Entry #34: Mrs. Reyes

JASMINE'S POV

Simon glanced at me like he was asking for some courage to hit the doorbell. I urged him to ring it.

His hand shook as he reached for it. After one ring, we heard nearing footsteps. A slender woman opened the door. Her eyes wrinkled as she smiled at us brightly.

But the most important thing to note was that she was the spitting image of her daughter.

"How may I help you?"

Simon and I looked at each other, and I signaled him to do the talking. But the sweat on his forehead told me his mouth couldn’t be unglued anymore.

"We're Angel's former classmates. And we want to ask you a few things."

She flinched due to the surprise. She probably didn't expect some high school kids to knock at her daughter and mention her deceased daughter.

"What is it about?" she asked, flustered by my bluntness.

I looked at her and answered, "Her death."

She gave a long silence that crept into me awkwardly. I was about to speak again, but she opened the door widely to let us in.

For the next few minutes, she became busy preparing grape juice and cookies for us.

Simon's social awkwardness made its cameo again when Angel's mom reappeared, bringing snacks.

"Thank y-you, Mrs. R-Reyes."

Mrs. Reyes sat on the chair in front of us. I jittered, anxious about how to start the conversation properly and keep it running without agitating and saddening her. I didn't have the guts to ask because I knew I would open a ghastly wound.

I decided to start by sympathizing. "I'm so sorry about Angel. I couldn't believe it."

She nodded slightly.

Shit! She must have hated it when people showed pity or superficial sympathy.

"Forgive me for asking about it, but… suicide? I don’t think she is capable of hurting herself."

I saw how her hands tensed as she clasped them together tightly.

"Is that why you came here?" she asked anxiously.

Gone was her gentle expression. She looked livid.

She stood up. "Get out, you two."

"Mrs. Reyes, please–"

"Spare me, please, from the gossiping." Her lips paled and trembled. "I'm still grieving the loss of my own child."

Seeing her tears squeezed my heart so badly I couldn't breathe. Grieve and mourn spelled out on her face. She turned her back on us and walked away.

"We believe there's a killer." Simon dropped the bomb, and it made Mrs. Reyes stop.

She faced us again, eyes wide in surprise.

"Who are you?" She was full of distrust and confusion. "Why are you saying these things? You’re just kids."

I frantically took the diary from my bag and showed her the last entry of the diary. She gasped when she recognized her daughter's belonging.

I let her read the entry, and she staggered to her feet at what she discovered.

We assisted her back to the chair.

"My family is the one who bought your house, Mrs. Reyes. I found this in her room." I referred to the diary. "And this is the reason why we started investigating. None of our schemes led us to something, but we're a hundred percent sure there is a killer."

"I knew it… I knew it…" She cried out like she was relieved. "My baby isn't like that. She's not–she's not someone who would hurt herself."

I reached for her hand.

"But she left me a letter implying her intent to be gone," she said in confusion, trying to rethink the evidence pointing to suicide.

"Is the letter handwritten? Is it really from Angel?" Simon checked.

Mrs. Reyes nodded. "It's her handwriting, I am sure. And it's not just the writing, the way she talked to me in that letter, I was certain it was her."

She retrieved her hand, and the doubt on her face reappeared. "How could I trust you?"

That… we couldn’t answer.

"The case was already closed as a suicide, and there's no chance of reopening the case," I tried to explain. "And Mrs. Reyes, we're the only people on earth willing to take the risk to find the killer. Even if you don’t think we can do it, you have to put your faith in us. Because we are the only ones who care about finding justice for your daughter."

"Please, ma'am. For Angel. Please help us." Simon added pressure. "We believe the killer is in the school. We have to find him before he kills someone again."

She stared at us for a couple of seconds, quickly thinking about what to do. Finally, when she had made the decision, she wiped her tears.

"I'm agreeing to this not because I have faith in you. But because I trust my daughter. I know she wouldn't do that."

I breathed out in relief. If we were lucky, we would get critical clues from her.

I started the interview right away. "Did you notice something odd or different about your daughter days or weeks before she disappeared?"

She thought for a second. "Nothing I can recall."

"Do you still have the letter, Ma'am?" Simon asked.

"Yes, I still have it."

"Would you permit us to read it?" politely, Simon tried asking.

I feared she would say no, so my body released the tension when she stood up and said, "Wait here."

When she came back, she was holding a white envelope. She handed it to me.

Simon slowly opened the letter. And it started with,

'October 4, 20XX

Mom, I love you so much.'

I didn’t know what I was trying to look for in the letter, perhaps hints that could reinforce our claim that she was forced to write that letter and was killed after. But what we found was nothing but the sincere farewell of a daughter to a mother.

Reading each word was hard because every sentence made me choke in tears. There was nothing to decode. Nothing was fishy. It was heartfelt. Like Angel did write that letter before committing suicide.

We all paused when someone sniveled loudly.

I wasn't crying, so I looked at Mrs. Reyes. But it wasn't her too. So I looked at the person sitting next to me.

I didn't bring any handkerchief, so I took off my necktie as a last resort and handed it to him. "Do you need help?"

He shook his head and showed me his handkerchief. He wiped his snoot.

I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn't believe he was crying hard.