On the center table, Sophie picked up a black crayon to outline a bee. She drew the insect’s two antennae, a smiling face, arms, wings, and legs. She even accessorized the bee’s head with a bow. After coloring some parts black, she used a yellow crayon to finish the rest.

Up above on the balcony, various potted plants formed a small greenery. There were Aloe Vera, Lucky Bamboo, Begonia, Snake Plant, Heartleaf Philodendron, Fiddle-leaf Fig, Peace Lily, Pothos, Jade Plant, and Bromeliads.

Mary began watering the plants in front with her watering can.

Mary Jane Macatangay Pangilinan was a little older than Sophie. She had long, straight black hair, dark brown eyes, fair skin, and an average height and build. She resembled her mother, Martha, though Martha preferred tying her hair while Mary kept hers loose and flowing.

“Olivia, Liam, Emma, Noah, and Charlotte, grow healthy and well,” Mary said to the plants, each named by her.

Mary hummed a happy tune as she watered them. She loved her plants and believed talking and singing to them helped them grow.

In the backyard, a basketball hoop stood, and there was Michael, wearing a blue tank top emblazoned with the Superman emblem—a popular superhero.

Michael dribbled the ball and successfully shot it into the hoop. He then moved farther away, dribbled between his legs, and scored again.

“Yes! I did it!” Michael proudly raised his right fist while clenching his left in victory.

Michael wiped his sweat with a towel, grabbed a bottled water from the table, and sat on a rusted white chair, drinking to quench his thirst from the strenuous play.

Two weeks later, it was Intramurals.

Early in the morning, the student body gathered in the school quadrangle.

“Let’s welcome Principal Gomez to the stage with a warm round of applause,” Mr. Carrasco, head of the Intramural committee, announced through the microphone.

Clap, clap, clap, clap. The students applauded.

“I formally welcome you, Lourdesians, to Our Lady of Lourdes School Intramural Sports. Over the next three days, we will have different sports and activities. This is your time to have fun, enjoy with your friends, and compete. I expect camaraderie and sportsmanship from all. Thank you,” Principal Gomez said.

“Thank you, Principal Gomez. Now, brace yourselves for the performance of Kaleidoscope!” The host introduced the boy band to thundering cheers.

Jameson “James” Macatangay Pangilinan was a fourteen-year-old lad with short, straight black hair, brown eyes, fair skin, a lean build, and average height.

“Oppaaaaa!!!” a girl screamed at the top of her lungs, swooning over James’ Korean looks.

James and the band got into position: Kai on keys, Rowan on drums, Apollo and Ezra on guitars, and James as the lead vocalist.

The boys began playing, and James soon sang:

There’s a fruitcake for everybody…

• Lyrics from “Fruitcake” by Eraserheads, fRUiTCaKe (1996)

The teachers sang along, reminiscing about the pop song from their youth. James grinned with zest as he performed.

In the afternoon, the coach called the competing teams from the different sections. “Red Lions from Section St. Peter and Blue Sharks from Section St. Paul.”

The Red Lions wore red jerseys, and the Blue Sharks wore blue, with each player’s number and surname on the back.

Michelangelo “Michael” Macatangay Pangilinan was an eleven-year-old boy. He had short, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, tan skin, an average build, and was fairly tall. He sometimes self-deprecatingly joked about his “Chinese-looking” features. Additionally, he had a mole on his right cheek, which some would call a “beauty mark.”

Michael was proactive on the court, dribbling and running all around.

“Pass the ball to me!” Michael called out to a teammate. He was on fire.

Michael seemed unstoppable until an opposing player blocked his way. He defended the ball with all his might, and when an opening appeared, he sprinted toward the basket and scored, to the cheers of his classmates.

Section St. Peter shook their red pom-poms and raised placards of lions on red backgrounds that read, “Red Lions.” The gym buzzed with excitement from the all-boys elementary department.

In the end, the Red Lions prevailed over the Blue Sharks, and Michael’s team congratulated him on his performance.

Holy Week in Intramuros, Manila. A wide, open field bordered by ruins. Birds flocked on the pavement. Nearby, restaurants with Spanish colonial names added to the historical ambiance. The sun was bright and hot.

Standing tall was the monument of the national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, mounted on a pedestal. Lolo (Grandpa) Al, Lola (Grandma) Emily, Tito (Uncle) Ronald, the Argente couple, and the Pangilinan family had a tourist take a group picture in front of the monument. Everyone was all smiles.

“Say cheese!” the kind tourist cued the family.

Better late than never, the Sevillas arrived from the entrance line, greeted by the lady guard: the patriarch, Eric; the matriarch, Thalia; their only daughter, Allison; and the equally fabulous maid, Morisette.

“The most beautiful daughter has arrived!” Thalia loudly proclaimed in a quasi-dramatic entrance.

The Sevillas joined the Pangilinans and Argentes. Although they missed the visit to the three churches, they made it in time for the historical excursion.

Al and Emily, the old couple, were accompanied by their middle-aged bachelor son Ronald, daughter Ellie, and son-in-law Ansel on a visit to the ruins. Their first stop was the remnants of the Rajah Soliman Theater.

“What’s that? Let’s go there. That spot must be interesting,” Ellie said as she led the others across to another ruin—a barracks where Spanish colonial soldiers once stayed.

“Pa, take a picture of us: Inay, Itay, and Kuya (Big Brother),” Ellie requested of her husband, Ansel.

“One…two…three…say cheese!” Ansel took a family picture of Al, Emily, Ronald, and Ellie.

The four passed by The Moat, a canal that connected the Pasig River and Manila Bay. In view was Medio Baluarte de San Francisco, named after St. Francis of Assisi. The rampart seemed built to fortify the riverside and landward defenses of Fort Santiago. The waters, once clear in the sixteenth century, were now moss green.

At the end stood the Fort Santiago Gate.

“Pa, it’s decorated with wood relief carvings,” Ellie observed.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s a carving of St. James, the ‘Moor-slayer,’” Ansel added.

“Well, actually, you know—the image of St. James, or ‘Santiago,’ symbolizes Spanish sovereignty. It decorates places once occupied by the Spaniards, like Chile and Mexico,” Ansel shared as trivia.

I don’t know what these two are talking about. Sure, they know a lot, Ronald thought, feeling dumbfounded by the couple’s conversation.

Meanwhile, in the chambers of Baluarte de Santa Barbara (Bulwark of St. Barbara), white LEGO models of lost landmarks in Intramuros, as well as miniatures of other notable places in the Philippines, were on display.

“Allison, here, beside the Ignacio Church,” Thalia said, guiding her daughter toward a miniature.

“Sweet pose, Anak (Child),” Thalia, the seeming stage mother, instructed Allison.

Morissette raised the digicam and snapped a picture of the girl.

“My girl is so beautiful. Hashtag #iMakeHistory. Let’s post it on Instagram so you’ll get more than your 10k followers,” Morissette said.

Not just 10k—I’ll make it to twenty. You’ll see, Allison proudly thought to herself.

Eric, who had been quietly waiting for the documentary on Rizal to start, called to his wife, daughter, and Morissette, “The documentary is about to begin, take your seats.”

Museo ni Rizal (Rizal’s Museum). Martha, Greg, and their two daughters, Mary and Sophie, entered the museum after securing entry from the guard. As soon as the family was inside, they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The family passed by a corridor where a timeline of Rizal’s life was displayed on a long bulletin board. There was also a lifelike portrait of the national hero. Rizal’s cell was preserved, with a statue of him sitting at his desk, writing.

Rizal’s clothes and accessories from his travels to Europe were also on display, along with The Martyrdom of Jose Rizal mural by National Artist Carlos “Botong” Francisco. A piece of his vertebra, where Rizal was hit by a bullet, was preserved as well.

“Here is the Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not). However, the original copy is kept at the National Library,” Martha, a Filipino teacher, informed her daughters.

Meanwhile, Michael ran excitedly downstairs toward the dungeons, ignoring the sign that read, “WAIT FOR SECURITY TO GIVE PERMISSION BEFORE ENTERING THE DUNGEONS.” James and Benjamin followed him to keep an eye on their younger brother.

“There must be ghosts here. They say prisoners died in these cells,” Michael said excitedly, eager for ghost hunting.

“What were you thinking, Michael, running off like that? What if you got hurt?” Benjamin scolded his little brother with concern.

“Chill, Benjamin, this can be fun. And Michael, be a little more careful,” James said, acting as the mediator between his brothers.

“You two are such scaredy-cats,” Michael teased, sneering at his older brothers.

The three passed by the cells and statues of Japanese soldiers and prisoners: guerrillas and civilians.

Benjamin paused for a moment to pay his respects. Rest well, heroes and innocent victims.

The three brothers exited on the other side.

“Bummer, I’m not even spooked down there,” Michael expressed, clearly disappointed.

At the Intramuros Visitors Center, housed in the chambers of Baluartillo de San Francisco Javier, the clan—Pangilinans, Argentes, and Sevillas—gathered for dinner. The center included an information hub, audiovisual room, refreshment kiosks, and souvenir shops. One of the chambers was a small restaurant called Las Casas (The Houses).

Al, Emily, and Ronald sat at a long dining table with the Pangilinan family and the Argente couple. Other patrons, both locals and foreigners, occupied the remaining tables, while the Sevillas dined outside.

The Pangilinans and Argentes dined merrily in their large number, their laughter echoing even outside.

“I cook better than this,” Thalia claimed.

“Tastes like something from an eatery. In my opinion, this is overpriced. Poor foreigners—they’re being cheated,” Eric added.

“Do you want sorbetes, Allison?” Morissette asked.

“Yes, please, Morissette,” Allison sweetly replied.

Morissette approached the ice cream vendor. “Kuya, one please.”

The vendor handed her a dessert made from carabao milk.

MAY CAME. In the affluent Makati Central Business District (CBD), the 40-floor metropolitan building of Morris-Scott Financial Group towered over the skyline.

Eric sat at his desk, glued to the computer screen, studying stock market patterns.

Knock, knock, knock. The secretary knocked and entered.

“Come in,” Eric said.

“Mr. Anderson is here to inquire,” the secretary informed her boss.

Eric nodded. Moments later, a wealthy older man, an American expat, joined him at his desk. Eric’s nameplate read: “Mr. Enrico ‘Eric’ Mercado Sevilla – Hedge Fund Manager.”

Eric was a middle-aged man in his early 40s with black hair, dark brown eyes, a beard, tan skin, a muscular dad bod, and a tall frame. He favored dark gray and black suits.

“I’m here to invest in hedge funds,” the expat stated. “I want to make the most of my savings from my businesses.”

Businesses. Now this is my kind of man, Eric thought, smirking.

“Well, Mr. Anderson, you’ve made the right choice with Morris-Scott Financial Group. The hedge fund department is a haven for private investors like yourself,” Eric assured him.

“So, shall we start?” Eric asked, flashing a beguiling smile.

Facing the street in Makati’s CBD was Queen Thalia Salon, a beauty salon drenched in pink that celebrated its “queen mother.” Beyond the glass and steel walls, a large portrait was the salon’s highlight.

The portrait was of a woman newly into her middle age, at 35. She was beautiful, with long, flowing wavy brown hair, green hazel contact lenses, masculine square jaws, a slightly plump figure from age, and tall stature.

Beneath the polished wooden frame, it read: “Nathalia ‘Thalia’ Pangilinan Sevilla – Owner/Manager/Senior Image Stylist.”

“You’re working hard, Thalia,” Mrs. Sanchez complimented.

“Of course, Mrs. Sanchez. My dear husband Enrico provided the capital for this salon. I owe it to my love to make sure this business prospers,” Thalia replied as she trimmed Mrs. Sanchez’s long hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to curl your hair?” Thalia asked again.

“Sometimes, less is more. Simplicity is elegance,” Mrs. Sanchez said.

“If you say so,” Thalia relented.

Whoops kirri, whoops kirri, whoops

Every time I see you…

• Lyrics from “Whoops Kirri” by Fruitcake (1998)

The upbeat and sweet song played in the background. The studio was filled with pink and white balloons, and two giant bottles of Palmolive shampoo for girls stood prominently. Front and center, Allison danced among the other girls her age.

Allison Samantha Pangilinan Sevilla was a seven-year-old girl. She had long, straight black hair in braids, light brown eyes, pinkish-light skin, and a tall, lean figure. A mestiza, her European features came from her Spaniard great-grandfather on her father Eric’s side.

Behind the cameras, Thalia, Allison’s mom, danced along with her daughter, showing her the dance steps. If Allison forgot a move, she only needed to look at her mother to remember. Beside them, Morissette held the digicam, recording the performance while silently cheering.

In Ashford Residences, a 48-storey condominium, on the 28th floor was a 300-square-meter shabby chic apartment. Its glass walls offered a cityscape view, blending the vintage, feminine, and pastel-themed home with the modern, sleek skyscraper surroundings.

In the large kitchen, Morissette carried a basket of dirty clothes to the washing machine and loaded them in. She adjusted the washer settings, added detergent, and started the cycle.

Woosh, woosh, woosh. The clothes spun quickly in the water.

Morissette pulled out a small radio and tuned it to her favorite station. Soon, a familiar song played:

Hanggang ngayon ay alaala sa tuwina

Araw nating nagdaan…

-Lyrics from “Sayang na Sayang” by Aegis, Ating Balikan (2002)

Morissette Pascua, a middle-aged woman in her late 30s from the province of Samar, had short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes, brown skin, and an average body and height. She often proclaimed herself as beautiful, even when others didn’t agree. Morissette wore a modern maid’s uniform—a gray buttoned short-sleeved blouse and matching slacks.

Singing along, she brought out white basins filled with water and placed the family’s undergarments inside, hand-washing them in soapy, foaming water.

Sayang na sayang talaga, Morissette sang passionately, hitting the high notes with gusto.

This was the Sevilla residence, and when the family wasn’t there, Morissette was the only one home.

One hour before bedtime. A pink bedroom. A large portrait of a girl in a fairy costume. Soft, cute stuffed toys, including a gigantic cream-colored she-bear with a big bow around her neck. Barbie dolls, Hello Kitty figures, and a plastic cash register from a cupcakeria.

In her vintage, floral, pastel bed, Allison was glued to her tablet screen, streaming her favorite magical girl anime, Go! Princess PreCure (2015), on Crunchyroll.

Haruka, the heroine, held her dress-up key, which formed a perfume bottle, and filled it with pink liquid. She sprayed herself, conjuring a stream of flowers that floated around her. She twirled under a classical Greco-Roman dome saturated in rose hues.

Haruka received a tiara, and her red-copper hair turned blonde, with pink streaks at the tips. Thousands of petals arose in the background.

“Princess of the flourishing flowers! Cure Flora!” Haruka exclaimed.

At Landmark, Ayala Malls’ department store, Morissette pushed a shopping cart that was a third full.

“Ma’am, here is our collection of necklaces. You can choose one for your daughter,” the saleslady told Thalia.

“Mommy, I want the heart necklace. Please?” Allison sweetly pleaded.

Allison came out of the fitting room, twirling in a pretty pink floral dress.

“That looks lovely on you, my dear,” Morissette complimented her.

“I know. I have good taste,” Allison replied, turning around to showcase the dress further.

“These red shoes already look nice on you, Allison,” Thalia remarked.

“You know me, Mom—I don’t settle for second best,” Allison responded confidently.

“You know your father is already waiting for us at Italianni’s,” Thalia reasoned.

At Italianni’s, a fine Italian restaurant serving exquisite pastas and pizzas, Eric sat on the couch, waiting for his wife and daughter. His patience was wearing thin.

“We’re here, Enrico,” Thalia said as she arrived, holding Allison’s hand, with Morissette trailing behind.

“Take your seats so we can order. Here’s the menu,” Eric said, handing them the options.

One month before the incident inside the cave, Lolo Al and Lola Emily were waiting for a Skype call. When the laptop rang, Al clicked the answer button, and a smiling woman appeared on the screen.

“Itay, how are you and Inay doing?” Selena asked, checking in on her parents.

“We’re doing fine. Where are Topher and Bill?” Emily asked promptly.