02: Resemblance

Time Square never failed to amaze Laura. She had come across its name a lot of times in her books, but she never had the chance to pay it a visit, especially since she was completing her fine art major then. Seeing it in its pure glory made her think she missed half of her life for nothing.

It was indeed a rich commercial street, a place where you’d feel it was a miracle to be alive. The rows of gigantic buildings almost seemed to be calling Laura, its glint in the nearly covered sun daunting. Whenever she peered at the car window, no matter how hard she tried to look up, she couldn’t have even just a single glimpse of the dome-like horizon, almost as though they were never there to begin with. The crown of the different infrastructures, its rows in the corners of the street that far surpassed that of a tree, had this sense of both permanence and ephemeral quality. Something about it intrigued her more than she thought it would. It gave her that kind of desire to unravel how these ingenuities had come to be or, for that matter, how an idea sparked into being this way.

“Your grandmother comes here often if she could help it.”

Laura turned abruptly to the driver. “Grandmother does?”

He looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled. “And your grandfather, too. As far as I know, they met here. They were both running an errand. I guess for their family company. They come across each other—and, well, the rest is history.”

“That’s terrible of them,” she said, although her lips were forming into the broadest smile she’d been suppressing for days on end.

“You look good when you smile.” The driver looked away as he turned in one of the intersections. “Your grandmother wouldn’t want you to just keep it to yourself.”

“Probably.” Laura sighed.

Caressing her right elbow, she went and stared outside as though she had not been disturbed by trivial thoughts. The mention of her late grandma still brought this nostalgic and desperate sense of reaching out for something; whenever she came to the point of accepting her death, a wave of sadness would attract her tears. But she had wasted most of it for a few days, and it’d be poor of her to wallow in grief.

In her despair, the world outside had suddenly turned gray. The buildings that looked lively became some kind of dark infrastructures with which, to the way it glimmered, spelled destruction in every manner. She imagined them falling from one point to the other until nothing in the neighborhood was to be seen standing. Just like how there was nothing left to her now, she wanted to know how the universe would be able to take it.

It was awful, but it was justified by the hole inside her somber heart.

Even the sight of the giant banners waving in some of the buildings, hundreds of posters lining from one establishment to the other, wasn’t able to keep her from swimming deeper into despair. Although the pictures in there were smiling, to Laura, it looked more of a distorted image of some cruel manifestation that was taunting her grandmother’s death.

She yawned as they passed through a billboard where trailers of some movies were filmed. The actress appeared to be standing in a deserted moor, rain splattering all over her body; a man stood behind her, pointing a revolver with shaking hands.

This seemed to be the perfect metaphor of the things she went through these past few days, though the tears and the gleam in the actor’s eyes couldn’t hope to justify the real deal of desperation and grief she had to endure. She couldn’t blame them for that, but if they were going to do their job, they should at least do it right.

The rest of the journey was punctured by tensioned silence, her lips pursed into a tight line, the gray of her orbs almost lifeless.

The driver didn’t bother her until they parked in the corner of Casablanca. Just as she’d seen in the picture, the hotel had about five stories, each of which had about five glass windows lined in rows, a curtain covering the view of its occupant. A small pole was erected at the third layer, waving not a flag but a faded crimson banner, with the hotel’s crest stitched in the far corner of the elegant calligraphy, which spelled Casablanca.

“We’re here, Madame.”

Nodding, Laura immediately took her jacket off. She had a momentary glimpse of her necklace swinging as the jacket slid past her face, and then, she, once again, had been caught into the hypnosis of her grief.

A day before her grandma died, she gave this to her. Smiling bitterly, she trailed its golden chain. It was cold—like the person who once had possession of it. She scooped it in her hand and just stared for a few minutes at the heart-shaped locket. Inside was a picture of her and her grandma, smiling from ear to ear.

She could clearly remember when it was taken. She was seven years old then. It was one of those few moments where she could see other faces inside the house. She was happy, and the feeling remained even after the photographer and her team had left.

“Are you okay, Madame?”

Laura snapped out of her thoughts. When she saw her driver turn toward her with such a worried look on his face, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, smiling a little.

“I’ll be out for a few minutes, an hour at most. So, you take your rest here for as long as you can.”

Nodding, the driver saluted before slumping on his seat, putting his old cap on his face. Laura shook her head, brushing her hand on her sleeveless black dress. Wearing her sunglasses, she made her way out as elegantly as she could, and the sultry wind greeted her, ruffling her shoulder-length curly hair. She didn’t know if it was just her or the wind really felt like it was onto something, as though it was trying to whisper a dire warning.

“Keep your act together, Laura,” she murmured, clicking her tongue. “The wind has no life, and you’ll be just the same if you keep thinking like this.”

Smacking her head off with her idiocy, she traipsed over to the entrance of the hotel. They had laid a red carpet on the ground, shaded by a crimson rooftop. Bonsai pine trees graced the corners of the rug, and beside them, a smaller version of their banner was erected, dancing along to the rhythm of the wind.

A guard bowed her inside, smiling ever so widely as though it was the last thing he’d do. She said her thanks gruffly and made her way to the counter without a second thought. There she saw not Martha, but a man of his thirties wearing a suit. His lips curved when he saw Laura, his hands stretching in the air as though in welcome.

“Merry morning, Ma’am. You have come to the right place at the right time.”

Laura moved a step back, her nose wrinkling. He wore this strong perfume that just didn’t sit right for her. It was a mix of something more like baby powder and sweat. Brushing her nostril with the back of her finger, she cleared her throat.

“Err—I am looking for Martha Everdeen. Is she here?”

“Martha Everdeen?” His face screwed up. He looked left and right. As usual, seeing the others were going on with their business, he leaned closer to the neatly-polished counter, gesturing for her to move closer.

Laura closed the gap between them despite her better judgment, holding her breath.

“The Martha?”

Unable to hold herself, she moved away once again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m looking for the Martha that used to and is still working here. I’ve read one of her interviews and I wanted to know her story personally.”

“Oh, but you’re only the twentieth person to have looked for her this week alone.” He chuckled. “The young retard had her hands full, so the manager put her in charge in the monitor room. I’m afraid you can’t meet her.”

“Why?” she blurted out, a little stony than she intended to. “On your website, she was supposed to be here at the counter with you.”

“It’s not my fault, Madame. That girl had it with the hotel when she agreed to that novel-like interview. To think she’d go so far as to involve the Martins with her fantasy. I say she’s lucky to still have a place here—or, for that matter, in New York. I’m even surprised the Martins are yet to come barging here and condemning her for dragging their names in the paper.”

“You think they’d come here?” She didn’t know why the subject of them made her heart beat a little too hard. “So, you’d agree they’ve checked in here once before?”

“Ahh, I don’t think I can entertain you any longer. I have work to do. If you’ll excuse yourself, the exit is there.” He faked a smile, his irises moving uncomfortably, probably thinking he had disclosed more than enough.

But Laura shook her head, smiling beside herself. “No, I’m going to wait for Martha. She’d probably go out for a lunch of some sort.”

Blinking, he reached out for the telephone. “Suit yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

She narrowed her eyes at him for the last time before giving their Receiving Area beside the exit one sweeping look. Compared to her room, the space there was rather a big joke. It had two bright benches facing each other, a glass table in the middle of them with a flowery table mat. The column around it was painted yellow. It looked clean and regulated compared to the walls in their mansion in general.

Resigned to the worst, Laura sat on one of the benches, crossing her legs. She reached out for the remote and turned the television on, which was hung in the far corner of the wall. It was airing a music video about a pop song she didn’t like very much. All the same, it was good enough for a distraction.

“Martha would not take too long,” she murmured to herself.

As time passed by, people after people walked past her to consult the front desk; all the same, the world around became silent. All she could hear was the buzz in her head. She entwined her fingers and rested them on her knees. There was something about waiting in there, merely invisible, that made her so angry. It was just like waiting for a time she didn’t usually have. Perhaps, she would have been better off locked in the mansion for a while, giving her grandmother’s passing the reverence it deserved before setting off to find a new purpose.

A part of her clung to the hope of the vampire’s existence, but the part of her that had some logic left on its being knew she wished for something impossible. Vampires were nothing but fictitious beings played for by the most imaginative mind. Yet, she didn’t have the guts to abandon her grandmother’s dream of realizing the odd circumstances of her parent’s death.

The truth was, if she bit the fact that these creatures of the night were non-existent, she would have to forget about all those times she spent with her grandma, all those plotting, and all the narratives she had disclosed and fitted into her young mind. The thought of it alone seemed to be disgraceful in every manner to what her grandma believed in.

***

“The undead once lived amongst us,” her grandma used to say, smiling from ear to ear, “but their honored grace was feared by mere mortals. They have the strength and the power to put an end to everyone’s life, and so, they’ve been condemned and hunted. It started strife, and vampires were forced to flee and create a kingdom of their own, where the eyes of judgment couldn’t reach their already scarred soul.”

The cute, chubby hands of the five-year-old Laura reached out to the weathered cheeks of her grandma, a dimple resting in the bottom of her cheek as she cracked a smile.

As though she understood the language in her eyes, she carried the excited child to her lap and caressed the strands of her ash-gray hair. They both stared at the orangish light from the chimney.

“These vampires were born with the natural thirst for human blood. They longed suppress it for peace, but because of our ancestors’ fear and greed, they started hunting us one by one as we do to them. It became a cycle of retribution that has been obscured through time. People no longer believe in their existence, and so, when mortals after mortals had gone missing in the past with mysterious and illogical circumstances, they tried excusing them as something that was far from the truth. Many still believed it even though logic cannot work to their advantage. Why else could these humans be found in the outskirts of their respected village, all with their blood drained and their body filled with bite marks? But no, people have come up with a nice idea of turning a blind eye to these things. And that’s how I’ve been touted as a murderer. Their narrowed perspectives allowed for the continued blunder of authorities and ancient profiles.”

***

Looking back, Laura barely understood a thing that her grandma had spoken of. She just listened to her melancholic voice then, though now she came and thought about it, bitterness and resentment were apparent in the way she articulated each of her words.

She sighed. It was probably a little too late for her to think about these things, though she understood that she was never too old to bite these fantasies. She would see this through. If she was wrong, then fuck it! She’d just have to continue living; that was it. There would be no harm done.

“Zheira?”

Snapping out of her thought, she turned toward the direction of the counter where the womanly voice came from. Standing in there with wide eyes was Martha Everdeen herself, her beetle-black hair tied into a tight bun.

Laura smiled as she stood, bowing slightly. To her surprise, Martha clenched her fists on Laura’s shoulders and stared at her face so intently that she had to blink and move away. “Err—what are you doing?”

Eyes after eyes were starting to stare in their direction, and she’d rather have Martha put her hands away from her. It wasn’t as if they knew each other. As far as the world was concerned, it was her first time being here and, definitely, the first time they both set eyes on.

Blinking stupidly, Martha moved away, brushing the back of her neck, her cheeks burning red. “Sorry! I thought you were someone I knew.”

“Oookay, who?”

Martha pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. “Zheira.” She looked away with an awkward smile. “Zheira Martin.”