The San Isidro Mysteries 03: La Loba Blanca (complete)

My apologies if this took longer than I had anticipated, thank you for your patience.

Many, many thanks to Charlie, Jason, Peyton, Vanessa, William and the Anchorage Armorers.

Though I think this story is a "stand-alone" piece, reading Books 1 and 2 may give you a better perspective about the place, time and characters of Book 3. Unlike the first two books, there are no love scenes in this third tale as San Isidro finds itself in the middle of an epic battle between good and evil. I do hope you will still enjoy it and thank you again.

Any error is mine.

Dedicated to chasten, 29wordsforsnow and The_Outlander for convincing me the town was worth a third visit.

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PROLOGUE

Don Castor Reinoso took his time opening the door that led to the secret chamber of his mansion, a room only he and his trusted man-servant knew about and had access to. Built behind a false wall in the library, it housed the many instruments Don Castor used to indulge in his favorite past-time -- silken scarves, long velvet ropes, soft cotton masks, chains, restraints, whips and several wooden phalluses in varying lengths and girths, some smooth and others viciously ribbed, but each one expertly sculpted -- all neatly placed on a long low table on one side of the room. From the ceiling dangled two iron rings suspended from long chains while directly below these were another pair some four feet apart, firmly nailed to the polished wooden floor. He knew the longer the captive inside the room waited, the more she would suffer, and Castor liked that.

In the middle of the room stood a wooden four-poster bed where an olive-skinned young woman was lying. A soft cotton mask covered her eyes, its ends tied securely behind her head while a balled velvet square was pushed between her parted lips. Don Castor stood at the foot of the bed and admired his latest prize. Naked and spread-eagled, the girl's arms and legs were bound to the sturdy posts of the huge bed by four of the silken scarves in his vast collection. Her firm breasts rose and fell as she breathed, he saw her throat move as she swallowed the saliva that was probably pooling in her gagged mouth.

Castor smiled and moved beside the bed. He reached out his hand and pinched one nipple. The reaction was immediate, her arms pulled on their restraints while a moan escaped her lips.

"Shh," he admonished, "I told you earlier this evening that you must not make a sound, yet that is almost the first thing you do. You must be punished for that transgression."

The girl shook her head helplessly, her arms and legs straining futilely against the silken scarves.

He turned to the table where his toys were displayed and chose a smooth wooden phallus and a short corded whip which he tested against the side of the table.

The sound of the whip slicing through the air and its knots hitting the wood caused the bound Lisa to visibly shudder. She had not known that accepting the gentleman's offer to model for him would put her in such danger; he was a painter, he said, and she possessed a quality he had never seen before, a quality he wanted to immortalize on canvass. He had offered her a sizable sum and she had agreed, what harm could it possibly bring? Money had always been tight, but now she and her older sister, Magdalena, were in even more dire straits since their mother, a tenant-farmer, died the year before and the owner of the small parcel of land she had tilled gave the rights to someone else.

She had arrived at the Reinoso mansion that afternoon and was greeted at the door by the don's man-servant, Enrique. He ushered her into the house's library and that was the last thing Lisa remembered, until she had woken, blindfolded, gagged and bound and, she now realized, naked.

She stifled the cry of despair that rose in her throat, she heard the creak of the floorboards and knew Don Castor was walking towards her. She thought of Magdalena and begged her older sister's forgiveness.

"Forgive me, Ate, I love you," she thought and resigned herself to her fate.

She heard several grunts and then a thud like a heavy weight falling on the floor. Moments later, the mask that covered her eyes was torn away, and she was looking up at her sister's face -- fear and anger filled Magdalena's midnight-dark eyes, while a thin trail of blood trickled down her chin. Behind her, sprawled on the polished wooden floor, lay the lifeless body of Castor Reinoso, his neck slashed, his head twisted at an impossible angle.

"I told you to never trust men," she hissed, as she untied Lisa's hands.

As soon as her hands were free, Lisa removed the gag from her mouth, gulping air in as her older sister freed her legs.

"I'm sorry, Ate," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He promised to pay me, it... it was a large amount and all I wanted to do was help you... pl-please say you forgive me, please, Ate," she pleaded.

Magdalena gathered her young sister in her arms.

"Of course, I forgive you, but never do this again, Lisa. Remember what Nanay told us," she whispered, "Now, where are your clothes?"

I don't know, I woke up in this bed and that's all I can remember."

Magdalena looked at Castor on the floor. She stood up and pulled off the robe the dead man was wearing.

"Here, put this on...quickly!" she said, seeing the apprehension in Lisa's eyes. "Now is not the time to arg..."

A sudden gasp from the door drew the sisters' attention; Enrique had entered the room and had seen his master's body on the floor, he quickly turned and started running across the library and through the long hallway that led to the salon. But he could not escape Magdalena, she was suddenly there in front of him, barring the way to the mansion's imposing front door.

"You knew what he was going to do to her, didn't you?" Magdalena's voice was cold as she stepped closer to Enrique. "You knew and you helped him."

The man-servant could not speak, he could only stare at Magdalena's beautiful face, transfixed.

The last thing Enrique de Silva saw was Magdalena parting her lips and baring her bloody fangs.

Two weeks later, the sisters were on board a small inter-island ferry. They had managed to escape the tiny Visayan island of Siquijor, the only home they had known since their childhood, eluding the guardia civil who were looking for "two young women who were seen leaving the Reinoso mansion the day the bodies of Don Castor and his man-servant were discovered."

Magdalena sold their goat and three egg-laying hens to a neighbor and the money was enough for two tickets to Manila. Now, she and Lisa stood at the ferry's stern, gazing sadly at the tiny island that grew smaller and smaller as the boat chugged along.

"Will he welcome us, Ate?" Her sister's voice was tinged with uncertainty.

"Of course he will, he is the only kin we have left and the farther we are from Siquijor, the safer we will be."

Lisa nodded. They were on their way to the big island of Luzon, to a town called San Isidro, Rizal, the town where their distant cousin, Sargento Ricardo dela Paz lived.

I

Illuminado pulled on the reins of his pony and the small horse stopped right in front of San Isidro's cathedral, the magnificent La Basilica del Nuestra Señora del Perpetuo Socorro.

"Here you are, Padre," the cuchero said with flourish, "didn't I tell you I'd get you to your new home before dark?"

The priest nodded as he looked at the Basilica, the town's pride and joy. The last rays of a barely visible sun gave its tall grey steeple a violet hue, while across the darkening sky, a flock of sparrows flew, on the hunt for the many insects which would soon appear.

"Gracias, señor, how much do I owe you?" Padre Miguel Acosta said, reaching into the deep pocket of his robe.

"Oh, nothing at all, Padre, I never charge the clergy, they are the good Lord's servants and saving souls must be the most difficult job in the world, but...," the cuchero's voice tailed off.

"Yes?"

"But a... erm... a short prayer for me and my friend, Julio, would be greatly appreciated. We'll be going to the next town of Santa Monica this Saturday for a friendly sabong, you see, and Julio's prized rooster is entered in one of the bouts and if you could put in a good word for us?"

"Señor, you do know that cockfighting is gambling and gambling is a vice," Padre Miguel said softly.

"Of course, but there won't be any cash money involved, Padre," Illuminado quickly said, "the top prize is a sack of rice, and that will go a long way, even with two families sharing." He did not, however, add that the sack of rice also came with several bottles of lambanog.

Padre Miguel nodded; he was well aware of how difficult it was for the common folk to make both ends meet. Though a full-blooded Castilian, Miguel Acosta had grown up in the rural city of Lipa, a town very much like San Isidro, where his father was the town doctor. His parents were considered an oddity by both the Spanish and Insulares families there, for Dr. and Señora Acosta chose not to stay in the district reserved for the more privileged of the population; instead, they lived outside the town where the peasants and tenant-farmers resided, in a kubo just like the Indios', a hut the good doctor himself had constructed. What was worse, the couple preferred mingling more with the natives than their fellow Hispanics -- why, even Miguel's godparents were... Indios -- que barbaridad!

"In that case, I'll put in a good word for you and your friend this very night," the young priest answered.

"Gracias, Padre, gracias," the cuchero said and jumped down from his seat; he helped the young priest with his bags, thanked Miguel again and returned to his perch behind the small pony.

"I'm sure old Padre Jose is inside the church, waiting for you," he said, taking the reins in his hand, "oh, and be careful walking on that path, Padre Jose had it cemented last week and it can be very slippery especially in the dark like this. Buenas noches, Padre."

He turned the pony around and set off, back to the center of town.

Padre Miguel watched the carriage disappear. He picked his two bags of luggage up and headed to the Basilica. He was halfway to the church, when a rustling sound caused him to stop. He looked at the small copse of trees to his right where the sound seemed to have come from, but in the dark, he could not make anything out. He walked a few more steps... and heard it again. This time, he dropped his bags, reached into his cassock's deep pocket, pulled out his eye glasses and put them on; a shadow seemed to move behind the trees -- Miguel squinted behind the glasses -- but from this distance, he could not make out if it was animal or human. He was about to take a step towards the trees, when a voice hailed him from the church.

"Padre Miguel, is that you? Come inside, hijo, I've been waiting for you the whole afternoon," the slightly bent figure of the town's parish priest, Padre Jose, called out from the Basilica steps.

The young priest raised his hand in greeting, took hold of his bags again and after one last look at the trees, followed the older priest inside the cathedral.

As the large double doors closed, a figure stepped out from the copse; it gazed at the Basilica's closed doors for a moment, then dropping on all fours, ran across the field and towards the center of the town.

---------

The little girl cowered behind the trash bins in the dark alley; her heart hammering against her chest as she bit her lips as hard as she could to stifle the scream of fear that was rising in her throat. She had managed to escape from her attacker, but she knew he was close, the sound of his footsteps echoed all around her. She crouched even lower, but a strong hand suddenly grasped her hair and another swiftly covered her mouth. The man pulled her from her hiding place and dragged her even farther inside the dark alley.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said as she struggled in his hands, "didn't your nanay ever tell you that it is dangerous for little girls like you to be out this late at night?" he said to the young sampaguita vendor. "Now, you have to pay for disobeying your poor mother."

He reached the end of the alley where he dropped her, her back against the wall, there was no escape.

"P-p-please, Señor," she pleaded, "let me go... I promise I won't tell anyone, please..."

The stranger chuckled almost gleefully.

"Of course you will not tell anyone," he said, as he started unbuttoning his trousers, "none of the others did."

The child closed her eyes and brought her hands up to her ears, hoping to block out the sound of his voice as he bent towards her; suddenly the stranger's laughter stopped. When she opened her eyes, a woman stood in front of her, holding the man by the neck a foot above the ground; he was motionless except for the slight twitching of his hands and feet, his eyes were open and staring out at some unknown sight and strange gurgling sounds came out of the mouth that had laughed so cruelly only moments before.

"Did he touch you?" The woman's voice was cold, her meaning clear.

The young flower vendor shook her head. The man emitted a strangled cough but the woman only tightened her hands around his neck. She turned to the girl again, a flame in her midnight-dark eyes.

"Run home," she hissed, "and tell no one of what you've seen here tonight. Go!"

The girl clambered up on shaking knees and ran past the woman, out of the dark alley and on to the street. She did not look back.

---------

Señor Capitán Andres Gonzales replaced the sheet over the lifeless body sprawled at the back of La Dulcinea, the town's most famous taverna. He stood up and gazed at the building's third floor balcony where the dead man was said to have either jumped from, or was pushed off of. Though many of the town's commercial establishments had an upper floor, only the Dulcinea boasted of a third. It was where the rich and privileged of San Isidro held many of their social functions.

"Who said he fell off that balcony again?" he asked Sargento dela Paz, who was busily writing in a small notebook, a trick the jefe had taught him, so that he would remember everything in a case. He turned a page back.

"Mr. Williams, the manager of Dulcinea, Capitán."

"What happened to Señor Bello?"

"Señor Bello retired just last week, it seems he could no longer stand the late hours at the taverna. It may have been time -- he's been the manager here for over fifteen years."

"I see and what do you know of this Mr. Williams? Is he British?"

"American, I think."

Just then, the back door of the taverna opened and the sargento's young cousin, Lisa, emerged.

"Jefe, Mr. Williams can see you now, he's very sorry he could not attend to you earlier, he was with the Dulcinea's owner, he's very worried about..." her eyes darted nervously to the body on the pavement.

"We all are, Lisa," the capitán assured her, "now, if you will lead the way?"

She nodded and opened the door wider as the capitán and dela Paz followed her inside.

"Your cousin has just told me that you've finally secured the position as assistant chef here," Andres said as they walked through the large kitchen of the taverna.

Lisa looked at the jefe in surprise.

"I'm sorry, Capitán, Kuya Ricardo must have misheard me, I am not the assistant chef, I'm just a junior cook; I do all the cutting and slicing and I help make sure that everything the real chef needs is ready."

"If the manager ever gets to taste your pollo galantina or your carne de morcon, he'd make you head chef right away," dela Paz said.

"Shh," she admonished her cousin, "don't let anyone hear you, it took me three months to get this job."

"I quite agree with the sargento, Lisa. My wife, Porcia, and I have tasted your galantina and it is the best we've ever had," the jefe interjected.

The young girl blushed, but her heart swelled with pride. When she and her sister, Magdalena, arrived in San Isidro some ten months before, they were practically penniless. Fortunately, their cousin, Ricardo dela Paz, had received their telegram, and he was on the station platform, waiting for them. It had been almost eleven years since they last saw each other, but the sisters recognized him right away, he was the only one in the uniform of the guardia civil.

Lisa remembered a gangling sixteen-year-old with a ready smile, who never balked at the chores her mother gave him the summer he lived with them in their island home, not this large man with a slight frown on his face. But the frown was quickly replaced by a grin when he saw the two young women looking anxiously at him.

Ricardo dela Paz quickly secured two bed spaces for his cousins in the Casa Para Mujeres Solas, San Isidro's only women's dormitory, which was near enough to the small accessoria he was renting. They were hesitant to accept at first; after all, the sisters only had fifty centimos left, but the sargento assured them that he would take care of their lodgings for as long as they needed. Overwhelmed by his generosity, Lisa threw her arms around dela Paz and kissed him soundly on both cheeks; even Magdalena, the more reserved of the two, shook his hand warmly.

"This is Mr. Williams' office," Lisa said, stopping in front of an ornately carved mahogany door. She knocked discreetly and opened it.

"Come in," a tall blond gentleman said, getting up from behind the desk. He held out a hand, "Capitán Gonzales? I'm Jason Williams."

Andres nodded and shook the American's hand then the two men sat down to discuss the unknown man lying dead on the pavement behind La Dulcinea.

"Did you find out anything from Mr. Williams, Capitán?" dela Paz asked Andres later that day as they stood beside the concrete slab where the unfortunate soul lay, surrounded by slabs of ice.

"Unfortunately no, Sargento, and it seems the new manager of La Dulcinea is not sure if this man fell from the balcony at all, he simply surmised that the poor fellow had, since one of the taverna's servers thought he saw him, or someone resembling him, having a drink at the second-floor bar early last night. Besides, after seeing this..." Andres lifted the sheet, revealing a long deep, jagged gash on the dead man's throat that had almost severed his head, "I knew a fall was not the cause of his death."

The sargento shuddered, remembering the similarity this corpse bore to the bodies of Asuncion Vergara and Patrocinio Macaraig, who had been brutally murdered three years before.

"This could not have been made by a knife," Andres continued, "the longer I study it, the more convinced I am that some wild animal may have done it."

"If it is some sort of beast, then it must be quite large, Capitán, but who in San Isidro would keep such a monster?"

"That is one of the questions we have to find answers for, Sargento. Now, help me remove this poor fellow's suit to see if we can get a little more information from it."

It was almost sunset when they finished going through the dead man's clothes and belongings. Unfortunately, there was very little to be gained from them; according to the cedula in his billfold, he was a Señor Antonio Lizares and was not a resident of San Isidro; he had come a long way, for the address on the small card stated that he was from a small island in the Visayas. His suit, though well-made, bore no labels and was just like the summer ensemble most of the town gentlemen preferred during the hot months in the islands.