Lying on his back, he flipped on the play switch. The voice froze him: ‘Hatcher, do I have to tell you what this is, or do you recognize my voice? Perhaps it will help if I stir your memory. Does Singapore mean anything? It should, Hatcher, that is where you murdered my father. Or the rivers, where you killed my father’s most loyal soldiers. Or the house of the American Jew, Cohen, who calls himself Chinese, where you murdered still more of my men. Do I need to tell you my name? No, I think not.
‘I am certain that you know I have made a promise to my
‘And while my promise also includes Cohen, it does not include all your friends, Hatcher.
‘Listen for a moment, here is another voice for you to recognize.’
There was silence on the tape for thirty or forty seconds, a hollow sound. Then Hatcher heard someone enter a room farther away, in another part of the house or apartment or whatever it was. A woman’s voice was humming as a door opened.
Then she screamed.
It was a scream of surprise and fright, followed almost immediately by the sound of someone being hit
— a groan? It was difficult to make out. A moment later there was the sound of heavy breathing, of footsteps on stairs, then Fong’s voice again: ‘It will be a few moments more, Hatcher. I had to use a little force to subdue your friend.’ The machine went dead for a moment, then the hollow sound again followed by a scream and a woman’s voice, angry and full of hate:
‘You bastard, you bloody bastard, take your hands off me...’
Daphne.
He sat straight up on the bed. His heartbeat accelerated. He could not believe what he was hearing, did not want to hear it. He snapped it off and held it in a trembling hand. He knew before the tape spun any further that Daphne was dead. He knew it because Fong would not have left the tape for him to hear if she was still alive. He could not imagine what horror the tape would spew out and yet he hesitated to turn it back on.
The fan whirred overhead in a syncopated rhythm. Outside, the sun slid below the spears and domes of the city’s temples. Darkness crept silently into the room and filled its corners and shadows, and still Hatcher sat there with the dreaded tape recorder in his hand. Finally he turned the switch back on and listened to her screams of anger and outrage, listened to the struggle, to things falling and breaking, and finally a sharp crack and a grunt and a sigh.
And Fong’s voice, slightly out of breath. ‘She is a tigress, Hatcher. Her nails are like scissors. I had to put her away again, but only for a few minutes. She will come around.’
There was a soft, obscene chuckle. ‘I think. I broke her jaw, Hatcher.’
There was a rustling sound, sounds of activity in the room and Fong’s voice again, farther away from the recorder this time. ‘I am tying her to her bed, Hatcher. Her hands to the head . . . there. Now her feet. She is tied down on the bed like a star, stretched out for me, Hatcher.’
Daphne groaned. Her voice, pitifully weak and confused at first, then growing stronger, the outrage flowing back into it. Then came the sounds of clothing being torn, viciously, recklessly, and accompanied by Fong’s toneless chortling.
‘Cut me loose, you pig. You worthless, stinking pig!’ Then she screamed again, this time a scream of great pain, followed by a sobbing deep in her throat.
‘This is for Hatcher,’ Fong’s voice hissed. ‘You understand, bitch.’
Her scream tore through the small speaker, distorting it. ‘Hatch . .
‘I’m going to have to gag her, Hatcher. You’ll have to trust me from now on. I’ll tell you everything that’s happening. I promise you, I won’t leave out a single detail . .
Hatcher flicked it off again. Shimmering marbles of sweat twinkled suddenly on his forehead and coursed slowly down the side of his face as he stared down at the tiny machine. His teeth were clenched so hard his jaws hurt.
He forced himself to switch it back on, to listen as Fong described every disgusting, brutalizing, painful act in detail, to hear Daphne’s voice growing weaker, more pitiful, more terrified with each vicious move, and he was numbed by the extent of Fong’s sadism, by his total lack of human feeling and compassion, by the horrifying passion with which Fong brutalized, raped and violated her.
Finally he leaned forward until the top of his head was on the bed and beat the mattress with his fists, his rage pouring out in muffled screams and cries.
Fong’s voice continued on, its malevolent tones whispered in a deadly mimic of Hatcher’s own voice. ‘Do you feel it, my dear. Do you feel the point against your throat, hmm?’
Daphne’s reply was a painful whimper.
‘You know the drill, Hatcher. Place the point of the blade in the hollow place of the throat pointing toward the heart —‘
‘God, no!’ Hatcher cried out through his clenched teeth.
‘— then thrust down —,
Her scream was agonizing, even though it was muffled by whatever he had used for a gag.
‘— hard and straight —‘
Hatcher heard her weak cry.
‘— into the heart. Hah!’
Her sharp intake of air. Then the rattle of blood and air in her throat. Then the silence.
