As Lily continued to extract the golden information, Malaya surveyed her work with a smile. The remaining members of the extended Tracy family huddled together. They were ringed in the scarlet she had extracted from one of Jeff's beloved sons.
John was still lying on the ground, his face mauled, his head cradled in Lady Penelope's lap. Oh dear, oh dear, Malaya thought as she walked back towards the macabre scene. And this could have been prevented so easily.
As she reached them, she saw Jeff stiffen. He was like a cornered tomcat, hackles raised and claws out. And yet he could do nothing.
"How are you doing there, John?" Malaya asked. "Do you hate your father yet, even just a little bit?"
Through the haze of agony, John managed to utter something that was probably an expletive. Malaya chuckled.
At that, the bride handed off her son to her father and stood. Tin-Tin, Malaya thought.Let's see what you have to say for yourself.
Tin-Tin brushed down the front of her wedding dress, the lace and voile destroyed by blood and despair. She had kicked off her heels and Malaya shook her head. The woman was tiny. And yet she still stalked over, standing on her tip-toes to try to shove her face in Malaya's.
"Don't you dare speak to him!" Tin-Tin said, jabbing a finger at her. "He doesn't deserve this. None of us do!"
Malaya gently raised a hand to cup the other woman's cheek, though Tin-Tin jerked away. At that, Malaya's right hand struck like a cobra, grabbing Tin-Tin by the forearms. There was an outcry; even the child started to wail for his mama. But they needn't have worried. Tin-Tin pulled herself free with a strength that belied her size and stepped back. But she kept her eyes on Malaya's, never breaking the gaze.
"Oh, Tin-Tin," Malaya said, sighing. "Of course none of you deserve this. It's not about inflicting pain and suffering. It's about survival of the fittest. It's about looking out for oneself."
"And what about compassion?" Tin-Tin asked. "What about care for your fellow man?"
Malaya started to walk, completing a full circle around the haggard bride. Jeff was still poised for a fight, though Malaya gave him a warning stare, thumbing the hilt of her knife. I will kill her.
"Where do you come from, Tin-Tin?" Malaya asked. "Where were you born?"
Tin-Tin was caught off-guard by the question. Her delicate features creased with confusion.
"Malaysia," her father said from his seat on the couch. "We are from Malaysia."
Malaya turned her attention to him and folded her arms.
"And why did you leave?" she asked. "Why did you not stay there?"
The father - Kyrano - shifted the child in his arms. Just like Tin-Tin, he kept his gaze firmly locked with Malaya's.
"My wife passed away," Kyrano said. "And everywhere I turned, I could see her. Everything was painted with her memory. And it became too much."
"Father," Tin-Tin said, scowling, "you don't have to tell this witch anything."
Kyrano bowed his head in acknowledgement but continued regardless.
"I knew that if I stayed there, my daughter's life would be dominated by a father who could never stop mourning. I could not allow her life to be marred like that, not after losing her mother. So we went to London and started a new life."
"Ah," Malaya said, wagging a finger. "You were looking out for your daughter. Tell me this, Kyrano. When she was younger, did you tell your daughter to do her best? Did you tell her to always overcome the odds, to never give up? To always work for a better life?"
Sensing where she was going with the line of questioning, Kyrano dropped his gaze.
"Yes," he said.
"My father was much the same," Malaya said. "We were poor - dreadfully poor. So poor it was a disgrace in our twenty-first century world. My mother died and that left just my father and my poor little self. He told me all those things. Every night for years, when we would curl up in our tiny shack, he would hold me close, pet my head and say to me, 'Malaya, you must do what you can to get out of this. I don't have the strength to go on forever. You must do whatever it takes to improve your life.' And I promised him that I would lift myself from the gutter."
She turned to look at Jeff, who was glaring.
"Did you say those things to your sons?" she asked him. "I imagine not. I don't think they would ever have wanted for anything." She made a sweeping gesture around the ornate lounge and chuckled. "I can't imagine Jeff Tracy or his sons know anything about poverty to or suffering."
At that, she saw temper flare in Jeff's eyes. He pulled himself to his feet, his temper finally boiling over. Malaya took a step back, though she wasn't intimidated. How could she be? There were two guns trained on the back of Jeff Tracy's head.
"Do you think I just fell into this wealth?" he asked. His shoulders were shaking with rage. "Do you think someone waved a magic wand and gave us all this?" He parroted her sweeping gesture. "My father was a farmer," he said. "He drove a combine harvester. We were not rich."
"Right!" the grandmother piped up, shifting the baby to lie against her shoulder. "We were small town folk. We didn't have much but we never wanted much. We never needed lots of material things because we had each other, and then Jeff, and then Lucille, and then all the grandkids. That was how we bettered our lives."
Jeff nodded, the movement jerky. He raised a finger and pointed it at Malaya's face.
"I worked hard all my life, I started from the ground and worked my way up. I made friends - good friends - and I met my wife, and then she gave me five beautiful children. The wealth that came with my business successes was important, don't get me wrong. But you could have stripped that all away and set me in a combine harvester on my father's Kansas farm. As long as I had my wife and my kids, I would have been happy."
Malaya let one side of her mouth twitch upwards in a snarl.
"And where is your wife now, Jeff?" she asked.
He nearly laid a hand on her then. If it hadn't been for Tin-Tin's hand and a Lady Penelope's shout, his fist would have connected with her face. The room went silent and motionless, then. Everyone waited. Eventually, Malaya motioned for Rose and Tulip to lower their weapons.
"You are a scoundrel," Penelope said, passing a hand over John's pasty forehead. The man seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness now. "Experiencing suffering in your life does not give you permission to inflict it upon others."
Malaya aped a curtesy and shook her head, snorting.
"And what would you know about suffering?" she asked. "You're just another rich bitch, born into luxury. You've probably never worked for anything in your life."
Instead of lashing out, Penelope swept some of John's blood-crusted hair to the side of his face. Then she looked up, her expression perfectly calm.
"I might not have experienced financial suffering, as you have," she said, "but that does not mean I have not suffered." She paused for a moment as John shifted and moaned. When he settled, she continued. "My parents are dead. They were murdered in our home - the home that I still live in. And every time I walk those halls, or look at their pictures, I am reminded of that day." She breathed in deeply. "I watched as my father took a bullet to the head in front of me. My mother shielded me with her body as she was riddled with lead, then rubbed blood on my face and told me to pretend to be dead. And as I pretended, she really did die.
"And why did this happen?" Penelope asked. Her eyes darkened. "All because of wealth and riches. Someone with nothing wanted to take what we had. But they took away something far more important. They took away my entire family. So don't presume to say that I have not known suffering."
Malaya pretended to wipe a few years from her eyes, before she snorted again.
"Poor Penelope," she said. "And poor Jeff. Poor everyone!" She clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "How tragic, we all are!" Then she let her arms drop. "I don't care about your stories. I don't care about your suffering. My father taught me to look out for myself and that is exactly what I will do."
"Did your father teach you to steal?" Tin-Tin asked, her hands grasping fistfuls of her dress. "Did your father teach you to murder?"
Malaya returned all her attention to the young bride. She folded her arms, leaning all her weight on one hip.
"He taught me to do whatever it took to get by," she said. "My father died because he refused to take the life of the man who tried to kill us. I had given him the advantage, had brought the man to the ground. But my father would not kill him, even as I screamed for him to do it. And so we left him lying on the ground, languishing in the mud. Or so we thought. He plucked up the knife and threw it - and it hit my father squarely in the back. And he died."
Malaya took in a few deep breaths as memories of the darkest of nights washed over her anew.
"I went back to the man who had taken my father from me," she continued, "to the man who had taken away the last thing I had in the world. And I slit his throat. I was only sixteen, yet already a murderer. My father didn't teach me to kill but he did teach me that you have to be prepared to do anything, even take a life, to preserve your own."
She turned her attention back to Jeff, whose blue eyes were glinting like cold steel.
"You should take a leaf from his book," Malaya said. "Had you just given me what I wanted, even if it put others in danger, you would not be in the position you are now, watching as your son slowly dies. It is all your fault. I hope you live a long life, so that you carry that knowledge around with you for many, many years." She smiled. "You deserve to suffer."
Before anyone else could speak, Kyrano stood, still holding his grandson.
"No," he said. "Jeff Tracy does not deserve to suffer. He is one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to know. But even stripping all that away, he still does not deserve to suffer. No human being does. Not even you."
He gave a little bow. The compassion in his voice made Malaya's blood boil. Flashes of her father came back. Do whatever you need to do to survive, he had said. But was there more to it? Had he cautioned her to temper her actions with compassion? Malaya knew the answer.
No. He never had.
In one moment, many things happened. The chaos returned as Malaya reached for the knife at her waist, having every intention to cut the compassion out of the old man.
At the same time, Jeff raised his watch to his face and screamed, his face awash with a manic fury.
"NOW!"
~oOo~
"And where is your wife now, Jeff?" Sunflower asked with a snarl.
Jeff was glad for Tin-Tin's hands on his arm and for Lady Penelope's shout. His fingers flexed and his chest heaved as he tried to bring his temper back under control. He had never been quick to unleash his fists but the mention of his wife had been the last straw. How dare she mention Lucille? he thought, shoulders still rising and falling as he fought to control his breathing.
Penelope was talking but Jeff's attention was diverted by the buzzing at his wrist. His temper dissipated, cooled by relief. It was Virgil.
MOVING INTO POSITION. NO SCOTT AND GORDON. TWINS ON ROOF. ETA ONE MINUTE.
As surreptitiously as he could, Jeff sent a message back.
WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL. AT RIGHT MOMENT WILL SEND AUDIO. BE READY.
Virgil's response came within seconds.
ARMED AND READY. AWAITING SIGNAL.
He then returned his attention to the conversation; Sunflower was recounting something about her childhood. Tragedy does not give you permission to take the lives of others, Jeff thought. Nothing does.
It would seem that Sunflower had a different view.
"You should take a leaf from his book," she said. "Had you just given me what I wanted, even if it put others in danger, you would not be in the position you are now, watching as your son slowly dies."
Jeff couldn't help himself. He had to look at John, lying on the ground, his once handsome face ravaged. His face was grotesquely bruised, his nose crooked and bleeding. Now, his eyes were enveloped in swollen skin as trails of blood crusted on his cheeks. I'm so sorry, Jeff thought, fighting the lump in his throat. I am so, so sorry...
"It is all your fault," Sunflower continued. "I hope you live a long life, so that you carry that knowledge around with you for many, many years." She smiled. "You deserve to suffer."
Before he could speak, Jeff watched as one of his oldest friends stood up to face their captor. There was a quiet courage in Kyrano's gentle eyes.
"No," he said, cradling the child that had joined their families by blood. "Jeff Tracy does not deserve to suffer. He is one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to know. But even stripping all that away, he still does not deserve to suffer. No human being does. Not even you."
Something about Kyrano's words affected Sunflower. For the briefest moment, confusion passed over her eyes and her lips tightened. But then the moment passed and her face was hard again. Her eyes remained on Kyrano but her hand went to the knife on her belt. And Jeff knew what he had to do.
He swept his watch up to his face, adrenaline coursing through him, and he screamed.
"NOW!"
The invasion began.