Guevarra's Nirvana - ARC 2
An Original Fiction by trish!
[Disclaimer; This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental]
16.1
The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting a dim glow over the harbor- still slick with rain from the night before. Yellow tape stretched across lamposts and trees, sealing off the scene that unfolded hours ago.
Dan Guevarra arrived in silence, his commanding presence cutting through the morning air. He held a composed, yet grim expression, as his eyes scanned the area—sharp, and cold. It was as though the presence of disorder here offended his sense of control.
A uniformed officer met him near the barricade, giving a brief nod of recognition. "Mr. Guevarra. You must've heard the sirens."
Dan's gaze narrowed. "Tell me everything."
The officer flipped open a small note book, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "At approximately 7:40 p.m. last night, we received a call from a witness. She described an unnatural gust of wind—something so powerful that it nearly knocked her off her feet."
Dan's eyebrows furrowed, a subtle twitch in his expression as familiarity rushed within him.
The officer hesitated, but continued. "According to the witness; Her friend was immediately caught by the wind, flinging airborne until she was pulled into the river." He glanced at the security cameras mounted nearby. "Her story checks out. The wind was violent, however..."
He looked back at Dan, a heavy pause.
"We haven't recovered her."
Dan showed little to no reaction—stern and indifferent. His eyes drifted off to the river that swallowed a life whole. "Unfortunately, it is likely a lost cause." He said flatly, "The storm was restless. It would've swept and buried everything deeper. "
He turned slightly and added, "Inform the Chief that I suggest an end to the investigation. The view and noise of emergency cars are... of disturbance."
"I understand sir, but the victim's fami—"
Dan was already turning away, not bothering to hear the rest. His footsteps faded away from the busy investigation. Until.. he saw something approaching.
Footsteps echoed on the damp stone, then there stood.. Melvin.
His face was blank, unreadable. Watching.
He didn't respond. Didn't flinch.
But met his dad's gaze with a hollow kind of stillness.
"W-Why... why...?!"
Megan sat curled on the cold floor of her room, grabbing her hair in insanity. Canvases scattered around, half-painted, torn or smeared with frantic strokes of paint. The scent of wet paint rotted the air, their colors staining the floor. She trembled from exhaustion, her eyes marked with dark bags, twitching from one painting to the next—each one distorting in her view.
A memory clawed its way back into her mind.
One she surely couldn't deny.
That Grace...
"Aaahhh!!!" Megan cried. She couldn't deny it. She couldn't forget it.
Because she was there.
The rain was merciless the night before. She had gone out with an umbrella on hand, planning to intercept Brielle and Grace incase they might cause a disturbance to the neighbourhood. And more importantly...
If such people like them returned to her estate... Dan would be furious.
She wanted them gone—She needed them gone.
But then... she went to the harbor. Her eyes caught Grace, who was just walking one moment, flung by the wind in a flash. Her body began flailing in the air like a helpless puppet on strings.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Megan screamed, dropping her umbrella as it tumbled away into the wind.
She didn't think. She just ran. Cried even.
Off to a sleepless night.
Every tick of the clock threatened her sanity. She couldn't breathe, her hands trembling as she clutched the brush—dragging the color as best she could, with no love left in the motion.
It was a painting assigned by her new advisor—Asahi Chikamoto, who decided to make her the class president upon her latest achievement. The painting would serve as a good example to her classmates, but to her—it was a cage.
Canvases of blank, almost empty paintings. Canvases with messy smears of abadoned hope.
Blurred shapes, desperate brushstrokes, colors that bled into one another like bruises.
They were ghosts of paintings she could never bring herself to complete.
And they surrounded her. Watched her. Judged her.
Megan stared back, her eyes hollow without a gleam.
The paint. The pressure. The perfection.
She hated doing this. Every bit of it.
Dan and Melvin sat in the car, engulfed in heavy silence. The only sound came from the dashboard clock, its faint ticking gnawing Dan's patience each second. Sitting at the backseat, Melvin's gaze drifted to his left— Still empty.
Dan snapped, jaw tightening as he grunted. "Get your sister now, Melvin."
Without a word, Melvin nodded as he stepped out into the muted morning light. The mansion door creaked open—not by him, but a maid. Megan stood behind her— shoulders slumped, eyes sculpted with dark bags, and clutching a half-finished canvas as if it was the only thing keeping her sane.
"Come." Said Melvin. "Father's driving us."
She didn't respond, following him quietly as she slid into the backseat after him. The car door shut with a soft thud as they settled in their seats.
Dan adjusted his seatbelt, then cast a brief glance toward the rearview mirror. He wasn't making sure that his kids were settled—But only on what Megan cradled. The canvas. He couldn't make out the image clearly, but the mere sight of it stirred something disapproving in him.
With a low sigh, he turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the estate gates creaking open as they drove off to the road.
Seconds had passed. Then minutes.
The ride was smooth, crossing through the city in silence. No one spoke. No classical music played. A seemingly peaceful ride like this wouldn't be filled with tension.
Melvin sat rigidly, scrolling through pictures. Each picture blurred and blurred as his thumb slid across his phone, memories, art, people—things to distract himself from the weight of the morning. Meanwhile, Megan clutched her canvas tightly, her fingers digging into it. She sat perfectly still, but her chest rose up and down—taking deliberate breaths as if she was trying to not fall apart.
Dan's clutch tightened on the steering wheel. From the rearview mirror, he watched his daughter—The way she held that painting. The way she breathed. The way her eyes stared down, barely blinking...
To him, it seemed as she was hiding something.
Without turning his head, Dan asked. "A new painting, Megan?"
"Yes..." She replied softly, her voice hesitant. "T-The advisor, Mr. Chikamoto, wanted me to bring one of mine."
Dan's eyes narrowed, glaring at the canvas in the mirror, suspicion lingering in his eyes.
"It doesn't look finished." He said, slow and serious.
Megan gulped, her grip tightening as she attempted to ease him—"M-My older pieces.. they don't reflect my current skill level. I thought it'd be better to start fresh, I'll finish it before class starts."
There was a pause, a longer one this time.
But Dan's voice cut through it, his tone growing sharper.
"I believe you can do better than that."
Megan didn't respond, but she felt his words like a blade to her heart. The weight of the canvas grew heavier in her lap, her facial muscles twitching as she refused to shed a tear. She turned her gaze to the window, letting the rain-streaked streets distract her— This wasn't the time to show weakness. No.
16.2
The sky was still at gloom that morning, as if the world itself had been mourning. Rainwater clung to the sidewalks of the barangay, dripping from roofs and swimming through cracks. The streets were unnaturally quiet, saved for the sweeps of people swishing water out of their homes.
Brielle slowly stepped out of the tricycle, her shoes softly splashing against the damp concrete. She looked up at the Gonzaga residence, her chest tightening at the sight of it.
Her fingers trembled beneath the sleeves of her sweater. She'd rehearsed the words in her head all night, the words that would explain everything that shouldn't be explained at all. But now that she was there, her mind was blank.
She knocked on the door. "T...Tao po.." She let out, weakly.
Moments passed.
The door creaked open. It was Grace's mother.
Her expression was already filled with dread— face pale and tired, with swollen red eyes. She looked at Brielle, who stood alone without her daughter beside. The questions raced through her mind; Why are you here, alone?
"I—I need to talk to you." Brielle said, her voice barely above a noise. "It's about Grace..."
But Grace's mother raised her voice before Brielle could finish. "Mind you, I haven't slept." Her voice cracked—not with emotion, but exhaustion. "That girl... she kept on talking about how she had to attend this Guevarra Academy ceremony, to see if she got accepted."
She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the quiet home behind her. "The whole family waited for her. She told us she'd be back soon. But she never did. Just disappeared. Left us hanging like fools."
Brielle flinched, every word was like a stab to the heart. They waited for her all night... how could she break such news right now?
"No..." Brielle spoke, "It's just that.. a lot had happened, ma'am."
But her mother didn't stop.
"Oh.. let me guess. She didn't get accepted?" She sighed, looking at Brielle for hope, but her silence told her everything.
"Ah... well ain't that.. just tragic."
Her voice dropped, quieter now, and gentle. "..Alam mo? She always chased after things like that.. Scholarships. Awards. Opportunities... Thinking if she worked hard, she'd become someone. Truth is... the world doesn't bend for people like us. Not that easily."
Her face softened, her lips trembled slightly, holding back everything she was too tired to feel.
"But.. she doesn't have to be ashamed. Tell her to come home..."
"..That's all I want now, please."
A tear slipped down Brielle's cheek. The words of Grace's mother captured everything she had buried in her own chest—spoken aloud once and for all.
She was devastated. Just like her.
They had seen it all—Grace had worked so hard, fought so relentlessly. Though the stakes were against her, she had done so much. The awards, the trophies, the certificates... All from competitions. She was like a dark horse- relentless, tireless, and gave it her all.
But it was infuriating— How the world never let her hard work turn into something bigger. Something greater.
And now, Brielle had to be the one who had to break the truth. She's gone, her best friend, truly gone.
It all felt like a cruel joke. One no one deserved to hear.
Brielle opened her mouth, but her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled to reveal the truth—
"M-Ma'am…" She choked out, her voice trembling. "I-I'm… I'm so sorry!"
Her head swayed down as the words escaped her, fully breaking out into tears—
"She's already… dead."
...
Silence. The air between them went still, as Grace's mother stood without a motion. The life had drained from her face. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. The truth struck her like a blow, hollowing her out in an instant, draining her completely.
!!!
"M-Ma'am!" Brielle cried out to Grace's mother, dropping to her side as she collapsed onto the floor. Her body began trembling as she gasped for breath, limped with shock.
"S-Someone! Please help!" Brielle called out to the household, her tears flying out. Her hands shook as she held the woman, looking out within the household for anyone to help.
"D-Dear God... please help us..." Brielle muttered to herself, over and over.
Please save us from the cruelty of this world...
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