Comfort Room - Or The Seven Dreams of Frank Diggory

The Fifth Dream

Alone in his House of Eternal Solitude (as he himself called it), Ethan Peteros could not sleep. Something was keeping awake. And it wasn’t his usual happy dreams of marrying Captain Bautista and having children with her (he had already named all three), and then growing old beside her (she aged gracefully; him, less so).

No, it was something very different.

It was Pastor Josh’s comments.

He had plainly directed them against her.

So what was so dangerous about his latest, or rather, first, girlfriend?

It itched his brain like a rash.

He had to know.

He got up and woke up his computer with a flick of the mouse.

All was calm in Paraiso.

Good.

Time to do some cyber-stalking.

And he was an expert at it. He’d done often enough.

What else was a man to do when he spent most of his existence on his own?

He tried all social media channels.

Nothing.

It was as if she didn’t exist.

Which was highly unusual for a Filipina of her vintage.

But then, Reyna Bautista did not seem to him the type of woman who would pout and throw peace signs from random locations just to fill a feed with nonsense for likes.

He would have to go deeper.

He searched bulletin boards. Forums. Chats.

And there he saw it.

And boy, he did not like it.

Captain Reyna Bautista was hated by many, many men in the dark shadows of the internet. And quite a few women.

Her modus operandi?

Really simple.

She would tempt them. Tease them. Pretend she was interested in them. Get information from them. Intelligence. Or maybe some valuable clue or evidence for a crime she was investigating.

And then they would be dumped.

Drop-kicked to the kerb.

Abandoned.

The trail of damage was long and bitter.

Ethan gasped.

Reality struck him hard like a two-by-four across the chops.

What if he was next?

What was he doing?

In her small but adequate condo in Ormoc City, Captain Reyna Bautista could not sleep. That pastor bothered her. How could he know? How could he? She had never met him before. She had not misled him before.

So how could he know?

And those words. Those words from Frank’s sermon. They buzzed around her head like angry, bloodthirsty mosquitoes, unabated by repellent or the air conditioning in her room:

‘Honesty with God.’

‘Honesty with each other.’

‘Honesty with God.’

‘Honesty with each other.’

‘Without them we are hopelessly alone.’

‘Hopelessly alone.’