Eleven Rules: A gripping domestic suspense (The Rules Book 1)

by PJ Vye

  He didn’t mention what they’d do to him if he didn’t agree to their terms. What they might do to all of them. For their own safety, they had to be on that plane tomorrow.

  “Well, there must be another way,” said Tulula. “One that doesn’t involve us moving to Samoa. That’s enough talk. I’m putting on the lunch. Not another word, you hear?”

  Mataio watched her shuffle out of the room and turned to see Junior’s disappointment. “I’ve decided, Mataio. I’m still going, with or without her. I have to. You understand? I might never get another opportunity.”

  “I’ll work something out. I’ll make her come. Leave it with me.”

  Mataio knew there was only one way to get Aunt Tulula to leave with Junior. With only two days until The Rules ended, how did things get so unraveled?

  This wasn’t how he pictured the last few moments to be.

  He’d given up twenty years of his life to keep those secrets and now, to get his aunt to leave Australia and go home to Samoa for good, he’d have to reveal that La’ei would never come home.

  But how to tell her without breaking The Rules, he didn’t know.

  Rule No. 11

  Pay The Piper

  Forty-Five

  MATAIO

  1 day to go

  Showered, shaved and dressed in the only suit he owned—one the hospital had required him to buy for fundraising events, he pulled several pens and a thermometer from his pocket.

  Working at the hospital seemed like a distant memory now. A time when he was sure of things, when he had more control—ironic considering he’d followed The Rules the entire time. The structure of them seemed so safe and he craved the stability of them again.

  He must remember to give Dr Nattara notice today. He’d also have to give notice on the house. The neighbours said they’d take Ipo.

  He was supposed to be meeting the suits at 2pm to give his answer. The studio interview was set for the exact same time.

  A crew had spent the morning interviewing Junior and he’d endured it without complaint. Aunt refused to be involved and stayed in her room.

  She was still there now.

  Junior packed his own bag. It hadn’t taken long—he had very few clothes and there was no point taking his Xbox games to Samoa.

  The private jet was booked for 6pm. When Mataio’s passport arrived in ten days, he’d travel commercially to join them and his uncle in Saletoga.

  He still hoped his aunt would change her mind. How could she watch Junior board a plane and not be with him? She had to be bluffing. Mataio was counting on it.

  He sat and wrote everything he could remember about his discovery of the compound and the process he’d used to create the serum, dosages, and other relevant information, as he’d been requested to do by the producers of the show.

  Once completed he folded the paper and placed it in an envelope, folded it again and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. With another sheet he wrote a new title at the top. The Rules - 20 Year Summary and began to fill it out.

  Rule No. 1 No Social Life - Rule achieved.

  Rule No. 2 Protect the Family - Rule achieved.

  Rule No 3. Eat Only To Survive - Rule achieved

  Rule No. 4 No Money, No Possessions - Rule achieved.

  Rule No. 5. Never Tell - Rule achieved.

  Rule No 6. No Fun - Rule achieved.

  Rule No 7. No Sex - Once. Rule not achieved.

  Rule No 8. No Freedom - Rule achieved

  Rule No 9. No Vacations - Rule achieved.

  Rule No 10. Community Service - Rule achieved

  It took a long time to answer No. 5.

  Eventually he left it and decided on a new rule.

  Rule No 11. Pay the Piper - ???

  What did it mean exactly? Had he paid it yet or was he kidding himself?

  Mataio used his new phone to dial Ronson’s private line from the business card his aunt had given him.

  Ronson picked up on the first ring. “Yep?”

  “It’s Mataio Brinn, here. Can I have a word?”

  “Dr. Mataio Brinn. You’re an interesting man. And I’ve met some interesting men in my time. You disappear for days without a word, are impossible to contact or find and then your Aunt tells me you’ve invented some new weight loss thing. I swear, someone could write a book about you.”

  Mataio tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could fold The Rules list and place it in an envelope. “Aunt says you wanted me to check in?”

  “I was worried, that’s all. After our last conversation about needing some protection. Remember it? My guy says you never called.”

  “Didn’t need it in the end. The threat I thought would be there, wasn’t.”

  “And that was…?”

  Mataio wrote the PO Box address on the envelope and moved it aside. “Doesn’t matter now. But I thought it might be useful to update you on our…current situation.”

  “By all means.”

  “I’m about to release this new drug formula to the media.”

  “Hang on. What?”

  “Aunt said you knew about it?”

  “She told me, yes. Why you releasing it? You’ll lose your medical license.”

  “There’s some pretty determined interest in the product, and I don’t want anyone to profit from it.”

  “Including you?”

  “I think it’s an issue for the government to regulate—not the diet industry or the pharmaceutical companies. So, I’m releasing it without patent. I’ll take no responsibility from there.”

  “That sounds just like you.”

  Mataio ignored his insinuation. “Junior and Aunt are flying home to Samoa tonight from Tullamarine at 9pm on a private charter. It’s important nothing stands in their way of getting out. You understand why?”

  “Of course. That’s not my department though.”

  “Just so you know, there might be some potentially angry individuals who might want some kind of revenge. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Mataio knew Ronson could read between the lines. “If anything happens, I’ll know where to start asking questions. Was there anything else?”

  “How did the search go at the reserve?”

  “How do you think it went?”

  “How would I know?”

  “I’ve gotta go,” said Ronson. “Good luck on the interview. Remember, the camera can see the truth better than the natural eye, so you better be convincing.”

  Mataio hung up and went in search of the others.

  His aunt still hadn’t left her room but Junior was in the kitchen, trying to peel an apple.

  “I’m leaving for the studio now. A car will pick you both up at 5pm to take you to the airport. I’ll meet you there to see you off.”

  “Got it, Bru.”

  “Junior, you must get her on that plane. You understand?”

  Junior shrugged. “You know what she’s like, tuagane (brother). She’ll do what she wants.”

  “Tell her you feel sick. Tell her she won’t see her potential new grandchildren. Tell her anything. Just make her go.”

  Junior put down his knife and gave Mataio a long look. “You know she’ll never leave. Not without La’ei. She just won’t, tuagane.”

  “She’s not safe here.”

  “She doesn’t care.”

  “You’re still going right?”

  “I’m still going, tuagane. This is my last chance. I gotta take it.”

  Mataio nodded and waved his goodbye. “See you at the airport.”

  Junior called him back. “Mataio—”

  “What?”

  A moment passed between them. “Fa’afetai tuagane. (Thankyou, brother)”

  “Faafetai fo’i tuagane (you’re welcome brother),” Mataio’s voice cracked slightly and he had to work hard to push down the intensity of his tears.

  He walked quickly outside into the hot midday sun, his suit sticking to his body by the time he rounded the corner of the train station.


  A train blew its whistle as he approached the road crossing. A voice he used to know called out, “Mataio.”

  Mataio’s legs turned to water.

  Time disappeared and a familiar bile rose in his throat that made him want to punch holes in walls and throw rocks at cars. Mataio turned slowly to see an old man standing tall on the sidewalk only a few short metres from him, his chin its usual unforgiving line with pale unflawed skin that flowed from his face down to his neck.

  The face his mother fell in love with and couldn’t ever leave. The man she thought she could fix. The man that killed his Ma with a cricket bat.

  Mataio took a second to decide whether to head back to the house, confront him or run to the train. He swallowed and realised the heat of his outrage needed to be released. There was no way he could trust himself to stay. He let out a long, held breath and turned in the opposite direction down the street.

  “Mat, stop,” said the man as he ran a little to catch up and then walked in stride alongside him. “I just need a minute. There’s some things I need to say.”

  Mataio tried to ignore him, staring straight ahead and walking as fast as his legs would go without it looking like he cared either way.

  “They released me this morning. I came straight here. You’re the only one I haven’t reconciled with.”

  Reconciled? What was there to reconcile? He tried to make his mouth look normal, even though his teeth clenched. It would be so easy to swivel around and smack him straight between the eyes. He’d fall without even knowing he’d been punched. Mataio didn’t dismiss the idea. He just let it sit there a minute while Bruce kept pace.

  “I’ve paid for my mistake, Mat. I’ve asked for forgiveness, from God and from my country. I’ve served my time and God has forgiven all my sins. I’m at peace with what I did. I just need to tell you I’m sorry for taking your mother away from you and I hope you can forgive me as well.”

  Bruce sounded so earnest. Like he believed the words that spewed from his mouth.

  As if he could ever be forgiven by God? As if society ever really believed he’d paid the price and earned the right to live in the real world.

  Bruce was delusional. Especially if he thought Mataio could ever, would ever, forgive him.

  “Mataio,” said Bruce, impatient with the silence. “Do you think you could?” He panted a little at the pace the younger man had set as they walked, and Mataio wished he’d give up and go away. He crossed the road at an angle and Bruce fell behind but ran to catch up again. “Mataio, can you wait just a minute?” He put a hand on Mataio’s arm who flinched then flung his arm away.

  Not giving up, the older man took several enormous strides, spun in front of Mataio, put his arms on his shoulders, and prevented him from moving forward. A brave move considering Mataio was no longer a child and had four times the muscle mass of the man standing before him.

  Bruce knew he wouldn’t stand a chance if Mataio chose to hit or shove him, yet there he stood, his face calm and composed like they were two men in the street chatting about which herbal tea they preferred.

  Mataio looked into the man’s eyes with the intent of watching the pain flash through them as he went to punch him in the stomach.

  The look behind those eyes made his fist fall limp to his side.

  Bruce man seemed so serene. So Zen like. At peace. How could this man have killed his mother and not have the guilt plastered along every line of his face?

  “You’re wasting your time,” said Mataio and shoved him so hard he nearly tripped.

  Bruce did his best to keep pace again. “Time can be neither acquired nor wasted.”

  “Fuck off and leave me alone. Take your new Zen bullshit lifestyle with you. I know who you really are.”

  “I’m here asking for forgiveness, Mat. You can give it or not,” he said, panting. “Whatever you decide to do won’t change the way I see myself. That is the only thing I can control. Your opinion of me, I cannot.”

  Twenty-five years of prison rehabilitation had altered him. Even the words Bruce used sounded like they came from a different person. Like a text book person.

  “I said fuck off, Old Man. I’m busy.” Mataio had circled back around to the train station and didn’t want him following.

  “It’s good to see you, Mat. I’m proud of the man you’ve become. Have a good life. Find some peace. I’ll pray for you,” he said and stopped at the ticket turnstile.

  Mataio pulled his card from his wallet and walked through to the platform, not turning back once.

  Another six minutes until the train arrived. It couldn’t get there fast enough.

  He walked the length of the platform where there were no passengers and crouched on the ground, only now realising how fast his heart was beating. He’d been sure his father would search him out once they released him. At least it was over with now.

  Bruce had said his token apology. Now they could both let it go.

  Mataio wondered how Bruce could look so serene after serving prison time? He didn’t look troubled or tormented or angry or even sorry. Just resigned and accepting. His voice no longer had that sharp edge that had always made Mataio feel like his words were carved into him by an angle grinder. The sneer he’d always worn when Mataio didn’t agree with him. It didn’t resurface today when Mataio had not only disagreed with him but insulted him. Not even when he’d wanted to punch him did the man look worried. Like being hated and belted up in the street by his own son wouldn’t take the tranquility from his face.

  The train arrived without any further reappearance from his father and he boarded, alone in the carriage and tried to focus on the interview ahead.

  But still his mind couldn’t get past the question. How could you kill someone—someone you loved—and still like yourself?

  Forty-Six

  SUNNY

  Sunny touched the new passport in the back pocket of her jeans to reassure herself she’d remembered it as she walked through the doors to the Channel Nine building. She approached the desk and asked, “Can you tell me if Mataio Brinn has arrived for his interview yet?”

  “Just one moment, please,” said the blonde receptionist with large eyes behind green frames. She tapped out a few, long-nailed keys and then asked, “What did you say his name was?”

  “Mataio.” Sunny spelled it out as the woman typed.

  “No, he hasn’t arrived yet. He has an appointment in fifteen minutes. Would you like to wait?” She asked, and indicated the chairs to the right of the desk.

  If she waited here, he’d be in the building and would be that much harder to convince he was doing the wrong thing. Better to catch him on the street.

  “No, thanks,” said Sunny with a smile. “I’ll wait outside. Thanks for your help.”

  Once on the street Sunny made a quick guess as to which direction Mataio would be arriving. He’d have caught the train so she walked a short way towards the station then changed her mind and walked back.

  The sun reflected off the glass of the Channel Nine building, each level stacked on the next like a set of Lego blocks. She’d been here before, auditioning for some show. She hadn’t made it through the first round. The memory of it still stung.

  She shifted her focus back to what she’d say to Mataio.

  Tulula had been very upset—wailing uncontrollably when she’d come to collect her passport. She insisted Sunny stop Mataio mentioning the family in the interview so that things could stay as they were.

  Sunny had been quick to agree.

  Despite her best efforts these past two weeks, every day without seeing Mataio had felt like a year. Knowing he’d walk up that footpath at any time had her biting her short nails. She never bit her nails.

  She took out her phone and scrolled through notifications, not really seeing. She put it back in her purse and began nibbling again.

  Cars continued to stream past in either direction, a dull traffic noise that sounded like the constant noise in her head. She checked her watch. It was r
ight on 2pm.

  He was going to be late for his appointment.

  She looked up to see a Samoan man in a suit crossing at the lights fifty metres away. A sedan tooted him as he stopped abruptly on the road.

  He’d seen her.

  The unhappy driver missed the green light and tooted him again and Mataio resumed his brisk walk.

  She’d never seen him in a suit, and it seemed out of character, like he was playing the part of someone else. He didn’t smile when he got close enough to speak. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his hands on his hips.

  Sunny reached out and hugged him, but he didn’t return it.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  “You’re supposed to be out of the country.” he said, his eyes flicking over her shoulder at the street behind.

  “I just picked up my passport from Aunt. She told me you’d be here.”

  Mataio shook his head. “This is crazy. I have to go, Sunny. Please go home,” he said avoiding her eyes.

  “Wait. There’s something I’ve got to say.”

  He took another three more steps towards the entrance before he stopped.

  Sunny spoke to his back. “I talked to Karina.”

  He turned slowly and frowned, like he’d forgotten who Karina was.

  “My friend. The one I stole the job from. I told her but she’d known all along, and she didn’t hate me for it.”

  Mataio stared at her like he was listening to some other conversation.

  “Well, say something. You told me not to tell her. You were wrong,” she said.

  The veins strained in Mataio’s neck. “I’m not surprised you didn’t take friendship advice from me. I have zero friends.”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “I have to go.” Mataio looked at his wrist but wasn’t wearing a watch. “I’m happy for you, really.”

  Sunny tried again. “What I mean is…I’m not doing this well. But Mataio, I think you might be doing the same thing. You’re trying to sabotage yourself—I’m not sure why. But making a martyr of yourself is just crazy.”