INTRODUCTION
KENNEDY'S RESIDENCE
At 2:00am, when all of Jabi seemed to be asleep, lulled by the artificial breeze backed by power which was recently restored after two months of unexplained interruption, Barrister Kennedy was woken by a knock on his front door.
It had to be Santa knocking on his door at such odd hour, he thought as he rose from bed, even though it was November and he had never heard that Santa knocked. He walked through the living room, murmuring_even after switching off his phone, he still couldn't get the rest he needed.
When he opened the door, Santa wasn't there, of course. And instead of a nicely wrapped package on his doorstep, there was a broad, bearded man and a boy. Besides cold water, another thing that could turn a groggy toad into a snappy vigilante was a gun in the face.
He moved back as they followed him in, closing the door behind them.
"Bring the money," the man blurted.
"What money?" Kennedy, tall and bald, had not the slightest intention to obey.
"Don't be stupid. Bring your cards, bring everything!" He didn't have the patience for Kennedy to make up his mind. "Move!" He put the gun to Kennedy's head.
Very reluctantly, Kennedy led them to his bedroom, where he produced his debit cards.
The man with the gun demanded his pin.
Kennedy had noticed the bag slung over the juvenile's shoulder, but was alarmed when he pulled out a credit card terminal.
His heart picked up rhythm as he watched the boy slot in the first card and punch in digits.
He trained his gaze on the gun. He calculated seconds between them discovering he had lied and him making an exit_getting to his beloved.
When Kennedy looked up, he found the man staring at him as though he knew what was going on in his mind.
Kennedy's eyes shifted to the boy, who was shaking his head.
"Incorrect pin," Kennedy chorused with him in his mind.
He was struck with the gun that same instant. The force of it made him wonder if he had wronged the man a certain time in his profession.
"Put it in," the man commanded, holding the machine to Kennedy's face.
He did without further hesitation.
The man handed the machine to the young guy.
"Transfer every penny," he ordered. He gave the boy his gun, tied Kennedy's hands behind him. "See if there's cash anywhere," he added and walked out.
Passing through the living room, the man surveyed the family portraits of the Kennedys on the wall. From the last portrait, he turned to a door to his left, walked mechanically with mischief in his eyes, and finding it unlocked, let himself in.
It was like stepping onto the dance floor on karaoke night; the fluorescent light reflecting the red decorations on the walls and pink beddings and furnishings.
There was a figure beneath the covers. It stirred.
He unfolded a pocket knife. Then, he saw a braided head pop up, brows knitted, eyes narrowed, lips parted.
"Don't make a sound," he shut her up before she could let out a breath.
As he approached the bed, she skimmed the area where her drawers stood. Maybe there was a chance she could escape.
The second he pulled the covers off her, she made a go for the door.
She had her timing perfect, but he was graced with experience.
She let out a scream as he grabbed her and put her back on the bed.
"Shhhh," he quieted her with the knife at her throat.
Her heart was beating fast and irregularly like a school bell for closing hours. The feel of his hand on her skin, slipping her nightshirt down her shoulder, made her shiver.
She wondered what had become of her father.
"I have a daughter. A teenager like you," Kennedy said to the young fellow emptying drawers, lifting furnitures and turning articles over. "Please don't let him hurt her." Kennedy looked pathetic turning on his knees.
The boy had no better response than "what makes you think I care about you or your daughter?"
In the living room, he stopped to view the photo portraits. He turned to the door with the sticker 'ready to study?', thinking his partner might be in there.
He opened it slowly, wide.
There were no visible emotions on his face when he saw his partner belting his trousers. He simply stood, observing the scene.
"She's all yours," the man said, brushing past him.
The boy moved to the side of the bed. There she was_the girl in the photos, lying still as a dead dog.
She was bleeding from a deep cut on her right wrist, staring up at him with eyes full of despair.
He had said he didn't care about her, and she was now at his mercy. Did he really mean it?
Few minutes later, he met his partner in the living room.
"What about Kennedy?"
"He's been taken care of," said the man, making his way to the door.
The boy came to a standstill. "You killed him!"
"Don't act so surprised," the man said without a trace of guilt.
Alone in the large adjoining room, the boy had seconds to think of his future_reconsider his chosen path.
