The Monster's Daughter

by Michelle Pretorius

  “They forced me to open the safe.” Jana clung to Boet. “They held a gun to my head.”

  “It’s okay.” Boet helped her to the bed. “The baby?”

  “They hit me,” Jana managed through sobs. “I haven’t felt him move since.”

  “She needs a hospital, Boet.”

  Boet looked over at Alet, as if he had forgotten she was there. “My pickup is still on the road,” he said, his voice pleading, desperate.

  “Where’s Jana’s car?”

  “We keep it in the barn. On the other side of the river.” Hopelessness deflated his features.

  “You have a quad bike.” Alet remembered seeing him ride it on her patrol one day.

  “She’s not strong enough.”

  “She’s bleeding, Boet. There might be internal injuries. If you don’t get her to Oosthuizen right now, you might lose them both. Go get the bike.”

  Boet hesitated, the inability to make a decision paralyzing him. He looked at Jana like a lost dog.

  “Boet!” Alet grabbed his shoulder. “Now. I’ll stay with Jana.”

  “Go,” Jana said weakly.

  “Take this.” Alet handed him the shotgun and the flashlight. “They might still be out there.”

  Alet sat down on the bed next to Jana, the awkwardness of the moment thankfully obscured by the dark. “We’re going to get you out of here,” she said to fill the silence.

  “Why are you here?”

  Alet took a deep breath, steeling herself. “It’s not what you think. I was on my way to see a witness …” The implication hung between them in the dark. Alet braced herself, surprised when a sob from Jana took the place of an expected insult. “Jana? Are you all right?”

  “I’m scared, Alet.”

  “I know. Me too.” It felt strange confessing it to this woman.

  “It’s my fault. If my baby dies—”

  “You couldn’t have helped this. Do you hear? This is their fault. They did this.”

  Jana’s clenched her hands. “They came here for a reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Thokoloshe.” Jana’s voice broke. She turned her head away from Alet.

  “He provides the children. I know.”

  “He said we were cheating him. He wanted more money.”

  “Is that why he went after that couple?”

  “We had agreed on a price.”

  “He found out you were making a lot more than him and wanted his cut.” Alet kept her voice even, her judgment to herself. The Terblanches obviously had no idea that they were dealing with a sociopath.

  “We paid him,” Jana said weakly.

  A dull thud came from the back door. Alet pulled herself away from Jana and went into the passage, gun held out in front of her. The beam of the flashlight appeared, Boet’s sturdy outline behind it. “How is she?”

  “I think she’s going into shock.”

  Together they helped Jana up, supporting her on either side. Alet grabbed a blanket off the bed and hung it around Jana’s shoulders. They shuffled down the passage into the kitchen. Jana barely noticed the body as they sidled past it. Lightning tore the sky outside. Alet noticed fast-disappearing footprints in the mud leading to the mountain. Skosana and his men. She helped Boet to get Jana on the four-wheeler. He climbed up in front.

  “Hold on.” Alet draped the blanket over Jana’s head. It was like a Band-Aid on a slit throat, for all it helped against the rain.

  “Get on the back, Alet.”

  “You need to get through the river, Boet. You won’t manage with the extra weight.”

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “I’m armed. I’ll be okay. Call Mathebe as soon as you get a signal. Tell him what’s happened.”

  “Take this, then.” Boet handed her the flashlight. He turned the bike around and headed down the road to the river. Alet went back inside, grabbed her holster out of her backpack, and strapped it on. She made her way to Boet’s office, on the other side of the living room. The safe gaped open, empty, papers strewn haphazardly across the floor. The phone line was dead. Alet felt along the underside of the desk for the panic button and pressed it again. She went back to the bedroom and took her soggy shoes off. Jana’s shoes were too small for her. She rummaged through the dresser drawers for dry socks, then layered several pairs on before slipping into a pair of Boet’s work boots. Her mind was made up. If she didn’t go after Skosana right away, he would disappear again. Maybe for good this time.

  Alet’s feet slid around in Boet’s boots on the uneven path. She tracked the footprints along the river, up the mountain. Once she got to higher ground, she scanned the valley. There was no sign of the quad bike’s headlights. Alet shone the flashlight back onto the path. The road climbed steadily, becoming rocky. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this wet.

  Alet switched the flashlight off to hide her movements as soon as she reached a plateau. The Thokoloshe and his crew would have headed farther up the mountain, monsters crawling around in the dark. There was a small spark of light in the trees ahead, followed by a muted pop and a sudden searing pain in her right shoulder. Alet fell, knocked back by the force of the bullet. She stayed on the ground for a moment, trying to assess the situation. The bullet had missed her vital organs and even though her shoulder hurt like a bitch, she was okay. She had to get out of the open, and quick, before Skosana’s aim improved. That meant running toward the shooter and the cover of the trees.

  Alet pushed herself off the ground and scrambled over the rocks, her one-hundred-meter sprint fueled by pure adrenaline. Penetrating the treeline, she was immediately engulfed in a dense darkness. She smelled smoke, not sure how anything could be burning in this downpour. She carefully peeled the fabric of her shirt away from her wounded shoulder. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but she couldn’t find an exit wound. She reached for her gun, pain surging up her arm. “Fok.” Alet let out a stifled cry. Of course they had to shoot her right shoulder, she thought wryly. The guys at STF would have laughed at her, called it a splinter and told her to man up. Bullet wounds bought you bragging rights. Only a bloody man would think this was cool.

  Gunshots rang out nearby. Alet crouched down, digging her back into a tree. She couldn’t tell where the shooter was firing from. She bit back a wave of panic as she thought of Skosana closing in on her, getting ready for the kill. She switched the 9mm to her left hand. It felt wrong. Pop. This one was much closer. She had to move. She stayed low, her gun out in front of her. She could imagine the six-o’clock news broadcast: Unie police officer wins “most incompetent cop ever” award after walking into a tree.

  Alet tried to clear her thoughts, the pain in her shoulder now excruciating. She weaved her way through the trees, pressing her back into each one, waiting, listening, moving again, thankful that her training was taking over. Her feet hit something unexpected and she stumbled, her left hand breaking the fall. Alet felt warm skin under her, a very human smell in her nostrils. Whoever it was wasn’t moving. What the hell was going on? Had Skosana accidentally killed one of his own men while he shot at her? Or was he on a spree with nothing to lose, killing everyone that could testify against him? The realization dawned, too late of course, that coming up the mountain after the Thokoloshe may have been a rash, stupid decision. Add it to the list.

  A branch cracked right next to her. Alet raised her gun. A blow hit her from the side before she had a chance to pull the trigger. I’m really sick of being a punching bag, she thought as she tried to get out of the attacker’s reach. Alet raised her gun again, but a second blow knocked it out of her hand. She screamed, the pain so intense she was sure he had broken her wrist.

  His hand was on her throat, a threat of violence rather than the actual thing. “Quiet,” said a male voice. Alet started at the familiarity. She hit the man’s arm with her uninjured hand with no effect, opening her mouth to call out for help. He pinned her down on the ground. “I said …” His fingers tightened. Alet f
ought for breath, the smell of smoke stronger than before. There was a glow at the edge of her vision, a dull constant hum in the background. Someone burst through the underbrush, yelling. Another flash in the dark. Pop. The hand let go. Pop. Pop. Pop. Random light burst from a gun barrel, as if the shooter didn’t know where to aim. Alet’s heart threatened to explode, her fear almost paralyzing. She had to get out of there. Another pop. A man screamed, then there was a thump in the underbrush as he fell.

  Alet struggled up on all fours and then ran blindly, her right arm limp at her side. She stumbled, collided with nameless obstacles, phantoms tugging at her skin. Keep moving. The air grew thick, the smell of smoke nauseating. Her lungs burned, thoughts bombarding her in confused spasms. Why was it so bright all of a sudden? Was she sweating profusely, or was that rain? Everything around her looked the same, a wallpaper repetition of foliage and rocks. She didn’t know in which direction she was running. Keep moving. When she broke through the trees at last, she came face to face with a wall of flames. The mountain was on fire.

  He was there when she turned around, the fire casting menacing shadows on his angular face, his full lips twisted in an ironic smile. “You can’t run from me, Alet,” he said simply as he came closer. “I will always find you.”

  Alet looked up at Mike, his eyes eerily pale, the contacts gone, his face shaved clean. “Hallo, Ben,” she said.

  Wednesday

  DECEMBER 8, 2010

  The town came into view in the valley below as the sun disappeared in faded pinks behind the mountain. In the houses sheltered under UNIE FOR JESUS, prayers were said, dinners eaten, families already hungover on the excess of the approaching holidays. Adriaan had never been to the town, its only claim to fame some story about a Boer War ghost. Tokkie Mynhardt had kept him up to speed on Alet, said she was doing all right. That was enough for Adriaan. He sighed. Stupid girl. He had made sure she got every opportunity, and then she messed it up because of some half-breed coloured. Perhaps it was good that she now had to get there the hard way.

  It was the end for Adriaan. Retirement stared him in the face. But here’s to new beginnings, new wife, private consultation work, and not constantly looking over his shoulder. Only one more thing to take care of. Adriaan pondered how everything came together in the end as if guided by an invisible hand. If Alet hadn’t messed up so royally, he’d never have reestablished contact with Tokkie Mynhardt. It was Tokkie who sent him those pictures of Alet with the kids on parade. At first glance he’d missed it, but something about the pictures kept drawing his eye to a face in the crowd. He had studied that face closely all these years. Even with dark hair and makeup, he’d known it was her.

  The road descended sharply, the rental sedan hugging the curves that led into town. Adriaan drove past the turnoff without slowing. Another five kilometers, then right. Absolute darkness surrounded him once he was on the dirt road, eyes reflecting his headlights through the dust. Another fifteen kilometers, then past the derelict greenhouse and turn into the next lane. Adriaan parked behind two tall trees that obscured his car from the road. As he strapped on his holster, he noticed approaching headlights. The white pickup came to a halt in the lane.

  “Mr. Terblanche?” Adriaan extended his hand. The man nodded, barely made eye contact. Adriaan reached into his pocket, retrieving a thick envelope. “What we agreed on.” Terblanche stared at it for a moment. “You can count it,” Adriaan said.

  “No, I … Thank you.” Terblanche folded the envelope in half and stuffed it into the glove compartment as if it was burning his skin. Awkward silence hung between them. Terblanche ran his hands through his hair. “She won’t sell, see? Says she wants the land back when the lease is up.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “My family’s been farming it for almost a hundred years. Now she wants to throw us off because she doesn’t approve of …” Terblanche pressed his lips together. “What we do here to get a little extra income is none of her business. Times are hard, you know. I have a child on the way.” His face had a sweaty sheen to it, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his green sweatshirt. He ventured a sideways glance at Adriaan. “How did you know to call me?”

  That part had been easy. Once Adriaan had found out who the girl was, her connection to the land had led him straight to Terblanche and his financial woes. He smiled reassuringly. “Mr. Terblanche, once we get to your foreman, you should leave. Put this evening out of your mind. You don’t know me, okay? You don’t mention me or what happened tonight to anyone. It’s that simple.”

  “I just …” Terblanche crossed his arms. “I don’t know that this is the right way to do this. I mean, Jakob’s a good oke, just likes the drink too much. He started messing up here, fokked up my tractor the other day ’cause he was hungover, but I can’t fire him, because of Mrs. Pienaar’s agreement with my dad. Nobody likes her, but I can’t just—”

  Adriaan’s smile wavered. “Mr. Terblanche, I don’t need the details. I’m taking care of a private matter. It just so happens that it will be of benefit to you too.” He fingered the fishing line in his jeans pocket. “Or would you like to hand me back that envelope and forget everything?”

  Terblanche’s eyes briefly rested on the glove compartment before he got out of the car. “Jakob doesn’t live near the others,” he said. “He fixed up one of the old places, way up. It’s a stiff hike.”

  Adriaan gestured for Terblanche to go ahead, choosing to ignore the implication of his words. He was in better shape than most laaities fresh out of police college these days, prided himself on it. He could teach Terblanche a thing or two if it came down to it, judging by the puffing he heard a short while later. He kept the beam of his flashlight focused on the rocky ground just behind Terblanche’s feet, following the man from boulder to boulder in places where the path disappeared. Only once they reached more even ground did he notice how quiet it was up in the mountains. The air was clearer too, the stars brighter than he had ever imagined them. He could see why Jakob would prefer to live here instead of squashed in with the other workers between noise and poverty. There was peace here, nobody to please but yourself, no side to choose but your own. In the distance a troupe of baboons called out to each other. For a moment Adriaan envied the simplicity of the askari’s life.

  Terblanche stopped short in front of him. “There.” He pointed at lighted windows a few yards ahead. Adriaan felt Terblanche’s grip on his arm as he moved toward the small hut.

  “Meneer? It’s not right, hey. Let’s rather go back.”

  “Mr. Terblanche!” Adriaan felt rage warm his cheeks, his hands itching for this milksop. He shook himself loose from the man. “Let me make this clear. Our business is done now. Understand? If you do anything to fuck this up, I will make you regret it.” Adriaan took the Makarov out of his holster. Terblanche took a step back, his thick lips parting slightly. Adriaan felt a rush of disdain. He’d known men like Terblanche all his life. All of them readily jumping on the bandwagon whenever they thought they could profit, but running to mommy once they realized the party wasn’t as lekker as they thought it would be. “I said, do you understand?”

  Terblanche nodded. He jumped as the door of the hut suddenly opened, light casting a wedge on the ground.

  “Baas?” Jakob locked eyes with Terblanche. “What are you—”

  “Jakob.” Adriaan stepped forward.

  A high-pitched simpering sound escaped Jakob’s lips. He scrambled into the house. Adriaan slammed his body against the door, sending the slender askari reeling. Jakob tried to get up, but Adriaan planted a blow with the pistol on the black man’s face, fast and hard, forcing him back onto the ground. Adriaan quickly scanned the hut. A mattress lay on the dirt floor, covered in mismatched sheets and a crocheted blanket. Faded photographs were fastened to the wall above the bed with tape. A half-jack of brandy lay on its side next to a pouch of tobacco on the ground.

  Adriaan turned to see Terblanche in the doorway, his face pale, h
is jaw slack with horror. “Time to go now, Mr. Terblanche,” he said calmly.

  Terblanche hugged the wall for a moment, as if he had trouble standing. Then, realizing that there was no way out, he disappeared into the night like a rabbit. Terblanche might consider going to the police, but Adriaan figured him for too great a coward to go through with it. Just in case, Adriaan decided to give him a call in the morning, to make sure he understood the consequences of speaking out of turn. He shifted his attention to Jakob where he lay curled on the floor, his arms covering his face, refusing to move. Adriaan prodded Jakob with his shoe, kicking the man’s back with increasing intensity until Jakob screamed, his breaths coming in short rasps as he scrambled to the mattress, his eyes wild, his mouth contorted in a crazed grimace.

  “I’m here to talk, Jakob. That’s what you like to do, right? Talk about things you shouldn’t.”

  Jakob compressed his body farther into the corner. “Nee, Baas. I didn’t talk. I swear. Jakob stayed here. He says nothing.”

  “But you might decide to be brave one day to impress your Commie buddies, like last time.”

  “Never, Colonel. I swear.”

  “How can I trust you, Jakob? After you going to the TRC?”

  “I didn’t do it. No, sir. Jakob never talked. He knew it was wrong. He knew you’d come.”

  “How can I know you won’t do that again, Jakob? Unless …” Adriaan picked up the half-jack of brandy, pretending to consider the matter. “Perhaps there is something you can do for me. Make me forget all of that nonsense.”

  “Anything, Colonel, please. Just let Jakob be. He is good, he is. Good as gold.”

  Adriaan opened the bottle. He took a swig before holding it out to Jakob. “Let’s have a dop together, you and I. Discuss this like men.”