by Chan Ho-Kei
“You read most of the new comments this morning.”
Nga-Yee ignored him and carefully read the whole thread. She’d had a thought at work that had given her doubts, and after reading all the comments, she was even more certain she was right.
“Are you lying to me again?” she asked.
“What would I be lying about?”
“You said you wanted Violet to suffer internet bullying, but these are all aimed at her brother.” Nga-Yee had felt all along that something was wrong, and today she realized what it was.
N chuckled and shook his head. “So that’s what you’re worried about. What I said was, the best revenge would be to turn her tactics back on herself, so she could be bullied on the internet, for example. But the bullying isn’t the main point, the outcome is.”
“What outcome?”
“You want Violet to suffer. Isn’t it secondary whether she’s actually getting bullied or not?”
Nga-Yee had no answer to that.
“This will be much more effective than just bullying her. Every person has different vulnerabilities. You have to find their weak spots and hit them hard if you want to see results. Don’t forget your ultimate goal.”
Nga-Yee knew what he was referring to: Violet’s suicide.
“See how she looks now?” N pointed at the screen. “Yesterday she could still pretend to be calm. Today she’s abandoned her books and is only paying attention to her computer and phone. She’s starting to panic. If we take things further tonight, we’ll be within striking distance.”
“Are we going to make more prank calls tonight?”
“No. Like I said, that was just a prelude. Wait around and you’ll see what I mean.” N laughed mysteriously.
A little before seven, Violet left the apartment.
“She’s going out again?” said Nga-Yee anxiously. “Back to Festival Walk? Should we call Ducky?”
“No. She’s probably only going to grab some dinner nearby. We can follow her in the van.”
“How do you know?”
“She doesn’t have a bag with her, and she’s too casually dressed for the mall.”
Sure enough, she didn’t pause at the bus stop, but kept going toward Junction Road.
“Right … she crossed over, she’s not going to Lok Fu Place, so she must be heading toward Baptist Hospital.” N jumped up from his chair and opened the sliding door. “Probably Franki Centre. There aren’t many restaurants there, so it shouldn’t be too hard to guess where she’s going.”
N drove them over to Junction Road, found a place to park, and returned to the back.
“Time to fire the first shot.”
“Shooting? You’re not going to do anything dangerous, are you?” Once again, his words left Nga-Yee baffled.
“You really have no imagination. That was a metaphor.” N held up a yellow box about the size of a smartphone. One side was covered in rows of black ovals in a beehive shape. Were they buttons? Nga-Yee couldn’t tell.
N went to the far end of the desk, by the back of the van, and tugged at something on the wall. Nga-Yee hadn’t noticed the window till he opened it. She went over, and they both looked out. Across the road, Violet was walking down the slope of Broadcast Drive and was almost at the entrance to a park.
“Stay out of my way—you can watch on the screen,” said N, shoving her.
“But the screen—oh!” She’d been about to protest that the cameras were still pointing at the To apartment, but now Screen 2 had the window view. A few days earlier, after their second visit to the school, she remembered N saying that he was filming the school gate from his van—presumably there was a hidden camera on the outside of the vehicle.
“You’ll see more results soon,” said N, connecting that mini-phone of his to this strange box. He did something to his phone screen, and Nga-Yee saw Violet stiffen. The girl turned, then looked around anxiously.
“What happened? How did you attack her this time?”
N shut the window and turned to face Nga-Yee. He touched his phone screen again.
“Murderer!”
Nga-Yee reeled. It sounded as if the word were in her ear. It was the word she’d spoken the night before, but this didn’t quite sound like her voice.
“Is this a speaker?” She pointed at the little box.
N didn’t reply, just picked up the box and waved it front of her.
“Murder—”
This little gesture startled her. She could only hear the voice when it was pointing directly at her.
“What’s this?”
“This little thing is called a directional speaker,” N explained. “In simple terms, just like a flashlight can focus light in a single beam, this contains sound within a tight area. Only someone standing in line with the device can hear it. Ultrasound waves don’t disperse in air, so they lock the sound in place. I won’t go into too much detail. All you need to know is that Violet thinks she heard someone whisper ‘murderer’ in her ear.”
Nga-Yee had had no idea that this technology even existed.
“One shot isn’t enough.” N put down the box and headed back into the driver’s seat.
They followed Violet to Franki Centre, where she entered a restaurant called Lion Rock. N parked nearby on Kam Shing Road, then came back again and pulled a wrinkled gray jacket from a box beneath the desk. He put it on, followed by some brown trousers that didn’t match.
“What are you doing?” asked Nga-Yee.
He ignored her, just kept changing. Next were a pair of tattered black shoes and a hat with a thatch of graying hair glued to it. He pulled a standing mirror from the box, studied himself critically, and stuffed a couple of cotton balls into his mouth to puff out his cheeks. Pale makeup whitened his eyebrows and stubble, and an old-fashioned pair of gold-rimmed glasses completed the look.
In an instant, N had aged twenty years and was now an old codger in his sixties. He squinted and furrowed his brows, the lines radiating from his eyes much deeper than usual. His upper lip was slightly raised, revealing his front teeth. His drooping jowls made it impossible to tell his real age.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, his voice deeper than usual, and opened the van door. As he got out, Nga-Yee recalled that he’d mentioned following Violet in disguise.
She turned her attention back to Screen 2, which now showed N walking into the restaurant, though the camera couldn’t capture what went on inside. Just as she was wondering what to do, a flickering image on the laptop caught her attention. Looking closer, she realized that this old-fashioned wood-paneled room was the interior of Lion Rock. N must be wearing a GoPro.
“Table for one, sir?” came over the laptop speaker as a waiter appeared on the screen.
“No thanks, I’m just getting takeout.”
As N spoke, the camera shifted to his left, where Violet was sitting in a corner.
“Of course. What would you like to order?”
“Oh my, do you have any sandwiches?”
“Certainly. We have quite a few types.”
“So sorry, my eyes are bad, I can’t read the menu—”
As N and the waiter talked, Violet’s head jerked upright and she looked around nervously. Nga-Yee glanced at the desk and realized that the mini-phone and directional speaker were gone.
“I guess I’ll have the corned beef.”
“Very well, one corned beef. Twenty-eight dollars, please.”
Nga-Yee barely took in what N was saying, so absorbed was she by watching Violet. Even though N’s body camera wasn’t very clear, it was obvious that the girl’s expression had gone from anxiety to sheer terror. She stared at a nearby couple, then at a man at the next table, as if they were a horde of demons out to steal her soul. Nga-Yee realized now how diabolical this move was: once Violet understood that she was hearing voices no one else could, she might think she was going insane. The prank calls were just a bit of nonsense—as N said a prelude to the real mischief.
“Your corned be
ef, sir,” said the speaker after ten minutes.
“Thank you. Could I have some napkins?”
In the background, a waiter set a plate of spaghetti in front of Violet. She didn’t touch it, but continued glaring at the people around her. Then everything happened very fast: Violet jumped to her feet, trembling all over, her features pale and twisted. She hurried over to the counter, looking all around her, tossed down a banknote, and dashed out.
“Miss? Miss!”
Nga-Yee switched to the other screen, which showed Violet sprinting down the road. Soon she was out of view. At the same moment, N threw the door open and jumped in, dropped the plastic bag of food on the desk, slid into the driver’s seat, and sped after her.
They parked near her apartment building and waited. Violet must be ready to collapse, thought Nga-Yee. She’d turned on every light in the flat and the television, and was in bed with her head under the covers.
“See? I wasn’t lying. This really is the most effective way,” said N, removing his disguise.
“Um, okay.” Nga-Yee had no idea how to respond. Once again, he’d shown her something she could never have imagined—but she was damned if she was going to acknowledge that.
“This was an appetizer.” N dabbed at his face with a wet wipe. “Tomorrow, the main course.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Her reaction was more severe than I expected, so rather than let things drag out, we might as well take the final step. If you like, stick around and keep enjoying her suffering, but if I were you, I’d go get some sleep and be well rested for the finale.” N opened the box from the restaurant and took a bite of his sandwich. “This came with fries—pretty good. Too bad there’s no ketchup.”
Having only caught a few hours’ sleep in the van the night before, followed by a hard day’s work at the library, Nga-Yee was exhausted. Only her sense that this was a crucial moment in her revenge allowed her, through sheer force of will, to keep watching Violet’s punishment. Now N’s words convinced her to go home and prepare for the final round.
She didn’t sleep well that night. Perhaps out of overexcitement or unease, she woke several times. Violet’s terrified face kept appearing in her mind, then morphed into Siu-Man’s. Sorrow, rage, and fear surged over her until she was fully awake, by which time it was eight in the morning—almost time to leave for work.
“Are you okay, Nga-Yee?” asked Wendy during lunch. “You look tired. Do you feel unwell?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. I’ve had to deal with some personal stuff.” Nga-Yee forced a smile. “Everything should be better tomorrow.”
“I see.” Wendy scratched her head. “As long as you’re okay. You’ve been looking worse and worse each day—I was worried. You said something similar last month, and I thought you might have gotten into serious trouble. Sorry to be a busybody, but just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help. Even if you need to borrow more money—”
“Um, thanks.”
After this conversation, Nga-Yee found herself wondering: after this day, would everything really be over? If she succeeded in her revenge, would the thorn be pulled from her heart? Could she go back to living as peacefully as before?
She didn’t dare keep thinking. At this point, it was too late to turn back.
2.
At seven o’clock that evening, Nga-Yee put aside her unease and made her way back to Broadcast Drive. N had parked the van thirty yards from the front entrance of Violet’s building, beneath some large trees that partly shielded it from view. She walked up to the van, and once again the door slid open as she approached. N stuck his head out; he was talking on the phone, and gestured for her to sit in her usual spot while he stepped outside and shut the door behind him. Nga-Yee wondered who he was talking to—had something come up at the last minute?—but the thought vanished as soon as she caught sight of the screen on the wall.
She never expected Violet to be reduced to such a state.
Alone in the van, Nga-Yee watched this feeble, despondent girl. She kept jumping up to pace around the room, then sat down again to stare blankly at the computer screen. From time to time she picked up her phone, jabbed at it for a while, then flung it aside. As she perched in her chair, her body swayed from side to side, and she seemed distracted. Her eyes were vacant. Her shoulders were shaking, though it was impossible to say if this was due to rage or fear. Perhaps both. The only thing Nga-Yee could be sure of was that Violet had fallen into a state of extreme anxiety, and that spectral face made it clear that she’d slept very little, or maybe not at all.
The previous night’s trick had been remarkably effective. Violet seemed to have fallen apart altogether. Nga-Yee thought she would feel joy at the girl’s reduced state, but she found herself unable to take any pleasure in it. Nga-Yee’s own sadness and grief were as powerful as ever, and all she could hear was a question from deep in her soul: Did you really think the fruit of vengeance would taste sweet?
No, I didn’t think revenge would make me happy, I just wanted justice for Siu-Man.
Her thoughts were interrupted by N sliding open the van door.
“Did you say—it would all be over tonight?” asked Nga-Yee as he sat down.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said, yawning.
Clearly they were talking about Violet’s suicide. Seeing her now, the personification of despair, Nga-Yee wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pulled out a knife and ended things right there.
“What did you do to her?” Something told Nga-Yee this couldn’t have been caused only by the “voices” last night.
“Not much, just hit her weak spots hard.”
N shoved his laptop over to face her. On the screen was the same Popcorn thread, but it was several times longer than the day before. Most eye-catchingly, a picture of Violet’s brother appeared in the replies. Astounded, Nga-Yee read the text that went with it.
“This … this news is fake too, right?” she asked, staring at the headline: POLICE ARREST MAN: SUSPECT STOLE STUDENT DATA.
“Of course.” N put a finger on the touch pad. “I can spoof news websites too. Even if Violet clicked on the link, she’d find it convincing.”
“You just made up a crime? Will she believe that?”
“Hey, I made up the arrest, but the crime is real.” N frowned. “Didn’t I show you?”
“You mean that charger thing Violet used in the library that helped her steal Siu-Man’s photo?”
“No, no, I mean this.”
N pulled up a conversation she’d seen before on the tablet:
Were the files I sent you stored on the same hard drive?
If those ever get out, we’re in trouble!
what files?
The ones you made me steal from the school! The pictures, contacts, SMSes and all that from the other kids’ phones! If anyone reveals your ID on Popcorn, you can just say the clock was a day slow or something. But if they find out we know each other, we’re not going to get out of that!
“Violet hardly ever lets this sort of valuable information slip. Naturally I caught hold of it.” N grinned craftily.
“You got the files?”
“No.” He spread his hands. “But even if I had, it would be pointless. Knowing that she sent the stolen files to her brother was enough for me to invent a story. As ZeroCool, I made up some nonsense about student privacy and photos that can’t be made public. Violet fell for it. Even if some details of my description didn’t exactly match up with the files she stole, her judgment is weak at the moment. She’d probably think she missed something—not that I’m puffing myself up to look scary.”
“How did you get that picture of her brother? This doesn’t look like something from a detective agency’s files.” Nga-Yee looked at the laptop again.
“Like I told you, the fake Line app on Violet’s phone. I have access to her past chats. She took this photo and sent a copy to her brother over Line. That’s how I got it. At this point Violet’s hardly going to believe t
hat every single thing she’s seen online has been a lie.”
“Wait, that’s her weak point?” Nga-Yee didn’t quite understand. “Even if she was distraught at learning that her brother was arrested, would that really be enough to make her want to kill herself?”
“People end their lives under two circumstances.” N was suddenly solemn. “First, and most commonly, because they’re in more pain than they can bear. This could be physical—such as cancer—or mental, such as depression. The motive could be to escape this suffering, or as an accusation—so their death will create guilt in someone else. Strictly speaking, this is an irrational course of action.”
“Is there such a thing as a rational suicide?”
“Yes—when it’s a sacrifice to achieve a particular goal. Sure, it might not seem rational if you look at it objectively, but from the person’s point of view it makes perfect sense. That’s the second possibility.” N looked at Nga-Yee. “If you and your sister were trapped in a fire, surrounded by smoke, and there was only one oxygen canister available, would you use it or give it to her?”
Nga-Yee’s heart sank. If she’d known what was in store for Siu-Man, she would have done anything to take her sister’s place, even if it meant plunging from the twenty-second floor herself.
“I said before that I’m not going to force Violet to commit suicide,” N went on. “All I’m going to do is give her a rational choice, and she can decide. I don’t want her to kill herself purely to escape her pain. She has to face the terror of death with clarity, completely understand the despair that causes someone to end their life, and fully grasp that this is her decision, made of her own free will, and not some half-formed, sloppy notion of putting an end to everything.” He paused a moment. “I’m not a kind person, though. This is revenge, so naturally I’m going to skew the circumstances away from her.”
He scrolled down on the laptop screen to a longer comment:
Don’t be too sure. The way I see it, this guy will get out of it easily. He didn’t post the stuff he had—ZeroCool went and found it. In other words, even if the police find it on his computer, he can say he downloaded it off the internet, same as ZeroCool. It’s really hard to prove something like this.