In the shadows, you could see her running. Her breath is the only sound she can hear despite the harsh pouring of the rain that seem to collide with the concrete, uneven pavement of that dark alley somewhere in Leveriza. And the clap of lightning and the rolling of thunder in that rainy night have a way of egging her to flee, and run as fast as she can. There can never be a place where she can hide. The men hunting her had their orders. The Congressman wanted her dead.
And then she heard her phone ringing. She wanted to ignore it. But its ringtone is one that is dedicated only for her son, a young boy barely four. She grabbed her phone inside her hip-bag. It must be her sister calling using the phone she bought for her son as a gift, even at a young age. She eagerly wanted to hear his voice, if only to provide her the single good thing in that sorry, sordid, stormy night. But the voice of her sister dashed such moment of hope. She wanted to know where she is. Hours ago, she left her son in the care of her sister in a bus station going to the province. She gave her a specific instruction that if she does not return by 11 pm, that she should just take her son, take the bus to Lucena and wait for her there before they go home to Romblon.
It is already 10:45 pm. Fifteen more minutes. And the clock is ticking for her. She told her sister to stay put until 11 pm. But she should already buy a ticket now, and if by the appointed time she fails to return, then she should just go and leave. Before hanging up, she asked how is her son. Her sister assured her that he is okay, and is now munching on his favorite Starbucks treat. She remembered buying a bag full of it, this Whoopie Pie, this morning. She would do anything if only to make her son happy.
In fact, everything she did was for her son. Raising him alone, when her former live-in partner absconded with her savings and decided to run away with a whore from a nightclub near their apartment in Ermita. Her misfortune was that she has always fallen for weak, spineless men. This lover is not actually the biological father of her son. That one is a different story. Philandering men usually leave their mistresses when it becomes inconvenient for them, more so in this case when he saw the deformity of their son who was born with a cleft palate. He never even bothered to check on them again and just simply disappeared.
She had to work her butts off to raise the money for her son’s operation. Even with the help of foundations that assist mothers like her with sons with cleft, there was still a need for funds for his therapy. The joy of seeing her son become whole, and his handsomeness shine, and for him to speak normally, were the best incentives she needed to work on anything that can earn her some money. She went from employment to employment, trying to sell products, to waiting on tables, to being a barista, to working as a call center agent. She is actually an honor student in her high school back in Romblon. But due to financial difficulties, she was not able to finish her college degree in mass communication from the university where she met the father of her son, a part-time professor with whom she interned in a research project, and who took a liking for her. And when she got pregnant, the more she lost the time to continue with her studies.
She is a driven woman, not by ambition, but by the will to provide a good future for her son. When his father disappeared entirely from their lives, who later she learned has migrated to Canada with his legal wife and family, she took it upon her to dedicate her life to her son’s therapy and future. But then again, even women driven by the aspiration to survive can fall for sweet-talking handsome men who come with a swagger, selling things online. She has always been impressed by men who speak fluent English, and with an American twang. This is why she majored in mass communication. This is also why she fell for her Professor who had a good command of the language. And this is why despite failing in her first relationship, that she allowed herself to once again be smitten over by a call center agent.
But then again, having the twang of an American English is not a guarantee for growing a spine, and a pair of balls. The Professor and the call-center agent were as spineless as they were fluent. The latter even had the gall to steal her savings which she intended to use for the dental procedures of her son who would need it when the time comes.
Abandoned, alone, she made another bold move. A friend of hers brought her to an office that she was told was doing some political research work for a public official, and the pay was a lot better compared to answering calls and assisting irate, faceless customers across the Pacific. Actually, the office was a troll farm. They worked for a company that is contracted to populate social media, with the purpose of amplifying the image of their clients. One of its top client is a Congressman who was eyeing to become the President of the country.
Undeniably, she became an internet troll.
The pay was indeed good. She was assigned to handle the account of the Congressman. All she had to do was to create and manage several accounts in Facebook, and post favorably for him. Part of her job was to engage his critics in social media, which included his bashers, and even his political rivals. Initially she had qualms about spreading lies and disinformation, or engaging in online quarrels with people she barely knew, but she learned how to compartmentalize her life. This is all but work, she told herself. At least she is not stealing other people’s money. And most importantly, she is doing this for her son. She may be doing an ethically problematic work, but her love for her son could trump it all. Ethics for her is not the essence of an act, but the intent of the act.
The day she personally met the Congressman forever changed her life. It would also be the beginning of her doom.
Pretty, articulate, intelligent as she was, the Congressman instantly noticed her. She became her favorite. He looked for her every time he visited their headquarters. She was asked by the Congressman to leave the troll farm, and move to his headquarters in Makati, as his employee. And in a short time, she was promoted to become head of communication operations. Meaning, as its Chief Troll.
The promotion brought her additional pay that enabled her to shower his son with material things. They moved out of their decrepit rented apartment in Ermita to a more decent townhouse in Fairview. She was able to transfer him to a higher-paying speech therapist. She even was able to buy a car. She was able to send money to her parents in Romblon. And she was able to ask her younger sister to come over and live with them to help take care of her son while she paid for her studies.
She was riding high on her newly found luck. Who could have imagined that she would end up as a trusted operative of a powerful and influential politician who may just very well become the next President of the country. Her position as Chief Communications Officer sounded a lot better than her previous titles as saleslady, waitress, barista and call-center agent. She is a Makati girl now. Security guards in her office bow down to her every time she entered the building. People now call her Ma’am. She has now access to the more secure channels of communication, even confidential emails, that only the privileged have access to.
She thought luck was now on her side.
Until that fateful Saturday, while working overtime, at around 4 pm, when by accident a Google Folder was missent to her by the Chief Political Officer of the Congressman. She thought it would just be material for a new campaign, until she opened its content, and saw files after files, from Word to Excel to Videos to Images, all showing a treasure trove of dirty deeds which the Congressman was engaged in. And what she saw was a litany of illegal acts, from gambling to drug deals, to commissioned hits on political enemies. It even contained explosive evidence showing the Congressman as the mastermind in the assassination of the former Speaker of the House of Representatives.
While initially shocked, in good faith she though it was an intended email, as an input for her to develop communication materials that can counter the information, should any of these surfaces during the Presidential campaign. She was even grateful that the Congressman would entrust to her such damaging information.
And in good faith, she responded to the email, thanking the Chief Political Officer for sending her the material. And she even included the Congressman in the e-mail.
She did not realize that such would be a fatal mistake. And she began realizing this when in less than a minute, the Chief Political Officer responded with a cryptic e-mail message: “Let us meet at the Congressman’s Office. Now.”
Anxious, she lost no time and immediately took the elevator, and went up the penthouse where the Congressman’s office is.
He was there, and the Chief Political Officer. And the head of Security was there too.
“Elisa, we have a problem here,” the Chief Political Officer nervously said. “I committed a mistake and sent you a confidential file. You should not have had access to it. I am sorry. We would like that you simply forget that this happened.”
She looked at the Congressman, and she saw his eyes. Fierce, angry. He was totally different from that charming, amiable public servant that people see waving to the crowd during public events. His eyes, at the time, were not the same as the one smiling in that billboard along EDSA.
“You can go now,” the Chief Political Officer said. “For your sake, let us just think that this did not ever happen.”
She nervously went back to her office, and there she saw two men working on her computer. They were instructed to empty its content, and sanitize any digital footprint that may have been left.
She quickly gathered her belongings, and walked fast to the parking lot. She was restless while driving home. Is she in danger, she asked herself. The information contained in the G-drive are so damning, and incriminating, and could tank the Presidential ambitions of her boss should it leak to the public. She realized that she has now knowledge about the evil deeds of the Congressman. His dark secrets are now renting a space in her mind.
When she arrived home, she saw her son asleep in bed, beside her sister who was also sleeping. In that moment she knew that their lives may be in danger.
And the phone rang. The Chief Political Officer was calling her.
“Elisa,” she heard him say in a whispering but pained voice, almost catching his breath. She can sense the fear, and desperate urgency in his voice. “Listen to me. There is a safety box. I will text you the exact location. All the files contained in that G-drive are there. For our country’s sake, go and get them. And for you and your son’s sake, run, and hide as far as you can. The Congressman. He is evil.”
And the line went dead.
She lost no time. She knew she had to act. It was only 7 pm. There is plenty of time. She quickly awakened her sister, and son. She instructed her to pack up lightly, and to go to the bus station in Cubao, and wait for her there until 11 pm. If she is not yet there, they just go ahead and take the 11 pm bus. She will just try to follow them.
Her sister tried to ask her questions, but she pleaded with her to just do what she is telling her. Her son woke up. She looked at his handsome, innocent face, the one that was her inspiration and that moved her to aspire for better things. He was the reason why she ended up becoming a saleslady, a waitress, a barista, a call-center agent. It was because of him that she accepted the job of being a troll. It was for him that she became a Communication Executive, and now probably one whose life is in mortal danger. She was pained by the fact that she may have just even exposed her son to that danger. She cannot accept this. She has to do everything to keep him safe.
She booked a Grab and saw off her sister and son. She gave her son the tightest hug she could muster, knowing that if things do not turn out well, it could be their last embrace. She drew a sigh of relief when they finally left.
She hailed her own Grab, instead of driving her own car. She thought it would be a safer way to go to the place where the safety box is located somewhere near De La Salle in Taft. The traffic from Fairview was getting bad. The rain was getting heavier. Streets are getting flooded. It is a good thing that the bus terminal where their sister and son are heading to is just in Cubao.
At around 9 am, while her grab car was negotiating the flooded streets of Espana, a news alert flashed in her phone. What she saw sent shivers up her spine. There was news about a man falling down a condominium apartment in Malate. And he was identified as the Chief Political Officer of the Congressman. Probably suicide. But Elisa thought otherwise. She knew. The Congressman had him killed. And she could be next.
She pleaded with the driver if he can go faster. On the way they passed by the Condominium building where she knew the Congressman’s Chief Political Officer lived. She can still see the police barricade, and the horde of reporters and onlookers. She wanted to scream in horror but she can’t. Everything around her felt silent. She was in stupor, as if her world was closing in on her.
She wanted to turn back, and join her sister and sun at the Bus station in Cubao, to flee to Romblon and forget all of these. But a part of her thought of the Congressman and his evil deeds. and the fact that he could be the next President of the country.
She was interrupted back to reality when her driver told her they have reached their destination.
It was already 10:30. She knew this place. This is Leveriza. This is where she used to enjoy her happy days when she was still a student. On other days it would have been crowded with students relaxing after a week of classes. But on this rainy Saturday night with streets flooded, it was eerily silent and empty. She walked past a family of street dwellers taking shelter under the awning of a bar. And as she walked she can already see the building, a dilapidated apartment, where the safety box is located.
She was about to quicken her pace. It was already 10:40, and while she knew there would not be time for her to catch up with her sister and son in Cubao, that she can still get the files in the safety box and just follow them to Lucena before they board the boat to Romblon.
And then she saw them. The two men who were in her office, the one who cleaned up her computer. And another man, the head of the Congressman’s security.
All she can think at the time was her son.
And she turned around, and ran. As fast as she could.
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