1990
The sun was shining clear as the city started to bustle. Most people were driving hastily to work and most were having their own businesses. Martin and Nina Lopez were driving in their car, and their 3-year old child was looking out to the window to her content in the backseat. Her face was radiating with sheer pleasure as the bustling city streets drastically turn from bad to worse.
"Martin, look at her," Nina stared at her daughter.
"Santana is such a charm," Martin looked through the rear view mirror.
"I want some ice cream!" the kid mumbled.
"Heard that, Martin? You are so not the boss anymore."
"Yes, she's our unica hija," Martin chuckled as he pulled into a Coffee Cream shop. What he wasn't aware was, two pairs of eyes were watching their car as they pulled up the parking lot.
"They are entering the shop, the wife has the target. Let's move. It's payday," one of the mouths who goes with the eyes said. They entered the shop.
"Sit down, child." Nina Lopez said to her daughter as she sat her up on a high chair.
"Mama, I want ice cream!" Santana Lopez bawled, earning her a few good looks from the other people that were in the ice cream shop.
"Shhhhh…" her mother tried to silence her. A man stood beside her and asked in an accent she can't recognize.
"Ma'am is someone occupying this table?" he asked. Nina could not see the whole of his face because he was wearing dark glasses.
"No, sir. I don't think so."
"You're not from here, aren't you? Are you alone?"
Don't talk to strangers, Nina.
"No. My husband and I are together."
"Yeah, I can see that. Where's your husband?"
"There he is." Nina pointed to Martin, who was leaning on the counter, paying for two coffee floats and a sundae.
"Okay. I was curious." The man threw her a smile.
"It's okay." Nina smiled.
Maybe he wasn't a bad guy after all. But there was something tingling about the man. She just can't point it out. The man sat down beside their table. Martin arrived and handed her the cups, which in turn she gave the sundae to her daughter. Santana ate it messily, dripping the substance from her chin to her floral blouse.
Another man came in and nodded at the sitting man next to Nina. There was an awkward feeling dripping in Nina's heart. She knew something would happen. However, she shook the thought away when her daughter tugged at her three-fourths sleeve.
"Mamaaaa!" Santana bawled out, blowing raspberries and dripping her sundae across her face, Nina cleaned and wiped it off expertly.
"I was thinking of heading out to Brazil for a month with the both of you," Martin smiled at his wife and daughter.
"Well, that would be awesome!" Nina said. However, the strange feeling that Nina Lopez had been having was still in her heart.
Then it all happened. The man behind Nina took out a gun and shot Nina. Martin grabbed hold of the gun and shot the first man. But Martin was shot, too.
The other man aimed at the child. However, the fallen man came and spoke something in a foreign language. The people in the shop were running out of the shop, some were crouching on the floor and the child had been bawling because of the commotion.
"San Martin…de Paule…Parish." It was a short statement. Nothing like an angry order.
The other man looked at the bleeding man. "Yes, Brother."
"U-use…th-the…b-ack…do-or," the laying, bloody man slurred and took his last breath. His blood mixing with Martin's and Nina's. The man took the crying Lopez baby, took out Martin's briefcase and wallet and left through the back door.
On that very day, the priests in San Martin de Paule Parish saw a crying child wrapped in a bloody cloth beside the chapel doors.
"Such an angel!" A balding priest named Angelo exclaimed.
"Yes, yes, very true," a bent, thin priest, Father Mariano agreed.
"What is the name? Do you know what her name is, Father Carlos?" Father Angelo asked curiously.
"There's no name," Father Carlos, the plump priest who picked up the child said as he examined the child's face.
"What's your name, little one?"
"Mamaaaa!" the child bawled, after seeing strange faces.
"Here, here…" the plump priest cooed.
"What's your name, child?"
"Tana…" the child babbled incoherently.
"Tana? A queer name indeed," Father Carlos said, his forehead scrunching.
"But, we can give her a name…maybe it's really another name…" Father Angelo said.
"Maybe it's Ana," Father Mariano mumbled.
"Feast of Santa Ana," Father Angelo smiled.
"Hey, look at her kerchief. Her name is Santana," Father Angelo pointed out the blue bib.
"Yes, yes…but…what is her last name? Surely her parents must be looking for her."
They waited for days…and the days turned to weeks…and weeks turned to months…
No one came looking for her.
1991
Robbie Pierce felt a small hand tug at his sleeve as the lightning from outside flashed.
"Dad, can I have a…sundae?" the four-year old blonde girl nudged her father.
"Yeah, just ask for it from your Mom," Robbie leaned on his plane seat. They were riding over San Paulo, and the family was on their way to Italy.
"Sir, we have to turn back," the aide-de-camp said. "The storm is causing too much turbulence and we're afraid we can't make it."
"Why? Can't we just go around it?"
"We'll try, sir."
Robbie went back on reading the book he was too invested on while Anne Pierce laid a hand on his side.
"Rob, let's turn back."
"Why? We can't miss the Camerons," Robbie said and waved off his hand.
"I don't feel like travelling in this storm," Anne softly said.
"Hey, we will be fine. Captain Moncrieff will take care of-" there was a sudden shudder as the lights went out.
The last thing he saw was Anne bucking forward.
"Anne?" Robbie shouted as
"Hey, we will be okay, alright?" Robbie stretched his arms towards the darkness. There was no one.
"Daddy!" Brittany's shriek rose against the rush of wind. A streak of vicious lightning cut through the air, missing the plane by inches.
Or had it really missed them?
Robbie looked for his daughter but the plane suddenly canted downward, pulling all of them into the trees below.
Robbie tried hard to regain his upright position and looked for Anne. She was on the floor, a pool of blood.
"Daddy!" Brittany shrieked as another bolt of lightning streaked into the sky.
"I'm coming!"
Suddenly, the plane hit the first leaves of the trees below and Robbie was thrown forward as he unclasped Brittany's seatbelt.
The plane was in a tangle of trees before half of it was burnt.
A few hours after, the sun shone over the mass on tangled leaves, twisted metal and four dead bodies. The tail was still on the air and on fire.
An old, poor woodcutter caught sight of the tangled mess and he tried to walk back to call the local police when a sniff came from under the freshly burnt bird.
The old man checked to the place where he had heard the sniff, and now it turned into small whimpers. And there, under the burnt left wing, was a young, blonde child was crying. The child's face was bloody because of a concussion on her left side of the forehead. The blonde hair was entangled in a mess, some of it soaked by the flaking blood.
Seeing the sight, the poor woodcutter quickly took the child home to safety.
Carefully, the man carried her home. During the descent from the mountain, the child fell asleep in the man's arm. He reached the small shack where he and his wife lived.
"Quick, woman, let's nurse this child," he said as he burst through the door. An elderly woman met him.
Using only a towel, a few vinegars, water and some herbs, the old couple dressed the young child's wounds. They made the child sleep on the bed, whilst the both of them sat on the steps of their shack.
"We can't raise her," the poor woodcutter's wife said.
"I know. What will we do?" the old man said.
"I don't know. The orphanage, perhaps?" the old woman answered, as she looked towards the lighted monastery on top of a hill several miles farther downward from their shack.
"Tomorrow, I will bring her there," the poor woodcutter said.
The old couple exchanged looks, and then the woman stood up, and walked over to the child. She stared at their little guest, and then made up their side of the bed, and turned in for the night.
The air was still crisp and a faint glow of pink lined the eastern sky as the old woodcutter stepped out of the shack, and in his arms was a sleeping child clad in rags. He carefully made his way towards the monastery of the nuns.
The Sisters of Passion were a small order that housed at most eighty children. They were living just near the San Martin De Paule. And the old man was certain that they would take the child in.
Pretty soon, he reached the monastery's front door. The whole place was quiet, although the old man knew that the sisters behind the walls were awake. He softly laid the child on the doorstep and with one quick look, he left the child.
Sister Lucia, a nun from the convent came out the door shortly after. She was carrying a bag of wastepaper, humming to herself. To her surprise, her eyes landed on the rags. And a little blonde child, sleeping on it.
"Ay Dios mio!" the nun exclaimed as she made a sign of the cross. She quickly took the child in her arms and carried to the child to her Mother Superior.
"Clearly, this child was put upon our midst," the Mother Superior said.
"Yes, so what will we do?" Sister Patricia, a skinny, lanky nun at around the age of her late fifties asked.
"Of course, we have to adopt her," the Mother stated.
"What is her name? Is there any way that would trace back to her real identity?"
"So far, no. There is nothing. Except for this," the Mother Superior held out a hankie. "Her name is Brittany."