Through The Storm

By Su Yin Tan

A vicious attack out at sea by hired killers sweeps a well-known entertainer to the shores of Phuket right after a heavy storm. Severely wounded, he is rescued by a village girl, but before help could reach him in time, a catastrophe kills the girl's parents together with hundreds of others.
Thrown together by a cruel twist of fate, the young couple weathers a myriad of personal and emotional storms and, along the way, fell in love. All the while, danger lurks close behind, growing bolder and more desperate, threatening to destroy everything in its path.

A poignant love story with two endearing characters who will make you laugh and cry as they plunge unwittingly into the maze of deceit and bloodshed, Through The Storm has its fair share of adventure and magic to keep all book lovers spellbound.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Su Yin Tan
• Release date: Aug 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465890337

Su Yin Tan

My chinese name is Su Yin. Literally translated, it means Gentle Cloud. Clear & Bright is my husband. (You may roll your eyes). He is known to most as just Sim. I have a friend who calls herself Autumn Shower. She once commented, “Gentle Cloud and Autumn Shower. What a combination.” I agree. It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it. Perhaps one of these days, I will pen a short story using that title. I first knew her when Through The Storm made its debut through a marketing e-flyer I sent out. She was my first customer. She invited me to autograph my book at the Art House. We had a chat over coffee, found a common love for writing, and a friendship was forged. We’ve come a long way since. I began serious writing back in 2004. It was just after the tsunami which hit Asia on Boxing Day. It was a horrific tragedy. More than 150,000 lives lost, millions left homeless. I wrote my first chapter on a long haul flight to Orlando. Another two on the flight back. And ploughed through forty-odd more over the course of a year to complete. It took me another year to rewrite it and edit it to a satisfactory stage to earn the Seal of Approval from a writer’s site I joined. My second book, Warring Gods, took a much longer time to write. I finished it in December 2008 and felt a deeper sense of accomplishment. The output was more sensitive and mature, a potential winner, something I could be proud to put my name on. I’m into my third book., My Brother’s Keeper. Work has kept me from venturing beyond the first chapter, though. But I will press on. Su Yin

Book preview

Part One

The Storm

Chapter 1

The wind ripped Eric's shirt as he steered the speedboat into the open sea, away from the white, sandy beach of Phra Nang. High overhead, billowing clouds shielded him from the late morning sun. Not a soul was in sight. All around was one huge, sparkling expanse of water the color of forget-me-not blue.

As the boat cut through its mirrored surface and zipped past majestic limestone cliffs, the spray in the wind stroked his face and thickened his hair. All the bunched up muscles on his back started to relax and his spirits stirred.

Armed with a pair of Armani shades and a bottle of chilled champagne, the twenty-five-year-old music heartthrob was ready to enjoy his hard-earned holiday in Krabi, a place sun worshippers called paradise.

Turning up the volume of his eighty gigabyte iPOD, he breathed in a lungful of fresh, salty air and let out all the tension, fatigue and depression in an earsplitting whoop.

Hello! He waved at the white seagulls soaring like mini-airplanes in the sky. Startled, they flapped their wings and squawked.

I'm sorry, sir!

Eric snapped his body to attention and saluted the indignant birds. Totally unrepentant however, he lifted his voice above the ruckus and belted out his rendition of Eminem's rap, drumming his fingers on the dashboard in time to the beat.

At a quiet spot in the middle of nowhere, he dropped anchor, tore off his shirt and shades, and jackknifed into the water. The whole place teemed with fish shimmering in a kaleidoscope of orange, yellow and electric-blue. He spun his body, torpedo fashion, thrilled at the sensual glide of cool water against his skin.

Diving deeper, he explored the underwater world with its myriad of marine life and colorful corals slumbering far below on the seabed. A curtain of silvery fish darted past, ignoring his presence. Perhaps they had decided that he was one of them, except much bigger, Eric thought, chuckling.

Boo! he said to a small audience of rainbow-colored fish, baring his teeth like a shark. A deluge of little air bubbles broke free from his mouth and cascaded to the surface. It did not work. His finned friends remained round-eyed and unperturbed.

Shaking his head, Eric twisted his body around and, with a strong kick, surfaced for air.

That was when he saw the speedboat coming towards him.

Shit! he groaned. Not the paparazzi again!

He had taken great pains to keep his holiday destination a secret. William, his manager, had informed the media that Eric was vacationing in Maldives, a red herring for the paparazzi and overzealous fans. How did they find out?

Mouthing an expletive, Eric quickly levered himself out of the water and toweled dry. His taut, lithe body glistened with a golden tan. Chilled by the strong wind that whipped his recently layered hair into a lion's mane, he pulled on his shirt and started the engine, flinging a glance backwards.

Shock hit him. The men wore stockings over their faces.

Without any delay, he revved the engine. His boat eased forward, its acceleration painfully slow.

Move it! Move it! He wrenched the wheel to the right, away from the oncoming vessel, slamming the throttle full on. But his craft was not as powerful. In no time, the roaring vessel gained on him.

Idiot! he shouted. Are you trying to get us all killed?

In spite of his bravado, fear grew unbidden, knotting his stomach. Panicking, he spun the wheel another ninety degrees to dodge his pursuers.

It was too late.

The larger vessel hurtled towards him. With a crunching sound, the stern caved in. The impact catapulted him backwards. Twisting his head at the last minute, his forehead smashed against the side. The rest of his body followed. Everything grayed as he crumpled onto the deck.

In a flash, two men sprang onboard, dragged him up and twisted his arms behind him. Pain shot through his shoulders, its savagery clearing his mind.

Just then, the boat hit a swell. In that split second, the attackers lost their balance. Twisting free, Eric hooked a right at the nearest man, bald underneath the stocking. His punch caught Baldhead off-guard but his victory was short-lived. A bunched fist rammed into his solar plexus. Air whooshed out of his lungs, his knees buckled and Eric fell, sprawling on all fours.

Someone locked his neck in a vice-grip and yanked him up, almost choking him.

Who the hell are you? Let go ... let go of me! Eric croaked, his fingers trying to pry loose the iron manacle blocking his passageway.

Without answering, Baldhead took his revenge, pummeling Eric's stomach like a punching bag. His gut close to bursting, anger surged, giving him strength. Ignoring the cramps radiating from his clenched muscles, Eric smashed his knee in between Baldhead's legs. With a strangled curse, the huge man collapsed, clutching his groin.

Seeing his friend in trouble, the second attacker pulled out a knife and lunged at Eric. Luckily for him, the careening boat spun out of control, making both of them lose balance and the knife missed.

Retaliating with equal ruthlessness, Eric punched the assailant in between the eyes. As the man howled and keeled over, Eric tore the face stocking off in one swift motion and registered the facial features including a strange tattoo on the man's neck.

Distracted, he saw the flash of metal too late. The knife sliced into his chest and fiery pain like he had never known before shot into his brain. Everything turned to different shades of yellow in front of his eyes. Blindly, he swung another punch at the man but this time, it went wide.

Doubled over, Eric groaned, one hand clutching the wound to stem the blood which flowed with nauseating stickiness through his fingers. Thunder rumbled in the background. The choppy sea made the deck rock and sway like a rollercoaster. A storm was approaching.

Staggering to the front, he grabbed the spinning steering wheel, more to stop himself from falling overboard than to steady the vessel.

The other speedboat, piloted by a tall, black man, tailed behind, a little to one side. Through a haze of pain, Eric squinted in the dimming light and made out the name 'Blue Thunder' stenciled on its side. Below it, in small print was the address '101, Port Dickson'.

Baldhead lumbered towards him, intent on finishing the job. In desperation, Eric reached out and grabbed the first object he could reach - his champagne bottle. As the huge man rained punches on him, he summoned his remaining strength, lifted the bottle up and smashed it over Baldhead's shiny pate.

With a surprised expression, the man's beady eyes glazed over, and he slumped towards Eric.

Just then, the boat hit a sandbar and tilted almost ninety degrees, throwing all three overboard. With a startled cry, Eric crashed into the sea. The next second, someone fell on top of him. The weight pressed him down and both sank into the deep, murky water.

Desperate for air, Eric clawed to push the heavy body off. He tried not to gulp in the sea water, but his strength was failing. He sank fast into the darkness below.

Eric awoke to an onslaught of pain so agonizing that it threatened to pull him under. His head was on fire, gripped as though by a tight band of white-hot steel, pulsating and ready to explode. Dazed, he blinked several times, but his eyes refused to focus. His teeth chattered incessantly, making his breath jerky and driving up the decibels clashing in his brain.

Minutes passed before he realized the roaring and whistling sound was not just in his head but all around him. The water dousing him was rain, falling in heavy torrents. The rumbling in the background was thunder, and the flashing light illuminating his surroundings, lightning.

Shrouded in darkness, the beach flickered into view, empty except for the line of coconut trees swaying in tandem with each gust of wind. A deep chill sliced through his skin, wracking him with shuddering spasms.

Desperate to warm himself, he dragged his numb legs up to his chest. The movement ignited a searing pain near his heart. He gagged, throwing up water with bits of unknown content.

Oh God ... He gasped and hunched into a tight ball to jam his tortured nerves. Foaming water swirled around him, soaking his already drenched body before ebbing into the sea only to rise again. He stayed in the same position for a long time, concentrating on just drawing breath. His mind phased in and out, wandering through shadowy places.

He found himself back at sea, struggling to stay afloat; fear the only factor driving his tired limbs. The waves buffeted him back and forth, sometimes so high he could see the sea churning down below. Other times, they tossed him up towards the loud, angry sky.

The sky dissolved into a haze of grey, before clearing into a softly-lit room. A skimpily-clad figure beckoned to him, her smile seductive. She said something and patted the bed in invitation. It was like a silent movie. He could not hear her voice. Before he could respond, the bedroom faded into the shadows.

This time, he heard sound - happy peals of laugher like the tinkling of silver bells. The beautiful face of his mother, Rosemary Su, hovered before him. She was laughing at a joke he had cracked, twin dimples dancing in and out of her cheeks. She looked so radiant and full of life that his heart clenched. Ten years and still the pain remained.

Mum ... Eric whispered to the raging storm. Didn't you follow me here? He waited for her voice, but only the shrill wind answered. The shadows merged into a cavernous void, which swallowed him into its deep, dark center.

Chapter 2

The sun peeped over the horizon as a young girl strolled along the beach barefoot, swinging a basket in time with her steps. Scrunching her toes in the wet sand, she marked her footprints one after another, forming a trail next to the wavy snake she drew with the stick she had found further up the beach. With long, black hair tied in neat plaits bouncing with each step, she moved with the light gait of one with few cares weighing on her shoulders.

Barely twenty years of age, Viki was a head taller than the average girl her age. Her long legs and large doe eyes had earned her the nickname of Bambi from Father Joseph of the village church.

Something from the ocean and something from the hill, she said aloud, repeating the words of the cranky but ingenious schoolmaster in the dog-eared book she had just finished.

The simple expression served to guide parents to pack healthy lunches for their children. Her own meals always contained something from the ocean and something from the hill.

There were occasional treats other than vegetables and seafood. At certain months of the year, she would ride the waves with her father in their old faithful Cheetah to steal turtle eggs from their mothers or catch large, hairy crabs from nearby islands. The timing had to be right and the weather good.

Storms like the one yesterday were not uncommon. Viki liked them, but only when they happened in the night, after all the fishermen had returned safely to their families. Storms were a blessing in disguise, bringing with them nature's bounty of fresh mussels and clams, awaiting rescue from their sandy traps.

Humming a tune, she approached the waterline and started digging up the partially-hidden clams for the family meal. One by one, the shellfish popped out of the wet sand with the skillful prodding of her stick and, with a deft flick, they landed in the basket. On and on she worked, moving to the next stretch of the beach after exhausting the rich pickings of the current patch.

The sun rose higher in the sky, spreading its soft, yellow rays across the beach, heralding the dawn of a new day. She lifted her face to the sunshine and breathed in the fresh air, clean and crisp after the rain. A flock of birds circling near the far end of the beach made her pause.

Let's see who can pick these clams faster, ten of you or one of me. Smiling with sudden inspiration, she hurried towards them.

As she approached the site, something stopped her in her tracks. The bedraggled figure of a man lay sprawled on the beach. Lapping waves drenched his entire body, already soaking wet.

A little fearful, Viki crouched down, careful not to get too near. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and touched his arm. There was no response.

Biting her lip, she wrestled with the idea of turning back for help. But the limp, helpless form stirred something in her so much that she plucked up her courage and, with some effort, heaved the body over. A low groan sounded.

Startled, she jerked back her arm. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, she babbled, overwhelmed by what she saw.

It was a young man, not much older than her. His face was chalk-white with greenish undertones except where streaks of black seaweed stuck like an odd-shaped tattoo on one cheek. Blue lips, with a red clot coloring one corner, ringed his mouth which made raspy sounds as though it was difficult to breathe.

A large bruise marred his forehead, a fresh flow of blood threatening to burst through the thin skin. A mass of bruises, all purplish-blue and circled with shades of crimson, covered his shoulder and ribcage.

The sight of the open wound on his chest made her flinch. Rimmed with sand and small pieces of seaweed, some of which had entered the fleshy part, the injury looked serious.

Don't be afraid. I'm going to get help, Viki said, quelling the tremor in her voice. Just ... just hang on, okay?

The man stirred, muttering something which she could not make out.

Huh? She moved closer to listen. When he remained quiet, she frowned. You’re going to be alright. I'll come back fast, I promise!

Springing to her feet, she dashed across the beach, fists clenched, stretching her legs to the limit. Her heart hammered in time to her strides.

Spying three men squatted near the cluster of long boats, she ran up to them. After deciphering her breathless story, they jumped to their feet and followed her.

When they reached the injured man, Viki called out again. The man stirred. His eyes cracked open, shrouded with pain. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Come, get him to my place. My mum would know what to do.

As the fishermen lifted him, the young man cried out in a hoarse voice and tried to twist away. Then, his body sagged and became dead weight as he passed out.

Wiboon and Panee were busy straightening the fishing nets out to dry when they heard their daughter's agitated voice amidst the sound of shuffling and heavy breathing, punctuated by grunts. Lifting their weather-beaten faces to the source of the commotion, they spotted Viki accompanied by three of their fellow fishermen. Alarm registered when their eyes fell on the lifeless-looking body dangling between the men.

Found this man at the beach, Dad, Viki said in between pants. He's badly hurt.

Get him inside, Wiboon said, leading the way. After easing the unconscious man onto the bed, everyone hovered around him, their faces grim at the sight of his injuries. The open wound on his chest had started to bleed afresh, drawing a maze of red rivulets down his body.

Panee recovered first. Pointing to some old clothes heaped in a corner, she said, Dear, use these for bandages. Wiboon nodded and started shredding the rags into strips.

Viki, get a basin of water.

With the help of the men, Panee removed the torn shirt from the injured stranger, cleaned his body and steeled herself for the messier work.

Standing to one side, Viki watched her mother pick out seaweed and other debris embedded in the wound. Despite Panee's gentle fingers, the muscles surrounding the injury twitched spasmodically with each probe. It reminded her of the cockles she had for dinner last night, the flesh reddish-pink with blood welling to the surface.

A wave of nausea hit Viki. She groaned inwardly, wondering how to stomach her food later. If only she had nerves as steady as her mother's.

Panee's face was serious, her lips pursed in concentration as she gave one final swipe. Pressing the gaping wound shut with a wad of cloth, she motioned her husband to bring the makeshift bandages. Between them, they wrapped the strips around the man's chest and looped the ends over his neck to hold the bandages in place.

This is the best we can do for now, Panee said, giving the knot a final tug. Poor boy, I wonder who did this to him. His wounds are serious. I'm afraid they may already be infected.

She pressed the back of her hand against the man's cheek, then his forehead, careful not to touch the large swelling where dark blood coagulated beneath the thin, stretched skin.

He's freezing cold. Quick, get my blanket. It is thicker.

Viki jumped to obey, glad for something to do. The sight of the still face unsettled her. After having rescued the man, it never occurred to her that he could still die despite their efforts.

She returned in time to see her father digging into the pockets of the man's sodden jeans.

There are no identification things here too, Wiboon said, frowning. I don't like this whole thing. What if his attackers followed him here? It would put Viki in danger.

We must help him, dear, Panee said quietly. Remember how Santi and his family looked after you when you were hurt on that fishing trip. If not for them, I would not have you now. It's our turn to pass on the good deed. This boy has loved ones waiting for him somewhere too. We need to help him.

Wiboon grunted something unintelligible, straightened up and left the room.

Panee smiled at her daughter in a silent exchange. They both knew Wiboon had relented.

I'll go brew some medicine. Picking up the wet shirt and the remnants of the shredded rags, she went to the kitchen.

Left alone, Viki sat, staring at the stranger on the bed. Her heart beat a little faster as her eyes traced the outline of his face. In spite of the stubble growing, it looked boyish and vulnerable. Thick eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. His hair, brown and streaked with gold, was much longer than the short crop the fishermen sported. His body was well-toned and lightly built, like that of a young man coming of age.

He looked not much older than twenty. In fact, he reminded Viki of someone right out of one of the books from the village library where she helped out. Twice a week, she burrowed herself in the small collection of books, filling her secret world with new voices and interesting people, creating dreams and strange yearnings she never shared with anyone. How wonderful that one such dream appeared so dramatically out of the blue, now lying on her bed. Her heart thrilled at the thought.

A few hours passed and still the stranger had not moved. Tired of the self-imposed vigil, Viki stretched her limbs, cramped from sitting too long in one position. She could hear his breathing. Was it her imagination, or had it become louder and more labored than before? Growing steadily more worried, she said a quick prayer.

The man stirred. Let go. Let go, he mumbled in a hoarse voice as his eyes flew open.

A coughing spasm shook his body, and he groaned, clutching his chest. Frowning hard, he struggled to rise.

No, no, don't get up! You are hurt! Viki cried, startled. She dashed to the back for a mug of warm water and raised this to his cracked lips.

The man looked up, his eyes flickering as though he had difficulty keeping them open. Drawing