by PJ Vye
An opportunity came up for a world tour and we both auditioned. I got a call to say I missed out. When Karina’s phone rang, I answered and pretended to be her. I told the producers she’d accepted another offer.
Ten minutes later, they called my phone and offered me the job.”
Sunny stopped the massage and took a moment to consider whether she should continue. Saying it out loud made her betrayal sound even worse. She closed her eyes and admitted the terrible truth. “I said yes.”
Tulula adjusted herself slightly against the cushions but remained silent.
Sunny continued the massage as she talked, desperate to unburden herself of the truth. “I packed up my stuff and in three days I was gone. Karina had been so happy for me and never complained about being left alone with the rent. She texted me daily to see how the tour went. She must’ve been confused when I stopped returning her messages.
The guilt just ate away at me, a bit every day until I couldn’t bear to have any contact with her at all.”
Sunny’s mind drifted and she startled when Tulula eventually asked, “Did Karina ever find out what you did?”
Sunny sighed. “No. Never. She’s had plenty of work in London. Everyone loves her—people have always been drawn to Karina. I didn’t deserve her loyalty and we haven’t spoken since I moved here.”
Sunny patted Tulula on the shoulders and then stood up to face her. “At the time I felt justified, because I knew Karina would find other work. That’s how it feels right now with Judd. I feel justified, but what if I never forgive myself for it?”
A voice from the corridor made them both jump. “The situation with Judd is different.” Mataio stared at her with such force it made her heart pound. “He took from you first. You were justified.”
Sunny shook her head at him. “I’m going to tell Karina what I did.”
Tulula nodded her approval but Mataio disagreed. “It won’t make you feel better, and will only make Karina feel worse. Better to forget it and move on.”
Sunny ignored Mataio and continued to Tulula. “I can’t ever succeed at anything until I tell her what I took from her. I have to pay the piper.”
Mataio took a step inside the room. “Pay the piper?” His eyes flicked to the bed and quickly away and Sunny could almost feel the memory she saw rise in his face.
“You don’t know what pay the piper means?” She sounded like a derisive teenager.
“Do you?”
Tulula stood between them and explained to Mataio, “It means if you steal from someone, you will pay the price in another way.”
Sunny agreed. “Exactly. I’ve been paying the price of taking that job from her. I despise myself for it. It’s gonna hurt to tell her, but long term, it’s gotta hurt a lot less than the self-hate I inflict on myself every day.”
Mataio looked puzzled. “You can move past it. You just need to make up your mind to do it.”
Tulula watched like a tennis match between them.
“Do you really think that?” Sunny asked. “I think guilt is always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to show itself at the least provocation.”
Mataio lowered his voice. “You can control the way you feel, Sunny.”
“You might, but I can’t.”
Mataio looked at her like he’d never lived a day where he hadn’t been able to control his every emotion. “Try harder.”
Tulula clicked her tongue and slapped Mataio on the arm.
“Could you control yourself when you had sex with me in this bed last night and then left without a word?” Tulula gasped and Sunny added shamefully, “Sorry, Tulula.”
Mataio swallowed hard and Sunny watched his throat rise and fall, momentarily lost for words. “Can you leave us, please?” Mataio asked his aunt.
“She deserves an answer, Mataio. I’d like to know, too,” said Tulula.
Mataio’s eyes widened and Sunny wanted to laugh.
Matio tried again. “Aunt, please. This is private.”
Tulula continued to click her tongue as she walked from the room, giving Sunny’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed.
Sunny picked a piece of lint from her shirt and rolled it between her fingers. She wanted answers, but didn’t know where to start. “What did I do wrong, Mataio?”
He answered quickly, “Don’t do that. Don’t take the blame for something that has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t understand, Mataio.” She felt the quiver of her chin and covered her mouth to disguise it.
“You need protection.”
“From what? Judd?” It was almost laughable. She’d not realised how dramatic Mataio was before.
“Not Judd,” he said. “Something else.”
“From what? And why now?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Tell me why, Mataio, or I won’t go.” She took care to say his name exactly like his aunt.
Mataio stood rigid, his eyes hard and focused.
“Mataio?” She took a step closer, inches from him but not daring to touch. “Tell me.”
His words tumbled out in a rush of air. “I broke one of The Rules.”
“What rules?”
“Rule 7. No…intimate relationships.”
“Whose rules? Why are you following rules?” It made complete sense he followed a set of rules. She could even probably guess a few of them.
“I can’t tell you. But I’ve broken one, maybe more, and now I don’t know what’ll happen. You need to leave, for your own protection.”
His eyes hid something. Was it fear?
“Mataio, you’re scaring me.”
“I want you to be safe, Sunny, above all else. Will you please do this for me?” Mataio touched her hand with his. “No more questions.”
Her legs shook and she needed reassurance. If there was something to be afraid of, she wanted to be closer to him, not further away. She leaned in to hug him and he resisted initially, his arms dangling limp at her side. Eventually he closed them around her and they stood awhile, the pulse in his neck pressing against her face.
He kissed the top of her head then pulled away. “Don’t tell me where you are. Turn off the location finder on your phone. Leave as soon as your passport arrives. Don’t say goodbye.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Do it. For me.”
She was too confused to answer—if not for the danger he implied, then for the yearning she thought she saw in his eyes as he left her.
Sunny sat on the edge of the bed and considered her position. He might not be all that forthcoming with the truth, but he’d not lied to her before. If he believed she was in danger, maybe she should do as he said.
Who would set rules like that? It explained a lot, actually. His weird lifestyle. His moods. His detachment. But why? Who?
So many unanswered questions ran through her head as she piled everything she owned into her bags, zipped them up and loaded them into the ute. She checked that the location finder on her phone was still off and Googled cheap hotels in the city. She started the ute and drove away without a single goodbye, not even to Aunt. No point saying goodbye when you have every intention of returning.
Forty
MATAIO
7 days to go
Mataio closed the roller door of the laboratory and locked it, grateful to be in the daylight again. He’d produced several months worth of serum—enough for Junior and Bernadette, but the seven days and nights it took meant sleeping on the floor and he’d forgotten how hard it was compared to his own bed at his aunt’s. He stifled the urge to skip the bus stop and run directly to the train station. His backpack was too fragile for running.
Judd’s upstairs apartment was quiet the entire time—perhaps he’d moved out. Mataio hoped he’d never have to look at the man again.
The first time he noticed the burgundy late model sedan was at the bus stop. It had two extra antennas on its roof and he’d noticed the number plate because it spelled his initials—DMB—Dr. M
ataio Brinn.
When the bus pulled into the train station, it was there again. He boarded the city train and transferred to the Stony Point line at Flinders St.
There was no mistaking the same sedan in the car park at his final stop.
He felt the familiar rise of his pulse, his body tense, ready to react. He drew in a slow, steady breath but his lungs refused to fill. Sweat poured down his neck and on to his chest. Should he lose them, or confront them? What exactly did they want?
He walked directly behind the sedan and counted two men, both watched him in the mirrors. He used his fist to pound on the roof—enough to shock the occupants but not damage the vehicle.
A group of train passengers hurried a careful arc away but looked over their shoulders to watch. Two suited men emerged from the car and followed Mataio as he headed towards a busy cafe on the street, the lunchtime crowd spilling onto the tables outside.
Mataio took a seat at a table big enough for two and put his backpack at his feet. In his lap he flicked his fingers in and out to dispel the built-up energy inside him.
One man joined him at the table, the other stood outside at the door, conspicuous in an overly tight dark suit in the middle of a warm day. This spring had been the hottest spring on record but Mataio barely noticed the weather.
The man waved over a waiter and ordered himself a Coke.
When Mataio failed to make eye contact with the waiter he asked, “Can I get you anything?”
Mataio shook his head, his eyes still on the man opposite. “Who are you?”
He put out a hand to shake, but Mataio ignored it. “My name’s Mark.”
“Why are you following me?”
Mark returned his unshaken hand to the table. “I think you know why.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of Coke and a glass of ice. Mark took his time to take off the lid and pour the drink, waiting several times for the bubbles to recede so he could fill it again. He took a long, noisy sip.
“Tell me what you want.” Mataio demanded, his patience low and his resentment high.
Mark didn’t change his pace. “The people I work for want to set up a meeting.”
Mataio studied the man opposite for any indication of who he represented, but he gave nothing away. “Tell them I’m not interested.” Mataio stood and reached for his backpack.
“That’s not acceptable.” Mark’s chair scrapped loudly as he rose to Mataio’s height. The man didn’t match him in muscle mass, and he could take him, but the suit outside did and two against one wouldn’t go in his favour.
“I’m not going to a meeting if I don’t know what it’s about.”
“Please.” Mark indicated the seats and settled back down. Mataio did the same.
“I can’t tell you what it’s about,” said Mark. “My job is to get you there. All I can tell you is it’s in your best interests.”
The look on Mark’s face didn’t flicker. It wasn’t a threat but it kind of wasn’t not a threat.
Mataio stared hard at the backpack in his hands and tried to keep his face neutral. “Who are you? The police?” he asked, suddenly conscious of the serum he held.
“I’ve been hired to bring you in. Quietly.”
“Why?”
“We’ve set up a meeting for tomorrow. It’s important you attend.”
“I won’t be there.”
“None of us want the police involved. You understand?”
Mataio nodded. Nobody in his life ever wanted the police involved.
“Meet us back here in an hour.”
“Or what?”
“We’ll come collect you at Tulula Euta’s house.”
His instinct had been right—there’d been no point trying to evade these men. They knew where he lived and if he hadn’t met them here, they would have just come to the house, and then he’d have to come up with more lies to tell his aunt.
There was no escaping this.
Mark paid at the counter for his drink and joined the other suit and casually crossed the road back to the station car park.
Mataio stood on the pavement for a long time, unsure where to go.
There were maybe a dozen reasons why someone might want a private meeting with him, but Mataio listed the three most likely; his father’s crimes, La’ei’s disappearance or his illegal fat-busting serum.
It didn’t matter which one. He didn’t want to be at a meeting for any of them.
Forty-One
MATAIO
7 days to go
Aunt Tulula’s mood could be heard from the street.
It wasn’t hard for Mataio to discover her anger was directed squarely at him.
From the moment the front screen door closed, his aunt’s voice began in Samoan, fast and unrelenting, “The master of the house has arrived home. The man who thinks he’s in charge of who can live here and who can’t. The man who can send a young girl packing when she has no-where else to go. To send away the only good company his aunt has known in years. The man who thinks he can come and go without a word—”
“Alright, alright. I can see you’re mad. I can explain—”
He’d thought after a week she’d have cooled off a bit. Apparently not.
“There’s no need to explain. I know perfectly well why you sent Sunny away.”
There was no way she could know, but whatever explanation she had going on in her head, Mataio was happy to let her think it.
“I’m sorry, Aunt. I know you liked her.”
“Liked? Mataio, she was the best thing that’d happened to this house since La’ei left.”
Mataio put his backpack on the kitchen table and began unpacking the cylinders. “Any word on the search of the reserve?”
Aunt shook her head and continued to need the bread dough. “They’ve been searching for five days and nothing. So maybe she’s still alive.”
Tulula half shrugged like she only half believed it. “No La’ei and now no Sunny. You couldn’t let me have this one piece of happiness, Mataio, this one thing?”
“What about your son? He’s going to live. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
She huffed an ambivalent huff, brushed her hands and thrust an envelope from her apron at him. His name was written in cursive, the ends of the letters in short, uneven lines. The ‘i’ was dotted with extra force.
Another envelope from his father. He threw it in the bin.
Aunt placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a tea towel. “Bernadette’s been back three times. She’s a piece of work, that woman. Whatever made her think she had the personality suited to nursing—I’ll never know.”
“What did you tell her?”
“What you told me to say. That it’s coming.”
Mataio checked the wall clock. There was no time now. He’d have to take the serum to Bernadette after the meeting. “Any reporters hanging around?”
“A few. But I don’t know if they’re here because of the search at the reserve or because of the serum. I don’t dare ask.”
“Junior’s fake death notice seems to have worked then.”
Aunt dropped a spoon loudly in the sink. “You don’t deserve her, Mataio.”
“I know that, Aunt.” That’s why I sent her away.
Aunt clicked her tongue as she untied her apron and stormed out the kitchen without a backward glance.
Mataio put his aunt’s state out of his mind. He had no way of changing it. It was out of his hands. Better to not think about it at all.
He sorted the serum into syringes, a small box of doses for Bernadette as promised. The rest for Junior. Enough for three months.
He washed his hands and thought about the meeting ahead. At the bottom of the sink was a small paring knife. Should he put it in his sock, just in case? What if they searched him for weapons?
A car engine revved and he headed outside, his sock empty.
Neither Mark nor the other suit spoke the entire forty-minute ride. When the burgundy sedan parked out the front of a
single story, 1970’s style office building with a low flat roof and large shop windows, Mataio tried not to show his confusion. No signage to give away the location—just the number 121 on the front door, paint peeling in large flakes exposing the wood. The display window was empty and Mataio might have thought he’d come to the wrong location had he not been delivered there in person.
A single security detail stood at the door—tall, buzz haircut, no uniform but a tight fitting suit much like Mark’s protege—a suit that left you in no doubt of his force put to the test. Buzz Cut opened the door and Mataio noticed a second belt around his waist, a holstered firearm, almost out of sight.
Mark and the suits waited at the door as he passed through. He heard the door lock behind him.
The room was lit by the light from the window and when his eyes adjusted, he followed the passage to the sound of voices.
We walked slowly, trying to pick out a word or two—a heads up on what this meeting was about would put him a little less at a disadvantage. He knew he’d be lying about something today—he just didn’t know which thing it would be. He took a few steadying breaths and then walked past the interior window and up to the door. It opened before he could knock.
“Good afternoon, Mat,” came a friendly voice, barreling towards him from across the room. “I’m Jim.” He held out a hand and Mataio shook it.
A quick glimpse of the room revealed a small desk with a lamp in the corner, the only lighting. Six men of various ages stood in expensive suits, hands in pockets, trying hard to look casual.
Mataio struggled to make sense of the men. This couldn’t be about La’ei. They all looked too friendly for cops or thugs or businessmen or doctors. Men who smiled this much had to be lawyers. Maybe his father had made some powerful friends in prison.
The men lined up to shake his hand, introducing only their first names, some with a foreign accent. No-one explained who they were. Mataio didn’t bother to try to remember—he doubted they were real names anyway.