Under Arrest

Chapter 12: Dante

Meanwhile, in the outskirts of Shallowlake, stood an average looking house constructed with bricks. The fence around it consisted of local wood. It had a small gate which hardly served its purpose for its hinges haven’t been fixed for a long time, which made the very gate dangle by some loose screws.

      The place has been treated with neglect

      After walking almost a mile, the man was tired upon reaching his destination.

      His hand searched for the key he hid in between two bricks. He always had a spare hidden in there just in case he forgot to bring his chain. Squeaking, the door opened and dust was visible to have flown where the light permitted him to see it. Inside, he stood in the middle and let his eyes see for the first time in years how it’s been inside the walls. On one side used to be the living room where he would sit by the fireplace to warm himself on chilly nights. Across the room used to be a small kitchen and dining room, which he hardly used because he preferred to eat outside despite being a good cook. He went to a small partition that was once his bedroom.

      This isn’t my house…the man murmured in disbelief.

      The outer walls were now partially covered with moss. The front yard had been neglected, made obvious by the height of grass, probably most of which were now more than a foot. It looked gloomy from the outside. Entering it only depressed the man further, seeing that what used to be his home was nicely treated with neglect. He had no one to blame, for it should have been him who dusted its furniture and swept its floor, only had he not been taken away from it. Rats and cobwebs have become the new tenants of the house, and they did a good job redecorating it.

      The man felt like buying supplies and restoring it to its former state at once. Back when he was the one living in it, it wasn’t like this. He tended to the lawn regularly and fixed anything he saw needed fixing. Pipes that had the tiniest leaks would be tended to right away, and bulbs that needed to be replaced would be dealt before the sun has set.

      He had no idea that this has what become of his lovely home. No one had set foot in it. No one took care of it. His first thought was to torch it. But his saner head prevailed. He could do that though, but not until he took care of things.

      After getting out of prison, Dante planned on going back home and take care of stuff. The prison cell made him miss his room where he slept comfortably at night. The cuisine in prison made him miss his kitchen where he would cook whenever he felt like doing so. The daily chores in prison made him miss his liberty to work whenever he wanted and relax if he felt timid.

      Unfortunately, things went south. He did get out of prison, but not in legal terms. He wanted to go back to his house but he couldn’t for he’s a wanted man and the move the police could make that made full sense is to check his home. But sooner or later, he will have to, and as early as now, he came back for something he needed.

      Dante stopped his tears from reaching his cheeks by wiping it with his hands right away. He wanted to cry for the lost time. He wanted to cry for his lost love. He wanted to cry for seeing his house like this. But now wasn’t the appropriate time for lament.

      He took the risk for there were a few things he needed to get from his house. Getting down on his knee to check under the bed, noticed that the mattress was gone. Must have been taken by looters, but he didn’t care. How they got in was a mystery though, for the door was locked and there was no sign of forced entry. What he came for was his rifle and revolver safely tucked on a secret compartment on the floor under his bed. They were still there. Six bullets on the revolver’s barrel while seventeen shells in the cache for his rifle. His father used it when game was still abundant and legal in their parts.

      Dante’s going to hunt like his father did when he was young. The only difference is that his father hunted deer, ducks, and bears.

      Stepping out the back door, he saw his friend leaning on the wall. Dante removed the covers and was surprised that it was still there while his mattress wasn’t in his room. He wondered how it got here at the back of the house.

      People must be needing beds more than a motorcycle nowadays. Dante uttered unto himself.

      He walked his motorcycle up front. The keys were still hanging on the corkboard where he would usually hook it after arriving home. As he took it, he noticed something pinned on the corkboard. It’s a handwritten letter. The penmanship was unmistakable even from a distance.

                                                       September 11, 2009

Dante,

      First of all, I would like to remind you that you missed my birthday yesterday. But I got your flowers, which means you’re alive. But where are you?

      I don’t know where else to look. I’ve visited your relatives that I know of, but they too have no idea of where you are or how you’re doing. At least, that’s what they told me.

      I’m cold Dante. It’s cold without you. I miss you.

      I don’t even know why I wrote this. Maybe it’s the result of desperation, hoping that one day, you’d just show up at my front door and we’d be together again.

      You’ve been gone for almost two months now, same amount of time that I’ve been crying myself to sleep when I realize that I’m probably waiting for a ghost.

      I parked your motorcycle out at the back. God, it’s heavy! I long for the day when I’d hold on to you as you drive on it during our dates. I gassed it up as well. You know where to find your keys.

      I haven’t lost hope. Either you can’t be found or you do not want to be found, but I’m not giving up. I believe you’d return one day. I will wait for that day, always hoping that that day would be today.

      I’m leaving this letter here. Come home Dante.

                                                      Always yours,

                                                      Ma. Sharee Lou

“…Come home Dante.”

“…Come home.”

“…Dante.”

      It was as if her words on paper were actually being whispered into his ear as he read the letter. Dante’s hand was rolled up into a firm fist which he threw at the brick wall. He wasn’t able to hold back his tears this time around. He got pissed when he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He snatched the letter from the board where it was pinned and folded it into his pocket. He wanted to smash the window as well but he loved his house so much.

      All that Dante could do was ask one of the guards that he befriended to send her flowers. He had some money, and Dante could see that the guard was trustworthy enough. He didn’t write return addresses on the notes he sent though. He didn’t want Sharee to know where he was.

      Having packed some clothes, he walked out. The sun was on his face as it began to set. Not knowing what demon possessed him, he kicked his motorcycle to the ground in rage. His tears started rolling again. It was a blessing that he had no neighbors. If he did, they'd think him literally possessed.

      A little while after calming himself, he found himself laughing as he tried to pick his bike up. It told him that it missed him, and it was inviting him to sit on its cushion. It has been so long since he pulled on the throttle.

      He rode it once more.