The Riot Act

by Sebastian Sim

  “Yes, but you write like a teenager making diary entries. You write about a picnic by the beach, a wonderful book you read, a nasty customer at the casino, Rodrigo Santoro and his antics; you’re all over the place! There is no focus, no theme and no character to your blog. You’re like a girl at the party with mismatched outfits and clashing colours. I love you but this is an awful blog.”

  Hashwini folded her arms in defiance. “I thought you were going to help me.”

  “Yes, I am. I am going to help you start a new blog. I am going to be the creative director and you’ll be the staff writer. And I promise you ten thousand followers within a year.”

  Hashwini was thrilled at the idea of ten thousand people reading her articles. Almost in reflex she squeezed her thighs tight and cupped her nipples. “Alright, I’m all ears.”

  “First of all, we need to build a persona for your blog. When you were going through the ordeal the night of the riot, how did you feel?”

  “When the police patrol car was set on fire? Terrified, confused—and a little excited actually.”

  “No, no, I am talking about that Bangla worker taking an upskirt photo of you.”

  “Angry. I feel like I had been violated.”

  “Vulnerable? Scared?”

  “Yes, that too. The man was drunk. I am thankful Singapore is safe. If I were in India, that man would probably have dragged me into the bushes and raped me!”

  “No, no, no…forget thankful. Thankful articles that sing praises of blessings gather no views. Stay with angry. Stay with feeling vulnerable, fearing rape. That is an angle we can work with.”

  Hashwini glared at Euu Ki, not quite getting his drift, but the latter ignored her and took control of the keypad to conduct a Google search for top keywords for blog names. He spent a few minutes browsing through some of the lists churned out by the search engine. At one point, he clicked his tongue with satisfaction and tapped on the screen. “This is the word we need.”

  Hashwini leant in for a closer look. The word was “confession”.

  “We can go with…‘Confessions of a Rape Victim’,” Euu Ki announced dramatically, his eyes bright.

  “Are you crazy? I have never been raped,” Hashwini protested.

  Euu Ki glared at her. “Use your imagination. It could have happened, a long time ago, just that you never wanted to talk about it. But you cannot deny it has changed you fundamentally. You are distrustful of men and detest the system they have built to suppress you. You constantly feel vulnerable, disadvantaged, preyed upon. That is why you started this new blog. You need to clamour for justice. The nasty experience with the Bangla worker has brought back horrible memories of what happened to you when you were a teenager... Oh my God! That’s it! ‘Confessions of a Teenage Rape Victim’.”

  “I was never a rape victim,” Hashwini reiterated in exasperation.

  “But there are teenage rape victims in society. They are in pain but they don’t have a voice. You can be their voice. That would be your blog persona—you speak for the victimised, the suppressed, the ignored. You are a voice for justice.”

  Hashwini held her tongue. She was beginning to see the picture Euu Ki was painting. For her blog to reach out to a wider audience, she had to go beyond her personal, quotidian experiences. Her articles had to convey a theme that resonated with her ten thousand potential readers. Already she could feel the tingle of excitement in her toes.

  “I am going to save these lists of keywords in a folder called ‘rape’. You need to pepper your articles with them. These are the keywords that the search engines will pick up on. Do it correctly and you will be ranked high on searches.” Euu Ki explained. “In the meantime, bring me a glass of water.”

  “I have juice. You want juice?”

  Euu Ki gave her a strange look. “Just water.”

  When Hashwini came back with a glass of tap water, Euu Ki stood up, received the glass and splashed the contents on her chest.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Euu Ki picked up his mobile phone, angled it and took a photo of her nipples visible through the wet T-shirt.

  “We need a cover pic.”

  Chapter 5

  Jessica never imagined the day would come when everyone wanted to know about her. Specifically, they wanted to learn what had happened to her in that ambulance.

  Had she or had she not been raped?

  The reason her jeans were pulled midway down her thighs was because Haroon, the nursing student, had offered to examine her injury. But the news clip appeared to tell a different story. She had her eyes shut tight and her limbs hanging limp as she was carried by a hulking migrant worker towards the ambulance. Most of the viewers believed her to be unconscious. She was kicking and struggling when the STAR team member rescued her from the ambulance. Many of the viewers deduced that she was suffering from post-traumatic disorientation. The mystery that mesmerised the entire nation centred on that 15-minute interval when she was alone in the ambulance with the migrant worker.

  What really happened?

  Reporters were frantic to get to the bottom of the mystery. They were unable to get any details from the police or the hospital; the statements and medical reports were confidential. They were unable to interview the migrant worker either; the direct butt stroke to the head executed by the STAR team member had resulted in a grievous concussion and the man was lying comatose in the ICU. The doctors were uncertain if he would wake up any time soon.

  The confluence of all these factors left the reporters no choice but to focus their energies on hounding the one woman who could solve the mystery—Jessica Tan Jia Lin.

  But the woman wouldn’t talk.

  The first person who tried to convince Jessica not to talk was the member of parliament who came to visit her at the hospital. Jessica vaguely remembered having seen her on TV before but could not recall her name.

  “Hello, I am Sharon Shi, MP for Jalan Besar GRC,” the MP said and smiled gently. “Mr Elvis Overee, the anchoring minister, had wanted to come, but I convinced him you may still be in shock and may not be ready to receive too many visitors. He wants me to convey how sorry we all are about what has happened to you. Has the doctor prescribed you any medication?”

  “I am alright.” Jessica thought the MP had a rather awkward smile. It was as though she was making an extra effort to pull back her lips in order to show more teeth.

  “You are a brave woman.” There was that awkward smile again. “We are going to pull out all the stops to get to the bottom of this riot that should not have happened. And we will bring justice to you. That man will not walk away unpunished. We just ask that you be strong.”

  “Are you referring to Haroon?” Jessica frowned.

  “Who’s Haroon?” The MP similarly frowned.

  “The man who carried me to the ambulance and helped dress my wound,” Jessica explained. “The doctors and the police seem to be under the impression that he might have assaulted me in the ambulance. But that was not what happened. I made it very clear in my statement to the police.”

  The MP looked startled. There was a moment of silence as she appeared to be mentally processing the unexpected information. When she next opened her mouth, she spoke slowly, as though she were stalling for time while she frantically strategised.

  “I am so glad that you were not harmed. We will, of course, arrange for you to undergo counselling by our psychotherapist. Needless to say, the fees will be borne by the state.”

  “Why would I need counselling?” Jessica was genuinely perplexed.

  “No one can go through such a traumatic experience without being psychologically affected. We know of cases where the victim goes into complete denial of what actually happened and imagines an alternative truth instead.”

  “I am not in denial!” Jessica exclaimed, incredulous.

  “We are not saying that,” the MP said cautiously. “This riot is unprecedented. We have enjoyed close to fifty years of peace in our country since
independence. People are shocked and upset. There will be parties with vested interest who will want to milk it to their advantage. Any piece of information, or misinformation, reported on media can trigger fear and distrust. Do you understand me so far?”

  Jessica did not quite get where the MP was headed with this but she nodded nonetheless.

  “I have no doubt that the media hounds will go after you. Whatever you say, there will be a reaction. Some will champion you. Some will vilify you. Even if you are telling the truth, some will doubt you. This is the reality of our times. Unless you have a professional PR team guiding you, anything you say can easily be distorted and used against you. Believe me, they can and will tear you apart mercilessly.”

  Jessica decided she disliked this MP. There was an air of arrogance to her manner that she failed to disguise. This was a woman who probably believed she knew better because she had enjoyed a privileged upbringing, undergone a superior education and acquired an esteemed professional status.

  “Promise me you will not grant them any interviews,” the MP pressed on. “I will guide you on this when the time comes. Right now, simply tell the media that you will not speak as investigations are still underway.”

  Jessica gave a faint smile and a barely perceptible nod. It was a mere nod of acknowledgement, but she was happy to allow the MP the misconception that she had made a promise. When the MP finally stood up to leave, Jessica stole a look at her shoes. They looked like Manolo Blahniks. Did the MP just visit her in the hospital in a pair of heels that possibly cost more than a thousand dollars? Jessica decided that she now detested the woman.

  The second person who tried to convince Jessica not to talk was Andreae.

  “Remember the girl in the US who was abducted at the age of ten and kept a sex slave in the dungeon for years and years? When she was eventually rescued, she sold the exclusive rights to her story for a million dollars. You can do the same!”

  “You are deluded,” Jessica laughed.

  “Your story is one of a kind. You have to monetise it!”

  Jessica waved off Andreae’s proposal as scatterbrained foolishness. But it was really Chong Jin who made it clear Jessica should not be talking to the media.

  “Tell them you were unconscious the whole time. Tell them you awoke in the ambulance only to find your jeans pulled halfway down, a migrant worker you did not recognise lying unconscious and a hunky STAR team member at your side.”

  “This is not funny.” Jessica slapped at his hands that were trying to unbutton and remove her denim shorts. “I’ve already told the police what happened. I can’t tell a different story to the media.”

  “Yes, you can,” Chong Jin insisted, his hands back at the task of removing the piece of attire, Jessica’s resistance fanning his lust. “Claim that you had given the first statement in a state of denial, like the MP suggested. She has already made it clear she will help you. Be smart and go with the flow.”

  “But Haroon’s statement will contradict mine.”

  “That man is in a coma. There’s no telling if he will ever wake up.” Chong Jin persisted, winning the tussle over the denim shorts and moving on to the T-shirt. “Even if he did, whose statement are they going to believe? A migrant worker who suffered a concussion? Or a young woman from Singapore who was a victim of a riot started by a bunch of unruly foreign workers?”

  Muddled thoughts swarmed Jessica’s mind. She had thought it was as simple as telling the truth, but the advice from the MP, Andreae and Chong Jin had complicated matters. She gave up ruminating and surrendered to Chong Jin’s ravaging. Afterwards, she heard Chong Jin murmur “love you” as he gently kissed the fresh bruises on her wrist.

  She got up to dress when Chong Jin suddenly emitted a chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “If the activation beep had come thirty minutes later on the night of the riot, it would have been perfect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We would have been done and you would have been wearing some fresh bruises. The doctors would have noted them during the examination.”

  Jessica was engulfed in a sudden rage. For the first time she was able to look beyond this Adonis of a man with a perfectly sculpted physique and see how callous and cruel he truly was.

  “That man saved my life. How selfish can you be?”

  Chong Jin shrugged nonchalantly. “Just saying.”

  “You know what? Thank you for helping me make up my mind. The truth needs to be told. I owe it to Haroon.”

  Jessica stormed out of the flat before Chong Jin had a chance to stop her. On the bus ride home, she pointedly ignored the beeping of her mobile phone. It was clear to her now. Chong Jin was a beast. His urge to restrain, to overpower and to hurt were clear indications of the cruelty he embodied. How could she have been so blind?

  Once Jessica reached home, she flopped onto her bed and dialled Andreae’s number from her land line. She ranted for five minutes before she finally succumbed to tears and sobbed bitterly. Was she doomed to be unlucky in love?

  “Give the man a chance to redeem himself,” Andreae urged. She had seen photos of Chong Jin shirtless and thought Jessica incredibly lucky to have nabbed such a hunk. “At least read his messages. See what he has to say.”

  Jessica picked up her mobile phone and tapped on the screen. There were three missed calls and nine messages from Chong Jin. In the first six messages he repeatedly apologised and urged her to return to his flat so they could discuss the matter. These were followed by two video clips. The final message simply read, “Don’t make me release these.”

  Andreae arrived an hour later to find Jessica, shaken and pallid, hugging her pillow in bed. She gasped as she watched the video clips. The first clip captured Jessica performing fellatio on a humongous dick. In the second clip she was being savagely pounded from behind. Both clips were angled such that Chong Jin’s face was out of the frame. It could have been anybody.

  “Oh dear, did you know he shot these?”

  Jessica shook her head with a pained look in her eyes.

  “This man is a monster!” Andreae ground her teeth together.

  “What if he releases these clips? I will kill myself.”

  “You will do no such thing.” Andreae pulled Jessica into her embrace and smothered her tear-streaked face into her chest. Jessica let herself be calmed by the steady rhythm of Andreae’s heartbeat. She did not see that Andreae was replaying the clip and staring in awe at the humongous dick.

  “So what should I do now?”

  “Nothing. If the media approaches you for interviews, tell them you remember nothing. Let them write their own stories.”

  After Andreae left, Jessica lay wide awake in bed and ruminated. Over the past few days, it had bothered her that the media misinterpreted the event and cast unjust aspersions on Haroon. The entire nation was eager to believe that the man had assaulted her in the ambulance. In her heart, she had felt compelled to step forward to defend him. But now that the two video clips had surfaced, that compulsion had diluted. As a victim of a blackmail attempt, she had to save herself first.

  Perhaps the MP, Andreae and the bastardly Chong Jin were right. Haroon was in a coma. She was the only one who owned the truth and it was really up to her if she wanted to disclose what had actually happened in the ambulance. She did not need to lie. All she had to say was “I don’t remember”. The tales would spin themselves.

  Jessica was getting ready to sleep when her mobile phone beeped. She stretched to switch on the table lamp on the dresser. The alarm clock read 3am. Who could be sending her a message at this hour?

  Hi Jess, just want to know if you’re doing okay. It was terrible what happened. You have to be strong. Let me know if you need to talk. Love, Krison.

  Jessica did not know who might have given Krison her mobile number, but it was really sweet of him.

  I’m hurting. Your message means a lot to me. Thank you.

  You’re still awake??

&n
bsp; Can’t sleep. Too much on my mind.

  Want to talk? I can come over in 20 minutes.

  Jessica washed her face and changed into a loose cotton dress. She went downstairs and sat waiting for him on the stone bench at the void deck. Krison arrived within 15 minutes. In a split second, he was off his bike and enveloping her in a tight embrace.

  “I am so sorry, Jess. I didn’t want to call the last few days while I was in camp. But I am worried sick. I am so, so sorry this has happened to you.”

  Jessica buried her face in his chest and felt Krison tighten his squeeze. It hurt a little, but Jessica said nothing. Chong Jin would sometimes hook his sinewy arm around her neck to immobilise her as he engaged in rigorous sex and she had put up with it to please him. That beast applied his strength for his own satisfaction. Krison was applying his strength to reassure her. She felt protected.

  “Oh my God!” Krison suddenly gasped. Tears sprang to his eyes as he held up Jessica’s wrist and examined the bruise marks. “Did he do this to you?”

  Jessica struggled to free her wrist and flipped to hold his hand. “Let’s go to the park and walk for a bit.”

  There was a park a mere five-minute stroll away. It was deserted and silent at this time of night. She found a bench near the pond and sat with her head leaning against him. Krison circled his arm around her. They sat for a few silent moments before he whispered, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jessica shook her head. If Krison chose to believe she was a victim, so be it. But she did not want to have to lie. “Why are you up at three in the morning?”

  “I was helping out at Migrant Workers Count Too. They were in dire need of manpower so I volunteered.”

  “What’s happening there?”

  “It… It has to do with the Little India riot last Sunday.”

  Jessica could tell Krison was hesitant. “I’m okay. Tell me.”

  “Over the last few days, police have charged into the various dormitories and hauled many workers to the police station for interrogation. They wanted to identify those who were involved in the riot.”