The Stream Bed Calling

The Stream Bed Calling
by: Marjorie N. Cocjin

Finished: 05/07/2009
Edited by: Elizabeth Santiago


Part I: The Chase

No one would blame her for what had happened. She ran as fast as she could. The wind was sharp on her face. It knew what she’d done. Dead leaves snapped at her feet. A scream was caught on her throat. She had to get away.

The knife dripped blood. She didn’t mean to cut him, but he grabbed her. Terror was stuck in her throat.

She didn’t want to hurt him, but he slapped her. She could still hear his scream when she stuck the knife on the side of his throat.

It hadn't been enough. She could still hear him behind her, feel his desire. How could he still be after me?

The trees were dark enemies, they scratched her body raw. The wind was howling like crazy, but that was the least of her problems. Not when you had a mad psycho person bent on grinding your face in the mud. She couldn't believe it was actually happening in reality. Nightmares did come true.

Birds and small rodents scampered away. No one wanted to be close, not even the vile things. She was all alone and on the run. God! Help me!

A boy from school stood alone, a few meters ahead of her. He was watching the stream as if it were important. The thought managed to pierce through her screaming senses, her panicked brain. But she didn’t care about him. He wouldn't be able to help her. Not against her pursuer. God! He hurt me!

It was at that moment that everything changed. Her feet took off from the ground and suddenly she was flying past him, a graceful gazelle, like the ones she liked to watch on cable TV. The beautiful, desperate prey.

***

The noise was like a train crashing into his solitude. Who in their right mind would be in the forest with a madman on the loose? Miguel fought the urge to wet himself.

Fragrant and furious, a blur brushed past him, disturbing the surrounding foliage and knocking the scent of fresh rain and earth into the air.

A girl from school. A stupid, idiotic girl from school, who had no sense at all.

Miguel knew her. She liked sticking gum under people’s desk when she thought no one was looking. He had borrowed her scissors once and tried to smile at her when he returned it. She didn't even look up. Her name was on the tip of his tongue. Lillian. The lily. Lian. Le-Anne. She went by the name of the country singer.

It hit him on the next millisecond. Something is wrong.

Before he knew it, he was chasing after her. That’s when he became aware of the sinister, hostile presence. It was breathing hard. It was dangerous. It was the madman, it had to be. For the first time in years, he felt the beginnings of terror curl in his stomach.

The man behind them was after the Lily. Miguel shouted out a confused warning. Fear bit at his heart, a furious naked imp. They were alone in the woods. The man knew it, Miguel knew it. This was his woods and no one would be around for miles.

But someone answered. Someone to the left. On the corner of his eye he saw the man falter. Ahead of him, Lily ran flat out toward the sound of the voice. Miguel shouted again. He ran after Lily and tripped over a root.

He swung around with a fist, his mouth open to a silent scream, terrified that the man would fall on him, and stab, stab and stab. I'm going to die.

But there was nothing but the wind and the emerald canopy of banana leaves hovering over Miguel. The earth was slick with rain beneath his raw palms.

He lay there and tried to catch his breath, alone with his sprained foot.

Part II: The Visit

The man was gone. The house was burned. The neighborhood was in shock. He had killed one of their own daughters. But now he was gone. Lily had seen him, but she was safe. All because of Miguel.

Lily was a gracious person. But not to her parents. Not to people she didn’t like. Not to her stupid teachers. Not to indulgent adults. She only responded to Le-Anne, but she hated the name. It was her sort of punishment to herself. She wanted to annoy herself. She was insane. She had wandered into the woods alone. Maybe she wanted to die. That was ridiculous. She had everything.

Mom told her to visit Miguel. That’s why she was there in the hospital, staring at the starch white walls, wondering why they didn’t bother to spruce the place up. Maybe hues of pink and blue would cheer the patients up. Black would have been too depressing for sick people, and gloomy rooms might remind old people of their impending death. In the end Lily decided she liked the white walls.

She was sixteen and sullen. She had never felt sullen in her entire life, or so she likes to tell other people. But in truth she was bored and haunted by feelings she didn’t want or need. Why couldn’t she just be happy? Happy people had it easy. They didn’t constantly think about nothingness.

“Hi.” She mumbled. Despite herself, Lily thought Miguel was a pleasant boy to look at, and she couldn’t help but use her hair to hide her the blemishes and scars on her face. I hate that I’m not pretty.

God, she startled me. Miguel stared up at his unexpected guest and wondered what to do. “Hey.”

Well we’re obviously not going to be friends just like that. Popular boys never bother with people like me. “Hey, thanks for... you know, saving me.” Lily fantasized about being tall, pretty and confident so she could talk better English/Tagalog to this boy.

“No problem.”

Lily stared at his dark hair. Miguel smiled at her politely and looked out the window. She really isn’t a very comfortable person to have around. “Well,” he said finally. “Thanks for dropping by.”

“Uh. Yeah. Okay. Buh-bye.” And like a coward, Lily left.

That was the closest thing they had to a conversation. For the next few months Lily watched him at school and marveled at the wasted opportunity. Who cares, she forced herself to think. It’s his fault that he didn’t see beyond the surface. It’s his fault and his loss, that he didn’t get to know the real me.

Miguel hardly thought of her at all.

All the pretty girls were nice to him. They were funny, cute and smart. They had great moves on the dance floor. They had great moves in bed. He never went all the way with the virgins. The guys got off on porn and dirty magazines. Miguel had a secret stash himself.

But he hardly thought of Le-Anne at all. Except when the moon was full and the silver glint of the stream caught his eye from the window. Then he’d remember the graceful line of her back as she ran away. A desperate, beautiful prey.