Eleven Reasons: The heart-wrenching sequel to Eleven Rules (The Eleven Series Book 2)

by PJ Vye

  They’d been hanging out for three weeks now. This was their third ‘date’. He’d asked her out. She said yes. On the first date he didn’t try to change her mind about the medical tests for Atali. It was the only reason she’d allowed the second.

  The smoky brown liquid in his bottle lowered steadily over the course of the evening. At this point of the bottle, Judd, her ex, would’ve started with the criticism and the nit-picking. Laurence displayed none of this behaviour—just a long-legged lethargy all over her couch.

  “I’ll just check Atali,” Sunny said, and left the room. She untucked her daughter’s legs from her crumpled blankets and wiped the dark curls from her sweaty forehead. She turned on the overhead fan and closed the door.

  “Your drink is ready,” he said. “Do you want ice?”

  Sunny turned the radio on and a slow, RnB song she’d never heard before drifted through the room. The lyrics and low voice sounded too sexy for the situation, but she didn’t know how to turn it off without being obvious, so she turned on an extra light instead.

  He handed her the glass and repeated. “Ice?”

  “Sorry, no ice. Thanks.”

  He moved some cushions so she could sit beside him but she chose another chair.

  “Tell me, why do you need binoculars?” he asked.

  It took her a minute to remember her text. “Oh that. Something at work.”

  “At the hotel? I think they frown on that type of thing.”

  “Not at the hotel. At the refuge,” she said, realising the joke too late. “Never mind.”

  “How do you like working at the refuge? Is it hard, seeing all that disadvantage?”

  She thought about it a minute. “Not really. The kids tend to live in the moment. They don’t sit around thinking how hard they’ve got it, or had it. They just want to know what they’ll be eating for dinner, or when is the next chance to sing or dance or play.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s only when they have to perform for the tourists that I think they don’t want to be there. They’re made to dredge up their past, put on a serious face and sit still for an hour, listening to strangers speak in a language they don’t understand. Those moments suck.

  “But generally, when I’m playing guitar and they’re trying hard to get their tongue around the consonants of a song with English words, and they succeed, the joy on their faces makes you wonder why you’d want to do anything else.”

  “Did you always want to be a teacher?”

  “What? No. I’m not a teacher.”

  “Don’t you teach English?”

  “I’m a musician. Teaching English is the by-product.”

  “Is that right?” He smiled.

  “And just in case you don’t believe me, check this out.” Sunny leaned toward him to show her phone. “Carrie recorded me singing the songs I made up for the kids. She posted them on YouTube so they can learn when I’m not there.” She pointed to the screen. “See that? Forty-five views. This one here…” She scrolled down. “This has had the most—ninety-eight views. It proves the kids are watching and practicing.”

  He took her phone and pressed play on the song titled, Months of the Year. The recording competed with the radio and Sunny cringed at the sight of herself strumming the guitar with her shirt scrunched up under the strap. Must tell Carrie to not get my face in it next time.

  “You’re really good.”

  She snatched back the phone and said, “Enough of that.”

  “What? Compliments?”

  “Precisely.”

  “No problem. I’m not good at them anyway.”

  “So don’t waste them then.”

  He took out his own phone and searched for the songs. “Are you sure it’s only the students from the refuge who are viewing this channel?”

  “Who else would?”

  “I don’t know. There’s probably heaps of people out there who want their kids to learn English.”

  The gin made her sleepy and reflective and there would never be a better time to get Laurence talking. “Tell me, Laurence, what’s your real problem with Mataio’s diet drug? Why do you want to stop it so badly?”

  “Because of the zombies. And the apocalypse,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, great. So C2HO is a zombie drug? Sounds like a Hollywood script to me.”

  “Okay, an apocalypse minus the zombies.”

  “Who kills the world if it isn’t zombies?”

  “Human beings.”

  “How exactly?”

  “The million-dollar question.”

  “Do you think the drug will give us some disease in the future and wipe out half the planet?”

  “It’ll wipe out half the planet for sure, but not because of disease.”

  Laurence’s smiling face turned serious and she could tell he really believed what he was saying. She just didn’t know exactly what he was saying.

  “What’s the real story?”

  “The real story is scary, and I’ll lose my job if I tell it.”

  “So, you won’t tell it?”

  “Oh no. I’ll tell it,” he reassured her.

  “And you’ll lose your job?” she confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “I don’t know how to stay quiet when I believe in something this much. Do you?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever believed in anything that much.” She took a moment to think about it. “I believe in you, though.”

  He looked at her with wide brown eyes that she couldn’t turn away from. When he began to lean toward her, she panicked. “I think I will get some ice. You want some?”

  “Yes, thanks.” He stood and followed her to the kitchen. The ice clinked in the tray and she sensed him behind her, watching, even though he didn’t try to kiss her again.

  “Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

  She turned deliberately toward him and dropped ice in his glass. He didn’t move away and she waited for him to go on.

  “Why haven’t you asked me again about Mataio?”

  She became very interested in the clink of ice as it swirled in her glass. She couldn’t tell him she’d been working up to asking him about it all night. She opened the freezer again, took out the ice tray and took a wide berth around him so she could refill it. He waited until she’d put it back before he repeated the question.

  “Because I think the answer will come at a price.”

  “What kind of price?” he asked.

  “You’ll want something in return.”

  Laurence looked dumbstruck. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

  “I meant information.” She didn’t want to dwell on what he’d obviously thought she meant. “When will your article on Mataio be released?”

  “Soon.”

  “Soon? What are you waiting for? You’ve got Junior’s results.”

  “I guess I’m waiting for some kind of ending. I don’t know what it is yet.”

  “So, will you tell me? Why did Mataio kill La’ei?”

  “I’ll tell you,” he said, returning to the couch. “But you better sit down.”

  “I’m okay.”

  He looked her up and down. “I’m not sure you will be.”

  “That’s just the gin. I’m fiiinnnne.”

  “Why do you care so much about this guy?”

  “What makes you think I care? I’m curious, is all.”

  He sniggered his disbelief.

  “Whatever,” she said. “I didn’t ask for psychoanalysis. Just tell me what you know.”

  She moved back to the couch, aware the air seemed hotter than before. She checked the temperature on the remote but it was on its usual nineteen degrees Celsius.

  “Mataio and La’ei had a secret spot, hidden behind boulders in the national park. They’d hang out there all the time. If they didn’t feel like going to school and wanted to avoid questions at home, they’d spend the day there.”

  Sunny nodded t
o show she understood.

  “The night La’ei died, they were in their secret spot. Michael Fui had gotten her pregnant and she asked Mataio if he would say he was the father instead of Michael.”

  “Oh, no.” Even with her gin-addled brain, Sunny understood at once. Mataio would’ve hated to betray his aunt and uncle’s trust. They were the only family he cared about.

  Laurence continued. “He’d been throwing a rock up and down in his hand as they argued. She told him if he didn’t agree, she’d tell her parents he’d raped her. When he demanded she stop talking, she laughed at him—and he lost it—using the rock in his hand to smash the side of her face. She went down instantly, without a sound. He’d hit her with such force she never got up again.”

  So that was it. Not premeditated like some of the media had inferred. An act of passion. An accident. He hadn’t meant to kill her. What else had Sunny been expecting?

  “Poor La’ei.” Poor Mataio.

  As if he’d read her mind, Laurence cautioned. “The man is dangerous, Sunny. He belongs in prison.”

  Sunny didn’t want to talk about Mataio with Laurence. He didn’t know Mataio like she did. She changed the subject. “If you lose your job, over this mysterious, ‘real story’, what will you do?”

  He stared at her a moment, and she thought he might try and steer the conversation back to Mataio, but he didn’t. “The cost of living is pretty cheap in Samoa. Maybe I could get a work visa and live here too.”

  “You’d find work here?”

  “No, but I can work remotely. Freelance. I’m working on a documentary deal at the moment.”

  “Really? You could work anywhere in the world. Why would you stay here?”

  “There’s a few things about this place I’d find hard to leave behind.”

  It wasn’t hard for Sunny to understand what he meant. “Oh.”

  “I’d need a more permanent place to live when The Conservator cuts me off and stops paying my rent at the hotel.”

  She nodded, aware the heat had risen another level. She sucked in a block of ice and crushed it between her teeth, the cold making her breath short.

  “Maybe I could move in here,” he continued. “Pay half the rent. You have good air conditioning.”

  She choked on the water in her mouth and began to cough, sputtering the words out as best she could. “I only have two bedrooms.”

  “I could sleep on the couch. I’m not fussy. I’ve slept on lots of couches.”

  She doubted he ever stayed on the couch for long. “No. It’s not a good idea.”

  “Just think about the money you’d save. You don’t have to decide right now.”

  She knew exactly what she’d do with the money she’d save and tried to do some quick sums in her head, but her brain couldn’t manage it. “I’m going to bed.” She threw him a blanket. “Here, you can get some practice on the couch. See how you like it.”

  Sunny lay awake in bed for hours, listening to his light snoring. Tears fell silently into her pillow, as she imagined the night when two young lives were destroyed forever in a secret spot between two boulders in a national park near Melbourne, twenty-two years ago.

  Part Two

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Chapter Eighteen

  Laurence threw his keys at the bowl by the door and missed. They clanged loudly on the bench.

  “Shhh.” Sunny pointed grumpily at Atali’s room. “I just got her down for a nap,” she whispered, making a point.

  “Sorry,” he said in a vague tone, as he spread his newspapers on the kitchen table and considered the headlines of each one.

  The Conservator headline read, “Surprise Early Release of Wonder Pill.”

  The Australian ran with, “C2HO given green light ahead of schedule.”

  The Washington Post read, “Pharmaceuticals in Diet Race.”

  Laurence scanned them for any hint of government intervention or inquiry but found none. He moved to slam the table with his hand, but stopped mid-air, remembering Atali was asleep.

  The early release of the diet drug felt personal, even though it had nothing to do with him. Since Mataio had released the patent in that horrifying interview nearly three years ago, every pharmaceutical in the world scrambled to get their version out. The first to release stood to make billions in sales in the first week. Everyone from the mildly overweight to the morbidly obese were anticipating the drug like the next coming of Christ. He anticipated the streets would be lined with people, waiting to purchase.

  When General Pharmaceuticals announced they’d also be releasing the drug the same day as Guine Pharmaceuticals, Guine announced they’d bring their release date forward. It was a cat and mouse game of catch-up that played out not only in the medical world, but the global economy. The result meant the general public would have this drug in their hands in less than a week’s time.

  “What’s wrong?” Sunny asked in a way that made Laurence think she only said it to be polite.

  “They’re bringing the release date of C2HO forward. It’s next Tuesday.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. ‘Oh’ is right.”

  “Will it be prescribed by a doctor or over the counter?”

  She never really heard him when he talked about his work. If she did, she’d already know the answer to that question. He told her again. “We couldn’t get any traction with our warnings of long-term safety, so it’ll be sold over the counter.”

  She must have sensed his frustration, because she rubbed his shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  In the three weeks since he’d moved into her apartment, they’d never touched. They side-stepped each other around the bathroom, took turns playing with Atali, made coffee separately, in single file. A wide berth everywhere so that accidental touching wouldn’t occur. She’d been very clear about the rules. He paid half the rent and half the utilities, and for this, he was entitled to sleep on the couch. Which he was okay with.

  She worked the muscles in the back of his neck, and he knew it was purely a comforting gesture. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same, and despite his terrible mood, he had to cover himself with his hands in his lap.

  “What will you do about the Mataio article? Is it too late?” she asked, as her fingers moved down his spine.

  She still didn’t get it. “No. The timing will go in our favour. The problem is, it’s too late for the petition to restrict the use of the drug to make any difference. The Australian, United States and British governments have all let it through. There’s nothing we can do now but wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  Should he tell her and risk her ridicule? Or worse, her ambivalence? “I’m not ready to tell you yet.”

  “Why not? I promise I’ll give you my full attention.” She sounded offended.

  “Well, I—ouch,” he groaned, when she hit a sore spot on his neck.

  “Sorry,” she said and lifted her hands.

  “No, it’s good, please don’t stop.”

  She dug her elbow into the muscles around his shoulders and said, “I’m listening.”

  He considered it. She had no bias and he valued her opinion. “I’m trying to prove an unpopular hypothesis.”

  “Why is it unpopular?”

  “Because if it’s true, it will threaten our way of life.”

  “That sounds dramatic.” He could hear the disbelief in her voice already, and he hadn’t even told her yet.

  “Look, you don’t need to know the details, but just because I haven’t been able to prove it yet, doesn’t mean this drug isn’t dangerous.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you could say about it to stop people buying C2HO on Tuesday. Like, before I moved here, I would’ve been lining up for it. If you try and stand between people and their sense of personal choice, you’ll fail.”

  She was right about one thing. The excitement of C2HO would drown out any noise he could possibly create with his warnings. No-one wanted to he
ar a bad news story when the world was about to change for the better. “Thanks for the massage. I need to get back to work.”

  “What are you working on?”

  He deliberately avoided the topic of Mat. “Just a bunch of data analysis. Boring as shit.”

  Sunny patted his shoulders and moved to the kitchen. “We all have to do things we don’t want to, Laurence,” she said, as she pounded the coffee head to release the used grind.

  “Are you telling me you don’t enjoy giving massages to tourists and fat business men at the hotel?”

  “Oh, I love it. It’s the reason for my life.”

  The whir of the coffee machine made conversation impossible and he waited until she was done. She carried him a mug and sat beside him, leafing through the papers. She tried to look casual, but he knew better. “Anything on Mataio in here?”

  “Why would there be?” He didn’t mean to sound so God damn annoyed but that man’s name irked him when it came from her lips.

  Her eyes widened. “Ah, only because he invented the whole thing. He’s probably worth mentioning, at least somewhere in one of these stories. Or has everyone forgotten who made this all possible? People will be able to buy C2HO as easily as a cheap brand of paracetamol because Mataio gave away this patent for free. He could have made billions.” Her voice intensified as she finished. “That’s why.”

  “Are you okay? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She stared at him a minute. When she continued, she sounded calmer. “Sorry. It seems everyone wants to conveniently forget Mataio’s contribution because he’s not worthy of the praise. It really didn’t matter how many lives he saved as a doctor, or how many he’ll save with C2HO. It only matters that he took one life.”

  “He didn’t just take a life, Sunny. He killed a person. Murdered a person. Don’t forget that.”

  “He was fifteen years old, Laurence. Impulsive, angry and threatened. He had no home other than his aunt. He didn’t mean to—”

  Her voice faded.

  There was no argument, really. Mataio killed his cousin with a rock. Given the environment he grew up in, who could be surprised he’d inherited the same violent instincts as his father?