Page 2 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

I leave my computer screen on and step into the dark hallway. The house is warm and quiet, and the aroma of spices infuses the air from the restaurant below. In the open-plan area, the aroma is stronger, and my mouth waters. The flickering TV illuminates my father, asleep on the couch with the remote in his hand.

Behind him, in the kitchen, is the answering machine. There’s a red 5 on it. My stomach swoops. The restaurant calls come up to the house, and until recently we never got many calls. Today was a bad day.

I turn on the kitchen light and rest a hand on my father’s shoulder. “Go to bed, Dad. It’s late.”

He frowns at me, confused, and the weariness in his face breaks my heart.

The phone rings, cutting the silence. Dad’s gaze locks with mine. Neither of us moves to pick it up.

It rings once. Twice. Beeps loud and long.

I hold my breath. A muscle in Dad’s jaw twitches, and he lowers his gaze.

The kitchen tiles are icy beneath my feet, but my armpits prickle with heat. I count the seconds in beats of four, my thumb touching each of the fingers on my right hand in turn. It’s an old habit from my piano-playing days.

It’s only two beats before an angry voice cuts the air. “Aya is going to fucking die! She can’t hide from this! They’ll find her and gut her like a fish! And it’ll be on you! Get me my fucking money, you ching chong fucks!… All you need to do is get me my money, and then all this goes away.”

Chris’s voice is slurred, like he’s been drinking.

Another beep cuts him off.

Dad’s gaze flicks to the door. My mother is asleep down the hallway, but the recording was on low and it’s doubtful she heard.

In the aftermath of the call, I take a deep breath, waiting for my pulse to slow. The sound of distant traffic is a soothing reminder we’re safe inside, and Aya is hidden far away from her abusive ex-boyfriend. The only thing he can do is leave us messages.

It doesn’t stop the guilt crawling in my gut.

I could have convinced Aya to stay when she moved out, or paid more attention to her choice of partners. She’s wild, but maybe she would have listened to me.

I could have tried harder, but I was as relieved as my parents when she moved out. Aya butted heads with my father’s rigid, high expectations constantly. Mum kept out of it, so I was the one soothing tempers and navigating conflicts.

I told myself everyone was better off without Aya here. But maybe it was just better for me.

Now we’re all stuck in a mess. My parents can’t give Chris the money he wants. His debts are so high that they couldn’t pay them even if they sold the restaurant. We take his calls to help the police, and because until tonight, it’s the only thing we could do. But maybe the Zodiac Association has given me another option.

“Go to bed, Dad,” I say again, as if the message hadn’t happened.

He nods and looks at his watch. “You still up?” he asks.

“Exams.”

“Good, good,” he says, nodding absently as he heads back to his bedroom. Before he reaches the hallway, he turns. “I forgot — Sandra canceled tomorrow. Can you work a double?”

My jaw tenses. I have to. The restaurant is hell when you’re one waiter down.

I nod. “Okay.” I’m rewarded with a look of relief on Dad’s face before he shuffles off to bed.

When the living room is silent again, a vivid memory comes back to me. Aya and my father are fighting. Both standing, red in the face, while my mother watches silently from the kitchen. I walked in to catch the end of the fight.

“You can’t keep relying on us as slave labour! You decided to run a restaurant, not us,” Aya spat.

“You’re an ungrateful, lazy child! You should learn from your sister’s example!”

“Newsflash! I’m. Not. Yen. I’m not a princess, and I didn’t get a scholarship to a fancy school. I’m not working at the restaurant for minimum wage anymore. Find another slave.”

In my memory, the front door slammed behind her and my father turned to me. “Do you feel like a slave?”

“Of course not.” The words are automatic, but I’m still stinging from my sister’s words.