St. Mary Magdalene Parish was the only Catholic Church with a burial ground in the whole city of Perlientas.

The temperature in the graveyard rose as midday approached. Wide flowers and grasses surrounded the land while two large ylang-ylang trees stood on either side of the fence to provide the visitors with shade. Thankfully, the January air made it tolerable for Laurence to walk under the sun and weave his way through the granite monuments.

He stopped in front of an arc-topped headstone and noted that the weeds had grown taller. White and yellow zinnias bloomed around the area. Dirt had accumulated on the white-painted grave marker, obscuring the words etched on it.

Laurence smiled bitterly when he understood the tombstone had been neglected for around a year because no one had been paying a groundskeeper for the landscape maintenance. He squatted, picked a piece of abandoned tree bark on the grass, and tried scouring the surface of the cement.

A couple of sweats and scratches on his hands later, the inscription on the gravestone came into sight. Below the bold word 'VILLEGAS', the names 'Christopher' and 'Sienna' were imprinted beside each other, along with the dates of their births and death.

"Hi, Mom, Pops, can you recognize me? It's me, Rence."

His gaze traveled lower, a weak smile drifting on his lips when he focused on another name underneath his parents'.

Louie James
Born: April 17, 2000
Died: March 3, 2012

LJ, Laurence's little brother, was just about to turn twelve and finish his last year on elementary when the accident in their kitchen happened, creating a huge fire that had devoured their home and robbed the lives of three innocent people. It was also the same incident that denied the surviving older son to graduate from high school.

Laurence traced a thumb against the engraved name of the departed boy, a surreal feeling washing over him when he could not see the burn scars on Florence Villena's dainty hand.

"Hello there, bud. Sorry, it took me a while to go see you again," he whispered, a hint of regret lacing his voice.

Laurence had never really failed to visit the place at least four times a year—once on his family's death anniversary and the other three times on each of their birthdays. Even if he had long withdrawn from Christianity, he had never forgotten to give a small amount of donation to the church every month to make sure that his family's grave would be well maintained and cleaned. Sometimes, he would personally repaint the tombstone.

But after the unusual events last year, no one was left to care for the area since even the groundskeepers only did what they were paid for.

Laurence looked over his shoulder to study the parish building from meters away. It was already old and had not been as active as when he was a kid. These recent years, Masses were held only during special occasions like Christian holidays. That was why he got that the church had to prioritize the graves of their constant donors' kin because they had no enough monetary resources to employ someone to take care of the entire burial ground.

Still, he'd hoped there could have been someone thoughtful enough to tend to his parents and brother's headstone. For example, the Villegas family's former churchmates, who had decided on their own to lay his loved ones' remains to rest in the Parish graveyard instead of the city's public cemetery.

Those people had told Laurence not to worry about the cost of the plot being a bit higher because they would chip in to bear the expense. He was still in the hospital then, physically wounded, disoriented, and in denial about what had happened to his family. Not to mention, he was only a minor, so he had been convinced the best course of action at that time was to let the adults take charge. The parishioners had assured him they would assist him with his medical bills and provide him with the support he needed once he got out of the hospital.

And yet, the very day he had been discharged, he'd learned that not only had he been abandoned, but he'd also racked up a large amount of debts because no one had kept their word.

Laurence pulled out the weeds at his feet while the bitter smile returned to his lips.

The truth was, he was not mad at those people for not helping him per se; they had no obligation to him in the first place. But Laurence would be lying if he said he was never disappointed in them for making promises they could not deliver.

Until now, he was waiting for them to honor their words, do at least the smallest good deed for his family's grave, especially if they'd heard that even the Villegas' first son was already dead.

At the thought, Laurence remembered the other reason he was here. His hand went rigid around the grass.

That's right. Laurence Villegas was supposed to be dead already.

Laurence continued to uproot the wild plants around the tombstone. Once he cleared the area, he stared at the remaining inscription on the grave marker. His heart skipped a beat as he anticipated seeing his name added on the bottom part.

However, no matter how long he surveyed the writings, only a short epitaph, 'Gardening in Heaven,' was impressed beneath his younger brother's name. Not a single letter changed since the last time he had visited and recoated the headstone with fresh paint.

He stayed motionless and gave the words a blank look, unsure how to feel about the discovery. Beads of sweat formed on his temples, damping his side fringe and trickling to his chin.

After hearing from his former landlord that the car accident had immediately killed Laurence Villegas on the same day last year, he had rushed to this place in the hope of finding some clues about the mysteries surrounding his death and Florence Villena. Yet, it seemed like he had just stumbled upon more questions instead of answers.

Where in the world did people entomb his remains? And who exactly had managed his funeral?

Laurence could only think of Kian and Grey, but his friends had always been aware that his parents and brother were buried here. If those guys were the ones who made the decisions regarding his burial, he was pretty sure they would have known to lay him together with his family in this place.

"The hell's going on?" Laurence muttered. He rose and explored the graveyard with his eyes, wondering if his friends could have possibly chosen a different part of the burial ground for him.

But that won't make sense. Why would those punks buy another plot?

"Excuse me, sir. Are you here to visit the grave?" a masculine voice pierced through the silence in the churchyard.

The first thing that caught Laurence's attention upon turning to his side was the broomstick and a bucket in either gloved hands of the middle-aged person. A fender brush, a trowel, and a hand rake poked from the stainless steel pail, and Laurence also spotted a bottle of cleaning solution along with the tools.

The man slanted his head to peer over Laurence's shoulder, his eyes widening. "You've taken out most of the weeds, sir. Are you maybe a relative of them?"

"Kinda." Laurence frowned, weirded out as he could not comprehend why the guy was striking up a random conversation with him, dilly-dallying when he obviously had another tomb to take care of. It made him curious to know if this groundskeeper felt so lonely in his job that he saw the need to talk to every guest he could find in the churchyard.

Laurence stepped aside, expecting the man to take the hint and proceed to wherever he had to be at the moment.

"Oh, or are you possibly the same person who came here yesterday to commission the cleaning and maintenance of this family's grave, sir?"

Laurence's ears perked up. His wide eyes darted to the groundskeeper. Unfortunately, his perplexed expression got lost on the other man as the latter bowed his head all of a sudden.

"If that's the case, I'm so sorry to have made you do some of the job, sir. I'll be on it in a moment."

But Laurence couldn't care less about the apology since he was more interested in something else. Dubious, he asked, "What? Someone paid for the maintenance of this grave?"

The other man raised his head. His brows knitted. "Oh, so you're not that same person, sir?"

Laurence pretended not to hear the groundskeeper's words. "Do you know who they are?"

"I'm sorry, sir. The priest only told me this morning that someone left a donation for the church and asked for this particular grave to be tended in return." The caretaker glanced at the Villegas family tombstone before giving Laurence a diffident smile. "Even if I know that person, 'not like I could disclose their identity if the client requested for it be kept confidential."

Absentmindedly, Laurence nodded while the gears started to turn in his head. His two best friends crossed his mind once again as he speculated about the anonymous donor.

As much as he wanted to know about that mysterious person, he acknowledged that the groundskeeper could not be much of a help to him regarding the subject. And there was another uncertainty that needed to be answered first right now.

"By the way, do you know if someone with the name Laurence Villegas was buried here?"

"Villegas?" the man asked back, turning to the headstone.

Laurence nodded again as he understood the curiosity in the groundskeeper's eyes. "Yes, he's their older son. I went to his old apartment earlier, but heard from his former landlord that he died last year, January 13, due to a car accident. I thought he would be buried here, together with his family, but his name was not on the grave marker."

The man fixed him with a hard stare.

Laurence threw another glimpse at his family's headstone to avoid the scrutinizing gaze. He wondered if he had sounded too snoopy that it made the other man suspicious of him.

The groundskeeper put the stainless pail to the ground and pulled out his phone from the pocket of his utility jumpsuit. With a contemplative scowl, he scrolled through the device. 

After a beat, the man spoke without taking his eyes off the phone's screen. "I'm sorry, sir, but there doesn't seem to be anyone with that name in our database. There's no Laurence or anyone with the surname Villegas, who died on January 13 last year too." With his brows still knitted, he met Laurence's gaze. "Is that person really dead?"

"What?" Laurence asked, jaws clenching while he unwittingly balled his right hand into a fist.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's a freaky question to ask. Just that, I find it weird he's not buried here where his family is," the groundskeeper said in a sheepish tone. As if to redress his earlier question, he added, "There are two other places in the city you can check, sir."

He was well aware of that. Not only did he know the other two places that the man was talking about, but he also agreed that it was weird for his remains to be earthed up somewhere away from his family.

Laurence rubbed his arm against his forehead. He could not decide whether it was the heat of the sun or the inexplicable uneasiness that caused him to sweat.

With a brief thanks and goodbye to the groundskeeper, he left the Parish graveyard.

He dropped by the Perlientas Public Cemetery first, asked the people in the guardhouse if they had a record of all the deceased laid to rest in the place. Laurence received both positive and negative answers. The good news was that they had the digital data on their website. The bad news; they could not find anyone with the name Laurence Villegas on the list.

Even as he knew it was a long shot, he also swung by the Forevermore Memorial Garden, the city's private burial place. Predictably, he ended up with the same response from the custodians.

While one of the attendants talked about another exclusive funerary ground in the city where not even big shots could easily have access, Laurence received a call from a fretful Jade, asking him why he hadn't gotten home yet. Only then did he realize he had lost track of time. It was already past one p.m. and he had yet to take lunch. Because he wished not to worry the older woman any longer, Laurence did not already argue when Jade suggested she would go to him to pick him up.

He went to the lunch café where they'd agreed to meet up. While waiting for Jade, he decided to grab a meal in the same place.

Laurence stood in front of the counter when his mind harked back to the events of the day. The words of the people he had encountered earlier played in his head.

"Is that person really dead?"

"One of those kids down there has gone as far as to believing he saw the boy near the narra tree during the crack of dawn today."

Laurence pressed his lips together.

Could it be?

"Your seafood fried noodles and lemon black tea will be ready in fifteen minutes, sir." The female service crew handed him a pager.

Lost in thought, Laurence took the small device and spun around to search for a table. He had only taken a single step when his face bumped into a taller person's shoulder.

"Hell. Sorry, mate. I—" The rest of his apology died on his lips as he looked up and saw the rare but familiar color of the man's eyes.

Laurence pulled a face. The hell? Why are you just popping up everywhere?

He gave Isaac Ruiz a once-over, noting how his black turtleneck hugged his fit body. His pants and shoes also lacked colors, but those were not the only dark things that Laurence noticed in his appearance. A doleful expression overcast his face, while his sea-green eyes could be compared to faded jewels because of the absence of brightness in them.

Did you just freaking attend a funeral?

As if his employee was invisible, Isaac walked past him without so much of a word or acknowledgment.

Laurence turned his head and followed the man with a glare. He still could not believe their workmates were under the impression that Isaac Ruiz and Florence Villena had something intimate going on when the former could not even fake fondness for the other man.

Well, it's better this way, he convinced himself as he resumed searching for an empty table. He didn't need another complication on top of his already tangled life.