to know the truth!" I pleaded, but he didn't look back as he continued to walk away with his knife, leaving me trapped in a web of uncertainty.

Left alone inside the room with only one window and a door, I noticed the window was closed, and a sense of darkness enveloped the outside world.

"He might not be Father Juan Severino Mallari, is he? He died in 1840, and now the woman said it's 1896," I panted, a cascade of questions clamoring for answers in my mind. "He's not a serial killer but maybe... maybe just a psychopath from around here."

Despite my repeated attempts to free myself from the binds, weakness consumed me. The blood on my cheeks persisted, the wound from the blood compact now touching the rope, adding to my sense of vulnerability.

"Get me out of here, you idiot! I swear that at the time I get out of here, I could..."

I shouted as loud as I could, but my cries echoed in the empty silence, unanswered and unheard.

Outside, a profound silence enveloped the surroundings. Memories of my initial arrival flashed in my mind, creating a bittersweet tapestry. Reluctant to leave, it felt as though time itself forbade me from staying.

As my eyelids grew heavy, my head gradually leaned to the right. In the hushed moments that followed, the faint creaking of the doorknob being turned disrupted the silence, injecting a surge of anticipation into the room.

"Who's that?" I forced myself to stay awake, the realization of my helplessness vivid in my mind, having witnessed the brutality that Spaniards could inflict on a person.

The door finally opened, revealing Clara running towards me with dirt on her dress and face. "Joaquín," she spoke, tears welling in her eyes. "Lo siento mucho (I'm very sorry)."