A Daughter's Revenge

 

A man stood in front of his wife and daughter, trembling as he begged the gun-wielding assailant before him to spare their lives.

“No, please don't kill my family! It's me you want; I’ll come with you.”

“Sorry, Silva, but when you play with fire, you’re bound to get burnt.”

“I’ll hand over the video, just leave my family be.”

“You mean this video?”

The assailant pulled out his phone and held it before the man. “The officer you gave this to is my friend. Journalists like you will never make a difference, no matter how hard you try.”

“Okay, fine, but let my daughter go. She’s only five.”

“Fine,” the man replied. He ordered them to send the girl to the corner of the room and make her shut her eyes.

The girl, Mala, did as she was told, but as the gun went off, she couldn’t help but open her eyes and watch as her parents fell to the floor, lifeless. Her father’s younger brother took her in afterwards and raised her as his own. Being a renowned anaesthesiologist, he made sure she received all the help and support she needed. From that grim day on, however, Mala didn’t utter a word until she was fifteen. At that age, she learned through her uncle that her father had uncovered information about a drug ring run by a local businessman called Ronald Rohana who was living abroad. With several powerful parties in his circles, as well as with diplomatic immunity, he could bend the law to his will.

By the time Mala was twenty, the cop who set her father up was on parole. At his parole hearing, to everyone’s surprise, she forgave the man. She said she held no grudge against him because he was just a pawn. She even kept contact with the man for two more weeks, against her uncle’s wishes and, on the day of her parents’ fifteenth anniversary, she visited him at his house. However, Mala bore no good intentions that day. She held the man at gunpoint and forced him to lie face-down on his bed before injecting him with two doses of muscle relaxant to his behind. Mala waited for an hour and administered two more doses to him yet again. Not long after, the man passed away. A year later, she tracked down the man who pulled the trigger on her parents and did the same to him. However, Mala’s work wasn’t finished—her sights were set on Ronald Rohana.

Following her father’s footsteps, Mala pursued journalism and earned an opportunity to work abroad in just five years. However, it took her a little longer to find Rohana; he had changed his name to Gerald Francis a few years before. One day, Mala tracked him down to a five-star hotel. There, masking her identity with contact lenses and a wig, she pretended to fall ill in front of him. He offered to drive her home and she accepted. Once inside, Mala pulled her gun out and forced him to sit on the bed.

“Who are you? If it’s money you want, I have plenty.”

“Nihal Peiris, do you remember that name?”

Francis’ eyes widened with realisation. “So, you’re the daughter…”

Mala spoke nothing more of the past; she made Francis lie on his stomach and injected him with the same muscle relaxant she had used on the cop. Once he was incapacitated, Mala told him how much she enjoyed watching him lie there helplessly at her mercy—and that she took pleasure in the fact that she would be the one to end his life. An hour later, she shot him with two more doses and watched as the light faded from his eyes. Mala then wrapped him up in her bedsheet and drove off to a nearby forest. She took the body deep into the woods and buried it along with the gun and syringes.