The moment two young, uniformed policemen showed up on his doorstep to
invite him to the station, his mind flashed back to his dream three nights ago,
where he was being chased by a white dog through seemingly never-ending dark
alleyways and tunnels. He was breathless when he awoke, then, but thanks to the
glass of water he kept on his bedside table, he was able to compose himself
soon.
He ushered the policemen to his living room, and tidied the scraps of
cloth that were laid out on the living room sofa and center table so that they
could sit, while he changed clothes in his bedroom. Before he finally went out,
he took out the cutout photo of the boy from its slot on his dresser mirror,
and hid it inside his drawer. He took that photo using his digital camera
during one of the games in the last basketball league in their barangay.
He took time closing all the doors and windows in his house and unplugging
the appliances from their sockets before he finally joined the policemen in the
veranda. He was grateful they had a car—not a patrol one, and with tinted
windows, he immediately noticed—otherwise, they would have to walk to the
tricycle terminal on the far corner of the street where everybody would see
them. They would inevitably ask what he was doing with the two policemen and on
their way to the station at that, and he was not sure how to respond.
He smiled when the younger-looking of the two policemen opened the backseat
door for...
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