Chapter XXIII: Lift Up Your Hands
Liz finds herself surrounded by darkness, an eerie silence settling in the void. Then, a whisper echoes, soft yet firm,
"Blessed be thy fruits of goodness, than those that stem from the forces of evil."
A sudden gust of wind lifts Liz off her feet, and in the blink of an eye, she is transported to a familiar place—the Catedral Metropolitana de San Pablo. The soft glow of candlelight flickers across the walls, illuminating the solemn faces of the congregation. The mass is in full swing, and at the front, she spots Bennett.
He stands confidently, leading the choir in harmonious hymns. His voice carries through the church, rich and steady, as if guided by an unseen force. Then, as the mass proceeds, he transitions seamlessly into the role of commentator, his voice filled with reverence and clarity. Even as the mass progresses further, he steps down to act as the human ambo, holding the lectionary for the priest to read from.
Liz watches in admiration. His dedication, his passion—it shines brighter than anything she has ever seen before. She never realized just how much effort he put into serving the church. She wants to call out to him, to tell him how credible he is, but her voice remains trapped within her throat. She is merely a spectator in this dream.
The scene shifts.
Bennett is now outside, pulling a carroza adorned with flowers and candles. The heavy weight strains his muscles, and sweat beads on his forehead. With every step, he grits his teeth, enduring the pain for the sake of the procession. Suddenly, he stumbles, his knee scraping against the rough pavement. A sharp gasp escapes Liz as she watches him fall.
But before anyone can help him, he stands up again, as if the pain is nothing to him. He dusts himself off and continues pulling the carroza, his determination unwavering. Liz’s heart tightens. How could she have been so blind to everything he went through?
The scene shifts once more.
Liz now finds herself inside Bennett’s small, dimly lit room. He sits at his desk, massaging his aching feet as he types on his phone. His expression is weary, exhaustion evident in his eyes. Liz steps closer, curious as to whom he is chatting with.
She peeks over his shoulder and feels her stomach drop.
The messages on his screen are harsh, relentless. Accusations, insults, demands—every word laced with anger. Liz’s hands tremble as she reads them. The sender… is her.
Her past self had been cruel, heartless. She had sent those messages without a second thought, oblivious to the pain she was causing. And Bennett, despite his exhaustion, responded with nothing but patience. He never raised his voice. He never fought back. He just took it all in silence, shouldering the burden alone.
Tears well up in Liz’s eyes as she watches the past unfold before her. She wants to reach out, to hold him, to apologize for everything. But she cannot. She is merely a ghost in this dream, doomed to witness her own mistakes.
"What do thou see?" a voice whispers.
Liz turns sharply. A hooded figure stands before her, shrouded in shadows. A chill runs down her spine.
“Who… who are you?” she stammers.
The figure steps closer. Just as its face is about to be revealed, everything around Liz crumbles. The world shatters like glass, and she is yanked into the void once more.
Liz jolts awake, gasping for air. Her cheeks are wet with tears, her heart pounding against her ribcage.
Morning light filters through her window. She sits up, clutching Bennett’s picture in her trembling hands. Hugging it tightly, she whispers,
"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
Determined, she gets up and walks straight to the altar in their home. She lights several candles, kneels, and clasps her hands together. She prays, fervently, pouring out her heart to God.
Her grandmother and aunts, Dolores and Dominga, watch her from the doorway, puzzled by her sudden devotion.
Before they can ask, Liz’s phone buzzes beside her. She wipes her tears and picks it up. A notification from Bro. Padilla appears on the screen:
"There will be a confession tomorrow, ready your sins to be confessed, and pray humbly."
Liz takes a deep breath. She knows what she must do now.
The next day, Liz and her grandma travel to Ciudad Fernandina. As they approach the city, Liz stares out of the window, lost in thought. When they arrive, Liz gets off to school, where she meets Wyn by the front gate.
"Morning," Wyn greets her with a smile.
"Morning," Liz replies, adjusting the straps of her bag.
They walk together, enduring a long day filled with lessons and discussions. The morning drags on, and by the time lunch arrives, the two are exhausted. They sit at their usual spot in the cafeteria, their trays untouched as they engage in conversation.
"You know, I haven’t gone to confession since the sixth grade," Wyn admits, stirring her drink absentmindedly. "That was two years ago."
Liz looks at her, thoughtful.
"I’ve gone, but even when I do, it feels like... it keeps getting opposed. Like it’s not enough because of what I did."
Wyn furrows her brows.
"What do you mean?"
Liz takes a deep breath and recounts her dream from the night before—the visions of Bennett, his acts of service, and the pain he endured because of her. Wyn listens intently, intrigued yet confused.
"That’s... a lot," Wyn finally says. "Maybe it’s a sign."
Liz merely nods, lost in thought once more.
The afternoon lessons feel never-ending, but eventually, the school day comes to a close. Liz and Wyn make their way to the auditorium, where the confession is taking place. The presider, Fr. Edgar, stands at the front, offering a warm yet solemn presence. The line moves steadily, and soon, Wyn is called first. She enters the confession booth, and after some time, steps out, looking at Liz.
"It’s your turn," Wyn whispers encouragingly.
Liz hesitates. She stares at the booth, her heart pounding. Just as she considers turning away, a memory resurfaces—a moment from the past with Bennett.
"Before going to Confession, do an examination of conscience to reflect on what sins you have committed. Say a prayer to the Holy Spirit for guidance. Confession will make your heart lighter, and it is a way to repent."
At the time, she had barely listened, distracted by her phone, scrolling mindlessly as Bennett spoke with sincerity. The guilt crashes over her, and with a deep breath, she steps forward.
She kneels beside the booth, making the sign of the cross.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a year since my last confession. These are my sins."
She confesses, her voice trembling as she speaks of the way she treated Bennett—how she took him for granted, spoke to him harshly, and dismissed his kindness. Fr. Edgar listens patiently before assigning her penance: three Our Fathers, sixteen Hail Marys, and one Glory Be.
Liz walks to the prayer area and kneels, beginning her prayers. As she prays, something inside her shifts. She raises her hands toward the heavens, her voice breaking as she pleads,
"Lord, please forgive me. I have wronged someone who cared for me, someone who never left my side despite how cruel I was. I see it now, how much I hurt him. Please, let him know I’m sorry."
A heavy weight lifts from her chest, like a burden she had carried for so long finally being eased. She lets out a deep breath, her heart lighter than before.
Wyn meets her outside, looking at her curiously.
"Feel any better?"
Liz nods, wiping a stray tear.
"Yeah. I do."
That night, at home, Liz sits at her desk, lighting a candle in front of Bennett’s picture. She gazes at his smiling face, her fingers gently tracing the frame. A lump forms in her throat, but she refuses to hold back. She picks up a pen and starts writing a heartfelt message:
Bennett, I don’t know where to begin. I wish I could talk to you right now, hear your voice, see you smile again. I was so blind before, so selfish. I never truly appreciated you when I had the chance. You were always there—supporting me, understanding me, even when I didn’t deserve it. I realize now how much I hurt you. The dreams I’ve been having... they’re showing me things I refused to see before. You suffered, and I was the cause of that suffering. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself, but I hope... I pray that somehow, you can forgive me. I miss you, Bennett. More than words can say. But I promise, from now on, I’ll try to follow in your footsteps. To be a better person, to be someone you would be proud of. I love you, Bennett. And I always will.
Tears stream down her face as she presses the pen down, sealing the words onto the page. She folds the letter carefully, tucking it beneath the picture frame. Leaning forward, she places a gentle kiss on Bennett’s picture before whispering,
"Goodnight, Bennett."
She crawls into bed, her heart still aching but somehow, a little more at peace. Sleep takes her swiftly, and for the first time in a long while, she dreams without sorrow.
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