by Chan Ho-Kei
Siu-Man’s such a sensitive child, she remembered their mother saying. And this sensitivity made her perceptive, allowing her to understand others more than they understood her. That meant she’d accumulated all kinds of fears. A moment floated into Nga-Yee’s mind from long ago: they were in a moving vehicle after dark. Siu-Man, very young, next to her and stroking her cheek.
“Don’t cry, Sis.”
Bzzz.
A sudden electronic sound snapped Nga-Yee out of her memory.
N was frowning at another computer. He tapped a few keys.
“Not right now!” he spat, turning to the surveillance screens. Violet had walked out of range of her laptop camera. She was at the window, being captured by the drone—but because the light was behind her, they couldn’t see her face.
“What’s wrong?” asked Nga-Yee.
“Violet’s brother is nearby—he probably realized something’s up. Sharp of him.” N pointed at the laptop screen. “His number’s showing up on the Stingray.”
N’s fingers danced across the keyboard. One screen showed Violet’s bedroom, and all the others Broadcast Drive. How many drones did he have? Or had he hacked into security cameras? Images flashed across the screen like a slide show, and N’s eyes flitted among them, searching for something. It was past one in the morning, and the streets were empty of pedestrians and traffic.
“There,” said N abruptly, and Screen 1 locked in on a single shot: a taxi approaching. And there, to its right, was Violet’s building. The taxi stopped, and a figure hurried from it. Even from this blurry image, Nga-Yee could tell it was Violet’s brother.
“There’s no time,” said N. “If you want revenge, we’ll have to strike now.”
Nga-Yee stared at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you tell me all that to talk me out of revenge?”
“Why would I want to talk you out of it?” N’s eyes were fixed on the screen. “Your sister’s reasons for doing what she did have nothing to do with your vengeance. Violet and her brother turned an internet mob against your sister—that actually happened. Your sister killed herself because of Violet’s messages—that happened too. And your sister’s death caused you untold pain. They hurt you, and if you wanted to hurt them back, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, I wouldn’t try to stop you.”
Violet’s brother was arguing with the security guard, who wouldn’t let him pass.
“When I said you wanted revenge for yourself, Miss Au, that wasn’t a criticism. That’s just how it works,” N went on. “I hate hypocrisy. Absolutely nothing against people doing things for themselves. In your case, if you hate Violet, I’m all for that—look at how coolly she lied to our faces and then burned the suicide note as if it were nothing, as if she’d played no part in Siu-Man’s death. Do what you like to her—I won’t object. Anyway, I’m only acting as your agent. I’m a tool, like a knife. How you use me, and for what reason, is entirely up to you.”
Once again, N had ignited the flames of hatred in Nga-Yee, but she still couldn’t make up her mind. She thought again of those messages Siu-Man got before her death, all those poisonous words, the final drops of water that burst the dam. Wasn’t it fitting for Nga-Yee to deliver the last straw? One bad turn deserves another. On the screen, Violet’s brother had pushed the security guard to the ground. He charged into the elevator and got the door shut before the older man could climb to his feet.
Nga-Yee clutched the mic, her finger on the button. She looked at Screen 2. Violet was at the window, her hair blowing across her face in the summer breeze. Nga-Yee could sense how fragile she was—the slightest nudge, and she would topple like a porcelain doll to shatter on the sidewalk ten stories below. As if playing out her fantasy, Violet clutched the windowsill, her body swaying back and forth, as if to let the cold wind blow apart her existence.
“Elevator’s almost at the tenth floor,” said N.
Nga-Yee stared at the screen. Maybe she wouldn’t need to say a word, and Violet would jump anyway. She looked so weak and defenseless. All of a sudden, she realized something was wrong: Violet was too tall. More than half her body, from mid-thigh up, was visible above the windowsill.
No, she hadn’t grown taller, she was standing on a chair.
As the thought flashed across her mind, Nga-Yee pressed the button and spoke the final words she would ever say to Violet To:
“Don’t do it!”
Violet’s body swayed suddenly, and she looked around in shock. A few seconds later her eyes turned toward the door. She must have heard the doorbell ringing and her brother’s frantic cries. She stumbled from the bedroom and disappeared out of the shot.
“Changed your mind?” said N.
“… gave up. Best to give up.” Nga-Yee’s palms were sweating as she gripped the microphone. She stared at the empty bedroom on the screen.
“Is this the end of the plan?”
“Yes. We’ll let her go …”
N shrugged and pressed a button to return everything to the way it was: his drones would come back, he’d relinquish control of Violet’s Wi-Fi, and all systems would be back to normal.
A moment ago, as Nga-Yee looked at Violet in the window, she’d seen Siu-Man there. And that was enough for her to realize that no matter how much she hated this person, she didn’t want to see her go down the same fatal path as her sister. She recalled Siu-Man lying in a pool of blood, and her own hysterical sobs. She wouldn’t want even her worst enemy to be put in that position.
Finally, Nga-Yee could hear the clear, true voice coming from the bottom of her heart.
No matter how much she was suffering, passing her sorrow on to someone else wouldn’t bring her happiness.
As N withdrew his drones, Nga-Yee caught her final glimpse of Violet and her brother, and for some reason the famous first line of Anna Karenina popped into her mind.
“Happy families are all alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in their own way.”
Brother and sister were kneeling at the threshold, embracing each other as the front door stood wide open. Violet couldn’t stop shaking. She was probably in tears. If she’d come home ten minutes earlier that day in May, Nga-Yee thought, maybe she’d have been hugging Siu-Man like this, sprawled by their front door, weeping.
Nga-Yee slumped in her chair, and tears started flowing from her eyes. Soon she was letting out choked sobs and then bawling freely. After Siu-Man died, she’d felt hatred every time she cried—vengefulness against the culprit, rage against society, anger at the unfairness of fate. Now she felt nothing but grief, weeping for no reason than that she’d lost her little sister. N handed her a tissue, but she was crying too hard for that, and she looked as if she might fall from her chair. A little reluctantly N knelt before her, allowing her to bury her face in his chest.
Even though Nga-Yee had sworn not to show any weakness in front of N, and even though she couldn’t stand him, she somehow felt safe as she put her hands on his stained, wrinkled hoodie.
Perhaps even people who’ve gotten used to being alone need to be comforted by others from time to time.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
vi, i don’t know when you’ll see this
03:17
but i want you to know
03:18
i’ll always be by your side, i’ll never betray you
03:18
even if the whole world hated us
03:19
please never cut your wrists again
03:19
don’t die
03:20
i’ll share your pain, i’ll be a listening ear
03:20
i’ll rescue you from that heartless man one day
03:20
please just put up with it for now
03:21
your big brother will always love you
03:22
even if the whole world was against you, i’d still love you
03:23
CHAPTER NINE
Kenneth Lee wrung his hands and paced anxiously aroun
d the cramped GT Technology Ltd. office. He knew he ought to put on a brave face in front of his employees, but Szeto Wai was due to arrive any minute, expecting them to present their report. The company’s whole future rested on this moment. Yet when Mr. Lee looked at Chung-Nam, it was hard to feel confident. He wasn’t great at reading people, but even he could tell from Chung-Nam’s dark circles that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
“Are you okay, Chung-Nam? You’re our lead presenter, everything’s resting on your shoulders,” he said.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Chung-Nam smiled.
He sounded confident, but Mr. Lee wasn’t reassured. Only the day before, he’d heard Chung-Nam practicing, and he couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was saying—he had no idea what “repeat bonuses” and “G-dollar futures” were, nor how they were supposed to help the business. When he asked, Chung-Nam had come out with even more complicated jargon to explain how these things would entice Szeto Wai into investing. In the end, Mr. Lee gave up. Hao had been benched too, apart from a short segment at the end when he would demonstrate the user experience of a G-dollar transaction.
“Hey, are you really okay?” whispered Hao as Mr. Lee turned aside to ask Joanne if she’d remembered to book a table at the classiest restaurant in Langham Place. Hao had noticed Chung-Nam’s distraction over the last few days, along with the slapdash feeling of the presentation’s ending.
“Of course I’m okay,” said Chung-Nam.
“You seem preoccupied. What’s up?”
“Nothing, just some personal stuff,” said Chung-Nam. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll be the first Hong Kong firm to receive an SIQ investment. When that happens, we’ll be worth ten times as much, and the only thing you’ll have to fret about is how to find time for so many newspaper interviews.”
“The papers will only want to talk to Mr. Lee—what’s that got to do with me?”
“You’re our customer experience designer. Obviously they’ll want you to say a word or two.”
Chung-Nam was smiling, but Hao wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a joke. He could tell that Chung-Nam wasn’t in the best shape, but at least his eyes were full of energy. By contrast, Mr. Lee wasn’t demonstrating any leadership. If someone else from SIQ showed up instead of Szeto Wai, they might assume that Chung-Nam was the boss here.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang crisply—the first shot in their final battle. Joanne hurried over to the door, and Mr. Lee rushed over too, never mind his dignity. Chung-Nam and Hao brought up the rear.
“Mr. Szeto! Welcome, welcome.”
“Kenneth, sorry to be a little late. The traffic—”
“No problem, no problem at all.”
Mr. Lee and Mr. Szeto exchanged more small talk; then the visitors were ushered into the conference room. Chung-Nam beckoned Thomas and Ma-Chai to join them.
“Do we have to?” said Ma-Chai anxiously. “What do I have to do? I didn’t prepare anything.”
“Just sit and listen,” said Chung-Nam. “It will leave a good impression on Mr. Szeto if our office seems united.”
Ma-Chai and Thomas nodded, unaware that Chung-Nam had another plan in motion. This report wasn’t aimed at Szeto Wai alone; the entire firm needed to be present to witness his coup.
He’d secretly prepared another presentation, which was now on the conference room computer. Hao and Mr. Lee would be surprised by this unexpected turn of events, but they wouldn’t dare say anything in front of Szeto Wai. As long as he kept hold of the clicker, no one would be able to stop him from staging his revolt.
The eight of them just about fit into the conference room. Chung-Nam shut the door and walked up to the screen, his insides churning with anxiety and excitement. He looked around, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. Szeto Wai looked serious, awaiting an answer to his question: Was Chung-Nam going to play it safe or take a gamble?
Yet something was off. Chung-Nam glanced at the person behind Szeto Wai.
“Oh, I forgot,” Szeto said, noticing where he was looking. “Doris had to take the day off, so this is my other assistant, Rachel.”
Chung-Nam nodded at Rachel, who tilted her head in acknowledgment. He was a little disappointed—Rachel was good-looking, but Doris was far more enticing. It was also clear that Rachel didn’t seem to know what was going on, and it was hard to imagine how she’d ended up reporting directly to Szeto Wai.
Chung-Nam couldn’t have known that this woman was just as confused as he was at that moment.
For starters, she was surprised to be introduced as “Rachel”—since when did she have an English name? And what was with this “Szeto Wai” business? As far as she was concerned, his name was simply N.
*
A couple of days ago, after Nga-Yee abandoned her revenge against Violet To, she’d come back to Wun Wah House from Broadcast Drive, by which time it was almost three in the morning. N hadn’t been unkind enough to send her home alone; after retrieving his drones and other surveillance equipment and restoring everything to its original state, he’d given her a lift. They hadn’t said a word to each other the whole way back, and Nga-Yee hadn’t been able to tell whether he was happy—after all, many days of preparation had come to nothing because she’d spoken three words.
“Do you think I should have done it?” she asked as she got out of the van.
“Like I said, Miss Au, I’m just a weapon, and it’s up to you how you decide to use me. I have no opinion of my own.” He leaned forward onto the steering wheel. “Besides, I’m still collecting my fee. You owe me five hundred grand.”
She had expected this, but her heart sank.
“And don’t ask for a discount because you called it off,” said N before she could open her mouth. “Don’t think about running away either. You could go to the ends of the earth, and I’d find you.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Let’s say I believe you.” He looked her in the eye. “If you decide after this to end it all, then please wait till after you’ve paid off your debt. Ducky and I did a lot for you—don’t let it be for nothing. I’ll come up with a payment plan that works for you. This Tuesday, July 7, two days from now, don’t go to work—come to my place at ten in the morning, and we can do our accounting.”
He smiled nastily, and Nga-Yee felt a tremor in her heart. She couldn’t complain—after all, she was the one who’d agreed to this back when she was blinded by hatred. The moment she’d let go of her vengeance, she also felt a kind of enlightenment beyond life and death. Her family was gone now, and she was all alone, with no purpose in life. If N’s payment plan involved her whoring herself out or whatever to make the money back, she was resigned to it. She just hoped he wouldn’t make her sell a kidney—at that point, he might as well have them both.
“Got it,” she replied helplessly.
As Nga-Yee walked away, N leaned out the window and called her back.
“I’m not taking one penny less, but I can understand that tonight might have been a disappointment, so I’ll let you take part in the second wave for free. You don’t get to call the shots this time, though.”
“What? Wait!”
But he was zooming away. His expression had been exactly the same as when he’d persuaded her to sign up for vengeance back at the hotel room, his eyes gleaming. Nga-Yee didn’t want to have anything more to do with Violet To or her brother, but it seemed he had something else in mind.
On Tuesday morning, Nga-Yee arrived at 151 Second Street. Still hesitant, she walked up the six flights. The front door swung open before she could ring the bell, and there was N in his usual red tracksuit top, cargo pants, and flip-flops. Presumably his Stingray had told him she was here.
“You’re punctual,” he said, unlocking the security gate.
She didn’t respond; her mind was on what he’d said about the “second wave.”
“N, let’s forget about Violet To, I don’t want to—huh?”
She stopped, startled, as he wa
lked out of the apartment and started toward the stairs, shutting the door and gate behind him.
“Where are we going?”
“Hey.” He gave her a little shove. “Don’t block the way. These stairs are narrow.”
Haplessly, she went back down the staircase, wondering what N was up to this time. They walked down one flight, and she was about to continue when she heard N’s voice behind her. “Here.”
Turning, she saw him take out a key and open the door of the fifth-floor apartment. The setup was the same as his: an apartment that took up the entire level, a wooden door and metal security gate. The only difference was that this one seemed even shabbier. The door showed signs of having had New Year’s decorations stuck to it; scraps of red paper still clung to its white surface.
“Huh? This apartment belongs to you too?” said Nga-Yee, confused.
“The whole building belongs to me,” he said casually.
Nga-Yee stared. No wonder she’d never run into any other tenants. Property prices these days were rising constantly, and even the tiniest patch of land could be turned into housing. Landlords didn’t leave apartments empty, and broken-down ones like this would normally have been sold off to developers by now. Nga-Yee was even more shocked when N turned on the lights. Before them was a small sitting room, empty except for an off-white carpet and a coffee table that matched the wallpaper perfectly. It was minimalist, with no stray objects lying around, and spotless too—the complete opposite of the apartment upstairs. Nga-Yee looked around. There were no windows, and the ceiling was fitted with fluorescent lights and central-air vents, as if this were an office. The vestibule had three doors leading from it; Nga-Yee thought it resembled a doctor’s waiting room.
Was there an operating theater behind one of these doors? Perhaps this was where she’d have an organ cut out of her. Instead, N led her through the right-hand door into a room twice the size of the living room, also windowless, but with more furniture: a couch, a long dressing table, several chairs, and a large built-in wardrobe. In the corner was a glass door leading to a bathroom. N pulled open one of the wardrobe doors to reveal a few dozen women’s outfits, with rows of drawers beneath them and pairs of high-heeled shoes along the ground.
