Chapter LXV: Aperuit
Liz, Wyn, and Adrian meet up at the northern gate, their hearts pounding in sync with the silence of the night. Their breaths are shallow, their steps light as they move along the shadows, navigating through the dimly lit pathways of Colegio Metropolitana de San Pablo.
Their destination is clear—the iron gate leading to the staircase that ascends to the third floor where the old chapel resides. With swift and calculated movements, they reach the gate. Adrian pulls out a spare key from his pocket, the cool metal pressing against his palm. He inserts it into the lock, and with a soft click, the gate swings open.
They slip through the opening and make their way up the stairs. Just as they reach the second floor, they freeze. A lone server patrols the hallway, his footsteps echoing through the silence. They exchange tense glances, their minds racing for a plan.
Adrian quickly scans the area and spots a discarded cardboard box in the corner. With quick hands, he grabs a marker from his pocket and scribbles markings on it, making it appear like a delivered parcel. He places it on the floor and gives it a gentle but strategic kick towards the patrolling server.
The server notices the movement and stops, bending down to inspect the box. This is their chance.
Liz, Wyn, and Adrian move like shadows, slipping behind the server while he is distracted. But just as they are about to ascend the staircase, the server turns his head slightly. Sensing the danger, Adrian acts instinctively. He steps behind the server and delivers a precise hit to the nape of his neck. The server stumbles forward and collapses to the ground, unconscious.
They exchange a silent nod and move toward the southern staircase, the direct path to the chapel. However, as they take a step forward, Liz halts them, pointing at the blinking red light of a CCTV camera positioned near the stairwell.
Wyn, thinking quickly, scans their surroundings. Spotting a nearly empty water bottle discarded nearby, she picks it up, shakes the remaining water inside, and with a swift throw, splashes the camera lens. The water seeps into the device, short-circuiting it. The blinking red light flickers before fading into darkness.
With the surveillance temporarily disabled, they rush up to the third floor. But as they near the old chapel, footsteps sound from the staircase below. Someone is coming.
"Go back!" Adrian whispers harshly, urging them to retreat.
They dart away, attempting to take another route. However, another figure emerges from the shadows.
"We're seen!" Liz hisses.
Without another choice, they descend back to the second floor, searching desperately for a hiding spot. Their eyes land on an abandoned classroom, the door slightly ajar. Without hesitation, they slip inside, pressing themselves against the walls as their pursuers' footsteps approach.
The tension is unbearable. The creaking of the floorboards outside sends a shiver down Liz's spine. They hold their breath, praying that their presence remains unnoticed. Moments stretch into eternity before the footsteps gradually fade away. The pursuers are gone.
They exchange relieved but urgent glances. "We have to move now," Adrian mutters.
They exit the classroom and hurry back up, this time choosing the northern staircase. The air grows heavier as they make their way through a dimly lit hallway. Liz retrieves a small lamp from her bag, its glow casting flickering shadows against the cracked walls.
Finally, they stand before the door of the old chapel. Its wooden frame is aged, the surface covered in dust and forgotten memories. Their hands hover near the handle, hesitation gripping them.
"Are we ready for this?" Wyn whispers.
Liz takes a deep breath and nods. "We have to be."
They reach for the door—uncertain of what awaits them beyond.
Liz takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she slowly brings out the old chapel key. She does the sign of the cross and whispers a silent prayer, seeking strength for what they are about to uncover. The key slides into the rusted lock, twisting with an unsettling creak. With a final turn, the door groans open, revealing the eerie interior of the old chapel.
Weeds crawl through the cracked walls, tendrils of nature reclaiming the forgotten space. The ceiling sags with age, and cobwebs drape over the remnants of what was once a place of worship. Statues stand in ruins, their faces worn by time, and paintings that once told stories of faith are nowhere to be seen.
Adrian stands frozen, his breath caught in his throat. The sight pulls him into a past memory—a time when he and Bennett spent their afternoons here, speaking in hushed voices about their dreams and struggles. The warmth of their laughter echoes in his mind, but as he blinks, the illusion fades, leaving only the desolation before him.
"This place…" Wyn mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes dart across the ruined sanctuary, taking in every detail with an expression of awe and discomfort.
Liz, however, is unfazed. She has known this place, its decay, its secrets. But something about tonight feels different—ominous, as if unseen eyes are watching their every move.
Then, at the far end of the chapel, they see it. A towering wooden closet, its presence almost commanding attention. A numerilock guards its doors.
Liz swallows hard, fear clawing at her insides. "Bennett… where are you?" she whispers.
Adrian places a hand on her shoulder, his grip reassuring. Wyn stands firm beside them, a silent promise that they are in this together.
Liz hesitates, then recalls the numbers from her dream. Her fingers shake as she presses the sequence: 1-6-0-8-2-3.
The lock clicks open.
Holding her breath, Liz grips the handle and pulls. The doors creak as they swing apart, revealing the contents within.
Inside, a life-sized statue stands solemnly in the dim glow of the lantern. The figure wears a Kamiseta de Chino, its hands holding a palm leaf and a book. Dust clings to the folds of the garments, and its expression is eerily serene. The nameplate at the foot of the statue reads: St. Lorenzo Ruiz.
But that is not what sends shivers down their spines.
Below the statue, placed neatly in a row, are familiar items—a phone, a pair of glasses, and a rosary.
Liz's breath hitches. Her mind races.
Slowly, she raises the lantern higher, illuminating the face of the statue.
And she freezes.
A scream dies in her throat as her knees give way. She stares, unable to look away.
The statue's face is Bennett.
The same jawline. The same gentle eyes. Every detail—perfectly carved.
Liz's mind reels back to the dream. The words that haunted her: Had I a thousand lives, all these to Him shall I offer.
Wyn and Adrian take a step back, their breaths shallow.
"This—this can't be," Wyn stammers, gripping Adrian's arm.
Adrian clenches his fists, trying to steady himself. "But it makes sense," he mutters, his voice hollow. "Bennett… in your dream… he held a palm leaf and a book. That's what Lorenzo Ruiz is depicted with."
Liz's fingers dig into the hem of her shirt, her knuckles turning white. Tears stream down her cheeks as she reaches out, brushing her fingers against the cold, unfeeling surface of the statue.
Her voice cracks. "Bennett… is this really you?"
Her sobs fill the chapel as she collapses before the figure, wrapping her arms around its stone form. The chilling reality sinks in—Bennett has been turned into this.
A presence lingers behind them.
Footsteps echo in the silence.
Liz, Wyn, and Adrian snap their heads up, their bodies tensing.
A figure steps into the dim light.
Fr. Edgar.
His eyes widen at the scene before him. Concern washes over his face as he watches Liz tremble, her hands gripping the statue's base.
"What… is going on here?" Fr. Edgar asks, his voice gentle yet firm.
Liz lifts her tear-streaked face, her gaze desperate. "Father… this statue… it's Bennett."
Fr. Edgar's brows knit together. He kneels beside Liz, looking at the statue more closely. He listens as they recount everything—the dream, the numerilock, the items at the base of the statue, and the eerie resemblance to Bennett.
As they finish, his expression darkens.
"I feared something like this…" he murmurs, running a hand through his graying hair. "I've always suspected that this chapel was no longer being used for its intended purpose."
He sighs deeply. "Someone has been using this sacred space for… something else. Something sinister."
Liz wipes her tears, her heart hammering. "Father, we think… they plan to take this statue away. That must be what Ivan was talking about on the phone."
Fr. Edgar's eyes widen. "Then you must protect it at all costs."
A slow clap breaks the tense atmosphere.
The sound is mocking, deliberate.
Liz, Wyn, Adrian, and Fr. Edgar whip around.
Emerging from the southern doorway is Ivan.
He steps forward, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with amusement. Behind him, several officers stand, their expressions unreadable.
"Well, well, well," Ivan drawls, folding his arms. "Looks like someone finally figured it out."
Liz stiffens. Adrian and Wyn exchange wary glances, inching closer to her protectively.
Fr. Edgar rises to his feet, his stance firm. "Ivan, what is the meaning of this?"
Ivan chuckles. "Oh, Father, I think you already know."
Liz clenches her fists. "What do you want?"
Ivan's smirk widens. "Isn't it obvious? That"—he gestures to the statue—"belongs to us."
Silence stretches between them, thick with unspoken threats.
Then, with a sinister glint in his eye, Ivan steps forward.
"And we're here to take it back."