Siren of Julio Santayana: A Dark Revenge Romance ENGLISH

Chapter 1

Year of 2017

"Siren!"

Old, rusted bed creaked as a tall but slender figure made a single move. Thin crumpled printed blankets were tossed on her frame. She mimicked the complaint of the bed with a groan, trying to make as few movements as possible while trying to get back to sleep. She used her spare pillow to press against her ear. Her face roughly kissed the wall beside the bed. Old pastel paint is already peeling off. She didn’t mind though. Her eyes were closed as she desperately seized for the dying sleep.

The house was so tiny she could hear the call from outside. At first, she thought the noise was part of her blurry dream. But she lifted her eyes open to the streak of sunlight. The cheap pink curtain was doing little of its job to prevent the light from entering the room. As long as it was dark and the neighbor was dead silent, she could go back to sleep. Except that it’s morning now.

She’s fine with skipping breakfast and lunch as long as she gets enough rest. She hated to see daylight in the morning. Resenting her dull life was one of the many reasons. Sleep became a nightmare that was gone the instant she caught a glimpse of light.

But she liked nightmares and dreams. They’re a reminder she’s alive.

She couldn’t remember where she had placed the night blindfold she bought on the sidewalk again. Her room was so small but things got lost as if it’s wide like an island.

She sighed and laid down on her back to glare at the ceiling. Her eyes squinted to the rusted can, a make-shift bucket at the corner. She frequently reminded herself to check if it was full of rainwater but the reminder got lost in her the moment she got up from her small low bed.

She lost count of the money she gave Franco to fix that damn roof but the ceiling was the same since she first saw it. It’s getting worse now because of the constant rain. She’s doubting it’s considered a ceiling with nothing but a rusting roof and slices of coco lumber. Undivided squares above her.

“Siren!”

The familiar voice of the Barangay Chairman still rang around the neighborhood. Loud and clear. He would stop to greet back people he met on his way. He’s near, but he needed to take a few turns to reach the front door of the target house.

Downstairs, she heard the door of the comfort room open. It was followed by footsteps. She imagined comfy footwear in bright pink. Then the common door opened. It’s literally just beneath her small bedroom.

“Chairman!”

“Franco! Your niece? Is she inside?”

The woman upstairs grumbled. Her exhausted body complained when she sat upright. She pulled her nightgown down on her thigh before reaching for the huge white shirt on the side, grateful that her messy room didn’t eat it up. She spread her long-toned legs and did some quick stretching.

Six o’clock according to a Hello Kitty clock that cost one meal in Anita’s eatery. She could sleep until ten or eleven before the afternoon sun roasted the small room. Except for the money for the roof, she provided a budget for a ceiling foam but even a shred of it was not in sight.

“What brought you here, Chairman?”

She was on the steps of a small and narrow wooden ladder when Franco asked, replying to the Chairman’s question with a question.

He was an enormous tattooed man. Sporting a cheap imitation of a basketball uniform with the number 23. It was to show everyone how his muscles popped out of his arms. He has a military haircut. She told him countless times how it made him look like a steamed bun, but what else could they do if he’s cut already?

She saw her reflection in the mirror mounted on the dull wall in front of the last steps. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows and lips frowned together in disapproval of her morning hair. Everyone liked her natural waves and locks but she hated it every morning.

Smeared mascara was gone from her face. Not even a trace of fiery red lipstick. She didn’t wash her face when she went home late. Usually, it’s already mid-morning. She never dared to scare the sleep off, so she used wet wipes to take off the damn make-up.

But she wasn’t looking in the mirror when she wiped them off, so she didn’t notice the smudges. Still removable with water and soap. She simply didn’t expect to have visitors first in the morning.

She turned her back on the mirror without praising her beauty. She’s the epitome of perfection if you would ask anyone. But if you were to ask her, perfection was never on her list to best describe herself. Pathetic, yes. Poor. And wasted.

They thought she was being ungrateful. Taking such a blessing for granted. A pretentious b***h. They sneered. But others smiled bitterly with an acceptance that she’s indeed such a breathtaking attraction.

If there’s one good thing to describe the beauty everyone's seeing in her, it’s being a blessing. A little consolation to her destitute life. Whether she used that blessing to appease herself, or not, people are still bound to judge every chance they get.

If you used beauty to earn money, they will judge. You used it for nothing and they will still judge.

She learned a long time ago to do what she has to do. She’s too busy with her problems to care for others' problems. Especially if it’s mainly about their opinions on how she lived her life. She envied them before. How lucky of them to only have other people’s lives as a problem when she felt like the entire world was problematic for her.

Now they’re all part of the background of this chaotic world. Without them, everything’s absolute and at ease. Peaceful. Perfect.

But peaceful and perfect wasn’t her world. She has no choice but to share with their loud world.

“A tourist was snatched yesterday. Is Siren’s inside?”

She was already in the Captain’s view but Franco’s towering over him. He tiptoed to get a clear sight of her. He had to see if it was her or some bitches of Franco.

Franco followed his gaze. His brows furrowed to the woman before he turned back to the chairman.

“Why are you looking for Siren? What does her name have to do with crimes and you’re always looking for her every time things like this happen, Chairman? You should be looking for the snatcher?”

The chairman scratched his head. Siren decided to approach them, obviously aware she was the topic. She joined Franco in blocking the door and stood on the opposite end. It’s not that they have a huge door for a small house. They have to make sure not to lean all their weight on the jamb or the whole house might collapse. She crossed her arms across her chest to prevent their skin from touching. She didn't have a bra underneath.

With the clothes hanging around their neighborhood, someone would mistake them as a decoration for a fiesta or any celebration. Unkempt children were busy making kites from the trash that would be back to useless scrap once they got bored with it. No one can blame, though. It’s fun to fly kites in the field in the afternoon.

“That’s why I’m here,” the Chairman continued. Beneath his yellow shirt and blue vest as their uniform for that day is a slightly stout body.

The man in his early fifties is a registered local dentist before he won the election as a Barangay Chairman. He’s helped his people with his profession. You won’t be able to count the number of those with dental braces. It’s free for everyone residing in the district.

The large barangay secretary was with him, together with the two councils. Among the four of them, the secretary is the only one who has a bitter look, and a sneer directed at Siren's way. Siren refused to show a disgusted look in her weird-cut bob hair. Instead, she focused her eyes on their uniform as the chairman informed the public they were barangay officials. Her eyes wandered for their truncheon but they were not holding anything.

She genuinely smiled at the secretary to acknowledge her presence, but the lady openly rolled her eyes at Siren and gave her a head-to-toe scrutinizing look. Siren’s face turned sour. She shoved her chest higher.

Why did the lady look bitter when it’s pretty obvious she has so much more than Siren has?

“Do you know who was snatched, Siren? Or do you remember faces?”

She raised her eyebrow. Franco shook his head and was the one who answered for her. “How would she know if they’re foreigners? It’s too early for this, chairman. Are you firing false accusations?”

“It’s not false accusations if there are witnesses to point out who's the snatcher, Franco,” the secretary interjected.

The two didn’t like the secretary’s opinion, but instead of paying attention to the insecure lady, Franco pinched the side of Siren. A grimace appeared on her face as his nails bit her skin. “Say something! Is it you? Huh?”

“No! Not me! No way!” She let go of her crossed arms and let them fall on her sides. She turned her whole body to the chairman. “When did it happen again? And where did they say they’re from? Before six, I went out to go to work.” She flattened her lips in a thin line.

“So does the incident. It happened exactly before six.” The chairman nodded. The two councils with him lowered their gaze to Siren’s chest.

She rolled her eyes at the curiosity in their squinting eyes. Fool. Pathetic. She’s not that gifted in that part of her, so nothing will peek from under her shirt. A shirt that’s too large for her, obscuring any sight of her nightgown.

Their eyes traveled further down and to her thighs, but she never minded. Never once did she care for the eyes either ogled or cursed at her. She enjoys wearing short shorts, and it’s not a secret to everyone how perfectly shaped and toned her legs are. Fair and smooth. It’s not to show off. She just gave little attention to it and didn’t dare try to protect her skin from insects or accident scratches.

“I think you’re throwing blame, Chairman,” Franco said empathetically.

The chairman blinked several times. His eyes darted from Siren to Franco. “E… if it’s not Siren, we should… we should go, then? We’re only asking everyone around.” He glanced at this companion as if asking them for help or opinion, but their lips remained shut, already knowing the decisions were still on their chairman.

“We understand, chairman. Too early, though. Do you have other questions?” Franco’s voice was calm and patient, but if anyone looked closely, they would realize he was one poke away from hurting anyone.

“Nothing. We’ll go then. We apologize for the trouble.”

The Barangay Chairman was indeed kind. If someone said he didn’t, he would believe them. Siren wondered if it was a way of getting the sympathy of everyone for the next election.

What about those who are against his beliefs? Like those who knew the truth, but it was concealed because someone chose to lie and the chairman believed them?

Even his secretary who surely came along with them to prevent their chairman’s kindness from being abused failed to do so. The reassuring hand of the captain tapped on her shoulder when she refused to go. She rolled her eyes to nowhere before following them. One thing was sure: she didn’t show that attitude to Franco, or if it’s for Siren, it wasn’t directed now that Franco’s watching them go. She kept murmuring words to herself so the two didn’t mind her.

Franco threw the door shut. Siren was on her way to the ladder, but her steps faltered as the walls of the poor house slightly vibrated. Franco was instantly behind her. He forcefully grabbed her arm and turned her around to face his glaring eyes.

“Where is it?” he barked. Without delay. Too direct. Oh, so Franco.

Siren grimaced at his breath but said nothing. She’s also not in a good mood because the chairman ruined their mornings, so she didn’t want to add up with Franco’s already disturbing morning.

“The what?” She was not lying or making excuses. Franco often has too many demands on her that it confuses her what or which he’s referring to at random, spontaneous questions.

“The money, Siren. Don’t play smart on me now. I know it’s you. We both know it’s you. Where is it?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged his arm back. “It’s not much.”

“What―what now? Give it to me now.”

Siren turned around violently. Franco didn’t like it. Siren unknowingly disrupted Franco’s already unpleasant morning with her action. He pushed her hard forward. She gasped as she stumbled directly to the wall.

She successfully held onto the ladder. It lessened the pressure as her knees roughly rubbed against the cemented last steps. The rest of the ladder was made of cheap wood except for the last two steps on the bottom.

“What? I’m going to get it!” She glared over her shoulder. Franco blinked at the surprise in his eyes.

“Really? Why the hell would you act like a brat if you're planning to get it? Go and I’ll buy food for breakfast. I want my share from your wage yesterday, too.” He’s annoyed he had hurt the woman, but it’s her fault for acting like that. Giving him a false interpretation of her action.

Brat. Siren gritted her teeth. Without glancing back at Franco, she went upstairs to get the money. He followed her with his eyes. It would be the biggest lie of the muscled man if he said he never lusted over that woman.

All their neighbors and his friends envied him for living under the same roof with Siren. They’re not related by blood. He couldn’t blame everyone for thinking badly around them. He just hoped so.

One glance and the differences between their features flashed before everyone’s eyes. He’s the laughingstock of the men around them. They all knew how worthless, a bulky man he is. Alcoholic. Gambler. Temperamental. Though the alcoholic part was lessened because of his agreement with Siren.

The lady was smart. She’s aware of how Franco lusted over her and the alcohol made him act uncontrollably. Lost in the thought, he caressed the long line of the scar on the side of his neck. The cold was in the pit of his stomach as he remembered how the girl ruthlessly slashed the knife to his face. He could barely duck off when the knife made contact with his skin.

Siren was eighteen then. She stared at the bleeding man before running out of the house. Soon, he’d be as cold as the floor, but she didn’t mind.

He was confined in a hospital for three weeks. He had no idea how he got there, or how he helped him. A month passed, and they didn’t see each other’s shadows. Wherever that girl went, she’d live. Franco knew that very well.

If anything, he’ll be starved to death and a pile of debts if she doesn't show up. He filed a complaint in the barangay hall. The lamest, but the only thing he could do to force her out. When she did, he took back his complaint. Instead, he promised her it won’t happen again. The huge man ‘begged’ her to come home. Or he’d be really dying alone.

Siren, who grew up like a f*****g epitome of the devil, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at him. She’s become fearless and daring. He couldn’t blame her. They both know ‘he’ needs her to live.

She wished the man would die but unfortunately, she couldn’t live without him. No matter how bitter it tasted to her being.

He owed her own life to Franco’s sister, who generously adopted her. With nothing to feed her own, she took care of the child. Unfortunately, her welfare was passed to Franco when his sister died of a terminal illness. Siren was only fifteen then.

“This all?” His tone was gentle but suspicious when he accepted the four thousand peso bills and the wallets Siren handed to him. ‘The’ wallet. His eyes widened seeing there were two of them. The smug arrogance splashed on his face. He’s proud of what she’s become. Convenient and beneficial. “There are two?” He had a huge grin on his lips when he opened one of them. Dollars in crisp papers. Felt like heaven around his calloused fingers. “Foreigners, huh? I thought they were nothing but local outsiders. Our chairman’s old enough to give false information, eh?”

“Perhaps, you can now start working with the ceiling upstairs? Or the roof?” she complained to spoil his brightened mood. She walked to the sink to wash the exhaustion and lack of sleep off her face, using her wristband to tie up her hair. “Summer is starting and I can’t continue with my sleep. I went home at two earlier.”

“It’s not good for your health to wake up late. You’ll be late for blessings. Besides, you can stay in the brook. Cool breeze.”

“How about the roof? What if it rains? Weather’s confusing. Summer doesn’t mean no rain these days.”

Franco took longer to answer. She turned around to him after finishing washing her face, only to realize she was talking to the air. She cursed to herself.

She changed into maong shorts and a bra underneath the huge shirt before going down. She fished out the extra money from her pocket. They don't trust each other. She left some for herself, knowing fully well how a selfish man he is. And she knew Franco was aware of it but didn’t force her to take it all. The girl has to eat and live, too. It’s uncertain if he’s going to buy food.

With that, Siren left the house. One strong push for the door to close. They used a rope to lock it before, but it’s unnecessary now. Franco got tired of fidgeting with the knots, especially when it was late at night and he was with his new buddy. Franco had quite made a name in the district. No one would dare sneak in, unwelcome in his house.

That’s all he can provide to Siren in exchange for everything. Protection. The world is too cruel, as well as its people. Especially the world she lived in. Lecherous, lewd men were everywhere. She needed someone who was as evil as everyone. Even greater than what surrounds her.

Their house is small. A four thousand pesos monthly rent plus electricity and water consumption. One bedroom and it’s upstairs. Hers. Franco sleeps downstairs, on an old rotten sofa he got from somewhere. Even the antique collectors would take a second glance at the poor thing. Sometimes on the floor with the cheap carpet if he’s with his playmate.

Siren’s glad she has the work where she could spend most of her time during the late hour Franco plays with his buddy. It was her nightmare when she was sixteen and they rented this house. Luckily, she got a job the following year. She purposely wanted to stay outside until mid-morning, and with the quick money, she got to like the job.

Jocelle was the name of her mother. Not her biological mother, but she took care of her. Franco’s eldest sister. She was fifteen years old, Jocelle was bedridden when she introduced Franco who came out of nowhere. That’s also the time she learned she’s not her real mother. That she’s adopted.

Of course, she heard voices before telling the truth, their assumption of the truth, and of how there’s not even a bit of resemblance between them.

Jocelle was a country girl who took a risk of going to Manila. She applied as a maid but her abusive employer forced her to run and chose to live in the street, without money to use as a fare to go back to the province. She’d probably be a laughing stock in their neighborhood for daring to live in Manila.

At least her relatives knew of her misfortunate, but even they couldn’t do anything. Poverty, they said. She was dying and ready to give up when she woke up the next morning to the cry of a baby. It was Siren. Mercilessly placed in a small carton beside her, enough for her tiny body to fit in.

A very poor baby. But looking healthy. Expensive-looking baby clothes. Jocelle had never put her fingers on clothes that cost hundreds or thousands, but the baby’s clothes had their price tag on them. In a hurry, the person who gave it to her didn’t waste it.

Jocelle's eyes went wide at the price. Not in peso signs — but a dollar. There are just too many digits for a single pair of a baby’s clothes. The silk scarf with it has no price tag, but the smooth fabric was catching her breath.

Carefully, with her shaking hands, she took hold of the baby. Jocelle was already in her late thirties but remained single. Unmarried. No children. Homeless. Nonetheless, not innocent of taking care of kids with the number of relatives’ children she took care of in exchange for sweet potato leaves.

The baby was beautiful. Her delicate face was covered with tears. Her eyes were already red from crying. She couldn’t explain her happiness.

Last night, she was asking for signs of whether she should continue living or simply end it. She kept on asking what’s the reason for living. For what excuse and she’s still alive and living only to question the purpose of her existence every day.

And she believed this baby was the answer.

She wiped the tears off her face. Another valuable cloth was in the box. Once again soft against her touch. In an emerald color. She grazed her thumb across the embroidered name at the bottom. 'Yellow'.

It was odd to be a name for a baby. But Jocelle accepted it anyway. However, she saw a necklace underneath that handkerchief. She quickly hid it from the pedestrians walking briskly on the street. Her heart pounded against her chest. With all the fancy fabrics, the necklace is no doubt made of pure gold. Her body shuddered as she lulled the crying baby in her arms.

The chain is heart-shaped. 'Selichah'. It’s engraved on the smooth surface of the pendant in a heart shape. From the bottom, it parted into two and shows a small picture of a woman and a man. A couple, probably. Both smiling from ear to ear. Eyes were hidden with happiness.

Jocelle clenched the necklace tight in her dirty hands. She’s certain that’s the baby’s name as to how certain she is that the couple is her parents. 'Selichah'.

With tears in her eyes, she kissed the baby’s forehead. Dirt and grease from her lips marked the baby’s clear skin. A taint. A sign that she’s hers.

Why the child was beside her was beyond her. But if she’s the answer to all of her prayers, she accepts it.

Selichah was the name given to her. The young Eli was known in the street. But Franco took her after Jocelle passed away from sickness.

The story of the dying woman was covered in several news reports and articles. The media was the one who helped with Jocelle's last medications.

Donations came down like pouring rain after her death. A woman got sick in the street. Unable to go home without money. Died of a terminal illness with only a young teenage girl with her.

Franco used the money to rent a small house in a squatter area. For Siren, it was too big for the two of them, for she only got to live in a cart.

Franco was regretful for going to Manila after the family heard the use of how sick Jocelle was. If he had only known she’d be soon dead, he wouldn’t have come to this tumultuous city.

The donation proceeds were supposed to be used for a one-week stay in the apartment, and the rest is their fare to get back to the province. He was contemplating whether to take the girl with him, though. But he wasted it with vices and women. Pokers and alcohol.

He was so beguiled and enjoyed how the place is surrounded by discotheques and nightclubs, here and there. Before he knew it, his pockets were all empty.

What was left to him is Eli and the piling rent for the apartment.

The teenage girl, Eli, of the street, was gone. She set foot inside the area without a name. No one knows anything about her, but all eyes were on her. Franco’s niece. All are allowed to stare, but never to touch or approach.

Until she turned seventeen. Eli was lost in their memory. Siren was born. She was off-limits because of Franco. No one dared to disagree with her name. But as she grew, she learned to be dangerous in her way.

In that place, if you happened to see a beautiful woman in the morning, without make-up, her hair though unwashed looked smooth and wonderful. Women tried to mimic her, but they all looked like a witch trying hard to be fashion models. Always with a big shirt. People would wonder if she was with a bra or not. Short shorts. Not to show off her long, slender porcelain legs, but simply because she feels hot and sticky with the tropical weather.

You will see her walking in that same street before six o’clock in the evening. Like a completely different person, she has full make-up on. Her eyes were attractively dark. Her lips were ready to explode in bright red. Her hair was washed. The waves are perfectly combed. She’s with her comfy slippers, a bright pink that seems to be her trademark, holding her black high heels. Still with the long shirt, but underneath was a dress that was meant to kill every man just peeking at it.

The most alluring woman at the age of twenty. Her beauty was timeless. Strangers get easily fooled by her innocent beauty. When she’s gone, their pockets are empty. She has a mood as to where and when to be kind, but it’s as moody as Franco.

Siren, without a surname, is as her name indicates itself.