Fury

by Fisher Amelie

  Breathe.

  Shit. Where do I take them! I can’t take them to Slánaigh!

  Suddenly I remembered that Detective Tran was on duty that night. I had the girls follow me to the police station, thankful that the late hour kept people from noticing us. When we reached the street with the station, I pulled my hood as low as I could and bent to the oldest girl’s level. I gave her the hands of the girls I’d held on the way there.

  “Go. Take them there. Tran. Ask for Tran,” I said, pointing to the small lit station in the middle of the block.

  She nodded her head at me, tears streaming down her face, making my stomach clench. Then unexpectedly I was hugged around the neck. She pulled away just as quickly then ran with the girls away from me toward Tran’s station.

  I tucked myself back into the shadows and made sure they made it in. When they were inside, I was ready to run back to my bike but was stopped short by Tran himself, his hands on his hips. He came out into the street, looking back and forth, searching for whomever had brought the girls in, but I knew he would never find him. I wouldn’t let it happen.

  When Tran was back inside, I jogged back to my bike, satisfied I’d done something worth doing that night, confident I’d made the right decision. The memory of the little girl hugging my neck was answer enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Finley

  When I saw Ethan coming up the drive, I practically sprinted to meet him.

  “Hello, darlin’!” I shouted when I was a few feet from him.

  He picked me up and swung me around, kissing the top of my head.

  “Hello, my Finley,” his deep voice resonated.

  “What an awesome day, huh? The sun is shining, bright, and warm. The bay is gorgeously blue.” I looked up at his beautiful face. “Your face is smiling. Certainly an awesome day,” I told him.

  He smiled even wider, his extraordinary teeth and mouth telling me everything I wanted to know about his heart and mind.

  “You really are beautiful, you know that?” I asked him, my hands against his cheeks.

  He smiled his crooked smile before running the palms of his hands across my forehead. “Finley Dyer,” he sighed. “Don’t talk to me about beautiful ’cause I know beautiful. I memorize it every chance I get,” he said, studying my face then kissing my cheek.

  I smiled at his flattering compliment. My cheeks felt warm as they flushed.

  “God, I love that,” he said, running his thumbs over my cheekbones.

  “Stop,” I said, embarrassed, turning my face away.

  He grasped the sides of my neck and brought my gaze back to him. “Don’t do that,” he whispered.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “Feel ashamed to show me how I affect you.”

  His words made me feel even more vulnerable and my cheeks turned warmer, but I kept my eyes locked on his.

  “There it is,” he said, clear admiration in his eyes. “There isn’t a lovelier look than that one right there.”

  “Why?” I asked him.

  “Because, Fin, there’s nothing more revealing, more confessing. There’s truth to that blush that words could never convey, never fully declare like the rush of color in your cheeks could. It chronicles your responses in the most attractive way.”

  He bent me backward and kissed my mouth, saving it from the gape that had been forming, dazing me almost unintelligent.

  “Wow,” I breathed stupidly when he broke contact.

  “Damn straight,” he told me, breathless.

  He stood me up and held me there a moment while I steadied myself.

  “Come on, sedated-version-of-Finley.”

  I blinked. “You know, you claim you’re not good with words, but I beg to differ.”

  He took a deep breath and pierced me with his gaze. “Let’s just say, I found a reason to find them.”

  As we walked up the winding staircase, I remembered myself, remembered my news. “Oh my God! I forgot to tell you!”

  “What?” he asked, his eyes shifting to the right.

  “Five girls somehow escaped one of Khanh’s cells last night.”

  “No kidding,” he said.

  “Yeah! They showed up at Tran’s door last night. Can you believe it? Such an amazing thing!”

  “It really is,” he observed. “Hey, what’s on the docket for today?” he asked me, changing the subject.

  I looked at him, confused. “Don’t you want to at least know what happened? It’s pretty fascinating.”

  He audibly swallowed. “Uh, okay. Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “what happened?”

  “According to the girls, some guy just showed up and took them away. The oldest girl said he spoke English and hand delivered them to Tran. When I first heard the story, I almost lost my mind. I’d thought it was you at first, but Father said he saw you go to your room and you never left.”

  “You all considered it was me?” he asked, his face white as a sheet.

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing at the expression on his face, “but don’t worry. It was only a passing thought, babe.” I rubbed his shoulder back and forth.

  “Oh,” he said, laughing disjointedly. “Good then.”

  I smiled at him. “We’re just taking care of a few repairs around Slánaigh today. No busts planned because Dr. Nguyen is going to be seeing the girls who were rescued last night and Father is going to try and find their families so they can be reunited with them.”

  Ethan

  I’m not going to lie, Fin’s as well as everyone else’s first assumption scared me. The fact they all so quickly brushed it away, though, made me realize how trusting they were of me, and I didn’t know how I felt about that. Don’t worry about it now. You can’t worry about it now. Just be more careful.

  Fin and I repaired a few of the shutters on the windows that had broken off or were hanging. When we were done, Sister brought a can of coral-tinted paint to us along with a tray of Phở. She smiled at us both and kissed us on the heads before swishing away, her skirts billowing behind her in her seemingly permanent haste, whistling as she went, obviously content with the tiny world around her.

  We took a break and sat on a pair of beechwood rocking chairs at the back of Slánaigh facing the grove of trees that separated us from the beach, but we could hear the soothing waves and smell the sweet salt air.

  As we rocked back and forth quietly sipping at the broths of our soups, the lapping of the water on the beach felt like the metronome of life, ticking in time to the rhythm of the earth. Finley, faintly at first, began singing. It was an ancient-feeling tune, reminiscent of something Celtic, I thought, coupled with a sweet melody with equally friendly lyrics despite its melancholy pitch. It was a love song.

  My God did her voice do the song justice. I stopped rocking, set my bowl down, and watched her sing as she pushed and pulled her chair. She had no idea I was listening as intently as I was, I could tell, because her mouth lifted at the words she was pleased with and raised passionately when she reached the pensive ones. She was a sight to behold. My sight to behold, I thought. It was no surprise to me that her voice coordinated with her face. I felt it was only right that they matched so magnificently.

  Finley stood from her chair, still singing, kissed my temple, gathered our bowls and set them on the tray. Her tune still spilling from her lips, Fin took the tray inside, leaving me alone in the quiet nature of that day.

  To my dying day, though, I would remember how she sang that song. I would recall it in my time of need and her forever ago words would endlessly bring me comfort. Just knowing Finley Dyer and that song existed at one time on this earth was enough to give me breath.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Ethan

  I spent the better part of three weeks saving little girls from fates worse than death at night, taking them to Tran, and stealing back into my room by way of the little boat. During the day, I would care for Finley, love her, kiss her, worship her, dare I say, honor her.

 
No one suspected me after that first day. Honestly, no one cared. The citizens of Hạ Long Bay called me “the guardian angel” in secret around town. I selfishly reveled in the nickname, thinking very highly of myself, naively convinced that the incredibly dangerous Khanh would let me continue robbing him of his product.

  But life is nothing but unfair, is it not? Life is a punishing entity, to be truthful, just on its own without the influence of harmful decisions. Throw in a monstrous choice and you have a prescription for devastation.

  It was a stormy night, that Saturday night, full of ominous sounds and elements designed for disaster. At one in the morning, I found myself circling the night market, an uneasy feeling in my gut, an instinct I foolishly ignored because I’d become so familiar with the rush of adrenaline and sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d associated it incorrectly, disregarding everything my Uncle Akule had taught me, setting myself up for a fall that was the physical equivalent of tossing myself off the side of a cliff with no parachute.

  A free fall to almost certain death.

  A man I’d recognized as a trafficker from weeks earlier eyed me. There was something in his expression that told me I should have run, but I’d been walking for almost an hour with no interest from anyone. It seemed my heroic acts may have saved more than twenty-three girls, but they were also making it harder to find them. A few days after that first night, they’d become scarce. And the traffickers were very much aware of who I was, I was certain. Which is why I should have been on higher alert, but I was so desperate to save the girls I ignored the red flags.

  “You like girls?” he asked slowly, his eyes raking me up and down.

  Red flag.

  “Yeah, I like girls,” I told him, my head down, my face hidden in my hoodie.

  “Right this way,” he said, surprising me.

  “How much?” I asked, my brows furrowing at his misstep.

  Red flag.

  “Forty dolla,” he said, lowballing me.

  Red flag.

  “Done,” I said, stupidly accepting his offer.

  “This way,” he said, keeping his distance.

  He practically ran ahead of me and slammed his fist against the door three times. Without thinking, I unzipped my hoodie, crossed my arms, and palmed my knives. His breaths panted from his chest, his eyes wide on me.

  “Don’t do it,” I told him, and his eyes blew wider. He began pounding on the door even harder.

  I should have run then. I could have. I bet if I’d run at that moment, I could have gone back to Slánaigh and never needed to look back, working with Fin and Father and Tran in all Slánaigh’s future endeavours and done so happily. But I didn’t.

  I studied the guy’s hands and body, deciding he wasn’t hiding anything. Instinctively, I rushed him, flipped his back toward mine and shoved his head hard into the concrete wall. He fell in a pile at my feet. It was too late to run. Too late because I heard the door being pulled open and knew in my gut that if I had run, I would have been gunned down.

  Because it was a setup.

  Breathe.

  I flung myself against the wall. The door opened into the room and I recognized the tip of the gun almost immediately. It was an automatic. I grabbed it, taking advantage of his surprise, and swung it forward, yanking it from his hands. Gunshots rang out behind him. I ducked as the guy I’d stolen the gun from pitched forward with dead eyes. In order to get me, they’d killed one of their own.

  Breathe.

  Who are these soulless men? I wondered.

  More gunshots rang out, and I dipped my head as they bit at the concrete of the wall opposite the door in the alley. My eyes shifted left and noticed shell casings. The shooter was close. Judging by the height he was spraying the bullets, he assumed I was standing.

  Breathe.

  I fell on my back in the middle of the doorway, rotated the gun and aimed up, intending to spray a wide path. I pulled the trigger. Empty click. Mistake. I’d never checked the gun. In a flash, I pulled out my knives while taking stock of the men in the room.

  Breathe.

  Gunman. Noticed I was on the floor. He aimed his gun at me. I planted a knife in his foot. He squealed in agony, dropping the gun, but it was slung around his chest and I wasn’t able to reach it.

  Breathe.

  One armed man. Five feet to my left. He was standing but was unfamiliar with his weapon, clumsy, and struggled to get it in possession.

  Breathe.

  One unarmed man. Seven feet to my right and backed into the corner. He looked afraid, his shoulder pressing as far into the corner as possible, as if he could shove himself through.

  Breathe.

  The gunman reached for the knife in his foot.

  Breathe.

  I yanked the knife instead, sending him falling backward in one shrill scream.

  Breathe.

  “Put the gun down,” I gritted from the floor at the second gunman.

  Breathe.

  “Die,” he said instead.

  Breathe.

  “You first,” I told him and heaved the knife, hitting my aim. He fell lifelessly to the floor.

  Breathe.

  Guy in corner cried out, pleading with me.

  Breathe.

  First gunman gritted his teeth. His eyes promised vengeance and soon. He reached for his gun yet again and aimed it at my face.

  Breathe.

  Without hesitation, I threw my second knife in his chest, straight for the heart. Dead.

  Breathe.

  I stood, yanking my bloody knife from the first man’s chest then reached for the second.

  Breathe.

  The third man cried as I wiped the blades off on a nearby hand towel, sheathing both of them.

  Breathe.

  “Are there any more?” I asked him.

  Breathe.

  “Please don’t kill me,” he said.

  Breathe.

  “How many more?”

  Breathe.

  “Are there any more!”

  Breathe.

  “Spare me!”

  Breathe.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. It was a stall tactic.

  Breathe.

  There were two doors on opposite sides of the room. I chose the door nearest the crier. More than likely I knew he would probably pick the side with men and their weapons so he wouldn’t get caught in any crossfire.

  Breathe.

  “Time’s up,” I told him.

  Breathe.

  His unpleasant, cowardly expression fell. A look of hatred built in its place. “Yes, your time is up,” he answered. He shifted his body so that the handgun he’d been hiding came forward. I anticipated the movement and swung myself away as the first shot fired. One swift clip of the hand dislodged the gun. I caught it midair, pointing it at him.

  Breathe.

  “Open that door,” I ordered.

  Breathe.

  A look of pure anger flitted across his face. I pushed him in front of it, reached forward, pulled the handle, tossed open the door, and stepped back. The man’s hands went to his face as bullets assaulted him. I ducked low to the ground and into the corner. There was an incredible amount of screaming in Vietnamese, but none of the screams seemed to belong to any girls.

  I knew then I would not be rescuing anyone that night because they’d not brought any girls with them. It was a witch hunt.

  Breathe.

  I positioned the handgun in my palms, used the jamb to brace myself, and took in the hall. Two men stood there with their automatics, fumbling with them and yelling at one another, gesturing to the dead men on the floor.

  Breathe.

  When they saw me, they took aim.

  Breathe.

  Two clear shots to their heads took them down easily.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ethan

  The lump in my throat was so large I felt like I couldn’t breathe
. My body trembled as I fled the alleyway for Slánaigh.

  Just get home. You’ll figure this out. Just get home. Get home, Ethan, I chanted to myself over and over until I reached my bike.

  As calmly as I could, I tried to remove the chain. It took five attempts before I got it right. My shivering hands finally steadied enough to put the key in the lock. My heart constricted in my chest and I labored to breathe.

  Just get to Fin. Find Finley. Just get to her. She’ll fix this for you. She can fix anything.

  I started the bike and tore out into the street, narrowly missing another driver. The guy honked his horn and yelled as he passed, making my blood pressure spike. I didn’t know how much more I could take before I lost consciousness. I needed her touch.

  Get to her hands. Just get to her hands.

  I rushed back to Slánaigh as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. I peered down at my hands. Every time I passed under a lamplight, they illuminated the bright red blood staining them. I cried out in anguish, wishing I could cleanse them, wishing I could rinse them, wishing I could absolve them. Lady Macbeth in the flesh. She has light by her continually; ’tis her command.

  The nausea roiled in my stomach. I could smell the iron of their blood on not just my hands but on my clothing—in my hair. I shook from the release of the adrenaline. I felt confused, overwhelmed.

  Their bodies. Their bodies. All those bodies. The blood! The blood! All their blood!

  I could smell and taste the gunpowder as it lingered in the air, see their dead, uninhabited eyes, hear their deafening screams, feel their bitter, empty, yet desperate souls cry out in their unexpected and unprepared deaths.

  I pulled as far as I could go into Slánaigh before shutting off the bike and hiking the remaining distance. I threw the bike’s stand out and ran flat out until I reached the cove. I pulled back the foliage, sick to my stomach, and rode the boat to my room. I entered my room and rummaged through my things for my soap and shampoo.

  When I had them, I quietly swam to the lagoon’s waterfall, undressed, and vigorously, almost hysterically unburdened my skin of the dead men’s blood. I laid my clothes flat against the rock floor, letting the fall of the water wash the blood from my clothes as well. I stood under that waterfall with its roaring, thundering ways, thankful for the reprieve from the guilt that racked my brain with loud, horrific accusations.