Singapore Noir

Merla crumples into a corner, slamming her palms over her ears. She can still hear the tumult of blows. Blow after ruthless blow. With each one, she is hit again by the force of every strike she has ever suffered, every injustice. In her defiled body, her spirit burns. She shuts her eyes tight. Now she wants to scream. The cry is there, the beginnings of it, still caged in her chest, straining toward her vocal cords to smash through her muteness. In her head, a chasm of whirling darkness. Beyond the den, in the black skies over the cove, a vortex rages. A slash of lightning. She opens her eyes to see that Zach has suddenly stopped. Spit trickling down his chin. Horrified disbelief etched into his features. On the floor, a few feet away from Merla, the man’s blood-smeared lips are distorted, twisted into something obscene. A smile. From his mouth, a hideous sound — an animal growl, erupting into profane laughter. Zach, his brutalized, bleeding chest still heaving and eyes ablaze, turns to Merla. She sees him glance at the thing in her hand. She feels her grip tighten. She is adrift, in turmoil. Did she not let go of the knife?

Outside, a lone boat battles through the turbulence from the treacherous open sea into the cove, crashing through the waves, passing the house at desperate speed. An eleventh-hour mooring. Man’s creation against God’s wrath. Its headlights sweep and penetrate the black curtains through a thin crack. A shaft of unearthly light stabs the floor. Merla’s wild eyes are dragged along as the light beckons and taunts, as it slides over the wall, the straps, and the chains, moving relentlessly toward the ceiling mirrors, going up and up.

Bedok Reservoir by Dave Chua

Bedok

It was around four a.m. and the cupboard-sized room was, as always, unbearably warm. Natalia could feel herself choking on her own breath. She climbed down from the bunk bed and glided to the door on cotton slippers, past her belongings and the photographs of her family in Java. Her employers were still asleep.

The security guard did not notice her leaving the compound. Her only witnesses were the pair of green stone fish that spouted water even in the middle of the night. She walked along the gravel jogging path toward the reservoir, a street away, intending to make herself tired enough to sleep.

A Bangladeshi worker was wedged on a bench, asleep, his light blue phone still pressed between his shoulder and ear. There were pink plastic bags and condom wrappers on the grass, and lamps blazed around the perimeter of the water. Too much light would draw complaints from the condo dwellers, so there were unlit patches, and Natalia liked to disappear into them.

Soon enough she found a spot that would do, settling down on the grass a foot away from the water, staring into the blackness of the reservoir. This gleaming scentless lagoon with its circle of manicured greenery, hive-like concrete dwellings, and evenly spaced trees could not have been more different from the lake of her village. Yet it made her think of home, of her mother, her aunties, her friends, scrubbing their blouses in the water, swimming. Any moment out of her bosses’ apartment gave her joy, but it was these quiet ones stolen in the early hours of the day that she relished. There was hardly any breeze. She wanted to hear waves but the waters remained silent.

Natalia felt herself falling asleep when she spotted a man in a cap about twenty feet away, approaching the water. Trees obscured him, but from the way he was hunched, he seemed to be carrying something. A fisherman trying to catch something early in the morning? She had seen those once or twice this early in the day, but it was rare. Then there was a splash, and for a moment she saw the surface of the water rippling in response.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the man walking away. He was almost at his car, parked in a bus lane, when he abruptly turned and appeared to be looking at her. She ducked, hoping the foliage would hide her.

The man was now walking toward her; she stood up. Surely she had done nothing wrong. The city’s many laws confused her. Perhaps she should not be so close to the water’s edge? But she was just taking a breather. She walked up the slope and onto the gravel path. Her movements woke the Bangladeshi worker; he sat up and scratched himself, his phone still stuck to his shoulder. He looked dazed and mumbled a few confused words. It sounded like he was calling for his parents.

When Natalia glanced back at the man, he had turned around and was now jogging back to his car. He drove off without turning on his headlights. Ruffled, she hurried back to the condominium.

After the security guard waved her into the compound, she said a prayer before stepping into the house. Back in her room, she found herself wishing that she had taken down the car’s license plate.