As the dancing progressed, a sharp click is suddenly heard. One by one, the lights of the lanterns go out. Darkness swallows the plaza. Only faint moonlight filters through the banderitas. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Then a blood curdling scream.
It happened all too sudden. A shadow moves behind Don Facundo. He then collapses on the ground like an empty sack with a dagger sticking out of his backside. Bel recoils in utter horror.
Crowd voices
“What happened?”
“The lights!”
“Is this part of the program?”
A blood‑curdling scream pierces the night. A shadow darts behind Don Facundo. He stiffens, then collapses like an empty sack. A dagger protrudes from his back. His oversized glasses fall, cracking against the stone floor.)
Bel Cortes (recoiling as though struck by lightning, shrieking in operatic horror):
“AYYYYYY!”
She clutches her pearls, staggers three dramatic steps backward, spins once like a telenovela diva, and collapses onto the nearest fainting couch with the grace of a falling chandelier.
Her hand flutters to her forehead, her eyes roll skyward, and she lets out one last gasp—half scream, half aria—before going limp, as if auditioning for the role of Most Overacted Faint in History.
The room pauses, stunned. Then someone whispers:
“Bel Cortes has fainted… but with STYLE.
“Don Facundo! Dios mio!” She staggers, clutching her jewels.
Upon hearing the commotion, Kapitan Ingo rushes with the tanods (village watchmen) to see what is happening. Seeing that it is Don Facundo, he rushes to the hapless victim. Asking the dying man for the identity of his assailant. But it is too late. The wound proves fatal.
The fiesta froze. In an instant, joy was replaced by fear. The lanterns died, the music stopped, and the night itself seemed to hold its breath. In the shadows, footsteps shuffled, whispers rose, and unseen hands moved with deadly purpose.
The rondalla instruments lie abandoned, strings vibrating faintly in the silence. Children cry, elders clutch rosaries.
Someone shrieked: “Don Facundo! He’s dead!” Kapitan Ingo, kneeling, and examining the body, cries out “A knife wound. Clean and deliberate. This is murder.” while urgently, vigorously shaking Facundo’s shoulder.
“Don Facundo! Who did this? Tell me!”
But Facundo’s lips quiver soundlessly. His last breath escapes. The wound is fatal.
He then signals his tanods to secure the plaza and clear the area of spectators.
Chaos, then villagers begin hurling accusations.
Benita (snapping her fan shut like a gavel):
“I saw Mang Tino near the lechon table! He must have done it!”
Someone cries: “No, no! I swear I saw a shadow near Bel’s handbag!”
Mang Tino (defensive, puffing chest):
“Me? We just finished dancing the cha-cha when Don Facundo collaped, don't you remember? I'm a lover bod and not a killer."Turning his gaze at Nicanor.
“Have you forgotten that! My weapon is only this bottle!” Nicanor said while raising his gin and stumbling.
Father Ernesto (booming laugh, trying to calm):
“Peace! Let us not accuse blindly. The truth will reveal itself.”
(Erkulo steps forward, voice steady.)
Erkulo:
“The killer is among us. But beware—appearances deceive. Shadows hide more than they reveal.”
(The crowd falls silent. Suspicion hangs heavy in the air. The fiesta has turned into a crime scene.)