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

by PJ Vye

  “Sunny, even if he didn’t mean to—even if it was an accident—and I believe it was, the man—”

  “Boy.”

  “Teenager, still dug a grave and buried her, and let his family believe she was alive for the last twenty years. How can you forgive that?”

  Sunny stood and leaned against the kitchen bench. She poured her coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug. “You don’t know him, Laurence. He tried to make up for what he did.”

  “Right. ‘The Rules’.”

  “He became a doctor to help people.”

  Laurence knew he’d never change her mind on this guy. Luckily, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to. Mat would be in prison for life. “He doesn’t know about Atali, does he?”

  Sunny turned her back and scrubbed the sink. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She turned on the water and continued scrubbing. “I’ve gotta go to work. Tulula will be here soon.”

  “You know I’m happy to look after Atali when I’m working here.”

  “Tulula won’t allow it.”

  “Why?”

  Sunny dried her hands and began picking up toys from the floor. “I don’t have time to get into it. Will you drive me to work?”

  “What, now? Why so early?”

  “We have a concert today. Diplomats from Japan.”

  Laurence felt relieved to be talking about something else. “How’s Carrie’s surveillance going? Any news?”

  “She’s got a big sting planned.”

  “When? Maybe I could cover the story.”

  Sunny smiled for the first time today. “Better not complicate it,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “You really think the woman is stealing from orphans?”

  “The money is going somewhere, and it’s not going to the refuge.”

  “You sure I can’t come in and do an article? I can pretend I’m covering the Japanese visit.”

  He caught a glimpse of panic on her face, before it turned into a reassuring smile. “Today’s not a good day. I’ll ask Violoa later. She loves publicity. You’d probably have to show her the article before you submit it, though. She’s a bit of a micro-manager.”

  “This big sting Carrie’s got planned—it’s not going to bite you on the arse, is it?”

  “I hope not.” Sunny took a pile of folded clothes into her bedroom and he followed her.

  She dropped the clothes on the bed and almost fell against him as she turned in the doorway. She blushed and his heart thrummed. The more distance she tried to put between them, the more he wanted her. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  “Will you ask me if you need help?” he asked.

  “I don’t need help.” With the exit blocked, she began to make her bed.

  “But if you did? Do you trust me, Sunny?” He reached out to stop the pillow fluffing and lightly held her arms. “Sunny?”

  He kept his eyes pinned on her and she eventually looked up to meet them.

  A sound at the front door gave her an excuse not to answer and she pushed him into the lounge room. Tulula let herself in and gave him her usual disapproving nod.

  “Talofa, Tulula,” he said.

  “I’m off, thanks Tulula. Laurence will drive me. I’ll see you tonight.” Sunny kissed her adopted aunt on the cheek, grabbed her computer bag and walked to the car.

  Laurence piled the newspapers under his arm and moved to follow. Tulula clicked her tongue and put out her hand to stop him. He handed her The Australian and she took it without a word. He’d only met her a short time ago, and she often liked to pretend she didn’t understand English around him.

  “Have a good day,” he said to Tulula, and followed Sunny to the car.

  In his thirty-three years of life on the planet, Laurence had been shot at by rebels in Sudan, attacked by protestors in Lebanon and spent a week in prison with a drug lord in Jakarta. Tulula scared him more than any of those times.

  He couldn’t say why.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Does anyone have a charger for a pixel? Mine’s not working and my phone is almost flat,” yelled Violoa in Samoan over the top of the student lunch room. None of the students looked up. Today was spaghetti bolognese, of sorts, and no-one wanted to be sent on an errand.

  Sunny shook her head, as did Carrie and the other staff beside her.

  “Will a Samsung work?” asked Priscilla. She tutored math to the older students and never missed an opportunity to suck up. “I’ve got a Samsung.”

  Violoa cursed and threw up her hands dramatically. “Malia,” she yelled at her assistant. “Go to the market and get me another cable. Don’t come back until you find one.”

  Malia looked down at her half-eaten pasta, and tried to gauge the urgency of the request. “Now, Malia,” screamed Violoa.

  The woman stood quickly and carried her plate away.

  “Sunny,” said Violoa, redirecting her anger in Samoan. “Do I need to be any clearer about the content I expect in your classes?”

  Sunny had spent the last hour squeezing in an English lesson before the big concert and the students had enjoyed it so much, their voices could be heard as far as the shop on the corner. Even Aby in the kitchen mentioned how happy they sounded. “Yes.”

  Priscilla smirked.

  Sunny read Violoa’s face and realised her mistake. “I mean, no.” She still got her Samoan translations wrong sometimes.

  A few seats down, a young student spilled a cup of water over the table and Violoa stomped up to her and smacked her across the head. The other students continued to eat their lunch, not daring to react.

  “Why don’t you try Jerry,” Carrie yelled after Violoa. “I think he has a pixel phone.”

  Violoa didn’t acknowledge the suggestion but stormed away in the direction of the garden shed where Jerry spent most of his time tinkering on lawnmowers.

  “Everything ready for the big concert?” Carrie asked the three women beside her. The staff nodded noncommittally as they tucked into their food, aware Violoa might come back and ask them to run the next errand. Sunny shared a look with Carrie and found it difficult to eat.

  When the other staff members finished and left the table with their plates, Sunny whispered, “You broke her phone charger?”

  Carrie surveyed the students around them, all a good metre away and involved in their own conversations. She spoke easily, as if they might be discussing the weather. “Broke a wire in her cable. She wouldn’t have known it wasn’t charging until it went flat.”

  “Tell me what’s happening.” Sunny took a small bite from her spaghetti, but only to appear casual. Secretly, her insides were queasy and thick.

  “The investigators will log in when I give them the okay. They’ll need a good two hours to make all the traces. You think you can keep the concert going that long?”

  “Easy. Everyone might be asleep by the time we’re finished, but I can make a song last an hour if I have to.”

  “You understand, it’s not about keeping the kids busy, it’s about keeping Violoa away from her phone and computer until the investigators are finished, right? If she gets bored, or thinks she won’t be missed during a song, she’ll likely go find her phone to see if it’s charged. We can’t let that happen.”

  “Yes, I understand. You’ve told me a hundred times.”

  “Sorry. I’m just counting on you. I don’t know who else to trust here. Everyone says they hate Violoa, but she has her secret loyal followers. And it’s hard to say who is for her, and who isn’t.”

  “What makes you think you can trust me?”

  “Violoa hates you more than anyone else. So it was an educated guess.”

  Sunny wanted to be offended but believed it was true. Violoa did seem to have it in for her more than most. It couldn’t be because she didn’t work hard. She stayed much longer than she was paid, and always spent hours on her lessons at home preparing for her sessions. She’d always been respectful. Ma
ybe that was her mistake. Maybe Violoa preferred tough love. Well, she was about to get some of that.

  “How will I know when the investigators are finished?”

  “Just keep the concert going until I tell you to stop.”

  “Okay, but don’t leave me hanging too long.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “How long before we’ll see some action on this? What happens next?”

  “Nothing, at first. They’ll wait until they get their case together. Then I guess they’ll appoint someone to run the refuge while she’s under investigation.”

  “You don’t think she’ll buy off the police here?” asked Sunny. As if there weren’t enough things to go wrong.

  “I don’t know if her pockets are that deep. Maybe.”

  “Will she ever know we were involved.”

  “No. They told me our names would be kept out of it.”

  Carrie blinked several times and doubts rose. “Carrie?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. Maybe. But she’ll be put away. There’s no danger to us.”

  Suddenly the queasiness turned into full-blown nausea. “Jesus, Carrie. I have a kid.”

  “I know.” Carrie studied Sunny a while and asked, “You okay? You’re not going to fall apart on me, are you?”

  “I’m just doing my job, Carrie. Running a concert for the Japanese dignitaries. I know nothing else.”

  “Fine. Let’s go with that.”

  “I gotta go get ready. I’ll see you later.” Sunny stood to take her plate and Carrie joined her.

  They waited until a couple of teenage students with unbrushed hair, scraped their plates and dropped them in the bucket. Sunny and Carrie then did the same. “Oh, I forgot to mention. I’ve texted you the log-in details and password of the YouTube account I opened for you.”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “All the English language songs you’ve written so far are there. Make sure you check it out. I thought I might list them as public? There’s no students in the videos so it’s allowed.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Done. Okay. Good luck with the concert.”

  “Enjoy your afternoon off.”

  “Will do. See ya.” Carrie slung her bag over her shoulder and left.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sunny checked her watch as she played what must have been the tenth verse of the Goodbye Song. The cool breeze had stopped about an hour ago and she could see sweat dripping down the faces of the Japanese men in suits. They were too polite to leave and watched the student’s performance diligently for the full two hours.

  With still no sign of Carrie to tell her to stop, Sunny began another chorus, running out of body parts to shake farewell. They’d covered the hands, the arms, the legs, the feet and the ears, but when Sunny suggested shaking the knees, Violoa, who’d been sitting next to the Japanese consular officials, stood and waved her hands, not bothering to smile. “Stop. Enough. I think we get it,” she said.

  The students’ voices faded away but for a few groans of relief.

  Violoa thanked Sunny and the children, the Japanese dignitaries and their huge cheque, and after another round of bowing, Violoa made an excuse and hurried away. The students mingled amongst the guests for a while, answering questions and looking adorable.

  One of Violoa’s strategies to ensure excellent behaviour during these events, was to tell the students they might be adopted by a rich family, but that they’d only be interested in polite, well-mannered children. It turned out to be an extremely effective lie. The students believed it completely, despite it never actually happening.

  The small, suited lady with dark hair and a lovely smile, threw an entire bag of Japanese treats into the air and for a moment there was chaos as the students scrambled to collect as many as they could. They simultaneously hid them down their sleeves and pulled at the plastic coverings so they could stuff as many in their mouths as they could manage. They knew Violoa would make them hand over uneaten treats when the guests were gone, and they’d never be seen again. Most assumed Violoa kept the stash for herself—hence the reason for her constant need for new larger clothes.

  The Japanese translator approached Sunny and said in English, “Thank you for the concert. What incredible work you do here.”

  “Thank you. Everyone really tries to make a difference for these children. It’s important.” Sunny was aware she was being rude, looking over the lady’s shoulder in case Violoa appeared, but she couldn’t help it. Where was Carrie?

  “And the English songs. How did you find them?”

  “Sorry. What?” Sunny returned her attention to the woman. “Find them?”

  “The songs. I particularly liked the one about how to ride a bike. They were clever, without being overly childish. It’s hard to find songs about basic English phrases that aren’t meant for pre-schoolers. You had the older students singing about flipping the handlebars just as happily as the little ones.”

  “Wow, thanks. They love their music. They find rote learning hard, but they’ll sing whatever I ask them to. Over and over again. It’s like magic.”

  “So where did the resources come from?”

  “Resources?”

  “The songs. Are they online? How did you hear about them?”

  “I just wrote them.”

  “You wrote them?”

  “Yes,” said Sunny, a bit unsure about the questioning.

  The translator stopped smiling and began searching her backpack.

  Sunny rushed on. “I know they’re not perfect, but I often don’t have a lot of time. I usually just put down the first thing that comes into my head. Sometimes I write them on the spot.”

  “Would you make them available for anyone to use? I’m Sahika, by the way.” She put out her hand to shake.

  “I guess,” said Sunny, returning the gesture. “Sure, why not? My friend put them on YouTube. You ca—”

  “Excuse me, everyone,” came Violoa’s booming voice over everyone. “There’s an emergency and I need the children to move directly to their rooms. All guests must leave at once. Staff, follow the usual procedure.” She turned and walked back toward her room.

  Sahika immediately translated for the dignitaries and herded them together. In record time, they’d exited the refuge without having to be asked twice.

  The students, not unused to drama, went quietly and quickly to their rooms. Emergencies were common and usually involved an upset family member who forced themselves into the refuge and demanded to take their wife/son/daughter home. The students knew the safest place was locked in their room because when a violent father or mother got angry, they didn’t care which kid they hit.

  Sunny and the rest of the staff systematically checked all the doors were locked, secured the outlying buildings, then returned to the staff room where they’d be required to wait out the emergency. The guests had left by the time this was done, and Sunny felt like she might hyperventilate. Where was Carrie? Had something gone wrong? Did it have anything to do with the emergency or was that just a coincidence?

  Sunny had her answer as a sharp rap on the door was followed by the entrance of two police officers. “Wow, that was fast,” she muttered to herself.

  Priscilla leaned over and said, “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  Sunny shrugged as if she had less idea than Priscilla did. “I don’t know.”

  The police officers looked like strippers—buff, solid and a little bit threatening. Sunny couldn’t take her eyes of the guns hanging casually on their hip.

  Violoa followed them in, then shut the door. She looked around the room, her eyes sharp and calculating. “Where’s Malia and Carrie?”

  No-one answered until eventually Priscilla offered, “Didn’t you send Malia to the market to get your phone charger?”

  Violoa nodded. Sunny could tell she’d forgotten. She looked a little relieved. “Anyone know where Carrie is?”

  Several eyes turned on Sunny. She shrugged
again. “It’s her afternoon off. I haven’t seen her since lunch.”

  “It’s not her afternoon off,” yelled Violoa in a voice too loud for the room. “Who told you it was her afternoon off?”

  “Um, I think she did.”

  Sunny wanted to slide down her chair, onto the floor and under the table. She’d never been a good liar, and if everyone kept staring at her, she was sure her face would speak for itself.

  “I’m sure she’s safe, if she’s gone out for the afternoon,” said Priscilla.

  “Do not contact her, understood?” Violoa told the room.

  “What’s going on?” Sunny asked.

  Violoa stared at her for the longest time, and Sunny tried to appear confused.

  “Are you sure you don’t know?” asked Violoa.

  “Know what?” asked Priscilla, looking from Violoa to Sunny and back. “What’s going on?”

  Sunny shrugged and offered in her best dumb voice, “There’s an intruder, isn’t there?”

  “Stop it,” said Violoa, clipping the words. “Stop it now.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Priscilla. “Stop what?”

  The other staff mumbled their confusion.

  The shorter police officer stepped forward and spoke directly to Violoa. “We’ll need to talk to everyone separately. Who should we start with?”

  Violoa stared straight at Sunny. “This one,” she said, and pointed directly at her.

  Sunny squirmed in her seat. “About what? An intruder?”

  “There’s no intruder,” Violoa spat.

  “So, what’s the emergency?” asked Priscilla.

  The door creaked open and a tentative Malia appeared. “What’s going on?” she said, looking from the police officers to the bewildered faces around the staff room. “Here’s your new phone lead.”

  Violoa snatched it from her hand and said, “What took you so long?” Then to the police officers she said, “Take Sunny first, then when you’re done with her, I’ll send in the next one. While you’re waiting to be interviewed, I want everyone’s phones, and everyone’s password.”