Arga stared at that last message over and over.
Now it's time for you to find out who really took you away from Kalendra.
The sentence filled his mind.
All this time, he had always believed that he was born in a small village, and that his father left when he was two months old.
It was that simple.
But now everything had changed.
There was house number 17.
There was Bima's letter.
There was the name Adrian.
And a strange code:
W-09.
Arga showed Raka the screen of his phone.
“What do you think this is?”
Raka shook his head.
“Could be a house number.”
“There is no W-09 in Kalendra.”
“A room number?”
“Maybe.”
Raka took Arga's notebook.
“Let's think this through from the beginning.”
He wrote down several words.
Bima — Kalendra — 1997 — Adrian — W-09.
Then he looked at Arga.
“The weirdest part is Adrian.”
“Why?”
“If he's important to this story, why has his name never come up before?”
Arga fell silent.
“And there's one more thing.”
“What?”
“Whoever sent the message knows we found Adrian's name.”
Arga nodded.
“Which means he's watching us.”
Raka looked around the room.
“Who knows from where.”
Arga slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Let's go back to Mr. Harun's house.”
They arrived at Mr. Harun's house before noon.
But the house was empty.
The front door stood open.
The bamboo chairs were still on the porch.
But there was no one there.
“Mr. Harun?”
There was no answer.
Arga stepped inside slowly.
“Mr. Harun?”
Raka followed him.
There were several old photographs in the living room.
Arga approached a cabinet.
One of the photographs caught his attention.
A photograph of Bima.
Alone.
Standing in front of house number 17.
Arga picked up the photograph.
Written on the back was:
October 12, 1997.
The same date written on his photograph.
But something was different.
A man stood beside Bima.
His face had been crossed out with black ink.
Arga turned the photograph over.
There was no name.
Only the words:
W-09.
The hair on the back of Arga's neck stood up.
“Raka.”
Raka came closer.
“This is the same.”
“Then W-09 really is connected to this person.”
Suddenly, the sound of something falling came from behind the house.
Crash!
They were both startled.
“Who's there?”
There was no answer.
Raka gestured for Arga to stay behind him.
They walked slowly toward the backyard.
There was no one there.
But an envelope lay on the ground.
Arga picked it up.
Written on the front of the envelope was:
For Arga.
His hand felt cold.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a small key.
And a small note.
Find the place that has never been recorded on Kalendra's map.
Arga looked at Raka.
“What does it mean?”
Raka shook his head.
“We have to find out.”
They returned to the center of the village.
Arga asked several villagers about the place that wasn't recorded on the map.
Some simply shook their heads.
Others thought the question was strange.
Until an old man at a coffee stall suddenly said,
“The place you're looking for might be the old warehouse.”
Arga immediately approached him.
“What warehouse?”
“The one that used to belong to the plantation company.”
“Where is it?”
“North of the village.”
“Is it still there?”
The old man looked at Arga.
“The building is still there.”
“Can we go there?”
“You can.”
He pointed toward a narrow road.
“But don't go inside once it gets late.”
“Why not?”
The old man only answered,
“Because that place has been abandoned for a long time.”
The old warehouse stood in the middle of an empty lot.
Its walls were covered in moss.
Part of its roof had collapsed.
Arga and Raka stopped in front of it.
“A place like this is perfect for hiding secrets,” Raka muttered.
Arga didn't laugh.
He took the key from the envelope.
There was a small metal door on one side of the building.
Arga tried inserting the key.
Click.
The door opened.
Stale air immediately greeted them.
Inside were only old shelves and several cardboard boxes.
They searched for several minutes.
Then Arga saw something in the corner of the room.
An iron box.
Written on it were the words:
W-09.
His heart pounded.
“Got it.”
The box was locked.
But the small key they'd been given fit perfectly.
Arga opened it.
Inside were an old document,
an identity card,
and a recording cassette.
Arga picked up the identity card.
The name on it made him freeze.
ADRIAN WIRATAMA.
The man's photograph was old.
But his face was still clearly visible.
Arga stared at the photograph.
He felt like he'd seen that face before.
Not in a photograph.
Not on the internet.
But somewhere in his memory.
“Raka…”
Raka took the card.
“You know him?”
Arga shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Then he saw the document beneath the identity card.
A hospital report.
Date:
October 12, 1997.
Patient's name:
Sari Pratama.
Arga froze.
His hands trembled.
He read the next line.
Status: gave birth.
Arga swallowed.
The birth date didn't match the date he'd always known.
He turned the page.
Baby's name:
Not recorded.
Arga stared at the document.
“Why isn't the name there?”
Raka didn't answer.
Beneath the document was a small note.
Baby transferred at the family's request.
Arga felt his chest tighten.
“Transferred?”
He picked up the next document.
Name of person who delivered the baby:
Adrian Wiratama.
Arga took a step back.
His entire body felt weak.
All this time, he'd thought he'd been born and then lived with his mother.
But this document said something different.
Someone named Adrian had been involved in transferring the baby.
And the date was the same date connected to Kalendra.
Raka looked at him.
“Arga…”
Arga didn't answer.
He picked up the recording cassette.
Written on its label was:
10-12-1997 — W-09
They found an old cassette player on a shelf.
Strangely enough, it still turned on.
Arga inserted the cassette.
A hissing sound filled the room.
Then a man's voice came through.
Weak.
As if it had been recorded in a hurry.
Arga recognized it immediately from several old recordings he'd once heard from relatives.
Bima.
“If someone finds this recording…”
The voice paused for a moment.
“…it means Arga has finally started looking for answers.”
Arga held his breath.
Bima's voice came through again.
“My son…”
Arga closed his eyes.
For the first time in his life, he heard his father's voice.
“Forgive me.”
The recording hissed.
Then another voice could be heard.
A woman's voice.
Sari.
“Bima, we don't have much time.”
Arga opened his eyes.
Bima's voice answered,
“I know.”
“We have to take him away now.”
“Will Adrian help?”
“He's already waiting.”
Arga and Raka exchanged glances.
Then the sound of something falling rang out.
The recording grew chaotic.
Bima said in a panicked voice,
“Don't let them find the child!”
Sari's voice broke as she cried.
“What about us?”
Bima answered,
“If I don't come back…”
The recording cut off.
There was only static.
Arga stood frozen.
Then a final voice came through, very softly.
A voice that didn't belong to Bima.
Or Sari.
Or Adrian.
Someone whispered just before the recording ended.
“They already know.”
Click.
The cassette stopped.
The room fell silent again.
Arga stared blankly ahead.
Now he knew one thing.
He wasn't just a child who had been abandoned.
When he was still a baby, someone had tried to take him away from Kalendra.
And Bima and Sari might have been trying to save him from someone.
But who?
And from what?
Arga gripped Adrian's identity card.
For the first time, he had a single name he could pursue.
Adrian Wiratama.
But before they could leave the warehouse, the sound of a motorcycle came from outside.
Raka immediately turned off the lights.
They hid behind the shelves.
A shadow passed across the crack in the door.
Someone entered.
Footsteps drew closer.
Then stopped directly in front of the W-09 box.
A man's voice spoke softly.
“You shouldn't have found this, Arga.”
Arga held his breath.
He knew that voice.
Not from the recording.
Not from the phone.
But from someone he had met before.
The old man at the Wanastra café.
Pearls of Wisdom
“Sometimes, the first answer we find isn't the end of the search, but a door leading to a much bigger question.”