EPISODE 12: The Thread that Ends

May 21, 2022 – 3:50 PM

Café Cieolo Parking Lot

MARISSE

The moment he was back on his car, Marisse slammed his palms on the dashboard, his breath heaving with his chest burning, jaw clenched, hands frozen on the steering wheel.

Jax materialized in the passenger seat, now fully visible, glowing faintly blue in the daylight.

“I just came from the Bureau,” the angel said, sliding into the passenger seat like an exhausted clerk. “The Ripple is still being processed. But…” His voice dropped. “We found something. Something you need to hear.”

Marisse stared ahead, silent.

Jax held up his tablet, its translucent screen flickering with shimmering light. What looked like woven threads danced on its surface. Gold, silver, copper weaves intertwining like fiber-optic nerves.

“Her weave,” Jax said grimly. “Rose’s thread. It still ends tonight.”

Marisse’s head snapped toward him. “What do you mean, ends?”

Jax sighed. “A mortal’s life appears in the system as a thread, like a weave of energy. It’s how we monitor continuity. We observe the length of a soul’s journey, like reading light through a prism.” He tapped the screen. “Rose’s weave, even after all this. After your intervention to create this alternate path…still cuts off at midnight.”

Marisse’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She still dies?”

Jax didn’t answer immediately.

Marisse turned fully toward him now, rage blooming behind his eyes. “Then what the hell was this for? I thought the Passing was meant to fix this. I would never have asked for it if I’d known she---”

“The Passing was granted for you, Marisse,” Jax said, quietly but firmly. “Not for Rose. Her life may have already served its purpose in this timeline. No thread is meant to stretch forever.”

“She should never have died in the first place,” Marisse spat. “You think I would’ve agreed to any of this if I didn’t believe she deserved to live?”

“I get it,” Jax said. “I do. That’s why we’ve escalated your case.”

Marisse blinked. “To whom?”

“Azrael, the Archangel.” Jax began to explain. “He’s one of the few who can rewrite a thread without unraveling others. But it’s rare. Risky. And slow. He’s reviewing your case, but we’re running out of time.”

Marisse looked back at the café window. “If her weave ends tonight… then this life, this present… it isn’t the one she’s supposed to be living.”

“No,” Jax admitted. “Marisse, Rose’s life might not be meant to be intertwined with yours. Not even soul mates are able to stay together all the time.”

“I’m not accepting that,” Marisse growled.

There was silence for a moment.

Then Jax leaned back in the passenger seat, finally allowing a wry grin.

“Well,” the angel said. “That guy’s subtle like a jackhammer in a confessional.”

“Did you see her face?” Marisse snapped. “She’s afraid of him.”

“Yes.” Jax looked grim. “Because he doesn’t love her. He owns her.”

Marisse buried his head in his hands. “How did I let this happen? I thought, if she was alive, and safe, that would be enough. But that’s not what I saw.”

“She waited for you,” Jax said. “Until she couldn’t wait anymore.”

“And I didn’t return for her.”

“No,” Jax agreed. “You didn’t.”

Marisse leaned back, feeling like his lungs were collapsing.

“But this is your second chance, Marisse. Don’t confuse the setting for the outcome. The world around you might be altered, but what you choose next? That’s on you.”

Marisse looked at him. “She’s married, Jax.”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “And yet you just stepped between her and a man who treats her like a trophy on a leash. Are you sure you’re done?”

Marisse didn’t answer.

Because deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t done.

Not by a long shot.

*******

RPV2 Holdings Tower

4:32 PM

Penthouse Elevator, Private Lift Access

MARISSE

Upon returning to his penthouse atop the RPV2 Holdings Tower, Marisse Rickarte was a man distracted. Not by markets or mergers, but by memory.

He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at Manila’s sprawling skyline. Below him, the world buzzed with anticipation for the evening’s corporate coronation. But in his mind, the sea foamed white against a hull of the Maverick’s Rose ten years ago.

Zeke entered, crisp in his tactical-black suit, earpiece blinking. “We’re on schedule, sir. Motorcade leaves in twenty. Dress code still sharp for this one?”

“As always.” Marisse adjusted the cuff of his shirt with surgical grace then noticed the folder Zeke placed on his bedroom’s bedside table. “Is that the file on Rose Del Rios?”

“Yes, sir.” Zeke answered, his face more tense than usual. “It is not pretty. She’s only been married two years and already had 6 minor medical emergencies that has been downplayed as kitchen accidents.”

Marisse’s face was unreadable as he began reading the file on Rose. “And what of her father?”

“Well, Don Enrique seems unaware that his daughter has become unusually clumsy in her new home.” Zeke saw a packed duffel bag at the foot of Marisse’s bed. “Are we going on a trip, sir?”

The silence between them thickened, humming with things unsaid.

Marisse turned toward the polished elevator doors, watching his own reflection. “You need a break, Zeke. After tonight’s event, we go south. My island in the Visayas.”

Zeke looked over, sharp. “Are we having a party?”

“I might bring a friend, ---just a quiet respite, perhaps?” Marisse said softly. “Depending how tonight goes.”

Zeke smiled, nodding once. “I’ll make arrangements.”

Marisse didn’t reply and the two spent the elevator ride in practiced silence.

Until Marisse broke it. “Zeke, ten years ago, you mentioned you were in Davao around about May that year.”

Zeke looked at him with a curious look in his eyes. “Did I?” He mused as if trying to remember. “What about it?”

Marisse seemed thoughtful as he replied, “I was working onboard the Maverick’s Rose as a Deck hand at the time. Did you know? And we docked on Pearl Bay on the third day of our cruise.”

Zeke smirked in surprise, “Can you imagine that?” he looked up as if trying to remember something. “Yes, I was part of the coast guard team assigned on the Davao outpost by the Pearl Bay at the time. We would have met sooner had fate allowed it.”

“Maybe it still can.” The look Marisse gave him made Zeke ask.

“Are we being our ominous self again, boss?”

A half-smile curled at the corner of Marisse’s mouth. “Just tying threads.”

“That’s… cryptic.” Zeke chuckled awkwardly. “You’re giving me weird déjà vu. I had the strangest dream last night, you know. You were in it.”

Marisse raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Zeke leaned back against the elevator wall as the lift began its smooth descent. “You vanished. Right in front of me. No warning. No sound. Just… gone. Left nothing but a Polaroid. Some woman, facing away, standing on a cruise deck. I couldn’t see her face.”

Marisse looked at Zeke thoughtfully for a while before asking, “And what do you think it means?”

“That I need to get some excitement in my life and going to your island tonight might just be what I need to get my blood pumping again.”

Marisse didn’t reply anymore as his eyes remained fixed forward. But the smallest flicker of something.

Hope, dread, resolve. It passed through his gaze like a ripple beneath still water.

*******

RPV2 Holdings Tower Grand Convention Hall

6:01 PM

RPV2 Holdings and Villamor Logistic Merger Celebration

The hall was a symphony of excess.

A thousand chandeliers, imported Murano crystal, shimmered like frozen starlight. The air was rich with the scent of orchids, amber tobacco, and newly uncorked celebration. Waiters glided like ballroom dancers, balancing trays of heirloom champagne and hors d'oeuvres crafted by Michelin-curated hands. Every corner of the room whispered power.

But to Marisse, it was all white noise.

His gaze, sharp and searching, scanned the entrance.

And then, there she was.

Rose.

Time folded in on itself.

She wore a powdered blue haltered serpentine gown that defied mere description. It sculpted, curved, caressed more like water than fabric. Her hair, swept in an effortless cascade, framed her like a portrait stolen from a gallery of dreams.

The crowd noticed.

But Marisse felt it.

There she is.

His chest tightened. A hitch in his breath. Breathe, damn it. Just breathe.

Their eyes met across the room, and it wasn’t longing that gripped him.

It was grief.

Because even radiant, even wrapped in elegance, Rose looked… tired. As if joy were a costume she’d forgotten how to wear.

She smiled dutiful, practiced. But her eyes didn’t dance. And her fingers trembled slightly around the stem of her glass.

She’s surviving, Marisse thought. Not celebrating.

And so, he retreated behind the mask. His public self, a silhouette crafted from charisma, poise, and ruthless diplomacy. He drifted through the room, a living constellation, every gesture rehearsed, every smile perfectly timed. But inside?

He was drowning.

*******

7:47 PM

The Afterparty

Don Enrique Villamor stood beneath the towering oil painting of the original Maverick’s Rose, nursing brandy like old sailors nursed loss.

Marisse approached with the casual grace of a man who never stumbled unless it served his purpose.

“To legacy,” he offered, lifting his glass. “And to those who keep it afloat.”

Enrique chuckled, cheeks ruddy. “You always speak like you're in a novel.”

Marisse’s tone lowered. “Christopher couldn’t make it tonight?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed, the humor fading. “That boy… snubbed this. Can you believe it? The merger of two dynasties, and he’s off in Singapore. Or Seoul. Who knows.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No matter,” Enrique said, lifting his glass again, but slower. “It’ll be addressed. Soon.”

Marisse nodded thoughtfully, then extended another glass from a nearby waiter’s tray. Enrique accepted it without pause.

The conversation drifted on, but Marisse’s attention flicked, briefly, to an attendant at the edge of the room. A nod. Subtle. Precise.

Within minutes, Enrique’s stance wavered.

“I’m… fine,” he muttered as two staff members appeared to gently guide him toward a quieter office suite nearby. “Just a little lightheaded…”

Marisse turned back to the party, not even loosening his tie.

The play had begun.

*******

8:02 PM

Andrew intercepted Rose with the ease of an old friend amongst the crowd gathering to enjoy the open bar and lavish canapes and caviar being served.

“There’s something you’ll love upstairs,” he said. “Private preview of the new Hall of Fame. You’ll be the first to see it before it opens.”

Rose hesitated, glancing around. “I have to see how my father is---”

“I believe he is resting,” Andrew said gently. “Marisse assured he is being looked after.”

She relented, curiosity outpacing suspicion.

Behind them, Rose’s original security detail was intercepted by Vincent with the coy of a playboy used to creating distractions. There were no confrontations. Just fast-talking, fabricated credentials, and an air of unshakable authority.

Voltaire now standing next to Marisse whispered, “Ten minutes. She’s yours.”

Marisse only nodded then went about going through his duty as the proud host until the intended entertainment began.

Not long after, the emcee took the stage as the lights dimmed, and the orchestra faded.

“Ladies and gentlemen! A surprise awaits! Please welcome international pop icon, Aliyah Solé!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd like falling glass.

As the stage ignited and dancers emerged in silhouette, the energy in the room turned electric.

No one noticed Marisse slip away.

*******

8:17 PM – RPV2 Tower Basement Parking

Level 1 South Exit Ramp

The elevator doors parted with a hush, exhaling Marisse Rickarte into a corridor cloaked in concrete and fluorescent silence. He moved with measured precision, a storm of contradictions beneath that tailored exterior. The soft click of his shoes against the tile echoed through the empty garage like each step is a countdown.

The black Mercedes awaited him by the ramp, sleek and discreet, its engine already alive, humming like it knew what was about to happen.

The driver opened the door without a word.

Marisse slid inside.

And there she was.

Rose.

Time slowed again, but differently now. This was no elegant unveiling like hours earlier. This was real, raw, unscripted.

Her head turned, her eyes already wide but not with fear, rather with disbelief tinged with a rising tide of anger.

“What is the meaning of all this?” she asked, her voice low, trembling. Yet there was steel beneath the silk.

For a beat, Marisse didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His eyes scanned her face, every inch of it. The flawless makeup, the elegant poise, the fire she tried to control. But he could see through all of it. Saw the exhaustion behind her beauty, the resilience behind the pain.

She’s hurting.

But she’s still fighting.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart, always so obedient to reason, now thudded with something he couldn't bargain or broker.

And suddenly, it wasn’t about the merger. Or the inheritance. Or any of the billion-dollar empires poised to shift tonight.

It was about her.

*******