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Monday, September 05, 2005

Living In Exciting Times

Investigators have been hovering me for statement that could lead to the killers of my friend's murder. Just a while ago, an agent texted me that they are in the house to have me answer some of their questions. Too bad, that time I was in the parlor with my sister having my hair colored dark blue (which, eventually, didn't work), my nails manicured and pedicured. I told them to come to the parlor and talk to me.

Minutes later, I could see the police mobile parking near the salon. An agent sat beside me as he stares my hands being manicured. We talked about the case and some information that I might know about Larra. I honestly told him that Larra is not the type of person who talks about problems. He then asked me about Larra's lovers, if there are. Yes, Larra does have a share of lovers, although she doesn't take them seriously. One's a marine and anothers an engineering professor.

In my mind it was supposed to be my last statement to the investigators, until I realized that they wanted to take me to their office for interrogation. I would like to volunteer, but I asked permission from my dad first, of course through SMS.

Dad was furious. He told me that he almost got a heart attack because of it, concerned of my welfare and safety, like all parents would. And I agreed.

After I paid for the salon services I walked towards the mobile, leaving my sister behind (do you really think I would compromise my sister's safety because of this?). As expected, the agents continued to convince me to join them to their headquarters, for interrogation. I was just baffled, why don't they talk to Larra's neighbors, he was killed there anyway, maybe they know something that they refuse to tell to the police. I'm just Larra's co-worker, who just so happened that I go out of the office with her and spend some time eating out and treat ourselves to a salon. But they insisted that Larra's neighbors and relatives are pointing their fingers to me, because I was closest to Larra. I have a weird feeling that they consider me as a suspect to Larra's murder. If only I could just wring their necks because of their intelligent stupidity. In the first place, I have never been to Larra's boarding house, which she lived by her lonesome.

And why do local detectives rely so much on witnesses? Haven't they heard of forensics, like the ones we see on CSI and Medical Detectives? What if witnesses don't want to talk? Will the pursuit for justice just stop?

I asked Dad through his cellphone what to do. I relayed his message to the agents: that I will only make my statement at our office and they are not allowed to take me to Camp Karingal, even if escorted. Once I got home, I got a mouthful from Dad at the other end of the phone while playing mah-jong.

"If Larra's neighbors don't talk at all, why should you? Do you wanna be next on those killers' list?"

Those words creeped the paranoia to an all-new high. I don't wanna die. Not yet, anyway. I haven't utilized my utmost potential. I haven't seen the world. I haven't even found a soul mate yet and grow old. These scary thoughts have caused me to pray repeatedly to St. Jude a while ago, holding tightly the rosary my sister just gave me.

I just hope this chapter would just stop. I hope for Larra's murderers to get caught, but our welfare is being sacrificed, and it's scaring me to death. But I will not bend.

I will still continue with my tasks, although I would be more careful. I often go out alone, since my friends have different work schedules and we rarely meet.

Larra, what have you done? Why are you putting us to jeopardy?


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