〔 MAY 1997 〕
It had been around three weeks, maybe a little more, and the police still had nothing on Edward. Not even the smallest lead. At some point I began to wonder if they were simply not doing their job well enough, or if they were treating the case with a certain indifference because Ed was Asian. It was an ugly thought, but it was difficult to completely dismiss the possibility that racism had something to do with it.
Still, deep down, I knew it might have been unfair to think that way. Police stations must have been flooded with all sorts of reports every day. Different emergencies, different priorities, each one demanding attention with its own urgency. We were not people of any importance back then. Just students in a foreign country, hoping someone would take our worry seriously.
So Jaime, despite how cowardly he could be at times, decided to take matters into his own hands.
He spent money on international calls just to reach the hotel we had stayed at in Salerno. He even contacted the Italian authorities whenever he could, asking for updates that rarely came. Every day that passed without progress made us more restless than the last.
At one point, during a particularly quiet evening, I told Jaime that maybe Edward was somewhere on European soil, buried six feet under.
He did not like that at all.
The look he gave me was sharp enough to cut through the room. Within seconds I found myself sitting through a lecture about sensitivity, about how jokes like that had no place when our friend's safety was involved. Naturally, I got offended. I was only trying to lighten the suffocating gloom that had been hanging around the apartment for days.
After his scolding, which made me feel like some clueless child, I decided to step outside for fresh air. I had no interest in arguing over a joke that simply failed to land. If Mike had been there, the joke would have at least earned a follow up from him. He always had a way of making even the worst humor work.
Speaking of our other friends who were nowhere near us, not even within a bus ride, we had already told them about Edward's disappearance. What we had not told, however, were Ed's parents.
We kept hesitating.
None of us wanted to worry his mother and siblings back in the Philippines, especially when they were already dealing with their own struggles. Without solid information, it felt cruel to drag them into our uncertainty.
So it was just Jaime and me.
No adults to guide us. No one to lean on except each other and whatever cooperation we could squeeze from the police.
〔 SEPTEMBER 1997 〕
For the past weeks, Jaime and I had even taken turns attending Edward's classes. We submitted assignments in his name whenever possible. It was not exactly practical, and it certainly pushed the limits of school regulations, but it felt like the smallest way we could help him hold on to his scholarship.
Even if the effort was clumsy.
Even if we did not know whether it would matter in the end.
Outside, the air felt warmer than usual. Summer was slowly creeping in, and the heat carried a familiar touch that reminded me of home. For a moment it almost felt comforting.
I caught myself thinking about Edward again.
I hoped he was at least warm somewhere, if he was still breathing through his nose.
Tsk.
I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at it in frustration until it looked like a complete mess. Then I exhaled deeply and kept walking, hoping the movement would cool my head.
Strangers passed by along the sidewalk just like I did. Some walked in pairs, some alone. A few cyclists glided along the road beside us. I began considering whether I should grab a cup of coffee somewhere nearby.
Then I heard it.
"Kim."
The voice came from a rolled down window of a sleek black car that had stopped beside the curb. The paint was so polished that I could see my reflection on its surface, slightly blurred but still recognizable.
I will never forget that moment.
Because my first thought was that I had finally started hallucinating.
I looked around me, half expecting another Kim to appear, but everyone nearby continued with their business. No one reacted.
Slowly, I bent down to peer into the back seat through the window.
It was Edward.
Goddamn Edward.
His hair was slicked neatly back, though a few strands had escaped and framed his face. His skin looked oddly smooth, as if someone had polished him the same way people polish leather shoes. He looked so put together that it was almost absurd.
My jaw dropped.
Not because he suddenly looked as handsome as Leonardo DiCaprio or anything close to that. The entire makeover made him look ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
I stared at him for a moment before grinning.
"Who are you? By any chance, is your name Edward Delgado?"
For the first time since I had known him, Edward looked genuinely embarrassed in front of me.
"Just get in the car," he muttered.
I did not move.
There was no way I was getting inside a random vehicle with a man who might have been impersonating my missing friend. If that really was Edward, then he would have to prove it.
It took a surprising amount of reminiscing before I finally climbed into the sedan.
The window rolled up immediately, and the car began to move.
Edward started explaining where he had been and why he had suddenly vanished as if he had been erased from existence. Honestly, at first I thought he was lying. Edward had always been capable of spinning stories whenever he wanted to mess with me.
But his face looked too serious.
So I leaned back against the seat and stared out the window while the streets blurred past us as the car picked up speed.
Then he told me.
The idiot had gotten someone pregnant.
I smacked him.
Hard.
I demanded to know why he had done something so stupid. He had been sober, fully conscious. Edward had never shown any interest in building a family. In fact, he used to talk about how much he disliked the idea of marriage.
Worse still, the more he tried to explain, the clearer it seemed to me that he had taken advantage of a drunk woman.
I had not spent years telling him and the others how to treat women just for him to do something like that.
I could not condone it.
Not even a little.
I told the driver to stop the car and got out the moment it slowed.
For days after that, I hated every single thing about Edward.
Those days stretched into weeks. Then into months.
I never told Jaime what had happened. Maybe it was some strange instinct to protect a friend. Or maybe I simply did not want to deal with the chaos it would cause.
Either way, I made sure no one found out.
I stopped helping Edward maintain his scholarship at Heidelberg. Jaime started calling me selfish, along with every other insult he could think of. But I refused to help a man preserve his future when he had potentially ruined a young woman's life.
I wanted nothing to do with him.
Still, I continued helping maintain the clean image he had among our friends and acquaintances. No one suspected anything.
Life continued like that until one afternoon Jaime burst into the apartment, soaked from the rain outside.
He told me Edward had contacted him.
And somehow, Jaime now knew what I knew.
He was not exactly on the same page as I was, though. The only detail that seemed to matter to him was the fact that our dear friend had knocked someone up.
It bothered him. I could see it.
We had no idea what had been going on inside Edward's head all that time.
My anger flared up again, but Jaime only told me to let it go.
Not long after, when we attempted to follow up on Edward's classes, one of the professors informed us that he had dropped out.
Just like that.
That information alone felt like permission for Jaime and me to finally stop covering for him. We even asked around the university to see if Edward had given them any explanation for his disappearance.
They refused to disclose anything.
Later that same day, Edward knocked on the apartment door.
This time, he told us everything.
From the very beginning.
At first I refused to listen. For several minutes I simply ignored him, convinced that nothing he could say would make any difference.
Then certain details began to catch my attention.
Apparently, he had been helping a woman.
A wealthy girl who was about to be forced into an arranged marriage.
Who would believe something like that?
And who in their right mind would think that getting her pregnant would solve the problem? From my perspective, it only made everything worse.
Edward told us that during the months he had disappeared, men with firearms had been chasing him. The girl's family wanted him dead.
Naturally, I started firing questions at him. Every single one I could think of.
But the short version of the story was this.
Eventually, Françoise's parents allowed them to get married.
Married.
The moment the word left his mouth, I slapped him repeatedly and then grabbed a pillow from the sofa and started hitting him with it.
Yes, marrying into money might mean luxury.
But to me, it looked like he was selling himself just to help a girl he had barely met.
"I have nothing to lose, Kim," he said quietly. "She promised to compensate my family in exchange for my help."
He said it like some tragic romantic hero.
Like he believed he was doing the right thing.
Edward had fallen in love.
And he had done it in the worst way anyone could possibly imagine.